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Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12

OF THE DRAGON, OF THE STARS

by Absol Master

PART I

Prologue: Sparking the Flame

all beginnings

It all began with nothing. Nothing but a cloud of energy at the very centre of the formless universe, neither warm nor cold, neither bright nor darkï¿½not a speck of light that could itself cast shadow. It began as everything must beginï¿½in its greatest simplicity, in emptiness.

But all things begin with coincidences, coincidences that break fatuous patterns and create new things. By some chanceï¿½a one-in-a-billion chance that would have come eventually in this trillion-year historyï¿½the energy, in its eternal changing and shifting, suddenly found that fragile moment of order. Incidental order, yesï¿½but that was enough, and in that transient moment of order, it split into four.

Light, Darkness, Time, Life. The four orderly parts diverged, as desperately as the sparks of a firework, morphing even then into vastly differing forms.

Thus it was that the four great spirits came into being, in balance with each otherï¿½Light with Darkness, Time with Life.

The spirited Dragon, deity of Life, was the first to know His divine Instinct: he desired company, beings with which the world could be shared. So He brought forth the world, and all that lives on itï¿½place by place, element by element. Light, the Goddess, longed order, and saw an incomparable order in the Dragon's construction. She smiled upon His world, and guided creation as it grew through its first formless ages. But Life's counterbalance was Time, which desired to be alone and lastï¿½and Time took Life as it came, slowly and without mercy, the guillotine at the end of a wearying path.

The Spirit of the Dark was born of all that remained of the universe, all that wasn't within the other three. The Spirit of the Dark was a shadow, a desirous void of things it did not haveï¿½that longed to devour, yet would never be satiated. And power was the first thing it longed. Power over the bright universe it had been forsaken of. It hated Life and Light most of all, and knew they were Its greatest enemies in this war for the universe.

One day in the history of the universe, when the world had just begun, and only land and seas existed, the Darkness crept from its hiding in the shadows. There and then it turned upon the two, wrenching the beginning world from their grasp and casting it into darkness.

All turned to shadow beneath the Cloaked One's wings, and the young beings upon the world suffered. The Dragon's heart was moved to rending pity, and the Goddess knew she must battle this threat of chaotic evil. Banished from the world to the corner of the universe among Her stars, She began to plot the Spirit's downfall. Together with the Dragon, she began to build a weapon, meant only to defeat the Spirit of the Dark.

With her own power in blood, and the Dragon's sacrifice of bones and teeth, She formed it at last: the Spear of Heaven, the necessary weapon that was a danger to Herself as much as it was to the Dark. It drained every last trace of the power she owned, simply to hold; the Goddess Herself feared it. It was the only thing that could harm any of the four.

And she turned to the world from afar, and threw it through the stars, through the void, the light, to the place where the Spirit of the Dark held the dead world and the empty skies. With an explosion that blazed like a star from the distance, the Spirit was blown apart, now weakened to insubstantiality. As it fled deep below the surface of the world, the Dragon flew forth to see that the spear floated, in its original four pieces, over the world He had created.

So creation started again, and when the humans of his new world had grown intelligent enough, He tossed the four parts of the feared Spear of Heaven through the rooftops and mountains, to be hidden, for it was too dangerous to remain with the three.

And so it was done. The Spear of Heavenï¿½the one thing that could harm the four deitiesï¿½was now safely split up and hidden in the world, unable to do any harm.

millennia deep in the time of the world

Though it had melted, the Spirit of the Dark had not died. It had fought and tried to regain its rule three times, failing thrice. But long as the core never died, the Dark never diedï¿½and Its source of power ever grew. As the human population expanded to conquer the world, so did their hate, fear and grief. Grief, hate, fear, in opposition with Time, Life, Light. They were its nourishment, the blood that fed Its growth.

The hunger grew into an addiction, and beneath that a certain need. A need to burst from this constant prison of powerlessness, from the mistake that had held it under control all these years so far. It had been foolish before, the Spirit knewï¿½foolish making attack when it was barely more potent than the strongest mage of the world. The power It needed for such a coup was more, far more than anything the humans could amass.

It needed a servant, a great and terrible servant with whom to wreak dread upon the humans, make them hate and grieve more than they ever had beforeï¿½but not by brash terrorism, as It had before. If there was anything that failure had granted, it was learning, and It had learnt of the folly of a sudden wreaking of disaster, for there would be hundreds ready to stand up to the siege. It must be stealthy and insidious. Consume from the inside.

It waited long and waited hard, but Its hunger had built its patience, rather than destroyed it. And finally, that opportunity came, in a dark serendipity.

Lost or perhaps willfully taken here, by her feet and her heart, a woman came to kneel beside the entrance to Its Underworld, tears glittering in her eyes from the blue light around her.

Hurt, shame, angerï¿½ The Spirit of the Dark relished the terrible whirlpool of emotions within her heart, and licked them up ravenously like nectar off a twisted stigma. Yes, stay where you are, and your sadness will become my power, and my power will become your cureï¿½

Like a human's spectre, no larger and no more terrifying, the Spirit rose out of the crack in the world, and brushing tendrils down her back, It made Its bargain.

The woman screamed for fear, she did. But her heart had been flayed open by a grief whose every detail It saw, clear as raw streaks of blood across her face. It knew the source of that painï¿½a broken pride, a life destroyed, an angel's fall to devilhood.

And Its bargain grew tempting, as It coiled more tentacles into her soul through her open woundsï¿½learnt of her heart, her power, her strength which might be turned upon the people she'd made the mistake of trusting. And the world that had brought her to this circumstance.

She accepted, without any fear or apprehension thereafter, misguided by her own grief and anger to believe she longed something worse than mere revenge.

Then the Clock Spirit could only begin to countï¿½count the years until the Spirit burst Its banks, shattered the world that held It.

caleix: the last smile

King Caleix, ruler of Victoria Island, hardly seemed a king at present. He stood in the doorway of the nursery where his sons played, and his eyes were all but gentle with the care of an ordinary man.

He may be a king, richest in the land, ruler of a millionï¿½but in familial love the farmer and the aristocrat were but equals.

And King Caleix presently sighed in his weariness, though his heart glowed warm from the sight of his lovely children.

The universe had been started by a coincidence, and a coincidence too had wrought this lovely fortune upon the monarch. All three had been chosen by the stars, for they had been born in the burning throes of a starfall, when the Goddess sank close enough to the world to ignite the asteroids and send them falling, blazing with holy fire, across the land.

Three in the last twenty years: all three had begun their glorious processions while his wife the queen had been in labour. As if the Goddess had meant to gift him, for the good things he had done in his life before. Ah, such generosity from the selfless Lady of Light! He often mused gladly upon his good fortune, when his elbows were upon the windowsill and his gaze among the stars, his wife's head leaning warm against his shoulder.

Children chosen by the stars were blessed, for the sparks of the Goddess' flame had scattered from the shooting stars, and imbued the air of their very first breaths. From those seconds they were filled up with immense, hidden powers, most of which began to show slowly, like incipient dawn, as they matured. The eldest, only four years old, was already showing signs of his great abilities; he had injured a nurse by accident.

There was a timid "excuse me, your Majesty" from behind him. Caleix turned to see a male servant standing behind him, youthful, but already as weary as an old man.

"A visitor, your Majesty," the words tumbled from his tongue. With one more glance at his three sons, and a smile, he turned and followed the servant down the corridor to the throne room.

A coincidence, too, began this taleï¿½coincidence unalterable even by the deities.

Chapter 1: Year of the Rooster

zethis: a beginning

"Dadï¿½Iï¿½I should have asked earlier. But was thinking, if I couldï¿½you know, like the other kidsï¿½"

Heaving another great sigh, Zethis collapsed upon his plush mattress and tossed his fifteenth script out.

Hopeless, completely hopeless.

Why could he not have a better grip on his words, and why wouldn't they ever say the things he wanted them to?

It was only a wish. An old one nevertheless, one that had burned many good gaps in his timeï¿½but a wish that every ordinary ten-year-old child living on Henesys' rural outskirts would have cradled in his heart at least once before.

Only, this single odd wish had hung about his head all his life. He was a farmer's son, a child bound to the land. But outside the gates there walked children of the sky, children who had unearthed the secrets of the world, like gems, from its very farthest corners. It must be wonderful, to lift wyvern skulls in evening light, and rejoice in the battles that had won them.

The king of Victoria had long frowned upon the attainment of job achievements, which made their visits all the more precious. And visit they did, in secrecy or in glory, with jangling belts full of keys and mesos, weapons that gleamed with command. The ten-year-old would lower his hoe at the sound of footsteps, wiping sweat from his browï¿½and longingly, he would gaze where they'd gone. Some stopped for conversation, and Dad would take them in graciously for dinner. A number had dived into haystacks, and horse hooves had thundered by thereafter.

Messengers from the world far away, from whom he'd learnt all he knew about the world beyond Henesys.

All this served to make Zethis dream hopelessly.

The rest of the kids in the Henesys outskirts had already departed long ago. They had spoken of their dreamsï¿½of defying the king's orders, of become great warriors, bowmen, magicians, thieves. Then they would disappear from the neighbourhood forever. Occasionally one of them would return with new weaponry and attireï¿½but only very seldom. The rest, Zethis never saw again.

They had found a more wonderful world beyond, he somehow knew. Or perhaps they had already been captured by the kingï¿½young fledglings, shot down too soon.

Zethis was the last child in the neighbourhoodï¿½a little boy who was too filial and too shy to ask something so outrageous. And his uncommon gentleness was apparent in his appearance tooï¿½for his eyes were soft brown, and his hair was gold as the threads of the morning.

The lone child stared on at the ceiling, dustbin at his feet, the images of his lost friends piercing him. He might see them again, if he went. Just maybe. But oh, he wanted to see them againï¿½

"Arghï¿½Dad! I just want to go on my own journey! That's all, really!"

He wasn't expecting any reply. But there and then, he heard the sound of a throat being cleared. With sudden shock, Zethis jerked up and turnedï¿½and there stood his father, leaning lazily against his doorpost.

"Dad!" the boy gasped, panicking. "I'mï¿½Iï¿½"

"I heard," the middle-aged man replied, no sternness in his voice.

Zethis looked down at the bed sheets, sitting up, too ashamed to meet his eyes. Now what? Am I grounded? Will he make me do the chores? I'm sorry, Dadï¿½

But against the boy's expectations, he did neither. His answer was simple, and ringing. "Then it's time I told you something. Before you go."

Zethis continued to gape at this mild, yet ominous, reply. He hardly realised that permission had been granted, for it was now the most diminutive of his worries. What is itï¿½Dad?

Sighing, the boy's father to came to sit next to him on the bed. Something told him that he was about to hear something that would change him forever.

"I've beenï¿½lying to you for nine years already," he murmuring. Now he was the one who couldn't meet his son's eye. "I know I should have said so sooner, but I was afraid that if you knew this, you might leave even earlier."

Alarm swept through him. He stared nervously, not knowing how to respond. No. What does he mean?

"For nine years, I'veï¿½I've pretended to be your father," the words finally wrenched themselves from his throat.

Myï¿½father?

For the first few moments, Zethis was numb from the suddenness. He gave no response. He breathed deeply, struggling to find the space in his life where this puzzle piece fittedï¿½finding none. "Dï¿½Dadï¿½"

"No, not 'dad' anymore. I'm just a plain old man to you," he replied with a sad smile. "Now you do wish to depart soon, don't you?"

"Iï¿½butï¿½" Zethis shook his head. Tears were suddenly stinging in his eyes. "I don't care! You are my Dad! I love you, Dadï¿½"

He merely shook his head. "You have a real father somewhere!" he said in kind reply. Closing his eyes, the man relived a moment from the past, eyes wrinkling with a smile. "I found you in the middle of the Henesys forest and took you in, for fear that the king's policemen might find you and have you killed. But you have a real father, Zethis! You must find him."

The boy would have to take a few deep breaths before he accepted it. Or he might never recover at all. All his life, his entire ten years, he had known no one, no one but his "father". The man had told Zethis that his mother had already died, and that he had brought Zethis up alone. All his life, he had loved no one else.

"I'm sorry," the old man said hollowly. "If you want to start an adventure on your own, go ahead. I hold no more authority over you. You're on your own nowï¿½my accompaniment will only hinder you."

Zethis recalled his first requestï¿½but that felt like nothing, suddenly. How could he survive alone, he wondered vaguely. How would he carry on, without the hope of being able to see a loved one again? How would he carry on, knowing that suddenly he had no parents?

"Zethisï¿½don't worry," his fatherï¿½foster father said with a smile, winding an arm around his shoulders. Though he would have expected to feel a wall of distance between himself and the man, the boy felt none. It was like it had always been. Love. Strength. It brought comfort and tears, at the same time. "I'll always be proud of you, alright?"

Zethis sniffled, trying fruitlessly to hold in the tears that were now flowing freely from his closed eyelids. "Alright," the boy answered. "And I just wanted to ask youï¿½how did you find out my real name?"

The smile returned to the aging man's face, eyes wrinkling again. "It came to me in a dream," he replied, gaze rising to the window. "The night I found you. A great, gentle voice spoke to me, and it spoke a nameï¿½and at once I knew that it was yours."

He nodded, doubt filling him up. This was all so unbelievable. And to thinkï¿½would he be leaving the next day. The door was finally open, and he wouldn't refuse itï¿½the distant mountains and forests bade him depart while he still could.

"I love you, Dad," the boy said a last time, not caring that the title was no longer valid, not caring that it never was. The old man smiled and held his Zethis close again, like he always hadï¿½when he had been the father, and the boy his son.

One day, yet an entire lifetime.

Zethis finally managed seven hours of sleep that nightï¿½seven hours filled with the same dream, coming again and again. It was always the sameï¿½a smiling man at the door. Two other children close by. Heavy draperyï¿½

At last, dawn drew itself through the curtains, and Zethis pried his eyes open. As he awakened to the sound of his last breakfast at home, the boy's heart thudded with anticipation and anxiety and cold emptiness. Lifting his bag and the package of food his father had given him, he pushed the door open and proceeded down the pathway. The farewell was shortï¿½nothing was exchanged but a wave and a few words. He didn't want it to be too painful.

Then at last, he turned, and began on his way down the familiar sand road, out into the morning. He had walked it hundreds of times, but now, the meaning had changed. He was leaving now. His first step marked a new phase in his life.

ketara: sunlight extinguished

A young warrior-in-training watched from the top of a Perion mountainside as the sun rose between the peaks spread out before him.

It's been almost a yearï¿½he thought. Wind swept past, washing his short black hair into a mess. It was already almost shoulder-length; he had not cut it at all since he had left his home in Ellinia.

Ah, dear Mother! You'd be proud of me! He brought the image of the fairy's face to mind.

Again, Ketara wondered vaguely about his true parents. His foster-mother claimed to have found him on the west side of the Ellinian forest, and knew nothing about him except that his true name was Ketara, which she had been told by a dream.

Ketara. Sounds like a girl's name. The thought suddenly made him laugh, inexplicably. He was a child of laughter, he had always knownï¿½and everyone else around him, too. A blessed child. The child who enchanted everyone, young and old alike.

The only thing his mother had found on him had been a strange pendant, a broken brown gem on it. Sometimes, Ketara wondered if that alone could tell him who his true family was, and he had studied it repeatedly, in times of boredom. But the gemstone betrayed none of the secrets that it might possibly hold, and Ketara would have to live on not knowing anything about his earliest years.

Already he had been away from home for a yearï¿½and was already a level 18 warrior. He had left in late summer the year before, and summer had returned once more, marking approximately his first anniversary of his travel.

Ketara recalled his day of departure, now as he stared down at the sunlit mountainside. It had been a cool day beneath the treetops, the sunset painting the uppermost leaves orange. It had been a day of regret, and of suspenseï¿½but now, a year down the road, he realised that it had been a day of blessing.

He had thought that he would be lonely. But he somehow managed to befriend everyone he met on the roadï¿½be it another beginner like him, or a powerful Crusader or Dragon Knight on his or her way from Perion. He was a blessed child, as everyone had told him. There was this magical charisma about him that almost no one could resist. And it didn't help that he had the most beautiful face in the world.

Haha, I wonder why I was blessed with this.

That was only one gift among the many he had been given. As he had been told many times, Ketara was progressing faster in levels than an ordinary person. Somehow, he could attack better, his strokes possessing more power than all the others he had watched. His Power Strikes were at least three times as strong as any other warrior's.

Yet there was always this doubt. This doubt that drifted, like a thick fog, through his every momentï¿½

ï¿½Red eyesï¿½

Shaking his head to clear it of the memory, Ketara looked down. In his hands, he now held a Fork on a Stick, heavy armour on his body and a silly helmet upon his head. Just a year ago, he had not been able to envision himself wearing such heavy clothing, or carrying such a weapon. But here and now, he was doing both.

The mountainside was welcoming, beckoning for him to race down without any cares. Ketara gazed beyond the peaks, at the shadow of a distant forest.

Shall I go there one day? He wondered to himself, squinting far ahead. The trees were ominous in the distance, seeming to challenge him to enter their dark embrace. He had heard stories about it, stories about the most bizarre creatures in Victoria Islandï¿½all lurking beneath its canopy.

The Dungeon, holding so much terror that even the king feared it, so much terror that even his guards did not patrol its borders. That was where he hoped to go, but never seemed to dare to.

Well, I must get on with my travels, he thought to himself. At my level, I'm sure that the Dungeon would be perfect for me to train. But not today. No, I'll go once all matters have been settled.

With a last sigh at the faint aroma of the forest, Ketara began on his way down the mountain. I want to become part of Perion, he thought. I want a place to call "home".

He had always felt at home among the tribe. Dances with Balrog had been kind to him, despite his weakness at the start. The great Warrior Job Master had warmed up to him so fast, and trained him well in his first footsteps as a warrior. Even outsideï¿½the people were hospitable, the potion maker and shopkeepers courteous.

Needless to say, he wanted to stay here. Not just for weeks at a time, as he always had. Forever. If he needed a "home", this was the place he wanted.

With a cry of excitement, Ketara ascended the final steps of the mountain and found himself before the towering shape of the Warrior's Sanctuaryï¿½Dances with Balrog's home of granite, totem poles and intricate inscriptions. It was protected by a spell that would veil it from the guards who occasionally came to search for himï¿½as long as he kept the door shut.

The young warrior's hard raps on the door were almost immediately answered. The instant his face poked out the door, the Perion chief smiled. "Ketara, you've returned!" he exclaimed. "Come in, please."

Grinning in reply, Ketara entered the building, as he had on two other occasions. The interior was dark, smelling earthy, marble walls cast over by firelight from the centre. Scrolls lay everywhere. Literally everywhere.

"Why're you here?" Dances with Balrog questioned happily. He was in his thirties, the young warrior guessed as he observed the man again. The feathered headdress on his head, reaching down to his feet, was a mark of his leadership. His muscular build was no doubt the result of many years of intense training.

Ketara sat down by the fire, while Dances with Balrog settled down in his usual position on the chair on top of the small altar at the opposite end of the building. The single room inside was small enough for conversation to be made from one end to another.

"Let me get straight to the point, then," he replied. Somehow, the Perion chief, whom Ketara had once looked up to with such awe and amazement, was now more of a close friend to him than anything else. "I want to join your tribe. How do I do that?"

"Ah, but why?" Dances with Balrog inquired, eyebrows arched in question and interest. "Why would you want to join a tribe that is not from the land of your birth?"

Ketara looked at his feet. "Iï¿½I don't really know where I was born," he replied. "I don't rememberï¿½and I want a homeï¿½"

Suddenly, a flash of darkness. The firelight dying.

A woman, hair, bright blue with sparks, red eyes glowing, clawed arm reaching out towards his head, towards his eyes. An explosion of unthinkable pain and redness in his vision.

Darkness again.

The fire suddenly burst to life beyond his eyelids, and Ketara blinked his eyes open, finding himself still on the ground, his breathing fast and shallow. Noï¿½not againï¿½

"Ketara? Are you well?" Dances with Balrog was beside the warrior, squatting down by his side. Slowly, he pulled himself up, stunned and speechless.

"Y-yeah," he answered, voice wavering rapidly. "Justï¿½just felt dizzy all of a suddenï¿½"

Blowing air from his cheeks, the chief returned to his chair. "Think hard about it, Ketara," he added. "It's not that I have refused your request. But what I am worried about is if this is the right kind of life for you. As a member of the tribe, you must remain in the mountains of Perion for the rest of your life. You're not allowed to go far, as there might be times when we might require you for battle. Are you sure you want to sacrifice your freedom?"

"Yï¿½"

Ketara stopped. He wanted a home, after spending all his life in a place that he knew wasn't really his, among others who were nothing like him. How often he had gazed at the fairies and their oddly pointy ears, their fluttering wingsï¿½and how often he had glanced at his own self, knowing why he never felt like he belonged. But to exchange home for freedom? This was something he had never considered before.

Now, as he thought about it, all the citizens of Perionï¿½Blackbull, Mr. Thunder, the potion shopkeeperï¿½they had never once been out of the tribe's settlement. And Ayan, she had always spoken of her father, living in Henesys all the way across the island. Ketara had always wondered why she never went there herself. Now he knew.

The boy looked up at Dances with Balrog earnestly. "Let me think, for a year or two," he replied. "I'll travel around. And after my second job, I'll tell you what I choose."

After my second jobï¿½Better get working.

Dances with Balrog listened and nodded. "Go on, then," he said. "I'll be waiting for you. And till thenï¿½" Then he stood. "Anyway, which path do you intend to choose?"

Ketara had already chosen. Only the spear felt right in his hands. Their weight and power instilled in him almost perfect confidence and trust.

"I want to be a Spearman."

As soon as he received Dances with Balrog's nod of approval, he turned and left, not without a smile and a wave of farewell.

Outside, Ketara looked up into the glaring sun, now halfway into the sky. Not yet, he told himself, eyes on the great golden coin in the midst of the chalky blue of the sky. I'll think about it all first.

For the next few hours of the afternoon, Ketara ran down to the street corner on the east side of the town, fighting stumps for experience. There was a doorway leading to a tunnel into the mountain there, and he had often seen people passing through it, but he had never dared to go. He knew that there were Wild Boars on the other side of the mountainï¿½too powerful for him to handle.

As he wiped the streams of sweat from the side of his face, the warrior heard a call. "Hey, you there." Ketara turned. An archer stood behind him, armed with a steel-constructed bow, a smile on his face. He had short red hair, tall and tanned. "Want to go in there?"

Returning the smile, Ketara turned from the bowman to the door behind him. "I'dï¿½rather not," he replied. The bowman's expression changed to puzzlement, then scorn.

"What level are you?" he asked. As the warrior told him his level, he smirked. "At your level, I was killing Wild Boars very well. Lousy warriors, having to go all the way to the monster in order to kill it!"

Somehow, Ketara was offended by that remark. It was simply too enraging for him to bear. "Yeah, alright, I'll go," he replied, accepting the challenge. Something at the back of his mind wondered why he was bothering to risk his life for the sake of proving this bowman wrong.

No, this is important. I'm not lousy. Warriors aren't weak.

"After you," the bowman sneered, raising his bow higher.

Grabbing the door handle and yanking it open, Ketara stepped through and ran down the tunnel as fast as he could. I can do it, he thought fierily.

No, he's playing with you, trying to get on your nerves on purposeï¿½

And let him! Pride, sudden burning pride blinded him as he exited the tunnel. It opened instantly into a bright mountainside, amidst a flaming noon sky. He could already hear barbaric grunts and roars from below the ledge on which he stood. The dread was inevitable.

"Go on," he said, pushing Ketara towards the edge. "Let's see whether you were just pretending."

Swallowing, but forcing fear away for the sake of his pride, the warrior leapt off the ledge.

Oh, Ketara. This wasn't necessary.

In an instant, the roaring of the boars had engulfed him. For moments, he was frozen, frozen in stunned disbelief. But instinct kicked in at that moment, and it drove him to swing his Fork on a Stick. With a thud, it met with the unforgiving bulk of the Wild Boar nearest to him, and Ketara felt his arm jarring with the impact of his weak attack.

A horrible shriek. Ketara only barely gasped out as the Wild Boar leapt upon his body, throwing him to the ground. Only barely he felt the jab of dirty, black cloven hooves as they dug into his chest, the smell of sweat and fur expanding, expanding as breath was squeezed out of his lungsï¿½and he gasped, tears of pain rising into his eyes.

He tightened his gripï¿½and thanked the Goddess that the weapon was still in his hand. Ketara struggled against the weight of the creatures. His strength was slowly vanishing, his resolve thinning as he lifted the weapon. Crap. His arm was still pinned down by one of the animal's feet.

With one final burst of strength, Ketara focused all his energy into his right arm, and felt energy gather in his muscles. Then with a gasp, he thrust the three-pronged weapon into the Wild Boar's belly.

He felt the warmth of blood as it fell onto his body, staining his armour, and the shirt below it. The weight on him fell away, and the warrior stood, breaths coming deeply.
The smell of blood suddenly drove all the other boars into frenzy. They surrounded him, charged forward in one single wave, mad for blood.

Suddenly unafraid, despite the pain in his entire body, he struck out at the closest boar with a Power Strike. Again, his extraordinary hidden power flowed forth, sweeping all his pain and terror away. Briefly he grinned, then turned upon the animals. The first three Wild Boars collapsed and died with a single, burning Slash Blast, their upturned bodies revealing their ruptured bellies, spewing blood into the sandy earth.

Once the drive had begun, it was hard to quell. Like a bulldozer, the warrior ploughed through the boars, tearing limb from body, head from shoulders, innards from belly. Suddenly, he was in wild joyï¿½and joy was his strength. Again, and again, and again, he felt the point of his spear sweep through skin and shred it, throwing blood all over the place.

Gasping, covered with the reek of blood, the sun seemed to pierce right through Ketara's eyes. Around him the bodies of twenty boars languished in the dust. A brilliant shower of green exploded around him.

Level nineteen, at last.

"Not bad," he heard a voice from above. "Not bad at all." Then his tone changed. "But of course, when I was your level, I didn't have to suffer all that pain, all that fear and fake bravery. I simply had to doï¿½" He fell silent, stringing a bow, his arrow aligned with one of the new Wild Boars, feasting upon its herd mate's flesh. With a single shining, blue arrow, its side was pierced, its skin bursting open. "ï¿½this."

With one last smirk, the bowman strutted away, leaving Ketara alone among the dead boars. Ketara, the one who hardly ever resented anything. Now, he felt the resentment fill him up to the brim, like water pouring into a bowl that was about to overflow. No, it's worth it, he thought, anger swelling. It's worth the pain, the shame, the terror. I'll become great, you just wait. I'll prove that being a warrior doesn't make me any worse than any of the others.

The training took a lot longer than Ketara had anticipated. Everyday, he would go out into the east side of Perion, training in the valleys and on mountaintops. Everyday, he returned to his tent below the overhang. He met at least a hundred new people, some friendly, and some not so much.

But all tributaries end in the sea. In two months' time, he was ready. Ketara was now a level 20 warrior, only ten levels away from his second job advancement. And he felt, as he watched the autumn sun rise before him, ready to enter the dark Dungeon.

As he descended the last mountain, tasting a adventure in the air, Ketara searched the area for a safe passage past the Fire Boars. They swarmed Deep Valley, ready to devour any unsuspecting victims.

Ketara made his way carefully around the crags and boulders, avoiding areas where the Fire Boars congregated, until, at last, he found himself facing the uppermost layer of the trees of the Dungeon, already the bright red and gold of autumn.

Despite the joyful faï¿½ade, he knew that the canopy hid some of the darkest secrets of Victoria Island. What is it in there? Why's everyone so afraid of it?

Trying not to question what the island had feared as long as history, Ketara slipped down the last few feet of the rock face.

And those were the last moments he saw the sky. After that, after he was taken into the dark shadow of the Dungeon, there was no more.

The sunlight had been extinguished, and everything was black around him.

zethis: a shadow of things to come

The morning was cool all around him, growing to envelope him in calm, as fields gave way to forest and birdcalls smoothed his frazzled nerves. As he walked, Zethis began to ponder his Dad's advice. The king had increased the security around Henesys, and if anyone caught him entering without authorisation, he would be send straight to prison.

Now, Zethis began to ponder his job choices. He wanted to become a warrior. He always had. They were always the only ones with blood on their weapons. They were strong in body and heart. They went straight in and finished the battle with their strength, never relying on the safety of distance. They were true representations of fortitude.

Perion, he tossed the little thought about in his head. Through the trees, up the mountains. Ohï¿½how long more will that be?

By mid-morning, the young traveller arrived at the edge of the town, where the forests finally ended. There, he froze with awe and unexpected fearï¿½a tall wall had been erected around the little town, dark in the midst of the greenery. Already the black gate loomed ahead of him, at the end of the winding stone-paved road. Stopping in his tracks, he watched as a horse-drawn cart clattered to a stop between two guards, and they began to check it.

The king is ruthless. The guards will try to find reasons to arrest you. They want you captured.

Keeping Dad's warnings close, he proceeded, the lump in his throat growing bigger.

With a shiver, Zethis came to a stop close to the gates, blood pounding louder in his ears. Here was he, in the open, vulnerable. Two stern rows of guards girt the road, their boisterous calls and glinting armour ruining the morning calm.

And before he got another second to observe, those voices came to claim him. "What is your business, boy?" the first guard in line questioned, turning his helmeted head in a way that made him shiver. The man's eyes were invisible behind his visor. "Why are you alone?"

Zethis tried to smile, failing terribly. "Iï¿½I'm justï¿½passing," he stammered, keeping his gaze trained upon his chest armour. The guard didn't respond, but Zethis still dared not to move, to breathe.

"You have no authorisation." The beginner stepped back, glancing away, ready to run all the way back to his Dad and his old home, knowing that all along, he would never have made it far.

There was a shudder of armour, and suddenly Zethis realised that the guard's head was shaking. "But you are simply a boy," he murmured, voice soft. Suddenly, he raised his visor to reveal the youthful face hidden behind it. "You can't be a danger to us. Persecuting you isn'tï¿½right. I'll make an exception for you today. Don't tell anyone how you got inside."

Pulling the visor down again while Zethis trembled, the guard turned to his companions. "He's clear," he yelled, face hidden once more. All at once, tThe truth pierced through the clouds of his mindï¿½and he remained trapped in dumbness for almost a minute. Were they really doing everything only under the king's orders? Inside each suit of armour, was there really another ordinary man, pledged to the tyrant's service?

He would have pursued the thought, had the sound of wooden cartwheels clattering over the cobblestones not made him snap back to reality. "Go on, boy," the guard said, voice kind. "What's your name, by the way?"

"Zethis," he replied bravely.

"Ahï¿½Esharo here, nice to meet you."

Bowing at the guard's smile, the boy raced through the now open pedestrian gate, gasps of thanks still falling form his lips.

The gate soon gave way to the city within, and as Zethis walked it, he felt his apprehension mount. But what he saw inside, he wasn't prepared for. As the walls slipped past him and opened into light, the talk and bustle came to surround him. All too suddenly, he realised that he stood edge of a huge marketplace.

The boy took a moment to hold his breath. Instead of a cold grey city with angular buildings, there were sandy golden roads outlined by bright sprigs of flowers, grass and leaves lush. Beyond that, the marketplace's many roofs were red-tiled, vines climbing around the thin stone pillars, within which hundreds of people stood and traded goods, the commotion grand and loud.

Seeing the coins they held suddenly made him remember that he didn't have any mesos. Great! Now how am I supposed to get lunch? The first day, and I'm already failing!

Coming to rest in front of a tree house, Zethis began to think about earning money. Oh, money. How could I be so dumb? He could sell something of his to get the necessary earnings. The necklace? He decided against that. That necklace was his only clue to his true origins. What about his book? Then it wouldn't have served its purpose. Sighing, he sat upon the roots of the great plant, and began to rack his thoughts for ideas. Shreds of his father's voice slipped through his consciousness, spinning in his earsï¿½

"Hello? Where are your parents? Are you here to become a bowman?"

Giving an undignified yelp, Zethis glanced upwards. Before him stood a woman, wielding her bow with much grace. She had a fair face, with blue eyes and pale blonde hairï¿½same as mine,he vaguely musedï¿½falling over elf ears. Elfï¿½

Far too beautiful, he then noted. Her voice had a strange, musical accent. And on her foreheadï¿½was a circlet that he knew belonged to only one person.

"Y-youï¿½ah-Athenaï¿½Pierceï¿½" his weak voice trailed away in his shock. She smiled with much calm, and nodded.

"Are you lost? Or do you want to become a bowman?" she asked again. "You can come in, either way."

Not daring to disagree, he followed her into the tree through a wood doorï¿½which he suddenly noticedï¿½and up her creaky stairs.

"W-w-where are weï¿½" he gasped.

"Only my home!" she replied, to his vehement disbelief.

Emerging into the main room of Athena's home, Zethis gasped once more, at the ribbons of sunlight streaming through the window bars. The walls were woody and homely, gently curved to the shape of the tree. There were shelves of practically everything insideï¿½herbs, wooden ornaments, dried mushrooms. Nothing like the castle he had always envisioned. Nothing at allï¿½

"Sit, sit!" With another smile, Athena shoved a large beanbag chair out from inside her cupboard. Zethis settled upon it, while the Bow Mistress walked to her worktable, pulling out her chair.

"I'mï¿½I'mï¿½not here to be a bowman," he quickly said. She nodded, propping her head up on her elbows.

"Life can get really boring around here," she commented. "I was ever so glad when you turned up downstairs. First non-bowman-to-be to actually come around this place. You don't really look strong enough to become a bowman yet, anyhow."

Zethis smiled nervously, murmuring an apology. She shook her head and rose, her ever-pleasant smile gracing her lips. "Don't be so shy," she said encouragingly. "I'm not a monster or anything like thatï¿½"

"Umï¿½" Zethis tested how his voice sounded in front of the Bowman Job Master. He couldn't believe it. The fact still hadn't seemed to register in his headï¿½that he was here. He couldn't believe that he was sitting in front of Athena Pierce, in one of her beanbag chairs. He couldn't believe that Athena Pierce had beanbag chairs. "Iï¿½I don't believe this," he managed. "I'mï¿½hereï¿½"

"Everyone thinks I'm such a great person," Athena murmured. "I'm not really that great, or that important; I'm actually on the runï¿½"

She leapt out of her chair. "Oh great Goddess! I forgot!" Zethis leant back in shock. Leaping from her seat in the most undignified manner imaginable, she stumbled down the staircase, the wood screeching under her weight. Somewhere far down, the door slammed shut. She returned moments later, following a chorus of creaking stairs.

"I can't believe I was so careless!" she gasped, sitting down again. "As long as the door is open, the king's servants can see my house. I've got to close the door every timeï¿½in case the king sends another round of policemen to find me. Isn't it silly that I'm the only one in town who's on the run?" Then she looked up at the roof and suddenly added, "Have you been to Kerning before?"

Zethis, taken by surprise, shook his head. "Never been anywhere, other than here," he replied. "Iï¿½just began travelling todayï¿½"

Athena nodded, observing him from top down. "If you'll allow me to say, youï¿½uhï¿½don't look too experienced," she said. "But anyway, I heard that Kerning's really the best place to live for people on the run. It houses a huge number of thieves, but I guess the confusing-ness of the place makes it good for everyone to hide in."

"Really?" Zethis replied, interested. "That must be why the Dark Lord lives there, thenï¿½I've heard that he lives in such a well-hidden place that he doesn't need to worry about the guards finding him."

Athena simply gazed on into the wall opposite. "Glad to know that," she whispered, not really there. Shaking her head suddenly, the Bow Mistresslooked up at Zethis, trying to smile.

"What do you want to become?" she inquired. "Are you even planning on getting a job?"

"I'mï¿½yeah," he replied. "I'm thinking of becoming a warrior." Athena nodded thoughtfully.

"Train around here first," she suggested to him. "Then when you're around level eight, you should go northeast through Kerning to Perion. It's easier that way than through Ellinia. Oh, and if you happen to meet my best friend's daughter Ralinn by any chance, do say hello to her for me. I heard that she lives there nowï¿½"

A knock resounded from the door below. Athena nodded and stood. "Must be another bowman-to-be," she said. "Great to have spoken to you, erï¿½"

"Zethis," he answered, standing as well. I told her my name! "T-thanks, Mistress Athena Pierceï¿½" She simply nodded.

"Oh yes, just to aid you," she added, digging in her huge wardrobe and finally producing a sword. "You will find this useful in the hunting grounds." Athena tossed the weapon to the boy, who managed to catch it as it fell towards the floor. Athena apologised. The sword was short and thin, its blade heavy in his hands. It was nothing like the long, beautiful weapons he had so often seen others carrying. But it was still a weapon; the first he had ever held. And it felt wonderful.

"Oh yes, be careful when travelling," she said, a shadow coming to her eyes. "The guards are everywhere. They'll arrest you if they find you taking a job test."

With a last goodbye from the Bow Mistress, Zethis ran down the noisy stairs and left. He saw a boy around his age come in on the way, but they didn't exchange so much as a glance.

Now, to stay alive, Zethis wondered to himself as he walked around the cheery village. I've gotta make money. But howï¿½

He recalled hearing from his father that some monsters held money. Looking down at the sword he held in his right hand, he realised that that would be the very best way to earn money. And perhaps he would come a little closer to the required level of 10ï¿½

Standing up with the sword high in hand, he found his way back to the main road, where he saw a signboard pointing the way to the Henesys Hunting Ground.

Fifteen minutes later, Zethis was on the western boundary of Henesys, where a hill stood in the middle of a sprawling field, the grounds crowded with dozens of people of higher levels. Suddenly feeling self-conscious, he looked down at the diminutive weapon in his weak arms.

At that moment, a snail with a gleaming blue shell crept by. Ah! A snailï¿½shouldn't be too hardï¿½

Raising the sword up in the way he had imagined it to be used, he brought the side of the blade down on the tall shell. It gave a squeal of pain, its shell slightly cracked in one spotï¿½but nothing more. Surprised, he directed more energy into his next swing, determined only to kill his very first monster.

Again, it squealed. Its shell cracked further, but now, it had turned to face him, its bright, wide eyes angry.

No, no! Stay away! The sword went down onto its shell again, making it call out with fury. As it came towards him, he tried to send the blade point-first into its vulnerable flesh, but it only managed to bounce off the front of its shell.

A moment before the huge blue snail touched him, he used the sword to shield off its oncoming attack, holding it back with all his strength. Thinking of the only thing he could do in this situation, he stepped aside and lifted the sword, allowing it a stunned second of confusion, before delivering one last, full-weight blow with the edge of the sword's blade. One last call of terror saw it melting away into the ground.

But not a glint of gold fell out of the snail as it vanished. Frowning, Zethis sighed. He had heard that these blue snails were some of the weakest monsters in the world, and yet, he had taken such a long time to defeat it. And for no reward too.

As he watched the snails creep by before his eyes, he leaned back on the bale of hay he had found, exhausted all of a sudden. His sword was held loosely in his right hand, and he dug it deep into the hay.

I don't think I can do this, he admitted to himself. I'm already stuck, here. How will I ever make it all the way to Perion? Somehow, he felt like simply giving upï¿½like going back to his old father, the one who had brought him up for ten years, and living with him for the rest of his life as the farmer he had always thought he would become.

But again he recalled everything. He remembered passing the guards of Henesys, remembered meeting Athena Pierce in person. She had told him how to get to Perion. And now, he had a weapon. He had entered the Hunting Ground, despite his fears. He had killed his first monster.

Here he was, surrounded by snails. The rest were higher up the hill, killing huge Orange Mushrooms and even greater monstersï¿½oh, those godly pigs!

When would he get there? When will I be strong enough to lift a weapon that can kill them?

In that moment, a green snail tried to slip past him unnoticed, but instead of recoiling, he steeled himself. No, he would start now. It was far, but this was a step in the right direction.

Springing up, he raised his amateur's sword once more. With full momentum, he struckï¿½and two smashes with the sharp edge managed to destroy it. Zethis' heart leapt as three coins fell out of its broken shell. Eagerly, he snatched them up, relishing the texture of his very first earnings in his fingers.

Stuffing those into one of the pockets of his haversack, he looked about for more monsters to kill, suddenly sure of himselfï¿½for the road seemed so much shorter now.

As the sun broke through the very last layers of clouds to touch the horizon, Zethis finally decided to round up his day. With one last thud, he sliced the blue snail's head off. The rest of it left untouched, the creature's white body sank into the ground, leaving its shell whole and perfect for collection. A flash of green lit his vision for the second time that day, and with that brightness came sudden invigoration.

At last, he was level three, and five hundred mesos richer. His verdict for the day: Not too bad.

Trudging up the pathway, Zethis followed a few higher levelled people into the dusky town. He wondered where he could find an inn or hotel to stay, but clueless as he was, he didn't dare to approach any of the people around him, too much afraid that they might mock him for his weakness, or for something else. Some had already noticed him at the hunting ground for his clothingï¿½white shirt, blue shorts, brown sandals. He had to be thankful already that no one had come to bully him.

"Hey there." Upon hearing the call, Zethis turned, heart racing, and was shocked to see the White Knight who had been kill-stealing from him for a few minutes earlier on. "Sorry about just now."

He shook his head, too alarmed to be bothered by that incident. How many more unexpected meetings must I endure? Oh, I wish I were back at homeï¿½

Heedless, the knight came strolling up to him, his huge mace swinging lazily in his left hand. By reflex, the shy boy backed away. "You fight well," he commented. "When did you start training? Last week?"

Zethis stepped a little further away. "Umï¿½umï¿½t-today?" he replied.

"You started training today?" the tall warrior gasped. "You're a rare talent then. Didn't you notice that you're stronger than most others?" The boy shook his head nervously. "Level ones usually take around three hits to kill a normal snail, and you could with one!"

"The snailï¿½wellï¿½just died when I hit it," he stammered. "Nothing much to it, they'reï¿½weak, aren't they?"

"You don't understand, do you?" the knight tried to explain. "You're three times as strong as an ordinary beginner!" Zethis looked down at his sandals, blushing at his compliment. There was uneasy silence for a while.

"Umï¿½sir? Do you knowï¿½where I might stay for the night?" His voice was still weak, but at least he had found the courage to present his request. The knight smiled at him in the dying sunlight and nodded.

"It costs three hundred to rent a room for a day for a beginner," he said kindly. "I'll show you the way if you want, it's pretty near my home." The White Knight's sincere smile finally won Zethis over. Nodding and hoping that it wasn't some kind of trick, he began to follow the kind youth into the twilight

The two went through at least a hundred different streets, all full of people going home. They passed a long queue on the main road, some lazing in horse-drawn carts, some on foot, heavy sacks over their backs. They filled the entire street, all too tired even to look up and see who had just brushed past.

"They're all waiting for their turn to leave the Henesys gates," the knight explained while Zethis watched. "Sometimes, the last person only manages to leave after midnight."

The boy soon came to realise that this was what his Dad had gone through every day of his life. He had stood in line each day, waited till near midnight to go home, to the child who wasn't even his own sonï¿½

Slowly, they left the line of tired people behind, and they shrank between the houses, Zethis looking on forlornly behind, as if he could feel their sorrow.

"Here we are!" In the darkening skylight, Zethis saw a long building before the two. It was barely taller than his old home, the walls entirely wooden. But the light in the many windows along its length and the sound of merry talk, audible from outside, betrayed its warmth.

"Well?" the White Knight murmured with satisfaction, folding his arms. Zethis bowed in thanks. "Have a nice day, umï¿½may I know your name, if you don't mind?"

"I'm Zethis," he replied after much hesitation. Three unfamiliar people in a day.

Amused at his lack of confidence, the knight turned to look at the sky. "Should be getting back," he commented. "Nice meeting you, Zethis. My name is Hyrien, by the wayï¿½level seventy-four White Knight."

White Knight. Waving one last time with a small smile, Zethis walked over the uneven, stony pathway, towards the door that he could hardly see. The Hill House. The signboard swung over the doorway. Shivering suddenly in the wind, the boy turnedï¿½but by then, Hyrien had long vanished down the street.

Well, I have to learn to do this.

An hour later, Zethis had rented himself a room, and he hurried to the common dining room for dinner. After eating the best meal he had ever had in his life, he felt his exhaustion return. It wasn't bad tiredness, though; it was the kind that told him that he had done a lot that day, that made him feel satisfied with himself. It was the kind of tiredness that he felt after a day helping his fatherï¿½foster fatherï¿½to chop firewood. A sigh dragged itself through his lips, and he blinked sleepily.

As he lay down to sleep, the boy took in the warmth of the blankets with gratefulness, and at the same time speculated about his future. How long would it be till he became a warrior? How long till he finally got to his second job?

Ah yes, my job choice.

He already knew. He wanted to become a White Knight, just like Hyrien. He wanted to become as strong, as sincere as him. He wanted to take that path.

That was his last thought, before his eyes closed for the night.

shirion: into the world

Why, why?

It was always the same question, the same question everyday. The level 36 Fighter had asked himself that question, right from the start. Work, work, work. He had known nothing else, for as long as his memory allowed. Everyday it was the sameï¿½rough, heavy sacks tied to his back, repeated trips from harbour to ship and back again as his skin was rubbed raw, the skin of his back and of his feet.

He hated it, the way he had no choice but to stand and take orders, while the guards owned ultimate power over him and his fellow slaves.

He was thirteen still; why was it that they were so cruel to someone so young? They all said that they were under orders by some "king". What kind of a king was this?

Again, the male youth gazed up into the singing canopies, their voices like that of rustling rivers. Winter was close, he could tell from the colour of all the leaves of Ellinia. And winter meant nothing anymore. Not serenity, not beauty. Only torture, struggle, work.

Shirion turned to observe his mates as they laboured away, dragging huge crates up the ramp onto the ship that was docked at the jetty. Their sorrow wove itself onto his browï¿½but then he saw someone, and felt a smile slip across his features. On board the ship, at the highest point of the mast, balanced his good friend along the narrow beamsï¿½a girl who had spent all her life tying the sails and ropes in the Station. She, too, hated this life. She, too, longed so deeply for escape. Her name was Akera.

A year younger than him, Akera had always been that bit closer than everyone else in the Station. She never spoke much, and only words of anger ever left her lips. She had a sharp tongue, and behind her icy blue eyes, there was this ever-burning hatred, masked by her pale face and snow-white hair. She was the most distant, yet somehow the dearest. It was the countless things they shared, no doubt.

The two of them were the only ones with jobs among the slaves. Akera was a Fire Poison Wizard. She had been ever since Shirion had met herï¿½a child prodigy.

The sight of her made Shirion recall the old days, locked so deep in the past. He recalled his flight into the world, five years ago. He remembered those years, those three years of running awayï¿½during which he had trained himself to the high thirties, and received his second job.

But his freedom, as always, was not to last. The king's police force eventually caught up, and at eleven years old, he was returned straight back into the cruelty of his old life. His short stint of freedom had ended, but it only made him thirst for more. It was as if a gate had been openedï¿½and the endless longing could no longer be quelled. He wanted to flee again, to drink even deeper from the river.

To the rest of the world, Shirion appeared severe and unmoved. All he ever showed to them was a stern face, an expressionless gaze of brown. But insideï¿½deep inside, he was a dreamer. He wanted to see the world. He wanted to be all that he could be. He didn't want his life to be stifled by another, a human being greater than himselfï¿½no, he would never let himself end this way.

Somehow, he knew that the breaking point had finally been reached. With a deep sigh, he tossed the sack down and leaned against it. With some old regret, the Fighter glanced about at his friends, his companions in hardship. He watched Akera, a rueful smile curving his lips slightly. It would be a long time. He wished he didn't have to leave so much behind.

It was time for him to try again. Time for him to cut himself free from the vines of the forest station. This time, he wouldn't find himself in their nets again, wouldn't fall into their traps. I swear it. The night sky and the rivers could wait no longer. He would run today.

Today.

The evening passed in a feverish blur. Nightfall came quickly. Shirion lay awake by the jetty, kept lucid by the perpetual hunger in his belly and the promise in the wind. Sitting up, he glanced about at the others, all asleep from total exhaustion.

Today, yes. I can feel itï¿½

Standing quickly, he glanced about for any sign of the patrolling guard. Nothing moved within his vision, and so, readying himself though his heart throbbed, Shirion stepped over the sleeping bodies, and raced lightly towards the weapon store in the shipyard.

The quietude of the night was ironically nerve-wracking. The Fighter's hands were shaking as he struggled to lift an axe off the rack as silently as possible, when he heard footsteps from behind. A sudden burst of adrenaline swept him up, his heart rate doubling as the winds were doused in ice. Who is it?

Cradling his axe in his arms, Shirion whipped around and stepped forward. In the darkness, he felt his foot meet with a metal barï¿½and he froze, terrified, as it rang loudly.

"Who's that?" a shout suddenly echoed, low but feminine. And thankfully familiar.

As the person's silhouette appeared at the door, framed against the sky, Shirion let out a breath of relief. "You?" she went on. Akera. Her ghostly pale hair shimmered down her shoulders like a moonlit river.

"I'mï¿½" Should he trust her?

Akera was before him in an instant. She seemed to know where all the metal objects were, and avoided them with ease. "Are you trying to escape now? If you get caught, it's none of my fault!" Her voice was a harsh whisper.

"Iï¿½yeah," he finally conceded. "I can't stand it here anymore. I have to get awayï¿½"

"With all that noise, you're not getting anywhere!" Akera snapped back. "You're completely useless as escape. And here I thought that you were the law-abiding kind." She glanced briefly backwards, into the leaf-girt window into the night. "Well, if we're going to escape, we'd better hurry!"

Shirion blinked. "We?" he questioned incredulously.

"What, don't want to give me a chance?"

Far too glad for company, Shirion allowed Akera to lead him out of the shipyardï¿½almost failing to rein in his excitement. As their faces met with the seaside wind, his breaths quickened, and all at once he felt a new adventure bearing upon his life, ready to begin.

"I've worked out a safe way past the guards," the Fire Poison wizard beside him whispered. Shirion swallowed. Normally, Akera's ideas worked without a glitchï¿½if their unconventionality didn't first do him in.

And he was right to believe that it would be unconventional. Almost as soon as they arrived back at the main station, the female magician turned suddenly off the road, and proceeded to the edge of the branches. With a light leap, she was on the outer parapet of the Station. A very bewildered Shirion held his breath as he followed, fearing what might come next. Wind buffeted his face and whirled through his long hair. Breathing deep with sudden exhilaration and nerve, he unbound his ponytail and allowed his hair to be tossed by the gales.

"Hey, no time to enjoy!" Akera whispered. Nodding quickly, Shirion continued to follow. The two crept slowly along the narrow wooden parapet along the exterior of the Ellinia Station, bowing beneath the windows, Shirion too stiff with fear and excitement to utter a word. All around him, the world rocked up and downï¿½but he knew that it was only the branch that held the Station up waving in the wind. Yet before him, Akera's footing was sure and swift, from years upon the mastsï¿½and with great caution, struggling to balance out the weight of his axe, he followed with a sense of inferior submission.

At this point, the Mage came to a stop. The other end of the parapet was so close now, and beyond it, the Station gate was visible. The dark figures of the armoured guards were still at their posts. With great urgency, Akera gestured at him not to make a sound. He stiffened up even more, afraid that the sentinels might hear his heart beating.

Akera didn't seem half as scared as him. She confidently pointed at a thick branch that passed under the Ellinia Station nearby, leading on into the darkness. This was the main branch. The ancient branch that carried the weight of the entire building.

Shirion backed away a little, suddenly realising what she meant. The branch was their straight path out of the Stationï¿½if he didn't first die falling from it. But ever-steely, the female Wizard shook her head with a silent berating smile, and placed her left foot on itï¿½then her right. All of a sudden, she was balancing upon the branch, without any handhold in close sight. The branch shivered ever so slightly, and after that, she proceeded forth. The Fighter swallowed.

Within moments, she had made it a few feet along the branch. Her silver hair shone under the magic torches. "Well?" she mouthed out to him. Shirion glanced up at her. Gulping, he stepped onto the branch, as she had, slowly shifting his weight onto it. It began to shake, suddenlyï¿½and he nearly yelled out in fear. What had seemed like tiny bobs from the parapets now almost shook him off.

Slowly, they inched their way along the branch in the middle of the darkness. "A little way more," Akera whispered, over and over. "A little way more." He smiled up at her, barely keeping his balance. She snatched his hand to steady him. Beneath them, the great woody limb was strong, trustworthy, almost warm. Soon, all fear vanishedï¿½and he began to relish the taste of freedom.

The warrior glanced back into the dark Station. Free. That notion struck him like a sudden wind. At lastï¿½

Akera didn't turn back once. But she did, finally, as they arrived at the crossroads on the branchesï¿½only to say goodbye. He knew that they would have to part ways here. She won't go where I want. She will have her own dreams.

Blinking at the Wizard before him, within the embrace of the winds, he thanked her.

For the first time in all his life, Shirion saw Akera smile.

"Well," she whispered. "It's all up to you now." Shirion nodded and turned to the branches. Where do I go?

He knew immediately. Towards the goal of his life. He would simply travel, travel and defy the law. Towards what destination, he didn't knowï¿½as long as he remained a free person.

"Goodbye," he replied, waving, half hoping that Akera would say that she wanted to follow him. But she didn't, only continued to smile, and slowly, he stepped away onto the next pathway.

Goodbyeï¿½for who knows how long?

zethis: one step closer

Finally. As the Beginner looked up at the cliffs, he knew that he had made it. Perion, the warriors' land, home of Chief Dances with Balrog.

He was a step closer to his dream.

He was already level nine, and his next level-up was impending; he could feel it coming soon, in the air. Zethis had come a long way since his lowly beginnings in Henesys. He had travelled through Kerning City, under Athena Pierce's advice. An amazing place, it was: the splendid electric lights, the people walking the streets without any fear of the lawï¿½for there wasn't any. Not to mention, the lodging there was excellent.

Three months, the journey had taken him. Three months, through the course of autumn. Finally, winter was here, bedecking the Perion mountainsides with whiteness as it descended from the cloaks of the sky.

The young boy still wore his old attireï¿½white shirt and old shorts, along with his considerably more tattered sandals. But now, there was a red cap upon his headï¿½he had bought that in Kerning. A sweater also served to keep him warm in the increasingly frigid weather, and in his hands was a double-bladed axe, which he had bought from the Kerning City weapon shop.

Zethis ascended the mountain pathways, knowing that his advancement awaited just a few mountains beyond. The anticipation gave him amazing strength, strength he had never known before.

By sunset, he had already traversed the first two of many mountains, along an abandoned road that the king had long stopped guarding. The sun now sinking beneath the edge of Perion, the warrior-to-be found himself a small hollow in the rock face to rest in.

All the mountains looked the same to him; even the monsters resembled each otherï¿½stumps of varying sizes and bark colour, seeming to have taken on a life of their own, their dark bark standing out like tiny dots against the thick snow in the distance. In the barren winter wilderness, he suddenly realised in his hunger that he was clueless as to where to obtain his dinner.

The boy tried to ignore the cold as he curled up in the uncomfortable hollowï¿½but as the dark hours passed, hunger gnawed at him more insistently, and finally he could take it no longer. Standing, he let the blood return to his numbing legs, and he began to walk about.

Goddess curse my stupidity! He thought. Where will I find any food out here, in the night?

That question answered itself. Before his next footfall, there was a loud grunt from the next bend of the road. Glancing about, his heart started to pound warmly in his ears.

What is it?

A yellow brilliance had suddenly appeared, glinting off the ice of the mountainside. Zethis backed awayï¿½and leapt back as a streak of blazing fire rushed round the bend. Tusks gleamed upon its frothy snoutï¿½it was a fearsome boar, its shape cast into relief by the mane of fire crackling upon its back. Perhaps it had smelt himï¿½a weak, helpless human child out in the openï¿½but whatever it was, he knew that it was after food, just as he was.

Food. Oh, Goddess. No.

Like the wind, Zethis fled down the slope of the mountain, not caring when his feet slid, not caring when he almost tripped over rocks and ledges. This creature, he knew, was something he could never face on his own.

Or can I? The fire. If the fire diesï¿½it dies.

Clutching the handle of his fruit knife hard, Zethis whipped around to face his pursuer. He saw the blinding flame on its back, growing menacingly brighter, its flaming red eyes, and the two sharp tusks gleaming on either side of its mouth.

Willing himself to stand his ground, Zethis waited for its attack. The creature suddenly leapt towards him in a bone-crushing body slam. Stand. Stand. Hands working faster than his mind, he gave a cry and thrust out the blade as it flew at him.

The creature impaled itself upon his knife, but the impact of the blow wrenched the weapon from his hand. It lay there, on the ground, wheezing heavily in a pool of blackness, its flame flickering violently.

The fire. The fire. Put out the fire.

Zethis threw himself down upon its body. His legs crunched in the snow, but his body fell upon the guttering fire, smothering it. The smell of melting rayon mingled with smoke, and the boy knew that his sweater had seen its last day. But there he lay, panting, the heat dying down under his stomach, sweat gleaming in rivers on his skin. In that dizzying moment, green flashed before his eyesï¿½

Level ten. Yes.

Zethis finally got up, five minutes later, limbs still shivering. He tugged the fruit knife out of the animal's stomach, turning away as more blood leaked out. Then, he sat at the food of the mountain, cutting chunks of meat off its back, where its own flames had barbecued its flesh. Ravenous, he ate. He was still breathing hard with terror, his arms and legs too weak to move, but at the least, he was grateful for his life.

What made me do that? He wondered to himself.

Zethis slept well that night, thanks to utter exhaustion. He had managed to find another cave in the next mountain, safe from the snow.

The next morning saw some of the lowest snows being melted. That made his journey uphill even harder, but in the end, he managed to scramble all the way up to his destination, only barely.

Finally. As he finally crested the mountain, the entire village of tents rose into sight, spread out over the entire mountaintop. Alreadyï¿½here? Zethis pinched himself to make sure it was real.

Climbing upwards for his life's worth, Zethis watched as that building at the top, the Warrior's Sanctuary, grew larger in his vision.

Dances with Balrog answered his knocks quickly. The Job Master was shocked when he saw the beginner, to say the least.

"My goodness, where have you been? You're a complete mess," he gasped with an unbefitting grin. Zethis drew his eyes away from his headdress, and looked down at his outfit. He was a complete mess. His clothes were ripped all over; his sandals hanging from two straps each. He felt himself blush.

"I'mï¿½I'm sorry, I should haveï¿½presented myself betterï¿½"

"Ah, no problems, lad," the chief answered cheerily. "The mark of a true warrior. You're here to become one, aren't you?" Zethis nodded very slowly, eyes still cast down at his clothes. "Look up, then. Don't be shy."

Sadly, the boy was shy. After some gentle mental coaxing, he did soï¿½and to his terror, Dances with Balrog took hold of his face. "You have the makings of a warrior," he said, voice suddenly solemn. Zethis felt his soul freeze with his unnervingly steady tone. "With the strength I give to you, I believe that you will become a great person. Do not ever use it to turn to darkness." Then he took in a deep breath. "I hereby name youï¿½a Warrior."

Zethis saw a flash of white light around him, and for a few seconds, he suddenly found himself flying over a vast field of stars. He heard a male voice calling out, "Come with meï¿½" Then a female one saying, "Do you wishï¿½" Their voices echoed around him, though he was in the middle of the sky. There was a sudden shower of shooting stars, a distant call for help, an endless meadow of snow.

Suddenly, it vanished. Zethis was before Dances with Balrog again, in the same building, on the same floor. He suddenly felt dizzy.

"Well, I won't ask you what you saw," the chief said. "But it must have been quite a lot. Normally, my magic makes the receiver see flashes of the future." There was a pause.

Then he added, "You're different. I could feel all that energy in you. I've only felt the same energy three other timesï¿½the last time was when I christened that boyï¿½What was his name, he just visited two months agoï¿½Ketara, yes. You're the first to show such power, after him. And then there's Shirion, and Thaemis, ahï¿½"

While the chief revelled blissfully in his memories, Zethis suddenly realised that he was a warrior now. A true warrior. The fact was almost too overwhelming.

"Alright," Dances with Balrog finally said, presenting the skill book to the boy, who took it with much eagerness. "Have fun with your new skills, and remember never, never to turn to darkness. I know that a great future awaits you, ï¿½your name?"

"Zethis," he answered, now used to giving his name to people he almost didn't know at all.

"Yes, ahï¿½Zethis. I'd better remember that name. Congratulations! Would you like a drink in celebration?"

After some polite, conservative refusal, Zethis exited the stuffy Warrior's Sanctuary. Outside, the snows seemed whiter, the skies brighter. Everything felt new. Everything seemed like a gift.

A warrior! I wonder what Dad would say if he knewï¿½

This time, though, Zethis chose not to pursue that thought. He had to move forward now; there was no time to relive old memories.

ketara: shadowy winter

It was winter. Ketara could tell, even in the midst of the darkness, from the gusts of cold wind that were flying through the treetops, rustling the leaves. He could tell, despite the fact that the leaves of the Dungeon had not fallen. He could tell, because the air was growing steadily colder, so cold that it made his fingers numb.

Ketara had already been living in the Dungeon for at least two months. It was dark there, so dark that he followed his paths by sound alone. He had been afraid from the first moment he had entered.

Right from the beginning, he had not been able to see. His first day in the Dungeon had been a total, blind terror. Everywhere he went, he could only hear, hear the footsteps of the creatures in the dark. He could not fight, could not even aim his attacks. And so he had hurried on through the darkness, searching fruitlessly for the tiny shrine that was said to be at the heart of this impossible labyrinth.

Ketara had already gotten used to living in the dark. Everyday, he would wait for an animal to pass him by, and in the blackness, he would somehow grab hold of it and kill it with his Fork on a Stick. Then, because he didn't have a choice, he would eat it raw, cutting off its head and gutting it first. Blood tasted horrible, but he had to do it to survive. Water was easily available in the streams of the Dungeon.

Two months on, the warrior had resumed training. The longer he stayed in the Dungeon, the more accustomed he grew to finding his way in the dark. His sense of hearing had grown so acute that he didn't have to see a monster to know that it was there. He had even gained some sort of augmented night vision from extensiveï¿½exposure to darkness. He was now level 22, two levels higher than when he had first entered the Dungeon.

The warrior glanced about, searching the area around him for any sign, any trace at all, of a monster. He was freezing, to say the least; the depths of midwinter were arriving. But he didn't have anything to wear for the weather.

Silently, the warrior trudged through the tangled roots, his innate optimism keeping his footsteps swift and his spirits light. A short way away, Ketara saw, distinctly, the gaping mouth of the cave. He could hear every sort of nightmarish sound echoing from within, making him shiver with more than just the cold.

Then, in his silent musing, he heard a rustle. Glancing upwards, he felt the sudden shower of leaves, and he gave a gasp of surprise as they fell upon his face.

Probably a monster, he convinced himself, walking on in search of training grounds.

But this thing was intent on chasing Ketara. He tried to move to other areas, but the rustling and falling leaves kept following.

"Who's that?" he finally called up into the treetops. In that instant, there was a flash of black above, and instantly, he felt a sharp tug at his belt. The warrior spun around, but saw no one.

Is thisï¿½some sort of prank? Wow, native Dungeon pranksters?

"Hey, if you want to chat or something, I wouldn't mind," he called out again.

Suddenly, Ketara heard laughter. Turning again, considerably more frightened now, he found that he couldn't see anyone, but heard footsteps. Light footsteps that barely crackled in the leaves.

"You're definitely not used to living in the Dungeon," a mocking female voice said. She was joined by a male.

"Yeah, look at how blind he is," he muttered. "You didn't realise that my sister took all your money, did you?"

Ketara gasped out, not knowing how to respond. Finally, after two months or so, he had found humans. Company! But they had chosen to introduce themselves by stealing his money.

"Thank the Goddess there are people around here!" he cried in reply, grinning. "I was starting to think that I was all alone out hereï¿½ So why are you here?"

The girl came forward, and finally, Ketara could see her. She had dark hair and clothes, her facial features vaguely beautiful in the shadowsï¿½though he could hardly make them out. She was about his height, a little taller, and he assumed that she was about his age.

"Why? We've lived here all our lives," she replied. "We get our clothes from people we kill."

"And we should be killing you too," her brother added in a growl. His staff suddenly began to shine red, but the girl stopped him with a hand gesture.

"No, no, don't kill him," she said, slightly angry. "He's the most interesting, and good-looking, person who's ever come round here beforeï¿½" She quickly returned her attention to him. "Why don't we show you the way out?"

Her brother, silent for a while already, stepped forward as well. Twins, Ketara mused.

"I see what you mean by 'good-looking'," he commented. The warrior glanced away from them, blushing with a smile despite the situation. "Alright, we'll show you the way out. Which side, north or south?"

He pondered their question for moments. North, to Perion, or south, to Henesys?

With much deliberation, he made his choice. "You can take me somewhere far away if you want, but I'm not going to leave the Dungeon!" Ketara finally exclaimed.

Both seemed slightly taken aback. Still dumbstruck, the girl nodded. "Fine," she groaned. "Silly kid, wanting to stay. We'll take you to Sleepywood."

"Sleepywood? The shrine?" Ketara asked with deepening hopefulness, silently giving a cheer.

"Where else?" the dark-haired boy asked, eyes flashing with incredulity. Wordless, they lead him through the trees, walking as if they knew all the roads and pathways of the forest by heart. The deep forest, named the "Dungeon"ï¿½it was certainly an appropriate name.

An hour of swift walking soon took him to the town's edge, and Ketara found himself being amazed at how silently the twins proceeded. Dim orange torchlight soon showed through the spaces between the tree branches. Squinting ahead, he saw the clear outline of hut roofs. The holy shrine had few inhabitants.

"Thank you so much!" Ketara exclaimed to the two Dungeon residents, a smile filling his face. "I promise, promise, promise to leave you alone from today onwards!"

The girl shook her head at his words. "You're too friendly with strangers for your own good," she sighed. "But don't worry, we mean you no harm at all."

"No harm?" the boy replied.

"Oh, just shut up for once, Rino!"

Ignoring the fact that she had just disclosed her brother's name, the girl left, almost immediately followed by himï¿½of course, he first shot him a dark glare.

Regardless, Ketara continued to muse over the encounter with some fascination. That was pretty cool! Have they been living here all their lives? How'd they end up here in the first place? Why don't they live in Sleepywood?

Ah, Sleepywood. Gazing out into the torchlit little shrine, he proceeded towards the stone arch and allowed the beloved warmth and magical quiet to settle upon his soul.

ralinn: clues

In the Orbis inn, far over the sky, Ralinn dreamt. She could hear nine different melodies around her, all singing different words, all in harmony.

Nine different voices, nine different temperaments, all surrounding her in a circle.

Light suddenly flared all around her, washing the voices away. Then there was a powerful, singular voice before her, indescribable, neither male nor female, simply there.

"Nine others await your arrival. Form a guild. Find them, and take them in. In the end, three stars will banish the darkness, and a soul of fire will end its reign forever."

Without thinking, Ralinn knew that that was a command from a greater being. Why me? She wanted to ask. But the light had vanished, and she was alone in her dreams again.

shirion: new year

Shirion gazed up at the sky from his resting place on the rocks. Here on one of Perion's eastern mountainsides, he could see the sunset, as it slowly turned the snow a radiant orange, glinting under the slanted sunlight that pierced, perfectly, through the snowflakes on the ground. The ice was thawing already.

Three months on the run already. Three months, and he was now level 39. Everyday, the sunshine, the beauty of the world that he had been denied for years before, greeted him in joy, making him ever gladder that he was free.

New Year is coming soon. The coming of a new year would be marked by fireworks displays from Kerning City in the west. The city of rebellion, which had been a stronghold for so many yearsï¿½it was a beacon to the rebels of the world, calling them to arms, crying the commands: "Stay free, forever."

Through night, the Crusader walked the marketplace of Perion, buying his dinner and conversing with the few citizens of the place who still dared to walk about during the policemen's patrolling hours. "It's New Year tomorrow!" one excited shopkeeper exclaimed to another as he stood before them. "Winter is ending soon!"

Shirion was surprised. Was it already New Year's Eve? Time passed so fast. Had it already been three months since his escape? Had it already been a year since the last New Year? Had it already been fourteen years since he had come into the world?

In the silent whispers of the mountain night, Shirion stayed at the peak of the mountain, away from the rest of the citizens who congregated down below. His gaze was cast upon the western sky, and his heart was ready.

For a few minutes, the sky was bright with sparks, bangs and whizzes, as rainbows of fire bloomed through the night sky, shining like a starfall as they fell towards the land. It was beautiful, and a sign of hope to all.

zethis: new year

Zethis stood with the great crowd as the fireworks bloomed to life in the sky over Kerning. I'm almost eleven now! was, somehow, his first and clearest thought. For the very first time since he had left his old home, half a year ago, he felt a vast and burning sense of true joy. His journey was just starting, and he couldn't wait, for everything that the new year held for him.

ketara: new year

Ketara stood at the edge of Sleepywood's north border. From there, he saw the fireworks rise in brilliant waves, and instantly, he knew that winter was going to end soon. Against the black sky, they shone like fire, marking the end of one year and the start of the next.

So much had passed, and so much still awaited. Would he even live through to the next year, to the next sunrise? Were there battles waiting to be fought, lands waiting to be conquered, tragedies waiting to be sung?

Answers, answers, as hard to capture as the fleeting seconds. Were these his answers to know? Only time held this authority. Only time would tell.

All over the world, the Year of the Dog had begun.

Chapter 2: Year of the Dog

ralinn: nine songs

At the edge of Orbis, there was a Ranger. Her gaze was cast down through the clouds, at the snowy ground that was just as white as the city around her. The clouds shone in her eyes like tears.

Just beyond her feet, a ledge fell half a mile to the ground, unfolding into a snowy world she sometimes wondered about. Would she ever visit El Nath? The crystal land below was wondrous and deadlyï¿½and occasionally, she longed in her dreams to see more.

But for the sake of a duty she had to perform, she was currently in Orbis. Again, she took a moment to appreciate her surroundingsï¿½century-old buildings of white stone and sky vines towered around her, great gates and monuments suspended in the air by magical, humming crystals of Lithium. Rimming the city, great billows of clouds bloomed through a cerulean ocean, like high pillars and arches ornamenting the aerial outskirts.

With a last sigh at the scenic view around her, Ralinn raced down the stairs, off the city balcony and into the marketplace. She glanced about at road junctions for signposts, turning her gaze from the passers-by as she hurried down the pale stone streets.

She was here to form a guild, for the oddest reason in existence. A voice from her dreams had told her to do so, and she dared not to disobey.

"When you find your members, you will know," the voice had told her clearly. "I will lead you to them, as best I can. And do not stop until they are found. Your search may last years on endï¿½but don't give up."

With an abrupt stop, Ralinn broke out of those thoughts. She had already arrived at the Guild Headquarters. The building, tapering at the top and gently curved, was enfolded within glowing wings the colour of dewy grass, their brightness pulsing warmly as they rose and fell over the HQ.

Nervous and worried, the Ranger knocked on the door. Her calls were soon answered by a tall, tanned man, white hair spread over his scalp, a scar on his left eye.

"Yes, I am Hercule of the Guild Headquarters," he replied, unsmiling. "Are you here to form a guild?"

Ralinn nodded, stiff with nerves. Without a moment, Hercule invited the girl into the main hall of the Guild Headquarters, and without another word she followed him inside. The grandeur and symmetry of the building's interior instantly engulfed herï¿½the divine lighting that illuminated every corner of the main hall, the rich red carpet on the ground, the two staircases curved around a polished, sunlit parquet floor.

"Stop staring, and come up here," the middle-aged man was already at the top of the staircs, a huge tome in his hands, its pages well-fingered and yellowing.

As Ralinn ascended the closer left staircase, Hercule opened the book along a fraying ribbon bookmark. He handed her a quill pen the instant she arrived before him.

"One million five hundred thousand mesos," he said, raising his gaze to eye her. Then, something like disapproval entered his gaze. "And six members...where are they? You know the rules, don't you?"

Ralinn had been fearing this. One of the rules for forming a guild was that she would have to come with five others. But if that voice really wants me to form a guild now, it would have eliminated these problems...

She had been relying on the assumption that this strange voice in her head had planned everything out for her. But it turned out that it had done nothing at all! Was that "message" even real? She suddenly wondered. Had it just been a wild waking dream?

"Um, I...I..." she faltered, unable to save herself. "I heard a voice in my dreams telling me to...uh..."

Hercule sighed and sat down. "We don't listen to 'voices'," he replied heavily. "Apologies, I was hoping to make a new guild today..."

Ralinn was about to turn and leave. But that was when she suddenly noticed that the sunlight streaming from the window above was...brightening. She blinked and gasped.

And a moment later, the soft rays of light swelled into a torrent upon Hercule's terrified figure, the pure tone of continuously-ringing bells flooding her ears. The room seemed to be blown apart as it gushed from the window, and nearby, Ralinn could hear Hercule's terrified gasping though she could not see him.

Then just as suddenly, the light dimmed to its original brightness. Hercule was leaning against his table, arms shaking.

"...Ralinn," he suddenly said, straightening. "Today, I am forced to make an exception. You have been chosen by powers greater than humankind, and even the law cannot dispute such a thing. Please write your name here." He held out the book to the relieved Hunter, opening it to a page where the long list of people's names ended. The quill shivered in her hand as she wrote her name at the end.

And in those seconds, her name joined those of the great guild masters who had come beforeï¿½Sunburst, ...ï¿½and the yet-unwritten names of guild masters to come.

Ralinn looked up at the ceiling as she came to the space for "Guild name (no spaces)" and thought, the brilliance of the blue sky in the window above suddenly gracing her with unexplainable calm. She thought of the only clues that the voice given her, and wondered at their meaning.

"In the end, three stars will banish the darkness..."

She pondered about all the constellations, silently, and one surfaced in her mind ï¿½the Belt of Orion. The three stars, always in line, as they traversed their eternal pilgrimage.

"OrionsBelt", she wrote on the list. That was its registered name, but its true name would be Orion's Belt.

Hercule nodded a few times as he took the book back into his palms. "Thank you," he replied. As she reached into her bag for the heavy fee, he stopped her. "There is no need for you to pay, miss. It seems that you have been chosen for a special cause, so...it's only my job to allow you to form your guild without payment."

Ralinn sighed, both with relief and disappointment. She had worked so hard to earn that money...

Hercule, not waiting another moment, dragged his drawer open, extracting a bunch of jangling jewelled chains and holding it out to her. "When you invite someone to your guild, give him or her one of these to wear," he instructed. "They are marks of membership. You can buy more from me later, if need be."

Ralinn took the chains into her hand, their thin metal rings cold in her palm. Singling one out, she allowed the rest to fall into one of her pockets, before putting it on. With a short bow to Hercule and a word of thanks, the girl had left.

She was a Guild Master nowï¿½a leader. It was amazing. Just the thought that she could now invite people to join her journeys, and expel them whenever she pleasedï¿½somehow, it simply made her feel powerful, and in control of her life.

it was something she had never had before. She had never had any control of what befell her. She had been taken from her parents and brother to become a child labourer, and suffered for three years, carrying sacks of goods into the castle grounds. She had finally run away one day, when the pain had grown too great, and the guards had not been able to catch up with her.

She had been free for five years already, secretly getting a job as a Bowman and training into a Hunter during that time. As the daughter of Athena Pierce's best friend, she had received a considerably greater amount of training from the Job Master. The elf woman had offered to inform her mother of her whereaboutsï¿½but she had refused that, wanting to carry on with this beautiful freedom for a few years more.

But that wasn't the sole reason. Though she didn't want to admit it, though she was strong and already fourteen years old, she was mortally afraidï¿½afraid that her family had vanished during her time away.

In the nocturnal calm, in her hotel room, Ralinn lay awake in the dark among the covers. Her mind was full of the day's events, and she had begun to wonder if she could handle this challenge. How long would it take? How would she find them? Where, in the Goddess' name?

Hoping that she would get some answers soon, the huntress closed her eyes, waiting for the tides of sleep to claim her.

Again, she dreamt of the voice, after two barren months of waiting.

There were nine lights and the nine songs around her, again. Beyond the lights, she could sense the vagueness of drifting clouds, but she paid it no attention. Drawn by the first voice, she found herself walking towards it.

She heard it as she approached, soaking in the tones of its song. Somehow, she felt as if she had heard this voice before, so long ago, so long ago...

"Where are you? I've cried tears countless

More than all the hours flown

Though by joy I am defended

I still wait, asleep, alone."

Taking in a deep breath, Ralinn stepped closer and listened again, again. The light sang the words once more, its mellow voice seeming to tug at something in her mind.

Waiting? For me?

Looking away from the brightness, for it was suddenly too much for her to bear, she sobbed. Was this voice telling her to return to the home she hadn't seen for eight years? Was that where she would find the first member of Orion's Bolt?

She wanted to ask, but somehow, she knew that this creature of light, if creature it was, would not know the answer.

And she could not, for as soon as Ralinn turned back, she had been whisked away into another meaningless dream.

akera: burns of guilt

"You have a sweet voice, Akera. Why don't you sing for us?" they had asked on the night before their deaths. She had refused.

Akera closed her eyes to the sun, and folded the lotuses in the darkness beneath her eyelids. Slept in skylight. She was relivingï¿½so vividlyï¿½the last moments she had seen Shirion, before he had disappeared into the crystal darkness of the forest and vanished, clearer than the blue sky before her.

She had wanted to follow him on his journey. She had longed company. But no matter how she desired it, she knew that she couldn't ask him to join her, nor to come any closer.

For she was Akera, the witch. Akera, the murderer. The one who should never be forgiven.

In the honey-coloured sunlight, the Fire Poison Wizard found her gaze wandering over Henesys' northeastern border, where the king's castle towered proud upon the hilltop, emerging grey from the lush forest. It didn't have the image of an evil man's home, like the castles of the antagonists in storybooks. It was spring, and the sun cast warm light upon its grey walls. It looked grand and mysteriousï¿½not evil, and not threatening.

Yet Akera knew that the one who owned it was nowhere near this warmth in nature. This was the king who had forced his people into oppression. This was the cruel man who had tortured his people without justification. To her, he was a dark, brooding entity on the edge of her mindï¿½not oppressively present, but always, annoyingly, there.

So often, since childhood, she had wished that the light would return to once-beautiful Victoria with tears in the back of his imagination. She wished that it could be the home she had always wanted it to be. She had wishedï¿½so hard and so longï¿½that now, her entire life had become an era of hate and darkness.

But she knew and accepted that it wasn't the world that had darkened. It was her own heart. It was the invisible cage she had locked herself into, seven years ago. A cage of ashes, a cage of dead flame. She couldn't allow anyone else inside.

The keys were rusting in a grave. She had to die in pain, in isolation. Lonely.

It was a day when the skies had been cloudy and the roars of the workers had thundered outside, that she sealed herself to this fate, leaped into the currents she would never flee.

She had been playing meaningless games, all her life. Spending her fortune on worthless trinkets.

It had been a day whose tension she had felt all the while. The weight of the bad news had weighed deep in her parents' eyesï¿½so obvious, so dark.

"Akera, we're moving into hiding," her father had said one afternoon, as she had watched the bloodied docks of Lith Harbor. "It's not safe to stay here anymore. The king's new rule is that families of less than five are not allowed to own houses."

Not safe? I thought that was obvious.

"Come on, Akera, don't be afraid, we'll be fine once we find a place to stay, hidden," her mother said softly. "It will endï¿½"

And all of a sudden, Akera had begun to detest that voice. It was so patronising. It grated on her ears.

Then there was the roar of a monsterï¿½a roar that she suddenly realised was her own. She became and embodied that creature, felt the words leave her lips in a screamï¿½

"We'll never be fine! You keep saying that just to keep me happy! You know that it will never end. What, then, after we find a new home? We'll have to keep running and running until he catches us, or we die! Stop lying to me!"

The monster, locked up deep within her heart by old chainsï¿½torn from her hold, freed by all the pain that she had hidden and nurtured so long. She still remembered them. The demons of fire that had finally escaped her body, unfolding outwards in a whirlwind of thunder and raging phoenix fire. Swallowing all the things in her life that had taught her to hate. Swallowing the screams, the sobs, the fairy lights outside.

Flames circled into the sky, and were lost to the grey clouds. Suddenly, there she stoodï¿½alone, alone among the burnt ruins of her home. Her parents, a pair of broken skeletons in two mounds of ash.

She had been nothing but a seven-year-old child. She had understood murder and crime at that time, such a genius she had beenï¿½but she hadn't understood the feeling that had come flooding in through the cracks, with this notion.

No, noï¿½

Akera in Henesys suddenly felt tears flood her eyesï¿½seven-year-old tears, tears she didn't notice till she blinked. Everything came speeding by in cold silenceï¿½seven years of living in the shadow of the castle, seven years of struggling through the relentless bonds. She had learnt the ways of magic, alreadyï¿½how to handle it constructively, how to use for good.

How not to lose control of it, and accidentally kill someone in the process.

Her sobs grew more violent, and stumbling across the path to a tree, the girl shivered in tears against its rough bark. She had been seven then and intelligent beyond her years, made a mistake ahead of her timeï¿½a mistake that would follow her deep into her adolescence and adulthood. Eventually. Forever.

But who was to know that the mistake wouldn't be made again? She was afraid. Akera feared for everyone she spent time with, for everyone who spoke to her. Would she let herself go again, and destroy another person she loved?

For that she had become an antisocial outcast of her own accordï¿½forever locked within her own shaky, breaking construction of the world, forever fighting to keep others out of it. Forever pushing them away with offensive comments and snappy replies.

But never was her defence to be perfect. There was someone whom she could not quite understand, and found she could never force away. Him, the Fighter, the one whom she had met after capture, working in the Ellinia Station. No matter how many times she had tried to push Shirion out of her world and her heart, he had managed to break down all her defences and come a little deeper into her secret circle of protection.

Somehow, she knew how that brown-haired boy feltï¿½he too knew the bitter coldness of solitude, and he too needed the love he had been denied. Exasperated, amused, somehow fond of his ways, she had granted that innocent wish of his.

Yet, throughout their long friendship, Akera had constantly feared for his life. She didn't want to let another die, just because she had been too foolish to let go of a friendship. She had to protect Shirion. By staying away from him.

And as Akera blinked again, rising to full height, gazing beyond the castle into the shining sky, words echoed from an obscure distance.

"You have a sweet voice, Akera. Why don't you sing for us?" they had asked, the calm night before. She had refused, for she had been a rebel. She had refused the love, the light, the hopeï¿½for she had believed it unnecessary. But now she knew she had needed it all along.

And now, Akera would find a way to accede to their requestï¿½for she liked to believe that there were ways to answer impossible questions.

There always were.

Blinking the tears away, Akera found her voice within her heart. It was the voice of a songbird with broken feathers. The heartbeat-song of a tear-stained world that she didn't want anyone else to know, guarded eternally by her wings.

I promise I'll find my way back to you, Mum and Dad, her thoughts whispered to her heart, as she began to hum a slow, sad tune. I'll find you again, and you'll hear me sing.

raydan: a homecoming

A lone Bowman stood among the fallen buildings on the outskirts of Kerning City. He grinned at the marks that the king's policemen had leftï¿½the blackness of the burns in the walls, walls that had been bombarded repeatedly in a futile attempt to infiltrate the city.

Kerning, the land of freedom, the land of the lawlessï¿½it had been his home since his birth. He was twelve now, a level 23 bowman, eight years since his sister had left.

Sisterï¿½

Every so often, Raydan still dreamt of her. The girl had never been any more than a vague notion in his heart. A beautiful girl, he liked to believeï¿½for all that was left of her was a warm presence somewhere in the dregs of his past, a sense that there was someone out in the world whom he could rightfully call his big sister.

Eight years was a very long timeï¿½it was two thirds of his life. Though he should have lost hope long ago, Raydan continued to believe that she would turn up before him one day, smiling with pride to see what an amazing bowman he had become.

He still lived in the same house as he had when she had left, together with his parents. They had stopped hoping long ago.

But I must keep hoping! Oh, Sister, I am so gonna kill you for being gone so long!

Suddenly aware of the fact that he was still in a high-risk area, Raydan quickly pulled himself out of his thoughts and glanced about, bow wielded in his left hand. As if cued by his return to attention, a huge blue mushroom instantly leapt out of the ruins and came bouncing in his direction.

His swift hands strung an arrow before it could come any closer, and with a twang of the string and a blaze of blue, a streak of light soared and collided with the monster. It grunted with the impact of the arrow, struggling to shake of the surprise. Heart leaping with thrill, Raydan strung yet another, charging it up with his mana.

"Arrow Blow!" he cried, the second shaft swooping from his bow. Thwack. Then he stepped back in sudden shock. The mushroom's expression had suddenly transformed, all cheer leaving its bright eyes. Those brilliant depths suddenly narrowedï¿½and with a great leap, it thundered forward, gaze locked upon him.

A string of expletives flooded from Raydan's lips as he realised that he had picked a fight with a full-grown bull mushroom at its prime. Gasping with fright and racing onto a high rock, he whirled around and fired two arrows at once. They whizzed through the air in orange flames, but as they scorched the mushroom's side, they did little damageï¿½and still it advanced.

Another arrow flew with a sharp twang, the Bowman's mana flooding out like water through a broken pot.

Knockback, he chanted to himself as the wooden projectile struck. Knockbackï¿½

There was no Knockback effect. The monster didn't hesitate a second as it took the hitï¿½and with continuous curses, Raydan was backed away with sore wingless feet, helpless with terror and understanding. It struck him, how simply absurd it was that he would die, after all these years, at the hands of a monster merely his level, so much smaller, slower, darkerï¿½

Footsteps in the broken cement; an answering call. Stark and sturdy like steel, and so unnervingly powerful.

"Arrow Bomb!"

As Raydan glanced about to see where that sudden shout had come from, a flash of yellow expanded from the corner of the greyness, and burst the blue mushroom with a showering of golden fireworks. It fell over with a sharp cry, melting into the ground as the young bowman's glances grew more desperate, and finally landed upon the only other moving figure in the vicinity.

On a far ledge, some way beyond and higher than his own, stood a teenaged girlï¿½a huntressï¿½tall and lithe, her hair the same dark gold as his. She was in hunter's garb, and in her hand was a bow much longer and more graceful than his.

I want a bow like that, he thought briefly. Then, she looks amazing.

While he was pondering dazedly, the female youth proceeded to stride over with a smile of curiosity upon her face. "Careful when you're out here," she said with a good-natured grin. "What level are you?"

"Twenty-three," he replied, desperately trying to collect his thoughts under her gaze.

"And your age?"

"Twelve."

The girl smiled at him, a strange ruefulness showing in her eyes, suddenly. Not bothering to ask why she was feeling so, he searched his mental library for the best way to advance a conversation with a pretty girl.

"Thanks for saving me," he finally managed, holding her gaze bravely. "I nearly died thereï¿½"

The girl didn't seem to think anything of it. "Why're you alone out here?" she asked instead.

Raydan, flattered that she had asked, replied, "It's dangerous going beyond the border of Kerning, I know. Mum always says, ooh, you'll get captured here, you'll get captured thereï¿½but these are the only places we can hunt!"

She laughed at his words, a ringing sound that made his heart leap. "So, you live in Kerning?" she asked, raising her gaze in its dark direction. He nodded. "I lived there onceï¿½ Well, thankfully, I've finally escaped from that stupid king and his castle. And now I can go home!"

Go home?

"How's it like?" he suddenly asked, alarm growing in his gaze. "Because my sisterï¿½" He sighed and looked down. "Will my sister be safe? Will she come back?"

"Perhaps, if she has luck," the huntress replied. "But if she has the spirit to fight, then she will return. Now I've got to get home. My family hasn't seen me for a long timeï¿½"

Just before she could depart, Raydan hurriedly offered to walk the huntress home, too hopeful to let go of such a chance. And such a beautiful girl, too. She accepted graciously, much to his delightï¿½and together, they began to stroll through the ruins. It felt great.

"Oh, and what's your name?" the girl asked, a few minutes into their journey.

"Raydan," he replied with a smile. "How aboutï¿½"

Raydan never managed to finish his question, for at the very next moment, he suddenly found himself trapped in the tightest embrace of his life.

From above him, he could vaguely make out the dark blonde hair and amber eyes of the girl he had only just met. "I can't believe this!" she screamed, crying tears of joy. "It was you all along, you silly guy! Dan...don't you remember me?"

Dan? Why does that sound soï¿½

Raydan was completely lost for words. "Do I actually know you?"

"I'm Ralinn!" she barely gasped. "Your sisterï¿½I'm back!"

Now it was Ralinn's turn to be caught by surprise, as Raydan suddenly tightened his grip around her neck. "Ralinn!" he shouted, barely able to believe that this really was happening, and that it wasn't just a dream. That she was his sister. Part of him worried that he would suddenly wake up and find himself on his bedï¿½but the warmth he felt encircling him, the tightness of this girl's embrace, was too real to be part of a dream. "I'm gonna kill you for coming back so late, Ralinn!"

It felt great. Amazing. This awesome, gorgeous girl was his sister. Ralinn, whom he had lost eight years ago, whom he had hoped would be alive every day of his life. Ralinn, his sister.

Now, they carried on towards their home, much anticipation suddenly sparked between them. Ralinn had not seen home for eight years. Both their parents were out at work at the moment, so they would be in for a surprise when they arrived home.

"And we're home!" Raydan said, turning the key in the lock as his heart thumped deep in his chest. Ralinn peered inside, saying nothing. But as they entered and she laid her sling bag on the side table, he saw that tears were welling in her eyes.

"It looks the same as before," she murmured, smiling so divinely that he felt he might cry himself. "But a lot must have happened, since I last saw you!"

"Yeah, Linn," the young bowman called out the nickname that he had used for Ralinn before. It felt like brushing away the dust of disuse, as if he were uncovering the remains of an old artifact he had once loved. "Linn, where have you been all this while? I want to hear everything, everything about what you did in those eight years!"

Ralinn glanced up from the sofa upon which she was resting, head leaned against one armrest, feet atop the other.

"It wasn't too bad," she replied. "Worked at the castle for three years, those were hard times. Then I escaped and went to Athena to become a Bowman. Then a Huntress. Oh, and I just came back from Orbis. I kept hearing a voice in my head, and it was telling me to form a guildï¿½"

Something must have sparked in her mind, for now, Ralinn sat up straight from the sofa.

"Raydan," she said, suddenly dead serious, eyes fixed hard on his. "Do you want to put an end to all this suffering? The king has owned his throne too long. We have to end his reign. Will you join this cause?"

Raydan took not a moment's hesitation and nodded, though her graveness puzzled him slightly. "I miss you," he replied, words heavy with emotion. "I don't want anyone else to feel the same pain, ever again."

With a smile and a nod, Ralinn reached into her pocket, metal jangling inside. Then, to the bowman's surprise, she produced a bright gem on a sparkling chain. "Then join Orion's Belt," she replied.

Raydan reached out and grasped the chain, heart pounding with delight, with surprise. Then only did he notice that Ralinn also wore one, the bright, clear gem shining stark against her rough hunter's outfit.

Breath held, he placed it around his neckï¿½and became a member of a guild. Ralinn's guild, Orion's Belt.

ralinn: the second member

Ralinn looked into Raydan's eyes, the exact same flaming amber as hers. Suddenly, she recalled the song, and she understood. Raydan had been waiting for her all this while. Her dear brother, Dan.

So, that done, the task of finding the third member of Orion's Belt stood before her. At least this is a start, she thought to herself, smiling at Raydan, who grinned unknowingly back. I've found the second member.

Then, feeling hungry after her tiring journey home, she stepped over to the dining tableï¿½the same one as before, now with many more scratches and dentsï¿½and took some of the chips from Raydan's packet, very much to his annoyance.

zethis: into the city

Pausing upon the rocky slope of the mountain, Zethis let out a breath of surprise. He was finally level 17. All around him, the uneven rock faces that had once looked treacherous to him now brought a queer sense of familiarityï¿½and even peace. Around him lay the remains of the hoard of stumps that he had just slainï¿½a leaf or two, as well as broken twigs, strewn across the hard ground.

One mere year ago, Zethis had been a weak little kid hiding within the safety of his foster father's home, waiting for him to arrive everyday with his dinner.

And now he lived alone, travelling the footpaths of the mountains in the northern region of Perion, killing and lighting fires for his own food. Like a real warrior. Like someone from the tribe of Perion itself. Such a change it had been, from that weakling last summer, to the battler that he was, now.

In this moment of solitary joy, Zetgus allowed himself a smile. Bending down, he picked up a handful of twigs from the ground, stuffing them into a pocket of his bag, before brushing his hands on his leather armour. His fruit knife had long been abandoned; he now held a gleaming steel mace in his right hand, and a tall metal shield in his left. One step closer, to becoming the White Knight he dreamt of being. One step at a time.

How far he had come, from his days as a boy who had never seen the world, hoeing the earth with his father. This was the sky he had never expected to touch. The metal rested perfectly in his hands, clad him well and strengthened him inside. But was this the furthest he would ever go? Something in the beckoning wind told him that he had many long distances to go.

Turning to face the mountainside, saw the blue distances before him, spread like an exquisite carpet of varying natural shades, held open beneath the sky. In its midst, he picked out the shapes of the piercing towers of the great western city, resting near the horizon. Kerning, he thought to himself, recalling. The lamp lit roads and bright signboards were still imprinted deep into his memory, burnt into his vision.

Sighing, he continued to gaze at the glorious cityï¿½the place where everyone could be free.

It's time for a change of scenery, he finally decided. He had lived around Perion for half a year since midwinter, when he had gone to get his first job. The sun was suddenly brilliant and calm, and the summer was drawing into the period of its deepest thawing warmth.

The unchanging, unending mountain scenery and the high-pitched bird calls were beginning to tire him. Sudenlly, he longed to return to the shadowed lights of the west. How would it look, under the stars of the autumn? No doubt he would only arrive thenï¿½or perhaps even in winter, when the world was white.

How he would love to see that mirthless silver and grey world dressed like a bride at her wedding, the night sky her groom. How the stars would smile and sing, blessing a city that had been cursed since birth.

I will go to Kerning City, Zethis decided.

ralinn: a soft voice

Ralinn glanced up in her dream, and looked around. There were eight more voices around her, she noted. One had drawn away, a silent source of light filled with contentment. Walking onwards, towards the one nearest to her, she listened. Its voice was so soft, she could hardly hear its words.

"Find me, guide me in my blindness

Find a song to still my heart.

Keep your smile and take my spirit

Stay by me, right from the start."

Ralinn began to think about these words. Was this person so "blind", as it said? Or was this figurative blindness? He was a boy, she could tell from his voice, and so inconfident too. But she heard, despite its softness, great strength and hope within.

I'll find you, she thought. I'm sure I'll find you.

The dream then left Ralinn, but this time, she was content with what she had learnt.

ketara: after a year

Finally! The warrior's heart underwent a rush of ecstasy, as he saw the world flash blue all around him. He had kept close count of his level-ups, and at last, he knew, he was qualified to become a Spearman. Level thirty!

It had been two years since he had left his foster mother in Ellinia, and now he was ready for his second job. Also, he recalled, a year had passed since he had made Dances with Balrog his promise: that he would make the choice between home and freedom, a year after his departure.

Ketara knew the answer to that question, now. All of a sudden, it was simply so obviousï¿½his one year of living in the Dungeon had instilled such a love for freedom in him. And it was about time, too! Ketara had not met anyone new beneath the shadows of the Dungeon, besides the resident monks of Sleepywood. Now he recalled, with sudden longing, his encounter with the twins near the cave mouth, a year ago. Their images sometimes haunted him in his constantly darkening dreamsï¿½yet in those dreams, they were always kind. Smiling. Beautiful.

The lack of company was growing unbearable. An entire year was too long a time of solitudeï¿½the Warrior loved nothing much more than conversation and socialising. With no one to talk to, Ketara had begun to talk to his Fork on a Stick. That didn't help very much.

And thank goodness that I've finally reached level 30! He felt his mind gasp in relief. He couldn't wait to finally see sunlight again, after so long without it. Golden, syrupy sunlight. He couldn't bear the taste of raw meat for another day. He couldn't drink river water anymore. And, he mused, I need to get a haircut. The youth's hair already fell far beyond his shoulders, in messy tangles.

Within minutes, having packed up whatever remained of his battle equipment and other belongings, Ketara had begun to chart his path back northwards, if "chart" was the right word for stumbling aimlessly through the undergrowth in an arbitrary direction. He would not have been able to tell which way was north, if not for the direction that all the termite nests were facing.

Crashing through yet another bush of undergrowth, Ketara suddenly had the horrible thought that there might be no way outï¿½that the sunlight he had once lived under was only an illusion. Yet, ever optimistic, he continued to walk, refusing to settle for that crushing conclusion.

It was about fifteen minutes into his vaguely-northward journey that the twelve-year-old boy heard a low, thumping sound in the leaves far ahead. The ground seemed to shake with each deafening crash of what might be feet, sending bolts of dread through him. And it was approaching him.

His breaths were warm, warm and deep and tangled, stirring his hair as his sweat began to slip down his forehead. Then they grew deep and steady as his soul slowly found its rhythm, and he dashed through the twigs, peering past the vine-covered tree trunks.

In the silence, his mouth fell open. In the clearing stood a towering green creature, its body seeming to gleam faintly with viscous slime. Ketara snatched his head away, mortified. Shall I fight it? Will it kill me first?

Crossing his fingers with one hand, pulling his spear from his belt with the other, he glanced up at the towering green mass againï¿½and suddenly felt the warmth rush to his hands.

It was uncontrollable. The raging flames filled him up, before he could think. Bravery, burning through the tips of his fingers, the hairs upon his head, rendering him so stupid, so stupid. And at once he leapt from hiding, weapon blazing to lifeï¿½swinging forth with all the power of his recklessness and certainty.

"Power Strike!" With the momentum of his body weight, he thrust the spear at the monster, the sparks of fire scattering, leaving a superficial scratch in its thick, translucent skin.

Well, I did it some damage! He thought, morale boosted. Again, he charged forward with a Power Strike, his mana quickly draining itself as he drove the weapon against its skin and gave it a long gash in its stomach.

The thing leapt and thundered back into the ground. The shock waves threw him down upon his back, among the thick shrubs of the undergrowth. As he pulled himself to stand, the creature leapt up again with terrifying suddenness, its huge slimy bulk surging forward and thrusting him back into the undergrowth, bruised and scraped among the twigs.

Noï¿½I'll never beat it, because I'm too close! I wish I had magic, or arrows, orï¿½

Then he remembered the promise he had made, the day the bowman had humiliated him on the other side of the mountain. Magic and arrows were marks of cowardice. No. He would prove the stronger. The braver. As a warrior.

Rising again, Ketara found the strength to growl at the creature, drawing on his mana for another Power Strike. He yelled again, thrusting the Fork forward, plunging it into its skin. The point met resistance, and that resistance suddenly budged, and a wound tore in its stomach, from which green liquid spurtedï¿½the first successful hit.

But then, he hesitated.

And there was a cry of joy from behindï¿½with that cry, far too rapidly, a barrage of metal discs snicked through the air overhead, flashing silver. With purpose they sliced forward, cutting deep into the huge slime bag's skin like knives in jelly. As holes suddenly began to sprout all over the monster, Ketara glanced back.

It was in that moment that two familiar people leapt out of the branches, purposefully ignoring his presenceï¿½and rapidly took up the battle, wilder than ever.

Somehow, the Warrior simply could not hold it against them for stealing his prey. He watched now in awe, as they waged war upon the colossal monster. They were swift as squirrels in the branches, leaping and shifting and whirling here and away as they attacked on both sides, the boy with streams of flame from his palms, and the girl with throwing stars.

Throwing stars? Fire magic? Where did they learn that?

And Ketara watched, helplessly fascinated, as the creature was beaten down by their combined power. And with a sudden thunderous strike from a fireball, its skin burst apart, its contents splattering on everything in the clearing, including him.

"I killed it this time!" the boy shouted triumphantly, snatching its fallen bubble from the ground, scraping the liquid from the roots into a spare bag. "Seventeen for me, and fourteen for you!" He laughed at the girl, who growled but said nothing.

"You again," she snarled in disapproval, turning from her brother to Ketara. "I thought you said that you wouldn't come back here! Just because you're so good-looking doesn't mean that we'll be easy on you!"

"I'm just passing through," he replied quickly with a smile and a tinge of embarrassment. "I'm going back to Perion."

"Hm, you're weird," the black-haired girl commented aloud in response, just as her brother finished gathering the monster's remains. "You're aren't screaming and running, when you should be." She paused. "And that's aï¿½funnily nice thoughtï¿½"

"Haha, no problem," Ketara said. "Could you show me the way to Perion?"

The dark-haired boy in the background suddenly appeared beside his sister. "Oh, you're back," he said. "Didn't you promiseï¿½"

"He's just passing through," his sister replied. "And he needs to know the way out. Do Iï¿½?"

"Yeah, yeah, go ahead," the boy replied with a toss of his raven hair, striding haughtily away without another glance. The girl, after a small swear at her brother, proceeded to depart in a different direction.

Wordlessly, Ketara followed. "How's life been?" His voice quickly broke the silence as he approached her.

She paused and looked at him oddly. "Annoying," she replied with a trace of boredom, before turning back to the road.

"Why?"

The girl hesitated before replying. "Rino," she said, flinging her long black hair over her shoulder. "He won't stop trying to beat me at everything! Guys are always like that!" She rolled her eyes. "Why'd you care anyway?"

Ketara blinked, ignoring the annoyance in her voice. "Rino? Is that your brother's name?" he asked in curiosity.

"Uhï¿½his real name is Turino," she explained. Then, seeming to make up her mind after a moment of thought, she added, "I'm Telida. We'reï¿½actually twins."

"Hi, Telida," the Warrior greeted her excitedly. With the revelation of her name, she suddenly felt lessï¿½distant. "My name is Ketara."

"It sounds like a girl's name," she commented. But Ketara only laughed with such optimism, for he was a spirit of joy, and had heard that comment far too many times.

"Yeah," he agreed with a grin, stopping. "I was named by a fairy." Actually, she named me so because she heard my name in a dreamï¿½

Telida said "wow" softly, before they resumed their forest trek. They spoke not for the rest of the journey, for Ketara's mind was full, full of colourful images flying about in his brain, questions he knew he couldn't answer. Who were they? How long had these two been here? If she had been living in the forest for all this while, who had taught her to use throwing stars? Who had given her her name?

She had appeared terrifyingly dark to him before; suddenly, he had realized that she wasn't as evil as he had pictured all this while. His dreams had always been right. But Turino didn't seem as nice as herï¿½

The Warrior suddenly noted that the air around them was turning brighter than before. Ahead of him, he could see Telida's faint silhouette, her thin frame and swishing hair. Fascinated, he followed her onwards, beginning to notice the sunlight dancing on motes of dust circling the trees, bright like gold.

He barely saw the rim of the leaves pass them by, before true, blinding sunlight suddenly burst through the gaps in the treetops, the leaves peeling away into a golden afternoon.

In that blinding, brilliant image they stood, Telida sighing. "Well, here we are. Goodbye." She gave him a gentle push forward, and by the time he had turned around to return her greeting, she had vanished, leaving only a few leaves stirring in her wake.

Well. The Spearman-to-be glanced about blindly, the sunlight too bright for his eyes to handle, after almost a year in the darkness of the Dungeon. Finally, after so long.

As the minutes passed, he began to see moreï¿½the straggly weeds that lined the feet of the Perion mountains, then the rock faces and overhangs, and finally, the skyï¿½the vast, scrolling sky that he had not seen, and had missed, for almost a year. He took in the smell of dry, sunlit air with thankfulness, feeling the almost nonexistent breeze with welcome, before heaving a great sigh of inexplicable regret, and starting on his trip up the mountain.

A few minutes after sunset, the village of Perion had come into Ketara's view. Now, after a year within the Dungeon with only dim torches for lighting, he could suddenly see things he had not been able to beforeï¿½Stumps as they retreated into their hidden dens around the mountain; dark, shadowy trees waving in the dim moonlightï¿½and most usefully, the well-trodden pathways that he had to take to reach the village of tents on the tallest mountain.

Stretching his legs for a few minutes, the warrior breathed deeply and gathered up his energy, giving a cry and racing up the remaining distance, arriving, panting, at the edge of the cosy little village.

I'm back, he thought with a bright smile. Then, with a pang of sadness, he recalled that he would never get to call Perion "home", as he had wished for two years. He loved the village, but he loved his freedom far too much to let go. His eyes closed to the village, and he wished it a soft goodbye. This would be his last look at the place for a long time.

But for now, Ketara still had his job advancement test to worry aboutï¿½a test that many of his road friends had spoken of with much weariness. It would be quite a while before he truly departed from here.

Ketara could hardly sleep that night. Thoughts of his second job advancement, and of the test that awaited, spun around in his mind, stirring him awake with excitement whenever he came close to sleep. Finally, he did managed to, though, the exhaustion of the climb quickly crawling into his muscles.

The warrior awakened to a bright sky for the first time in a long time. He had almost forgotten how it was like to be awakened by the light of the sun, leaving it entirely to habit for those months in the darkness. Crawling along the leather into the open, he took a deep breath of morning air, and felt his eyes drink up the vividness of the sky aboveï¿½blue, painted gold and orange at the edges.

Outside, the air was cool. Even compared to the air in the Dungeon, it was appreciably cool. The leaves of the Dungeon, he suddenly recalled, had been turning gold as he had leftï¿½and he realised at once that another year was entering its second half. Two and a half years, Mother, Elenlor! He called to his fairy foster-mother. I have reached level thirty!

Time had gone and come in a circle. It was exactly the sameï¿½the same as it had been a year ago. Ketara stood before the same door, awaiting the same person, in the same autumnal breeze. As he knocked, the door suddenly swung open to reveal the face of Dances with Balrog, who smiled upon sight.

"Right on time, Ketara! You kept to your word, I see," he said, allowing the Warrior inside.

"It's been quite an adventure," Ketara replied with a grin. "And I decided that I don't actually want to stay in Perion, if that is the price." He said this with surprising confidence. "It'd have been great, I'm sureï¿½but there's a lot out there for me to see as well. Maybe I'll come back here once a year."

Then he changed the subject. "But that's not the reason why I came," he added, smile widening though his heart was quailing, all of a sudden. "I'm here to become a Spearman!"

Ah, that, indeed, is fast!" he responded, noting the fear in Ketara's eyes though he concealed it deep. "Fear not, child. Come with me."

Though his limbs were shaking now as he followed the Job Master out of the Sanctuary, Ketara felt his heart leap with ecstasy. At last, the time was here for him to prove his worth of a new title! Of course, he felt doubtful of whether he would make it through, but he quickly covered those thoughts up with prospects of what he would be doing. What kind of test would it be?

The questions were all answered as soon as Dances with Balrog came to a stop, about a mile from Perion, on a ledge overlooking a valley that smelt of monsters. Far beneath, he saw shadows raging around in the valley, too far for him to discern their size. Ketara didn't know if it was his imagination, but did he hear strange, savage roars from where they ran? These sounds were too loud to belong to those monsters, surely?

As the monsters continued to thunder about beneath, Dances with Balrog called for Ketara's attention. "The job is easy," he briefed the nervous warrior. "You go in there, kill the monsters, and obtain thirty dark marbles from their carcasses. Simple as that. Ready?"

Ketara didn't feel so sure. Easy? Those things sound horribly huge! "Butï¿½I might die there!" he blurted out, then regretted voicing his fears.

"Don't you worry," Dances with Balrog replied with such strength it almost magically chased his fears away. "I'll be watching. If you're in trouble, I'll come to save you." His voice was comforting, but Ketara still felt the fear filling his stomach.

"I'm ready," he finally said, loud and hopeful.

"Alright. On the count of three. Oneï¿½twoï¿½"

Ketara swallowed, wanting badly to prove himself worthy a new title, and at the same time mortified that he might die in the valley below. I'm not a coward! He reprimanded himself for his doubt, within the last second between the "two" and "three". His second job advancement awaited, just beyond this challenge!

Like thunder, the Perion chief's powerful shout of "three" echoed through the mountainsides, making the monsters below pause momentarily with what might have been shock. As the shadows circled below, waiting for him, Ketara felt his adrenaline surge as he leapt down to the first ledge between him and the creatures below.

The wind buffeted the mountain, flying straight up against his face as if slapping him with coldness. At once, new, fresh exhilaration surged through his body. Riding upon this momentary tide of hope, he stumbled further down the mountainside, further through the winds, on and on and on towards his doom.

Like drums in the dust they rolled and ragedï¿½awaiting him far, far below.

Halfway down his route through the mountainside, a familiar smell hit his nose. Wild boars! The crude monsters brought terrible recollections back. Their scent mingled with the tang of smoking flesh, and he knew that this would be something he had never seen before.

Heat soon engulfed the young warrior, and the smell of the beasts grew stronger around him. The sun seemed to burn on his skin, his hands growing sweaty in the oven-like heat of the valley. This was definitely not normal. But what did he expect? This was a test, a test which decided if he was worthy of a second job or not.

The grunts were deafening, swelling in psychopathic rhythm around him. Among the monsters, he noticed as he came closer on the ledge he stood on, there were what looked like the monkeys he had seen on the way to Kerning a while ago. This species was Lupin, he was sure. They were notorious for being able to use their bananas as weapons.

Ketara was close enough now. The rank raw smell of monsters made him gag, almost suffocating him with lack of air to breathe. Sweat was running down his forehead and neck; he had not felt so hot before.

He was perched on the ledge, teetering on the edge between hope and flameï¿½waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

A circling dance of chaos and certainty. Windows opening, closing, opening again in brown-and-black patterns that swirled before his eyes...

"Slash Blast!"

With a powerful yell, the boy flew down to take the drums, the dance, swinging his Fork on a Stick with power drawn from mana. As it met the monsters beyond a dark cloud of sand, they gave terrified groans and squeals, the white-hot metal burning into their flanks and jaws and throats. Whirling in a dance, in a chase, he slashed in every direction he could find, into every ounce of flesh he could lay his weapon on. Survival, he chanted unto himself, silently, steadily. Survival or death. Take your pick. And he raged and battled on through the thick of shadows, tearing about like a savage tangled in ropes, ready to win and to conquer.

The dust cleared; around him stood boars in messy ranks, their backs blazing and eyes redï¿½and Lupins, teeth bared in pain. Some bore gashes, deep, nonetheless; some looked ready to charge at him. He only saw all this for a few seconds, before the monsters surged in his direction, eyes narrowed, boar tusks extended in menace.

Ketara's cry of pain was as fierce and as livid as tusks were buried into the flesh of his leg, jabbing themselves through the chain-mail that was supposed to protect him. The flames on their backs burnt his arms, and all was flashing for that second. He was pelted with banana skins, the points hitting his head and face hard.

Eww, he thought to himself, wiping the gooey remnants of banana skin off his face, stumbling back to stand as he threw the monsters off. Just like I did, so many months ago. Just like last time. Rising and standing again was nothing much, after hundreds of falls off trees and rocks in the Dungeon, after slipping in hidden mud puddles and tripping over roots. He could fight on. There was still a vast well of energy in him.

He Slashed again, with ripping red light. The monsters around him were thrown aside, their bizarre cries making his bones shiver. His energy and mana dropped once more, and he felt more exhausted than he had been a few moments ago.

Maybe I should change my strategy, he thought, thoughts flying in a whirl as the monsters regrouped around him. Hitting all at once wasn't working. He had to go one by one.

Thirty Dark Marblesï¿½he thought with sudden dread and exhaustion. He hadn't obtained a single one!

The best thing to do, Ketara suddenly realised, was to find a place where the monsters could not get him, but he could easily hit them.

Searching for the perfect location, he raced over to the rock face before any of the monsters could charge into him. Scrambling up onto the lowest ledge, which he could barely reach, he managed to pull himself onto it, scraping his knees and almost tearing his nails.

He caught his breath for a few seconds and looked down at the swarm of monsters below him. A banana peel suddenly came flying at the warrior, and he dodged aside, only just in time. There had to be a way. Others of the same level and strength as him had passed this test before.

But maybe it's because they're worthy of it, and I'm not, he noted with tiredness.

But no, he refused to give up. Not when he had trained himself so hard. Looking over the ledge, Ketara focused on one of the boars, caught up in the frenzy of the herd, and not seeming to notice the warrior watching its back from above.

"Power Strike!" he shouted, pouring his energy out in the form of a powerful attack. Unfortunately, his hidden power was not drawn out, but this attack did enough damage. Below him, the fire boar had turned to him, eyes burning into his, full of terrified pain.

Again, he struck. The boar tried to leap to where he stood, but missed the edge of the ledge, hooves scrabbling on the rock, for loss of blood. Ketara saw his chance to finish it, and finding a weak spot to the left of its spine, he ran it through with his Fork on a Stick, digging it sideways once it was in. A chunk of its flesh almost detached from its body, and it fell, dead.

No Dark Marble.

Trying not to let despair consume him, Ketara searched for a different enemy. The hoots and screeches of the Lupins drew his attention, and he wondered if more of them held the treasure he sought.

Hitting the annoying monster with the point of his spear, he found the point meeting its leg, tearing into its flesh. It gave a call of anger and pain, before turning to him, ready to jump. This time, he wasn't so lucky. It leapt to his level with ease, and for the first time, he noticed how long its claws were.

I can do this, I can do this! Raising his spear bravely, he acted as his reflexes told him. The stomach, the stomach is its weakness!

The Lupin flew forward and swept its claws over his face. At the same moment, ready, Ketara shifted the spear forward with some force, allowing the monster's momentum to do the rest of the damage. It screamed, a sound of terror that made his spine tingle. "Power Strike!" Again, he used the high-powered attack, to great effect this time. His weapon tore its entire arm off, the flames that accompanied his attack turning its fur black.

"Try this!" He launched forward with one more attack, and the monkey fell back, mouth falling open. Its hand fell open, and Ketara found a round black gem in its hand, its surface gleaming. Too exhausted to feel joyful, he grabbed the object and stuffed it down his pocket.

Hours passed like minutes. Ketara repeatedly targeted one monster at a time, returning higher to rest for ten minutes at a time, before returning to the low ledge to kill more monsters. The Dark Marbles in his pocket began to weigh more and more, and so did the pain of the injuries he was receiving. He had only one quarter of the potions he had bought the day before, and only seventeen Dark Marbles.

I know it's possible, he thought, more confidently now. He had collected more than half the number he needed, the objects still cold in his pocket, even though they had been in there for hours, unwarmed by his body.

He had been unable, as of yet, to unlock his hidden power. Intermittently he wondered why he was unable to do so, when it had been so easy other times. He seemed to be able to manage it when under a lot of pressure. Maybe this wasn't bad enough a situation for his powers to show themselves.

Just as the sun was setting, Ketara found his twenty-sixth marble. The fire boar's flames died down, its mouth falling open. From between its tusks, he took the Dark Marble, disliking the feeling of the fur and skin encircling his hand, before leaping back up the ledges to a safe spot above.

I have to finish this fast! Now! His desperate thoughts spun around like a whirlwind. The sun was descending fast beyond the mountain peaks, the skylight growing darker, the firelight below his vision growing brighter. Soon, he would be caught in the grasp of the night, and he would never find his Dark Marbles that way.

Taking a last glance at the setting sun, Ketara threw away all thought and common sense, for thinking would keep him from his goal, and he leapt off the ledge, into what now looked like a flaming pit of Spirit's Passageway, the legendary punishing ground.

He knew that he had to do it now, or never pass the test. Already, their smell and warmth were engulfing him in an unending tide, and at once, instinct told him to make his move. Now!

"Slash Blast!" Ketara knew that this would do nothing, and that the monsters would bury him under their weight, smother him to death. But who cared! He would make it out. He would. He would come out victorious.

As his spear went in a full circle around him, he felt pain jab him as his arms tore through all the monsters that surrounded him immediately, and he pushed it to the back of his mind; there was no room for thought about pain now. Flames licked at his heart, blazing in him like a growing furnace, and all at once, his arms, his body was filled with inhuman energy.

Yes! I needed this! Once again, an enormous well of energy reopened within him, giving him power that grew stronger as the sky darkened. He took a gasp mid-move, thrusting his head to the sky. Stars! They shone on him, and the very sight of them, rushing through the pathways of space-time, raised his spirits and his strength.

And his body moved of its own accord, suddenlyï¿½stabbing, swinging, slashing, anticipating attacks even before they came, and fending them off instantaneously. All at once, he was standing among heaped carcasses, the boars' flames dead, the Lupins sprawled across the ground. Four glossy marbles shone prominent against the mass of fur and carrion.

Giving an exclamation of triumph, Ketara climbed up the ledge, the last four marbles now in his pocket, which was weighing him down a great deal. Wondering briefly if Dances with Balrog was still there, he climbed up the darkening ledges, rough at his touch, with amazing agility.

"Well-fought!" Dances with Balrog still stood watching, no trace of tiredness or boredom. "You took at least an hour less than an ordinary person." Really?

Ketara was genuinely surprised. "Have you been standing here all this while?" he asked, quite shocked that he had had the patience to stay and watch the entire process of his terrible battle. All of a sudden, the after-effects of his sudden rush of power seemed to wear off, and he felt tired, sleepy, completely fatigued.

"H-hey, I needï¿½a rest," he said, shoulders hunched.

Dances with Balrog nodded. "Your Dark Marbles first," he replied, holding out his battle-worn hand. Ketara looked up and reached into his pocket, trying to gather up all the marbles in his hand. In the end, he decided to get ten marbles out at a time, and he did so, counting off the thirty marbles, terrified that he had fallen short of one or two.

Thankfully, triumphantly, he produced the thirtieth marble from his pocket, letting this last handful of ten fall into the Job Master's hand. Ketara smiled, that smile in itself unable to contain all the joy and success, relief and exhaustion that now welled inside him.

"Good job, Ketara," Dances with Balrog repeated. "I'm sure you want to get your job advancement now, instead of having to go all the way back to the Warrior's Sanctuary, right?" Ketara nodded eagerly.

The Perion chief smiled and nodded. Then, holding Ketara's face in his palms, he said, "Then, by the powers of the Dragon, I hereby name youï¿½a Spearman." Ketara gasped as heat, burning, swept through his face, down through his heart and his entire body. He heard a colossal roar behind him, and a bright flash illuminated everything around him for an instant.

Then it faded, and he was staring into Dances with Balrog's eyes, slightly dizzy, panting with something that felt like fear. At once, realization struck him that he was a Spearman. A true Spearman! It felt amazing just to know.

"Well, so, Ketara, tell me what you're going to do after this," he said.

Ketara looked up at the starry sky. "Iï¿½I don't actually know," he admitted, to the chief, and to himself.

Dances with Balrog quickly jumped to his unexpected offer. "Then do you want to come and become my secretary?" he exclaimed. "I've been needing one for years; all my stuff is in a mess."

Knowing that he had nothing better to do now, the Spearman nodded with a smile. "No problem, as long as I get to meet new people!" he replied excitedly. "Are you sure a twelve-year-old would do?"

"Yeah, of course! Come on, your job starts tomorrow! You need some rest."

The two walked back towards Perion in the mountain autumn wind.

Time for a new chapter to start, I guess, Ketara thought.

zethis: party quest

At last!

Zethis had spent the entire autumn training in Kerning. He, at last, had reached the fruit of his long labourï¿½he was now level 21, eligible for the kerning Party Quest.

All around him as he ran, the streets, lamps and parapets decorated with blankets of snow.

"PQ! Need two more members!" the calls of the party leaders at the Party Quest entrance were excited in the cold air, and Zethis raced up towards the small crowd he saw at the opening of the pipes.

The warrior glanced about at the people who crowded the entrance, all not seeming to notice him. Which was just as well. He didn't like to be noticed, especially by people he didn't know. Even though he was a year older, he hadn't gotten over his fear of strangers.

A snowfall had started again, and the boy looked up to see the snowflakes descending from the clouds towards him, in a blinding whirl of fantasy.

"Need a party?" Just as Zethis was enjoying the view above, a boy, probably around his age, leapt in front of him with a bright smile and an exclamation.

"Aargh!" he could hardly contain his scream of terror. Heart pounding, he quickly regained composure, taking a closer look at his "attacker".

"Whoa, easy," the boy said, trying to get the warrior to calm down. "Do you want a party?"

Noting his words for the first time, Zethis nodded. "Pleased to meet you, I'm Raydan," he said, holding his bow behind his back. "Level 29 bowman. Ah, can't wait for second job!"

Zethis nodded and bowed, now embarrassed about his initial response to Raydan's invitation. "Uhï¿½uhï¿½Zethis," he answered, stammering. "I'm levelï¿½level twenty-one!"

The bowman held out a hand to his forehead, giving him a sudden jolt of heat above his eyes. "Welcome to my party," Raydan replied. "By the way, you have nice hair. I wish my hair were as light as yours."

"Ahï¿½" That remark had caught him by surprise, and Zethis couldn't say any more than that. He glanced up at the strands of straw-gold hair that poked into his vision, then back at the boy's dark gold. "Erï¿½thanksï¿½" No one had ever said anything about his hair before. He swept it back self-consciously.

"So," Raydan went on. "Party Quest next?" He called out behind himself, and three others soon came, among them another bowman, as well as a cleric and a female mage. "This is the rest of our party, for this PQ."

Zethis smiled nervously at them, mumbling a soft "hi".

About an hour after Raydan had gone to stand in queue for the Party Quest, he suddenly came running towards them, grinning. "We're next!" He called. Zethis had not spoken to any of the other three members, and neither had they spoken to each other: it seemed that none of them knew any of the others. Raydan's shout had given him a shock.

Almost instantly, Zethis saw the whirl of a staff gem in the hand of a robed woman, somewhere off in the distance. At once, the bricks, the tar of Kerning around him began to whiten, whiten, fade around him as he watched.

The shrill cry of a marsh bird sent him flying out of his daze. Marsh bird? He was definitely in a different place now. It smelt different, and was hotter. A lot hotter. There was not a hint of snow here.

Slowly, Zethis looked around to take in the new scenery and smell around him. Water, everywhere, gleaming under the sun, under the light that flowed in from between the leaves. Mud, its smell surrounding him, the brown sludge thick below his feet.

Ligators! He saw the huge reptilian beasts lying by the rocks and swamp banks, rough olive skin shiny and wet with mud and slime.

"Stay down here!" Raydan's voice suddenly reminded him, thankfully, that he was not alone in this new area. The bowman was racing towards the sleepy crocodiles that lay, feet on the marsh bed. "Go get your quest from Cloto!"

"C-Cloto?" Zethis called in puzzlement, before seeing the mystically-dressed, staff-wielding woman around whom two of the others were standing. He ran over as well, feeling the mud splash on his unguarded upper shins.

The woman, Cloto, waited expectantly as he gasped out about his "quest" to her.

She nodded. "You must gain the number of tickets equivalent to the level you have to be to become a thief, warrior or bowman," she explained simply.

The number took no thought to to figure out. How to get them, though, stumped him. He looked about and saw where all the other party members stood, battling Ligators.

Zethis swallowed, heart suddenly thumping madly. Ligators? He knew that they were too powerful for him to handle. He would never get the ticketsï¿½

"Zethis! How many do you need?" Zethis had not caught Raydan's words the first time, so he ran closer to the edge of solid ground, where it gently sloped into the swamp, to listen.

"Ten," he replied, again remembering his companions. Would Raydan really be able to get so many for him?

It seemed so. The bow-user stood on a facing bank of the swamp, arrows flying from the weapon in his hands like birds leaping off a tree branch. One by one, he shot the monsters down, each one allowing a yellow card to float out of its mouth as it sank into the depths of the marsh in a trail of bubbles. Raydan snatched each one up swiftly as he waded a short way into the water.

Zethis waited a while, watching in fascination as the rest of the party fired at the monsters, the creatures occassionally evading their attacks, the spells and arrows plunging down into the swamp as well. He became conscious, all of a sudden, of the sword that hung useless at his side.

The instant he saw Raydan and the rest racing to where he was, he knew that they were all done. Sometimes, I wish I could distance-attack, he thought with a twinge of regret that he was unable to do so. The only thing he could do was use the Three Snails skill, which was not very useful.

"Come on now," Raydan said, pushing a bundle of yellow tickets into his free left hand. They were wet, but amazingly clean and dirt-free.

Zethis bowed. "Thanks," he said sincerely.

At the gate, Cloto fed the tickets one by one through the electric gate, until there were enough, and it slid vertically open.

They stepped over into the next stage, Cloto following them. Considering that they were walking over mud, she was still as elegant as ever, as she treaded across the muddy ground.

"Two people are needed for this stage," she said as they came to a stop next to another electric gate. "I need two of you to try hanging on these vines in different combinations. Once the right combination is found, the door will open."

Raydan glanced at the four other party members, who looked back, Zethis included.

"You," he said, picking the mage. "And you." Zethis suddenly felt faint as the bowman grabbed his arm and dragged him over.

The two of them began to climb up the four vine ropes that hung from the treetops, trying each rope in cycles as the gate repeatedly refused to open for them. Zethis found it not as hard as he had thought to climb, but the rough surfaces of the vines were beginning to make his hands blister.

"Yes!" Finally, the gate decided to open as Zethis finally found himself climbing a new rope. Gladly, he leapt off the vine rope, brushing his hands on his pants before following the rest through the glowing green doorway.

The other side of the gate was totally unlike the area they had just exited. As Zethis stepped through, he felt cold wash through him, and suddenly found himself in the middle of a dark forest, the swamp bird sounds replaced by the endless rustle of leaves and the cries of forest creatures. He was almost blind here, if not for the row of torches that burnt in the trunks of the gnarled, pillar-like trees.

The third stage was another "combinations" stage, except that there were six barrels with kittens in them, and that three people had to do it this time. Zethis took a rest while the other three progressed with the tiring search for the right combination of barrels.

About ten minutes did it, and soon, the next gate spun into life, a whirl of green lights that shone stark in the darkness of the shade of branches.

"Here goes, our last stage," Raydan called out to the rest, before his figure vanished through the gate.

Once all were through, there were sparks all around, and huge lizard beasts appeared, wide single eyes gleaming yellow like topazes that glared brightly at them.

"Arrow Blow!" Raydan's arrow caught the first, making it wince in pain as the projectile spun into its eye with a burst of bright blue.

"Magic Claw!" the Cleric boy's powerful spell ripped through its eye, bringing death upon it. Zethis ran into the battle, as did the rest, and began to fight, fight the monsters that lay, challenging, ahead.

Death followed death as the arrows, magic and blades tore through the monsters one by one, the party members extracting one ticket from each fallen monster, tossing their bodies aside to clear their path.

"King Slime," Raydan said, leading them through the trees, towards their final step to victory. Just beyond, the thumps of the King Slime's colossal footsteps collided with their ears. "Come on, it won't be too hard. Zethis, stay clear for the time being."

Zethis complied without a complaint. He knew he would not survive anyway. Still, he yearned, as he watched the rest inch closer, aim, and attack the boss with their long-range attacks, to have powers like theirs. It was something he had wished more than once this day already.

Bang. Whizz. Rumble. The battle ended quickly as it had begun, the bag of slime tumbling over the roots, its life liquid drained from a leeching hole in its front. The rest of the party cheered, before Raydan called out to Zethis, and they departed together.

The instant they arrived before Cloto and she swept her staff over them, Zethis saw a shower of blue all around him, as he suddenly gained another level upon the completion of their quest.

"Thanks," he said sincerely as they materialized outside, before the canal at the entrance to the swamp, the sounds of gushing water drowning out most of the chatter of the other waiting parties. Raydan nodded.

Something glinted on the bowman's neck. Unsure but curious all the same, he glanced down at the pendant that hung on his chestï¿½a bright-jewelled ornament which seemed to shine with more power than was apparent.

Raydan noticed Zethis' interest in the pendant and held it up. "My sister has a guild," he replied. "I just joined it a few months ago." He was silent for a while. Then his eyes sparked all of a sudden. "Oh! Would you like to end the suffering in Victoria Island?"

Zethis looked on, puzzled, then nodded. "I-is it something to do with your guild?" he asked.

Raydan nodded with a grin. "Then come with me! We'll find my sis, and she'll guild you."

Come with me! The words echoed back from a distant memory. Of course! Those were the words he had heard, that moment, when Dances with Balrog had sent him spiraling into a world of stars, for a few, breathtaking seconds. Those words of fate, that had been uttered so calmly in his vision, now recurred.

Was this fate for him? Not knowing, he followed Raydan, his new friend, through the streets of Kerning.

ralinn: blessing of shadow

The huntress, unknowing that someone now sought her, strolled the dimming street, snow-laid. The snow had stopped falling for a while already, and it was beginning to thaw a little. By next snowfall, the ground would be slippery, and extremely dangerous.

When is Raydan going to be doneï¿½she pondered continuously. Her brother had gone for the Kerning Party Quest, and had not yet returned to this spot, where they had promised to meet. Where was he?

She glanced up at the sky as it faded, and the clouds masked the dawning starscape once again. Then, looking ahead at the building before her, she gave a scream. A dark figure, completely black-clothed, was perched on the parapet of the second level, eyes peering from over a black mask at her.

The man leapt down. He was taller than she; hair black as the night sky, eyes narrowed. Instantly, she recognized him for who he was.

"D-Dark Lordï¿½" Ralinn's gasp faded in her throat.

The man pulled off his mask and smiled sadly. He was incredibly handsome. Ralinn tried not to meet his gaze. He looked to be in his twenties, but there was experience in his eyes that far surpassed that age.

"Athena Pierce's student?" he asked, coming closer and eyeing her bow, which she gripped tighter..

"Her close friend too," Ralinn replied, as if saying so would raise her status in the eyes of the thief Job Master.

It did. The Dark Lord walked a circle around her, eyes still filled with sadness she could not understand. "I miss her," he sighed. "She is fine, isn't she?"

Slightly surprised at the emotion in his voice, she nodded. She had recognized it instantly as love. Is it possibleï¿½?

"Glad to know," was his reserved reply. "Whom are you waiting for? You have been here for a long time."

"Have you been watching me so long?" she asked, taken aback. "I'mï¿½waiting for my brother. He's at the Kerning Party Quest."

He nodded. "I don't know why, butï¿½I can sense a grand, epic future for you," he said. "You might come close to death more than once. So I grant you my blessing." Before Ralinn had registered what he had said, he had taken her face in his hands, as Athena had done in her job advancements. A jolt of black shot through her eyes, and she shivered, feeling the darkness infuse her entire body.

"Don't take this blessing figuratively, as most are," he advised. "When you require my power, think of me, think of this day, and I will be there to help you."

Ralinn gasped softly, and opened her mouth to thank the Dark Lord, but the instant the words were in her throat, he had vanished into the deep evening, leaving not even a trail of footprints in the snow.

"Ralinn! Ralinn, there you are!" the familiar voice brought a smile toher lips as she whipped around, to see her brother racing towards them, leading another boy around his age towards her.

The boys came to stop before her, panting hard as if they had sprinted all the way. The first thing Ralinn noticed about her brother's companion was his golden hair, light even in the sunset.

He looked up at her face, looking strangely afraid of her. "Uhï¿½you'reï¿½Raydan's sister?" he inquired nervously. "Ralinn?" Ralinn nodded.

He paused, thinking. "It's you! Athena Pierce wishes to say hello to you!" his exclamation was amazingly loud, as compared to how softly and fearfully he had spoken earlier. His voice reverted to its original volume instantly. "Hi, I'mï¿½I'm Zethisï¿½"

"Nice to meet you, Zethis," Ralinn replied, feeling a little self-conscious because of his nervousness.

"He wants to join your guild," Raydan cut in.

Suddenly, she recalled the voice, the second, soft voice.

"Find me, guide me, lead my blindness

Grant the wishes in my heart.

Hold your smile, show me your kindness

Stay by me, right from the start."

Had that been his voice? "Do you wish to put an end to the suffering in Victoria Island?" she questioned. He nodded, eyes bright with light she rarely saw in anyone's.

So, in the midst of the snowy nightfall, she put the pendant round his neck, and it was done. The third member had been found.

end of the year

Zethis, Raydan and Ralinn stood in the snow, still for a few moments, watching the dance of the stars.

Ketara peered out of the window from behind Dances with Balrog's messy desk, taking a momentary break from his tiring chore.

Shirion watched the clouds uncover the sickle-moon from the branch of an Ellinian tree, praying on the starlight for freedom.

Turino and Telida lay sleepless in a hollow, the snow and the sky shaded from them by the ancient, tangled branches.

Akera lay sleeping in a hidden shed within the abandoned fields of Henesys, eyes closed from the faint lights above, ever watching, ever singing their lullabies.

It is only a matter if time before everything starts to happen.

Enter the Year of the Pig.

Chapter 3: Year of the Pig

lanorï¿½: companion

Alone, the seventeen-year-old Ice Lightning Mage ascended the hill. The letter had given her this address, so it must be this place.

All around her, there was the amazing, refreshing aroma of flowers and dew, the sweetness filling her with joy. Yes, the world was darkening, but why not enjoy the beauty that still existed while it lasted?

At last, standing at the top of the windy hill, she found herself facing the mansion of a rich manï¿½not something she had expected. Soï¿½my applicant is from a rich family?

She knocked on the door, not nervous, for she knew that she had no reason to fear themï¿½she was far above their level of skill, anywayï¿½

"Please come in," a man wearing a uniform welcomed her into the posh place. She removed her shoes and stepped upon the expensive marble flooring of the mansion. Lanorï¿½ took a quick glance around to assess her surroundingsï¿½immaculate, well-arranged furnitureï¿½shelves of books and ornaments, tablesï¿½ all around the entrance hall, the walls made of beautiful beige rock. Around the hall, there were tall hardwood doors, which undoubtedly led on to other rooms on that level.

Moments later, she glanced back at the man, to find that he was already on the way to the spiral staircase at the end of the room. Quickly, she followed, leaving the entrance hall behind.

The owners of the house were there to greet her, at the top of the marble stairs. Three stood thereï¿½a man of about thirty-five years of age, his hair short and brown, arms structured like a bowman's, a woman with long blonde hair held by a pink lace ribbon, and a girl of about ten, her hair the same brown as her father's, a look of curiosity mingled with uncertainty in her eyes.

"Good morning, Sir and Madams," she greeted them, bowing. "I am Lanorï¿½, pleased to meet you."

"The Silver Fang of El Nath," she heard the woman gasp. "Yes, yes, our daughter would like to become your assistant!" She looked excited all of a sudden. Was it really such a great thing to be her assistant?

The girl stepped forward nervously. "I'm Clynine," she said softly. Lanorï¿½ examined her faceï¿½straight brown hair framed her somewhat pretty face, her brown eyes searching the Ice Lightning Mage with equal interest as she did the girl's.

"What is your job?" Lanorï¿½ inquired.

"Magician, level sixteen," she replied hopefully. Lanorï¿½ could see the deep want in her eyes to become her assistant. At least twenty had applied for the job; she had turned down the last ten or so. She was powerful, she did not deny it, but she had not expected so many to want to be her assistant.

Why she needed one, she had never had a clear reason. It was simply the fact that she would need someone to help her if she was to be able to face greater enemies in the future, and somehow purge El Nath of the king of Victoria Island's guards.

So many had proven unworthy already. Would she be another of them? Lanorï¿½ didn't enjoy having to turn so many down, all whom she had found not strong enough to be deserving. She would find out soon.

"Clynine, perform any spell," she said. Her parents looked at her strangely, but she did not look away. After some hesitation, Clynine began to glance about for her staff. No staff anywhere. She raised her hands anyway, and pulled back her sleeves.

Without a staff? Lanorï¿½ mused. This will be interesting.

The girl performed what might have been an energy bolt. But in every respect it was not oneï¿½it was too bright, not the usual blue, but white as daylight, and brighter than the sun.

"Was that an Energy Bolt?" the mage asked, impressed, to say the least. She nodded, eyes cast down.

"Iï¿½I did it wrong again." Her eyes were downcast, her hands clasped behind her back.

Lanorï¿½ came closer and shook her head. "Clynine, that is the most amazing Energy Bolt I've ever seen in my life."

The young mage looked up into the Ice Lightning mage's eyes, wondering, amazed and incredulous. "B-but it was white, "she replied. "I never do it right. How could you think that it was good?"

"It's not about the colour," Lanorï¿½ replied smiling, placing an arm on her shoulder. "Others are only able to form bolts of untamed energy. But you have learnt to direct the powers of light and cancel the others. You are gifted in light magic." She looked up at the ceiling, thinking. She was specialï¿½an extremely small number of mages could direct a specific type of magic at such a low level of training. "I like that."

Her parents looked on hopefully, and Clynine herself looked at her interlocked fingers, pale with the cold.

The moment of tension finally broke. Lanorï¿½ took her hand and bowed. "You have such a gifted daughter," she commended the mage's parents. "She is worthy. From today onwards, she will be my assistant."

Her parents were suddenly crying tears of joy, hugging their daughter and telling her to be a good girl. "I told you it was nothing to worry about," her father gasped, Clynine in his arms. "You do us proud, alright?"

Clynine looked up tearfully. "Will I get to see you again?" she asked, holding him tightly. Both her parents smiled, her father ruffling her hair.

"Of course, darling," he replied. "We'll be here, waiting for you and Lanorï¿½ to come back, after you two defeat the king's guards."

By evening, she had her bag packed. Lanorï¿½ waited at the bottom of the stairs, and when she came, tears still stained her cheeks. Her staff was in her right hand now, the wood carved skillfully.

"We'll be here," her parents promised once again, at the middle of the spiral staircase. She waved, and together, the two went to the door, stepped out; Clynine turned back and waved once more.

Then the spring evening surrounded them, the petals that fluttered through the sunset, the blades of grass that swayed at the wind's brush, and the sweet smells of an ending day, a dawning year.

"Come, we're going back to El Nath."

And they began.

shirion: blood, sweat and tears

Level seventy.

Finally. Panting as he pulled himself to the heights of the Cold Cradle, blood-drenched and newly revived by his level-up, Shirion knew that it meant he was ready for his third job. He had laboured day and night for a year, since escape, training, sometimes, till his body could move no longer. Now, the fruits of his labour had been borne.

Thirty levels in two years was no easy feat. He now saw the scars and marks that battling monsters above his level had left on him. He had survived battle after battleï¿½at the last moment, he had always felt a sudden surge of energy within his body, and each time, it had saved him from near-certain death.

Who cared how he had come to his seventieth level? He had made it. Now, he would head to the Warrior's Sanctuary and take his third job test. It wasn't far.

A day of traveling got the Crusader-to-be to his destination. By the end of the day, he had ascended and descended four peaks of the range, even the summer afternoon air not enough to warm away the cold that came from the high altitudes.

"Shirion! It's been such a long time! How are you?" The Warrior Job Master was smiling as he opened the door. "You're here to become a Crusader, I'd suppose. You are fast. I always knew that you would rise faster than other warriors do!"

Shirion did not return the smile. "Yes," he replied in one word. "When can I start?"

Dances with Balrog nodded slowly. "You are very intent on advancing, I see," he commented, smiling at the boy. "Well, come in and take a rest first; you look worn out."

Grateful that the chief had offered, Shirion entered the Sanctuary and glanced aboutï¿½his shelves and benches were in their place, just as they had all been four years ago, when he had last visited. But, he also came to notice, the table was completely tidy, unlike last timeï¿½his scrolls were neatly shelved, his books piled in a corner on a shelf he had never noticed before.

Dances with Balrog noted his wondering gaze. He grinned. "My secretary has done quite a neat job, hasn't he?"

"Secretary?" His voice was more surprised as he had hoped it would come out.

"Ketara, nice boy he is. He wanted to join the tribe, but changed his mind after he went to the Dungeon," the Job Master replied. "He's restocking his potions right now. Should be back any time nowï¿½"

Shirion took in what he had just been told. "Sounds like a girl's name," he said. "Ke-tara. Keta-ra." No matter how he tried to pronounce it, it sounded like a girl's name.

About ten minutes after their conversation began, there was another knock on the door. Dances with Balrog went instantly to answer it, and he returned to the centre of the room with another boy. He looked to be about thirteen, his hair dark brown, almost as dark as black, the colour of ebony, falling up to his shoulders. His fringe covered his eyebrows, his charming face in a wide smile to see Shirion.

"Hey there! Who're you?" His exclamation would have sounded rude if said by anyone else, but not by his voice.

"Hello, I'm Shirion," he introduced himself to the smiling boy, a warrior, from the looks of it. "I'm here to become a Crusader. You must be Ketara, Dances with Balrog's secretary?"

He nodded brightly. "A Fighter? Oh, you're the ones who use swords and axes, aren't you?" He glanced down at Shirion's sword and watched it as if it might move of its own accord. "I'm a Spearman. Good luck on your third job advancement, by the way!"

Ketara initially came across as very childish, especially for a thirteen year old. But somehow, Shirion could see, in his mannerisms, that Ketara knew and had seen more than what an ordinary second-job warrior had.

Shirion had always been a good judge of character, he admitted to himself. He had watched people for his entire life, and he knew from his actions that Ketara was actually a mature boy, though his love for meeting new people probably overrode that at the moment.

And then, there was some strange, silent suffering behind that gaze of hisï¿½

The secretary turned back to Dances with Balrog, and they began a small conversation about the prices of goods at the potion shop. He never stopped smiling as they spoke, and he treated the chief as his equal, not a superior, Shirion noted.

"So now, I have a job advancement to attend to," Dances with Balrog announced, standing. "Come withï¿½"

Suddenly, Ketara gave a loud gasp and staggered back from the pit of fire at the centre of the Sanctuary. He held his head in his hands and shook his head hard, blinking. "Whatï¿½what wasï¿½" His words were hardly audible.

"Ketara?" Shirion called tentatively. The Spearman forced a smile and sighed.

"It was nothing, really. Just one of my regularï¿½faint attacks."

Shirion wondered why he would be saying something then, if he were about to faint. But he decided not to pursue that trivial matter.

Dances with Balrog who, had stood aside all the while, came forward. "You sure, Ketara?" The boy nodded. "Alright then, Shirion," he turned his eyes to the Fighter. "Come with me." Shirion nodded and stood from his seat, allowing the Warrior Job Master to lead him.

The peaks and points of the Perion skyline became familiar immediately. He kept his eyes on Dances with Balrog's back, and vaguely wondered how the chief survived with such thin clothes. But that thought was championed by the growing nervousness that expanded steadily in his heart. How long had it been since he had taken the second job test? That one had been hard, to say the least. Would this one be similar?

"Here," the chief said, coming to stop along one of the pathways. He turned to the left, to the mountainside, and Shirion saw the cave mouth that gaped in the rock face. Just then, Dances with Balrog gave a small curse, and the youth felt the man's powerful, weapon-worn arm drag him aside.

"King's policemen," he whispered as Shirion found himself behind a corner of the cliff. He saw the men riding through the mountain pathways below, towards the tents beyond. He knew the need for silenceï¿½job advancements were an illegal procedure, under a law the king had passed at least ten years ago, or so he had heard.

They took a while to leave this side of the mountain, both holding their breaths as they watched. All Shirion could hear was his heartbeat and breathing, both in messily superimposed rhythms.

Someday, you will be gone, he thought darkly as they marched away. You will leave Victoria Island as it should be. Free.

He felt a tug on his arm. "Follow now." He trailed Dances with Balrog to the cave, his movements suddenly wary.

They came to a stop at the mouth. Shirion glanced in, but didn't say anything. His heartbeat ruled everything else as his hands grew progressively sweatier as he prospected about his third job advancement.

The Job Master's instructions were simple enough. "Go in, kill what you find, and take the Black Charm that you obtain." But in that cave, he knew, awaited a terrible challenge, one that he possibly might not survive.

"What if I die in there?" he asked, voicing his worries.

The chief shook his head with amusement. "No, you can't die, of course. The creature has been made such that it will not kill you." While Shirion's mouth fell open, the Job Master walked a little way into the cave. He turned back. "You want your third job, don't you?"

That reminder was all he needed. The Crusader-to-be shut his eyes for a few seconds and breathed in, trying, failing, to calm himself. Then he ran and left the brightness of the sun behind, with only his armour and sword to protect him now.

The darkness went on for a few minutes, and Shirion groped blindly down the walls, trusting that one sense to take him to the heart where his battle waited, for that was all he had in this blindness. The walls were silent and the distances concealing.

Brightness gradually lit his vision. It came so slowly that he did not realize until it was lightly cast against the walls around him, at his fingers, and he became aware that he could dimly see the shadow of his hand.

Then he came into a wider pathway, where growths of crystal dotted the walls. The torches came into view soon, casting their light on the shiny minerals that made up the entire walls.

Shirion glanced up. He had heard a growl. He gasped. Before him, in person, stood Dances with Balrog. Now, he had a shining green weapon in his hand, one he had never seen before, he was sure.

"D-Dances with Balrog? How did you get hereï¿½"

He didn't say a word, only leapt forward in the changing torchlight, axe shining for a moment in his eyes before he swung out to parry it with his own sword. The weapons clanged loudly on each other, and the chief, or at least what appeared to be him, stepped back, face showing no signs of any emotions.

Shirion, too, stood back for a moment, shocked. "Chief Dances with Balrog," he repeated worriedly. He didn't understand what was going on. What was the Job Master doing in the cave, when he had just seen him outside a few minutes ago? He had not heard anyone pass him while he had been on the way.

His momentary lapse of attention cost him an injury. Dances with Balrog had lost every dredge of emotion, and had given him a sharp blow in his right leg. Shirion whirled around and faced the creature. He was sure it wasn't the Job Master.

The battle was swift, leaving no time for careful consideration before the next blow had to be made. No chances could be passed over, every wasted moment a threat to his existence. But he couldn't allow that thought to distract him. Regardless of the appearance of his foe, he knew that he had to fight like it were a real enemy, like the creature wasn't human, for it was what held the quarry of his search.

The chief-look-alike knew how to battle as well as the real one did. They fought constantly, Shirion knowing that a single mistake would end his attempt to reach his long awaited, hard-fought-for third job. All that work he had put in that year, rising from level 45 to level 70ï¿½he couldn't let it go to wasteï¿½

If it was a replica of a human, the Fighter thought grimly, it had the same weaknesses as one. It would die if he struck its neck, or heart, probably...

This new revelation stuck in his mind. His strokes were more directed now, with the assurance that this thing had a weakness, that it could die as well. What it was to him, he was to it. He had the strength it had, from all his battles with the drakes of the mountains. It was now a matter of who struck the killing blow first.

Shirion's sword tore the replica's skin many times, but it drew no blood, none of the red liquid that only ran in real humans' flesh. Its weapon tore his clothes many times, crushed against his armour, ripped his skin a few times. It was nothing; the pain was nothing compared to the dig of dragon fangs, or the tear of their claws. The battle was too simple. He didn't feel tired.

The fight went on almost half an hour, neither giving the other any chance to gain the upper hand. No, it won't defeat me, not this mindless creature, Shirion's mental voice snarling through his brain as his reflexes pulled him away from another potentially fatal strike. Exhaustion was just beginning, but it was not enough to weaken the determined Fighter.

Shirion took a plunge as the fake Dances with Balrog closed in for another attack. The axe blade swung past his head and sank into his shoulder the moment his own sword ran the clone through the chest and tore back out again. Moments later, he doubled back, the pain just beginning to creep outwards from the wound in his shoulder.

Shirion heard a burst of air. He glanced forward and saw the cloud of white that surrounded the disintegrating clone, before it vanished into a crude white paper cutout of a featureless human, and there was a clatter on the ground ahead. The fighter stepped forward, disregarding the growing pain that was coming from the wound.

The Black Charm lay where the clone had been seconds ago. Shirion lifted it with his left hand and held it tightly, not smiling, but rejoicing in his own mind.

He felt a trickle of warmth down his back and he turned to inspect the joint of his shoulder. Blood bloomed along his sleeve, a dark patch under the torchlight. It looked more painful than it really was. His armour had failed to guard it well enough.

But he had succeeded. It had been easier than he had expected.

"Chief Dances with Balrog, I've got it," he called as the point of light that marked the exit grew wider in the distance.

"As I expected," came his bright reply.

ralinn: third song

Ralinn suddenly found herself awake in the darkness of the cave that had been her home for days already, since she had arrived in this section of Perion.

The third song was still fresh in her mind. She had awoken as it had ended, and she pondered its words again.

"Under joy I hide the darkness,

I'm afraid of what is true.

Carefree spirit marred by terrorï¿½

Take me to a life anew."

These words were the most alarming yet. Was this person hiding something so painful? Then they had better hurry and find the person soonï¿½

They'll come, she thought. We'll find this person, sooner or later.

Ralinn knew that fate would cross their paths. And it had sounded amazingly close, as if the next guild member was within a day's walk from where she sat at that moment.

zethis: return to the bloody grounds

The time had finally come, when he could finally return rightfully to Perion with something to claimï¿½he was eligible for the second job advancement, at last.

It was all so strange to Zethis. He had begun his journey expecting nothing, seeming to be nothing himselfï¿½but he had gone so far in the course of three years.

He had yet to visit Ellinia and Sleepywood, but that was all. He now wielded a hammer, when all he had ever held before ten years old was a gardening hoe. So he was twelve now, and so much stronger, so much more than he had been before.

I hope Father is still alright. Even if he isn't my real father.

The warrior had not forgotten his decision. A knight he would become, when the time came. Just like the youth who had assisted him on the first day of his journey. And when he returned to his home, he would help Father at home, and care for him better than the middle-aged man had cared for Zethis himself.

Zethis had lived with Ralinn and Raydan since the last winter, when he had first met the younger of the two at the Kerning Party Quest. They were both so kind, the same with their parentsï¿½had taken him in so graciously, fed him, kept him warm and safe, even helped him enjoy himself.

The siblings had decided to travel again, Raydan having reached level thirty at the end of the previous year. He had left for Henesys already, while Zethis and Ralinn had gone their own way north of Kerning, towards Perion, in anticipation of his reaching level thirty.

Now he had made itï¿½it had been at least three days already. Now, they were climbing the last slope of the mountainside in the late afternoon, the village of tents and rock already in view from below.

Ralinn pulled herself up onto a ledge slightly higher than her shoulders. She was surprisingly agile, and Zethis, though only a few inches shorter than her, could hardly get onto the same ledge, for all the armour he wore.

"On the count of three," the huntress called down, taking firm hold of his hands as he reached upwards. At her command, he attempted to get a foothold on the short rock wall, while Ralinn pulled him upwards. This was at least the tenth time she had had to help him up, and he found it embarrassing, in the least.

Zethis managed an exhausted smile as his feet finally reached the top of the ledge. With Ralinn around, he felt a lot less nervous of travelling, especially in these treacherous areas. She was already close to level sixty, and a lot more powerful than any monster in the domain.

From then on, the path ran smoothly over the mountainside, straight to the tribal settlement. Zethis looked up at the Warrior's Sanctuary, perched high on the majestic mountaintop, and sighed when he saw what a hard climb it was there.

"Don't let exhaustion keep you from getting there," Ralinn encouraged him. "You'll get to rest a while before you take the test, I'm sure. And I'll be going too!" The warrior nodded, and they made their way towards the long pathway that wound around the mountain.

It took barely half an hour. The two arrived, panting from all the climbing, at the door of the Sanctuary.

"Well, go ahead," Ralinn said from beside him. Zethis knocked, his hand, his entire body shaking with a sudden attack of nerves. His fist made a resounding knock on the door and his heartbeat quickened double.

Oh no, no, I'm not ready for this!

The replying swing of the door was not the confident one he had seen the last time he had come.

"Umï¿½yes?"

The voice definitely did not belong to Dances with Balrogï¿½it sounded more like a youth whose voice had broken recently. Zethis glanced in, puzzled.

A teenager about a year older than him poked his head out the door, a smile instantly lighting up his face. "Here for first job? Second job? Come in! Dances with Balrog isn't back yet; he's with some other guy at his third job advancement, and I'm getting kinda bored. Come on in and take a seat! You both look exhausted!"

Zethis and Ralinn glanced at each other with surprise. The boy opened the door wider and invited them in again. They followed him into the Sanctuary and sat down on the stone benches at the side. Zethis assessed his appearance quicklyï¿½straight black hair that reached his shoulders, eyes about the same colour as Zethis' ownï¿½dark brownï¿½and a face that could make girls swoon.

"I haven't introduced myself properly yet," he went on quickly. "I'm Dances with Balrog's new secretary, Ketara."

"That sounds like a girl's name." Ralinn couldn't help herself, it seemed.

To Zethis' shock, Ketara smiled. "I get that a lot," he replied and looked up at the ceiling, as if counting. "You're the eleventh person this week to say that!" He was beaming. "Soï¿½who are you, and why are you here?"

"I'm Ralinn, and I'm actually here to escort Zethis to his second job advancement," she introduced herself. Zethis looked down and blushed from embarrassment.

"Yï¿½yeahï¿½I'm here toï¿½" he began, then lost all confidence in himself.

"Second job? Fighter, Spearman or page?" the secretary asked. "I'm a Spearman!"

Thankfully, Ralinn answered for him. "He wants to become a page," she told the boy. "And he'sï¿½not very good at talking to strangers."

From what Zethis had gathered, this Ketara was the direct opposite. "Good luck on it, then," he replied, sitting down on the bench as well. "Meanwhile, can you stay here a while? I'm going to bore myself to death counting his scrolls!"

Ralinn shrugged and nodded. Zethis just nodded.

"Soï¿½how did you end up being Dances with Balrog's secretary?"

Ketara began narrating his tale about his second job advancement, and Zethis quickly took in all the details. Fire Boars, Lupins, Dark Marblesï¿½the test sounded tough. Perhaps he wouldn't even make it throughï¿½

"Then the last fireboar fell at my spear point, and the marble came out of its mouth. I was done! So I went up to the mountaintop, where Dances with Balrog made me into a Spearman. Andï¿½he asked me if I wanted to be his secretary," he finished anticlimactically. "I don't have anything to do, so I agreed. And it isn't very easyï¿½"

Ralinn seemed interested in something else. "Why did you want to join the tribe?" she questioned wonderingly.

Ketara sighed, and for the first time, his smile disappeared. "I wantedï¿½aï¿½home," he answered cryptically. "I don't actually know who my real parents are. Butï¿½"

He didn't seem to want to go on. But he fought that down and continued to explain. "The only memory I have of my past is of this weird witchï¿½and I'm really starting to think that that Iï¿½I'm not a humanï¿½that I'm that woman's creationï¿½"

He looked terrified now. Suddenly, Zethis found his voice. "You can't be! You're very niceï¿½"

"I don't knowï¿½" Ketara said, turning away. "It's possible. Maybe I'm a product of some witch's experimentï¿½"

Ralinn glanced out the door, which still hung ajar. "It's getting late," she said with a sigh. Indeed, the light from outside was turning a shade of gold, and perhaps this Shirion would return only late at nightï¿½which meant that they would have to stay for one night at the Warrior's Sanctuaryï¿½

Night came upon the stone monument of a building soon enough. Maybe the third job test was almost impossible, and Shirion was stuck. Zethis hoped this wasn't the case, for many reasons.

"It seems you'll have to stay here till tomorrow morning," Ketara said, sounding wary, as he returned from the shop with their dinners. He glanced quickly through the doorway and slammed the door shut. "The guards are searching againï¿½they come every week, hoping that they will somehow find the Sanctuaryï¿½thank goodness for Dances with Balrog's invisibility charmï¿½they won't find us, as long as it's up, and the door's closed."

"That king is a jerk," Ralinn commented angrily. "What does he think he's doing by making us all feel afraid and disallowing job advancements? Afraid that someday, the people will rebel?" Zethis turned to her. That was what they were planning to do, one day.

"Exactly," Ketara replied, sitting down with the food and passing it to them. "Though it's a smart move to keep all the most powerful people in hiding. They won't be able to gain enough support to build up a rebel force, and the people will all be less willing to fightï¿½"

The huntress nodded. "If no one does anythingï¿½I don't know how much longer we have to suffer."

We'll do something, Zethis thought, anger suddenly rising in his throat.

A sudden knock on the huge door fully awakened the three, who were about to fall asleep.

"Shirion has succeeded!" the chief's jubilatory voice made them all turn as he stepped in, a tall youth of about fifteen years of age following him in, holding his own shoulder tightly. He had long hair, brown in the firelight of the central pit, tied loosely by a strip of torn cloth. Zethis suddenly noticed the dark patch of deep red where his hand touched the fabric, and he gasped, looking away.

"Does he need potions?" Ketara quickly suggested helpfully, running over to the injured youth, bottles of white liquid in hand. Dances with Balrog turned to the warrior behind him, who nodded wearily.

Zethis and Ralinn watched them, not knowing what to do in this situation. A minute later, Shirion walked slowly over to the same bench on which they sat, taking a seat on Ralinn's right.

"Congratulations," she murmured to him. Now, Zethis noticed the numerous deep scratches drawn prominently across his skin. The battle must have been very hard on him.

Shirion turned and managed a weak smile at the two. "It wasn'tï¿½too bad," he said in a small sigh.

"Well, you made it, then," Ralinn replied. "Now, you're aï¿½"

"Crusader," he answered simply, taking off the shoulder pieces of his armour. "I'm Shirion, level seventy Crusaderï¿½pleased to meet you."

"Wait for me!" Ketara called out, running over to the small gathering. "You all know me alreadyï¿½but anyway," he turned to Shirion. "Zethis, and Ralinn. Zethis is here for his second job advancement."

"Yï¿½yeah, I amï¿½" he took one look into the Crusader's dark brown eyes and lowered his gaze quicklyï¿½it was so piercing and intrusive, as if he were trying to see into his mind, and read something of the whirl of thoughts spinning in his head.

"Ralinn, level fifty-eight hunter," Zethis' companion introduced herself to everyone.

"Are you fifteen?" Shirion suddenly questioned. She was startled for a moment, then nodded, slightly puzzled. He cocked his head to a side. "Well, so am I."

The huntress looked down. "You're twelve levels higher than me," she commented. "I think I'm not training hard enough."

"No, no, I've been training like crazy, that's all. I wanted my third job fast; I've been waiting to get it for yearsï¿½since I was first recaptured after escaping the stupid guards at the Ellinia Station."

Ralinn's eyes suddenly widened, and she smiled. "Recaptured? ï¿½Wow, I was captured by guards too. But only for three years, before I escaped."

The conversation inevitably led on to all their pasts, and that night, everyone learnt something of each of the others' history and experiences under the tyranny of King Caleix, came to understand each other better.

How Shirion had been born into the slave team of the Ellinia Station, how he had escaped and been on the run for three years, before he had been found and brought back into captivity.

How Ralinn had been taken from home at five, escaped at eight, and trained in secret from then on.

How Ketara had been found in the forest, just as Zethis himself had, and had been brought up by a fairy of Ellinia, who kept him in safe hiding from the king's law-enforcers, before beginning his secret journey, through Perion, the Dungeon and back.

And Zethis told his own partï¿½of how he had learnt the truth of his parentage, of how he had gone to Henesys, been allowed through by the young guard leader that day, been advised by Athena Pierce to turn his sights to Kerning City.

By the end, they knew so much about each other, when they had been mere strangers, brought together by a chance meeting that day. Whether it had truly been chance or not, Zethis was now unsureï¿½for somehow, he had the feeling that this had been meant to happen all along.

All slept on the floor of the Warrior's Sanctuary that day, the ground kept warm by the constant flow of magma below the rock. It had been a long day; Zethis fell asleep with no problems.

Somehow, the warrior woke up early the next morning. Perhaps it was the nervousness that the thoughts of his second job test had instilled subconsciously in him. Perhaps it was just the stirring, confusing turn of events of the previous day. Two new people in a day! And he had not handled either of the meetings well either.

Whatever it was, he was wide awake at least an hour before dawn.

Standing and giving himself a long stretch, Zethis took a glimpse around the roomï¿½Shirion had already left; the newly-made Crusader had woken up even earlier than Zethis had.

Then he shuffled over to the door and took a glance at the sky of the last hour of the night. Far ahead, he suddenly noticed the silhouette of the chief's muscular figure, far out at the edge of the mountaintop, surveying the dim, misty horizon.

He timidly turned around, but Dances with Balrog's voice stopped him. "Are you ready for the second job test?"

Zethis was alarmed for a few moments. Without turning again, he nodded, the nervous chills returning in a sudden tide. Would he make it? Would he die in the process? Did he have the capability to pass the test?

The Job Master came before him and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Everyone is afraid before they face a test," he reassured the warrior. Zethis nodded slowly, still not sure if he wanted to do this.

I'll have to do it one day, if I want to become a White Knight any time soon, he reminded himself. Alright, then.

"Can I take a bath and have breakfast first?" he asked softly, watching the mist as it whirled around in Perion's firelight. Dances with Balrog stifled his laughter, and nodded.

"You'll need itï¿½you'll be ten times dirtier and hungrier by the time you come out."

ralinn: surprising realization

The huntress sat bolt upright from her pallet, which had provided her with quite a comfortable sleepï¿½good enough for her dream to recur. The song was singing deafeningly in her ears, even though she had been awake for at least a minute already.

"Under joy I hide the darkness,

I'm afraid of what is true.

Carefree spirit marred by terrorï¿½

Take me to a life anew."

Again, she was shuddering with strange terror, as if the ground were shaking below her feet. If this was what that person felt, then heï¿½she could tell his gender from his voiceï¿½must be suffering.

What is true? Hiding darknessï¿½under joy?

She was truly wondering now, and at the same time fearing for his well-being. Was it important that he be found soon? And what was this "truth" that he feared? This song was so cryptic, compared to the rest.

"Good morning, Ralinn!" Her head turned instantly to the voice, and she realised that she was alone on the huge stone floor with Ketara, who looked very bright, despite having woken up just moments ago. The other three pallets were empty; Dances with Balrog, Shirion and Zethis were all gone.

The Spearman stood and began to fold up the covers, thinking aloud to himself about how everyone had woken up so early. Ralinn followed suit, and while she struggled with the rough brown cloth, Ketara did the other three.

"Do you do this for Chief Dances with Balrog all the time?" she asked.

"He's pretty busy, and since I don't have much to do for himï¿½most of his stuff is tidied up, 'cos he never uses itï¿½yeah, I help him keep the place tidy."

Ralinn tried not to giggle. "That's a maid's job, isn't it?" she inquired.

"Wellï¿½I don't have a home, so I've got to stay here, and since I'm here, I might as well make myself useful," was his sensible reply.

The huntress looked up at the blank stone ceiling and nodded. "No homeï¿½what happened to your fairy foster-mother?"

"I decided to go and get my first job. When I went back to check on her, she was gone. All the fairies wereï¿½it's that king's fault." He sighed, but there was not a trace of anger, no fury in his voice or gaze. Maybe he was the kind who could never be angry.

But if he had a chance to help end it all, would he take itï¿½?

Fear. Hiding. He was the one.

Suddenly, Ralinn's eyes widened, and she came over to him, trying to calculate the chances that this was who the voice belonged to, that Ketara would be the fourth member of Orion's Beltï¿½

Afraid of what is true. What is trueï¿½his real parents? Who he really is? Hidingï¿½under a carefree faï¿½adeï¿½

"Ketaraï¿½do you want a chance to put it to an end?" Ralinn began as she always did with the other two members. "Do you want this pointless oppression to stop?"

Ketara looked up at her, blinking. "Whaï¿½yeah, I would," he replied, confused. "Why the serious look?"

She took a pendant from her pocket, took his right hand, and pressed it into his palm, making his eyes widen even more. "I own a guild," she explained. "Someday, we're going to change everythingï¿½somehow. End the king's rule. It wasn't my idea; a voice told meï¿½in a dream."

"In a dream?" Ketara looked on wonderingly, then looked down at the pendant in his palm, which would mark his membership in the guild, should he choose to put it on. He shrugged, then slipped it around his neck. Ralinn smiled.

"Welcome to Orion's Belt," she said warmly. The Spearman nodded and grinned, and Ralinn thought vaguely that his smiles were the most charming she had ever seen before.

"Soï¿½a rebellion group?" he mused, pacing about. "I wonder when we'll be even half ready to face those hundreds of guards out thereï¿½"

Suddenly, Ralinn wondered too. Would ten really be enough to face hundreds? If the "voice" had managed to coerce Hercule into forming the guild for free, then what did it know of what was in store for them?

She nodded in response. "I wonder tooï¿½but I'm sure it will be alright in the end. There'll be a way, and that's the way we'll take. And as for when we'll be readyï¿½we've got six more members to find."

zethis: exhaustion

He had never expected anything like this. A test of strength, maybe, but definitely notï¿½this.

He was exhausted, half-wasted with tiredness, and he now stood in hiding within a natural alcove of the rock wall, four Dark Marbles in his pocket. The sun was growing higher, and noon would break forth with all its force soon. The smell of animal sweat filled his nose, even here, away from the monsters.

I'm never going to make it, he thought as he panted deeply, lungs fighting for so much as a whiff of fresh, clean air.

"You can do it!" he exclaimed to himself. The creatures beyond his hiding place turned upon his shout and charged, all at once. He tried not to shout out in terror as the hammer swung forward in a reflex defending action.

Careful! He warned himself as he fought each monster down, one by one, glad that the narrow gap in the rock only allowed one monster in at a time, and restricted movement for both him and his foe.

As he battered the Lupin that stood before him, leaping to avoid the banana skins that flew at him, Zethis wondered for a few instants where the monkeys got all those bananas from, and how they could eat them so cursedly fast. But that was the least of his worries. There were banana peels all over the hole now, and he would start slipping on them soon.

The warrior exclaimed in triumph as two Lupins fell before him after taking a long battering from him. Both dropped Dark Marbles from their gaping mouths, and he bent to pick them up. Seven now. It had already been more than an hour. How long more would it take to gain thirty?

It would take four hours more. Every moment of the way, Zethis thought he would never survive, never pass the test. He refused to let himself fall. He would not, not after he had come this far, lived two years from home, travelled distances he had never been able to imagine before.

The late afternoon was passing. The warrior leaned on the rock, having come out of hiding hours ago. He was sweating profusely under the burning rays of the sun, tired beyond anything he could describe. He felt as if his feet were leaden, but he could still move by force of determination to get through this ordeal.

The monsters were lessening. When they had crowded and swarmed before his eyes earlier, only a few sparsely distributed creatures ran around below his ledge now. He only had three more Dark Marbles to find.

Zethis allowed himself to relax for a few moments. He smiled. He had done so well! Never had he thought he would get this far. He was proud of himself for not giving in to exhaustion and asking to forfeit the challenge.

Dances with Balrog. The warrior looked up the cliff face down which he had come, wondering if the chief had been waiting all along. I can't keep him waiting any longer!

Then he leapt down to stand among the last monsters, sudden new energy flooding his senses, energy born of the assurance that he had succeeded. The battle began, and ended minutes later.

"Dances with Balrog!" he called, scaling the rocks, ignoring the scrapes he got from the jagged edges of the beige rock. He had done it, at last. All thirty Dark Marbles, safely in his pocket.

The Job Master had been waiting for him all along. Dances with Balrog looked down from where he stood to see Zethis, who climbed all the faster. "I had the feeling you'd take this short to finish," he commented, much to the warrior's surprise.

"Short?" he repeated. "It took hours!"

"An hour less than others usually do. Except forï¿½there are four of you who took so short. Thaemis, the firstï¿½she rose to fame, but she'sï¿½vanished. Then Shirion, and Ketaraï¿½and you too."

Hearing the two familiar names, he looked up at Dances with Balrog's face, surprised, and wondering. Ketara hadn't seemed like the kind with extraordinary strength or skill. But neither did he, and what Dances with Balrog had said was probably the truthï¿½

It was too much to think of himself as anyone great. It seemed too far-fetchedï¿½impossible! He had never been anything more than a son, a foster son, and a boy with unreachable dreams. Why should that change because of something he had heard. He couldn't allow his hopes about himself to rise. He doubted he would ever be great.

But for now, he felt only joy and pride that he had passed the test. My first test! It truly felt wonderful to know that he had succeeded.

"So the time comes to choose your path," Dances with Balrog said in a tone he had never heard him speak in before, except during his first job advancement. "Which do you wish to choose? The path of a Fighter, the path of a Spearman, or the path of a Page?"

"I want to be a Page," Zethis said with conviction, suddenly sure, for the first time in his life, of something he was choosing. The chief smiled and nodded, and without warning, took the warrior's face in his hands, touching the brands he had marked in his skin two years ago.

"Then, by the Goddess' power, I name youï¿½a Page."

Zethis couldn't describe the power that ran through him at that moment, just like the power when he had first become a warrior, that cold winter so many years ago. It was spring now, and he shivered just as much as he had that day, the day he had first gained a clue that he was fated to join Orion's Belt.

Now, he saw something else. He saw a great blackness, so huge and overbearing he knew it existed, not just ordinary darkness. Then out of it, a bright light appeared, turning into a spirit, a girl, who came to his side and made him feel safe all of a sudden, safe from the indescribable danger that he felt looming over them.

In a moment, all light returned, and Zethis felt as if he had been thrown backwards. He gasped and looked around, first registering the usual mountainsides, then Dances with Balrog standing before him.

He rubbed his head. "Strange visionï¿½" he said, trying to recall it. "If that's going to happen in the future, thenï¿½I'm really scared."

"With strength like yours, your fate is bound to be tied with danger," Dances with Balrog told the bewildered boy. "It comes, for some reason. I had to face quite a lot of danger myself, when I was younger."

Zethis did wonder, for a moment, how old Dances with Balrog really was, and he thought again about the Job Master's past. He had had a life, like any ordinary person. What had he done then? What kinds of adventures had the respectable chief had as a youth?

"Come on, we have to get back," he suddenly called over to the new page. The Job Master was already departing, and Zethis quickly gave chase.

They entered the Warrior's Sanctuary to come face to face with Ketara.

"I was starting to wonder when you'd get back," he exclaimed, excitement running through his features for some reason. "Anyway, Ralinn asked if I could travel with her, and the rest of Orion's Belt."

Zethis glanced down at the pendant that now hung around the Spearman's neck. So he was the fourth member? He truly had not expected anything like this. But as for Dances with Balrog and his secretaryï¿½they would have to work it out.

"Wellï¿½" the chief thought for a moment. "It's time I let you fulfill your potential, really. I know that a lot awaits you, and I have no right to hold you back." Then he gestured to the desk at the far corner of the Warrior's Sanctuary, where the scrolls were tidily shelved in the rack. "Besides, you've done quite a good job with my belongings."

Ketara grinned brightly. "Does that mean you say yes?" he asked eagerly. Ralinn was secretly smiling at his enthusiasm at the thought of leaving.

"Yes, of course," Dances with Balrog answered. "When do you intend to go?"

The Spearman turned to Ralinn. "Anytime you like," she replied. "Though we intend to leave sometime soon; today, perhaps."

"Alright, today then!"

Zethis wondered if Ketara had been deprived of adventure so badly that he really wanted to leave so much now. He definitely didn't seem suited to being a secretary, with that outgoing personality of his.

So they had come with only the hope to obtain Zethis' second job, and they left with one more member. Things were beginning to get more interesting, now that there were four of them.

Ketara was done with his packing early the next morningï¿½it had been too late the day before to continue travelling.

"We agreed to meet Raydan in Kerning in three months' time," Ralinn told Ketara after explaining that her brother was in Henesys for his second job advancement.

"I can't wait to meet him," the Spearman replied sincerely. He'd love to meet you too, Zethis thought to himself.

The road was clear that day, free of policemen and patrollers, and they did not have to make their movements quick, as they usually did. The journey down the western side of Perion would take them through familiar territory; Zethis had spent more than a year of his life in that region. But, as they found out, Ketara had only travelled between Perion and Ellinia, as well as Perion and the Dungeon.

"I never thought about the world beyond those areas," he admitted as they trekked down the hidden mountain pathways. "I've only ever lived in Ellinia, Perion and the Dungeonï¿½"

"Dungeon?" Ralinn questioned. "I've only heard stories about it. To think you actually survived thereï¿½"

"For a year," Ketara answered with a hint of pride. "I ate raw meat everyday." He stuck out his tongue and made choking noises. "And there wasn't even clean water. River water tastes allï¿½plant-yï¿½"

Zethis was laughing. Suddenly, he realised that he hadn't laughed for at least four days already. I think things are really going to get more interesting now, he thought to himself.

"Well, three more months, and we'll be at my home," Ralinn said, looking ahead again. "Raydan will be there in three months too; we promised to meet then. I wonder how he's doing nowï¿½"

raydan: a chance meeting

Alone in the strangely empty hunting ground, Raydan glanced about. This area, this area, especially, had always been crowded with people trying to train in parties. Today, it was empty.

As the newly-made Crossbowman came down the pathway, he was shocked to find himself facing an empty field of grass. Only snails and mushrooms brooded in the corners of the field, near haystacks and sheds that spanned all the way to the horizon.

Where's everyone? I thoughtï¿½

He didn't have to wait long to get his answer.

A moment later, hands came down on his arms, and there were shouts of commands all around him.

"Unauthorised trespasser," was one shout Raydan heard, as they held his arms firmly against his struggling. He was still stunned. "Get the manacles."

He didn't even have a chance to fight back, while two metal objects were chained around his wrists, and his arms allowed to drop. He gasped with their weight.

"We have made it clear," one of the men, dressed in policeman garb, announced as he paced around to face Raydan. "None are to enter the Henesys Hunting Ground, with effect fromï¿½yesterday. It is a potential breeding ground for chaos. Now march."

As the team of four policemen forced him down the path, he gritted his teeth in frustration, and cursed the absurdity of the monarch. Why couldn't Caleix give it a rest? It was no crime to be able to train. Perhaps he feared rebellion, but simply by doing such things to the people of his kingdom, he was breeding anger and hate in them.

This is why Linn made the guild, he thought defiantly, feeling the pendant that still hung from his neck. Somehow, it'll change, no matter how long it takes.

But right now, he was in a dire situation. Too suddenly, Raydan realised how hard it would be to get out of this fix. Why had he not put up a fight? He felt a little stupid now. But there was no point in following that train of thought, because it would get him nowhere.

"Where are you taking me?"

One of the four snarled a reply. "Henesys Square. Where you hang."

Hang? Raydan swallowed nervously. He steeled himself and tried to pull away from the guards with a sudden twist of his arms. They had not been ready for a sudden attempt to escape, and one's grip on his arm slipped, but the rest managed to keep him in their grasp.

"Great strategy, boy," one said smugly. They resumed their steady walk towards the center of the town, and Raydan felt the adrenalin rise suddenly in his blood. He was truly trapped now, and for no rhyme or reason. This was so stupid.

They had already made it halfway down the main road to the wide plaza that was known as Henesys Square. Raydan, throughout the trip, had come to terms with the notion that he was probably going to die now, and after initial denial, he had come to realise that, suddenly, he was destined down the path of death. He accepted that now, and somehow didn't feel afraid.

Let me be another soul to avenge, when Linn defeats the king!

Linnï¿½

The moment he had that thought, his unconscious prayers seemed to be answered. It all happened so suddenly. They had been passing by a boulevard with trees on either side, and they had leapt out of hidingï¿½a dozen men, women and youths of all jobs, weapons brandished. Raydan's thoughtful frown had instantly turned to a stunned smile as they had come upon the four policemen and turned the boulevard into a battlefield.

First, two had come to his side, and his chains were suddenly being ground down with blades, belonging to two whose faces he could not see, standing behind him.

Then the attack. The flames of throwing stars, bolts of singing thunder and shining arrows as they soared and scattered through the air like deadly wasps, upon the policemen, threw the street into total chaos. There was a maelstrom of shouts and yells of command, cries of injury, all coming from the four king's servants.

"You must be glad we saved you," a gruff male voice said from behind Raydan as the chains suddenly fell away. The Crossbowman turned his head back instantly to find himself facing a tall, heavily built Crusader with a sword blade held lazily in his left hand. "Well. Thisï¿½" he gestured to the battle that was rising around them, "ï¿½is Nightfall for you. Our guild. I'm the leader."

Raydan followed the man's gesture with his gaze. "Nightfallï¿½hm," he said. "Are you against the king as well?"

"Yes, and proud to be," the man told Raydan. "The name's Pelinor."

"Raydan," the youth replied, less afraid of him now.

"So," Pelinor the crusader said as the battle sounds were dying down around them. "How did you get into that fix?"

Raydan explained how he had been informed of the no-trespassing-in-Henesys-Hunting-Ground rule only after he had been captured. "That stupid king," he ended, slightly angered again. "I don't see what he's doing with Victoria Island. He's not gaining anything by doing all this."

Pelinor laughed. "Exactly, my boy," he said in a hearty voice. "That's why we gathered up. An underground society of rebels, now numbering about fifty. Would you like to join us as well? Provided you're travelling on your own, that is."

Raydan shook his head with a smile. "I'm already in another guild," he replied, showing the guild leader his pendant from Orion's Belt. "My sister's the leader."

"In another guild, hm? Alright, but you are welcome to join if ever you change your mind."

Two men, a male youth and a woman came forward to their guild leader, each with an unconscious guard captive. "Sir, what do we do with them now?" a man questioned respectfully, gaze held low.

"Don't kill them," he answered. "Leave them here. The beating up was quite enough for them." Pelinor was smiling to himself, more with relief, Raydan thought, than sadism. He then turned back to the hunter. "D'you have a place to stay while you're still here?"

Raydan shook his head. "I actually intended to leave today, butï¿½well, I'd like to meet more of your guild. Soï¿½alright."

Minutes later, after all thirteen members of Nightfall present at the attack had been gathered up, they were introduced to him. "This here is Raydan," Pelinor explained to the group. None of them seemed too hostile, but they weren't weak in stature either. Many looked to be at about their third jobs.

"Thanks for saving me," he exclaimed, truly grateful. They seemed more friendly to him all of a sudden, the few closest to him smiling and telling him that they didn't mind doing it.

"We all hate the king and his policemen," a woman in the front row said to him, the rest nodding in fervent agreement.

Pelinor clapped for order as the chatter from the thirteen rose. "Careful, if we're too loud, the guard station might send more policemen against us, and maybe even some of those guardsï¿½"

Their journey then began in relative silence, the entire group, led by Pelinor, taking the main road through the town for a few minutes. All around Raydan seemed to know the way, following confidently after the guild leader and himself, at the front of the group.

About ten minutes of travelling through moderately populated streets, they suddenly took a turning towards the heavily forested surroundings of Henesys' northeast side, Raydan glancing about behind them all the way, just to see if anyone had noticed them going off the road. To his bewilderment, he realised that all were acting as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

Pelinor laughed. "They know of our existence," he replied to Raydan's expression of surprise. "They all support us. After all, who in Henesys would actually want to support the king?"

Raydan nodded in grim agreement. He turned back to see where they were now, as shadows came to cover their path.

The trek through the forest didn't take very long. After stepping over tree roots and through fallen leaves, they came to a point where the tree trunks were bent and gnarled beyond recognition, their branches and bark wrapped around a something distinctly cubical in shape. Through the tangle of thick branches, Raydan could pick out a few tiny areas where the rock showed through in the dim light that shone through the overlapping leaves above them. There were patterned engravings on its surface, shadows of leaves shifting over them like dark hands.

"Great hideout, isn't it," Pelinor commented, folding his arms. "According to some legend, it was built by the Sharenians. It's made a really good hiding place for us."

Raydan took another glance at the shape of the building, edges marred by the crumbled rock and creeping plants, while the rest walked around its uneven circumference, towards what must be the entrance. The stone ruin within the branches certainly looked old, like something that had sprung out of a mythical story. Wondering what it hid within its stony boundaries, he followed the rest.

The entrance was a low hole in the side of the wall, the roots that had once covered it now sliced off, leaving only stumps of wood that ended at the hole's rim. The Crossbowman waited for everyone to go in first, before he bent down and entered himself.

Within, he was suddenly greeted by a wide, empty room lit brightly, not by torchlight as he had expected, but by a warm circle of light on the ceilingï¿½similar to sunlight in colour and strength. In front of him, there were four round hardwood tables, and many seated around each, talking, eating or playing card games. Further down, there were tables, ovens and stoves leaned against the cracked, slanted walls of the room, as well as a fridge in one corner.

Raydan looked up at the ceiling again, in amazement. It was so much to fit into this stone monument, which had seemed so small outside. The ceiling above was cracked beyond repair, and Raydan wondered if it would cave in some day, without warning. But recalling the roots and branches that grew around it, which now poked their untidy ends through the cracks, he realized that those must be what held up the ruin's structure now.

"Hello, everyone," Pelinor suddenly silenced the crowd of Nightfall members with his announcement. "We just broke up another band of policemen." This was met by smiles and a few cheers. "And guess what, we saved someone from execution this time! He'll be staying here for a night, before he heads off to Kerning City. A rebel as well, he is."

Raydan suddenly felt a little self-conscious as everyone turned to look at him. Some shouted greetings to him.

While Raydan walked into the crowd at the tables to try and ask for some food, he suddenly found himself standing in front of a youth of almost twenty, wearing a short brown jacket and blue knee-length pants. His figure was definitely not that of a magician or a thief; Raydan figured that he was a warrior of some kind.

"Hello, boy," he greeted the Crossbowman with a smile. "What's your name? It seems Pelinor forgot to tell us that."

"Raydan, level thirty Crossbowman," he replied promptly. "And how about you?"

"I'm Hyrien, level one hundred and twelve White Knight," the youth replied with a small nod. "I wish they'd open the service of the Ellinia Station to the citizens againï¿½I'll never get my fourth job at this rate."

Raydan's mouth hung open. L-level one hundred andï¿½twelve? "You're quiteï¿½strong," he commented.

Hyrien shook his head humbly. "Not really," he said. "Oh yeah, by the way, I was saved by Nightfall as well. They were going to execute me for my high level. Then this lot got a hold of the patrol and completely destroyed it before they could get me to the square." He breathed out hard. "You should see that place. There's blood all over the rocks. And it used to be a place for huge festivals in my childhoodï¿½"

"You meanï¿½there was a time when the king wasn't like this?"

Hyrien laughed softly. "Of course," he replied. "That was when I was around eight. I'm sure you were alive at that time too."

Raydan cocked his head. "I don't remember," he answered to that.

"Well, anyway, he wasn't always a tyrant," the knight went on. "We don't know what caused the sudden change in him. It's reallyï¿½strange. But now he's changed his ways, his old ways are all but forgotten. Everyone thinks of him as evil now."

"If only he'd change back to what he was before," Raydan said with a little sigh. "If he used to be kind, why can't he be again?"

Hyrien nodded thoughtfully at his words. "So, you're staying here for a night? I'm sure there're some extra rooms downstairs."

Downstairs? "There's more?" Raydan gasped, glancing about for a staircase.

"It's not so easy to find downstairs," Hyrien answered, seeing his reaction. "And it's really spacious."

It took an hour for Raydan to get himself a room. The moment he had entered the room, he had been overcome by awe. It was huge, even larger than the room upstairs. It was a huge round room lit by the sunlight-lamps, with at least twenty doors on the white wall around its circumference. The walls were definitely newer than the ones that the building was made of, whiter than the former, and perfect in all parts.

Later on, some of the guild members had shown him the way to a secret hunting place they shared, near the path to the Dungeon, where no one, not even the guards, dared to go. There were monsters of many levels to train on, a wide enough range to provide good training for most. Hyrien, who turned out to be the highest levelled person in Nightfall, had come along as well, but the monsters there did not prove to be of much use to his training. He sat aside in the shade of the trees by the narrow, forested valley, while he watched the rest train.

Raydan finished off another blue mushroom with two arrows strung at the same time and a flare of orange. He still remembered, too clearly, the day when he had been close to death in the outskirts of Kerning City, and how he had been saved at the last moment by a girl whom he later found out to be Ralinn.

Now, it simply amazed him to know that he had not recognised his sister when he had first seen her. It wasn't surprisingï¿½she had grown a lot taller since she had been eight, but she had been so closeï¿½he had been so sure that he would have recognised her when he had finally met her again.

Panting slightly, Raydan walked aside to take a break. "Any water?" he asked, turning to Hyrien, who held up a bag of water made of an animal's stomach. These waterskins had always made him feel queasy, but he was too thirsty to think anything of it now.

"I wondered," the Crossbowman said, sitting down on the grass. "How did you come to be so high-levelled?"

Hyrien shook his head slightly. "I don't know," he replied. "It's strange...I simply worked myself to death trying to get stronger...but I think it's more of a way for me to vent my frustration at those guards, the police, the king..."

"Do you really hate those people so much?" Raydan asked, somewhat surprised that the seemingly good-natured White Knight would feel so strongly against the guards, to the point that he had managed to reach such a high level from "venting".

Again, he shook his head, not a Raydan, but at one of his own thoughts. "They did bad things to my family," he explained. "They made my parents into slaves, and my parents told me to run away. So...I'm alive. But they...aren'tï¿½I think. I haven't seen them for more than a decade. Since I was six."

Raydan nodded in understanding. He did know, though he hadn't been left all alone. "My sister...well...same thing," the Crossbowman answered. "She went away when I was four, and didn't come back until last year."

Hyrien turned to him. "How old are you now?"

"Thirteen," he replied with a smile.

"Eight years..."

Raydan returned to the hunting ground soon after those few minutes of recollection. It was such a pity that he would be leaving this interesting, fun lot in a day's time. But well, he thought to himself, the world's a small place. I think our paths will cross one dayï¿½Orion's Belt and Nightfall. Since we're both headed for a common goal.

The bed that he was provided with was decently soft, though he could tell from how creaky it was that it wasn't very expensive. Though it was fast approaching summer, the interior of the room as cool enough for comfort, and Raydan did wonder how it was done.

Finally, the next day dawned, the day he would begin his return journey to Kerning City. He had three monthsï¿½he had arranged that with Ralinn. The journey back would take all of three months, and he badly wanted to see his sister again.

I should be back by late summer, he reasoned as he re-packed his worn haversack, then picked his bow up off the tabletop. He then made his way out of the room, to find a lot of his newly-made friends from Nightfall standing around his door.

"Have a nice journey!" Yunira, a Spearman, greeted him cheerily. "Remember not to go through the Henesys Hunting Ground again!" Raydan nodded to that.

At the door, he found it extremely hard to make it many steps without turning to wave to the guild members again. He had thanked them for their hospitality, but he kept feeling that he hadn't thanked them enough. Pelinor didn't seem to mind, though, and as he waved them goodbye one more time, the guild leader gave him that familiar grin again.

Raydan didn't have to try too hard to avoid the policemen who patrolled the road. He kept within the forest, staying under its cover until he reached the high wall that circled the entire city, changing his course then.

The secret entrance, dug deep into the ground, came into view once more. Raydan slipped into the dirt hole, bending down to get into the horizontal tunnel that led on from the bottom. Once inside, he had to squat and walk for a few more yards, before the roof rose again, and he could proceed easily from then on.

The short journey through the hidden tunnel took about five minutes or so. Later, dirt-covered and tired, he emerged from the other end to find himself on the other side of Henesys' unrelenting walls.

From here on, the journey would not be hard. Raydan took to the sand road instantly, walking at quite a leisurely pace, passing by the few houses on Henesys' outskirts, which had not yet been displaced by the king's orders.

Nothing could down Raydan's optimistic outlook that day, though. He focused on his destination and tried not to wonder whether Orion's Bolt, whether anyone would ever, possibly, put an end to the turmoil they were undergoing now at the hands of King Caleix.

akera: thoughts of the past

Akera looked up at the late summer sun that pierced through the leaves, up above her head. The heat was already dying down, and she had almost arrived at her destination. Here, midway to the top of the greatest tree in Ellinia, she wondered to herself.

Not many had managed this before. Reach the level of their third job at fourteen? She had heard stories about another person who had done soï¿½Thaemis, a famed Hero who had suddenly gone missing about ten years ago. Then, the country had not been in such chaos and oppression, and she had grown famous for achieving what she had.

But now, in the midst of the worst situation possible, she would gain no fame for doing what so few had done beforeï¿½in fact, her life depended on not being found out.

Akera was back in the region of her horrors, where she had worked for so many years before finally breaking the psychological barrier of fear, and escaping with Shirion.

She still remembered, of courseï¿½how could she not? He had seemed to need her help. But in actuality, it was his courage in bringing up the suggestion of escape, in not fearing the possibility, that had helped her to come to terms with her desire to leave. She had followed it. She had made it.

Now, she would not let that effort go to waste. In order to stay free, she had to keep her journey as inconspicuous as possible, and no one must know of the power she had gained in those two years, or how she was at least a year faster than everyone else in terms of development of power.

Akera arrived at Grendel's library with no trouble. The way there had stuck fast in her memory, since her very first job advancement, the images strengthened by her second visit there, all in secret. Now, she would be visiting in secret for the third time, and the place was too familiar to her nowï¿½the strong, dark bark, the shade of the leaves of that magical tree, even the pattern that the branches made, now slightly different from what it had been the last time.

"Grendel!" she shouted, unable to keep the irritation from her voice. Somehow, everything irritated her, not just waiting for a door to open.

The hardwood door swung open by magic, at last. Akera raced in, glancing up automatically to see the magician Job Master. Grendel floated in the air, eyes apparently closed, but the Fire Poison Wizard knew all too well that he was watching her every move.

"You have returned, Akera," he said in the voice of an old man, one with immense power. "Here for you third job, perhaps?"

Akera nodded, wishing he would stop talking to her from so high up. It annoyed her to feel inferior, and his altitude did just that.

Grendel nodded. "Well, then, you have achieved something extraordinary, it seems," he answered with some pride, some expectance. "Of course you would have. You have always been this gifted. I was only waiting for this day to come. I have seenï¿½so many in my life, and so many more I have to see, because I have been made immortalï¿½but you are, surely, the greatest of all that have come to me before. Equal to Lanorï¿½, I would say."

"Lanorï¿½? Isn't sheï¿½the Silver Fang of El Nath," the nickname of the famed Ice Lightning Mage came to mind instantly. Lanorï¿½ had been a name her parents had spoken of often, a teenager from El Nath who had reached her third job at fourteen as well, and had fought all the while to keep her people free. Now, Akera could actually call herself Lanorï¿½'s equal.

"Are you ready yet?" Akera looked up once more and saw that Grendel was floating slowly towards her. She was sure that she was ready. She nodded.

"Come on then."

Grendel led her out the door, and she followed, rare, sudden, refreshing excitement instantly infusing her spirit the moment she entered the brightness of the morning outside.

It was time to take another step. She had waited six yearsï¿½she couldn't wait any longer.

orion's belt: introductions

As Raydan came down the last turning into his home's street, he felt his heartbeat quicken. It was a familiar feelingï¿½he was always excited when he was returning home after a long journey. He knew that he would be seeing Ralinn and Zethis again, after more than half a yearï¿½his sister, and the person whom he dared to call his best friend now.

But there was something he hadn't expected, a surprise to come.

"Linn! You home yet?" the Crossbowman yelled as he banged the door excitedly, smiling with excitement.

His heart leapt when he heard the annoyed reply of "Coming!" from inside the house. The door swung open, and he found Ralinn standing at the door, one hand on the handle, the other holding the doorframe. A grin instantly came to the huntress' face, and she ruffled his hair.

"Three days late," she sighed, shaking her head, still smiling. Raydan ignored the fact and took off his shoesï¿½more of boots, actually. Then, he came into the house, glancing about for Zethis, whom he found at the table, talking to someone he didn't knowï¿½

"Oh, meet the fourth member of Orion's Belt," Ralinn quickly said, coming over to the dining table.

"You're Ralinn's brother?" the youth replied, smile brightening. "I'm Ketara, level forty-four Spearman. You must be Raydan?"

Raydan's first reaction was to stifle laughter. "That sounds like a girl's name," he said. It did sound rude, he suddenly realised, but Ketara didn't seem to mind.

"I get that a lot," he answered. The Spearman wasn't half bad-looking, Raydan realisedï¿½especially when he was smiling. "I've gotten used to it."

"Nice to meet you, and welcome to Orion's Belt," Raydan replied quickly, hoping that he hadn't made too bad a first impression on Ketara. "I'm Raydan, yup. Level thirty-six Crossbowman. So, Linn, how'd you find him?"

"We went to Perion for Zethis' second job, and this guy was Dances with Balrog's secretary, then I matched his story and the song I dreamt ofï¿½ It was quite a surprise, actually."

Zethis nodded as he glanced up from his storybook for the first time since Raydan had returned. "Hello, Raydan," he said in his usual voice, slightly timid, as always. Raydan nodded to acknowledge his greeting and went to sit next to him at the table.

"Being in this guild is reallyï¿½cool," Ketara commented as he ate another chip from the packet in his hand. "Us all being chosen by dreams, and all thatï¿½"

"But there's a goal we have to achieve," Ralinn replied, frowning. "It's not going to be easy. I meanï¿½overthrow the king? I have no idea how I'll do that, or even why the voice thinks I can do it, but there must be some reason that it thinks I can, or I wouldn't be the one chosen for this. Whatever it isï¿½you're going to be here for a long time."

"Which I really don't mind."

Raydan did like Ketara's spirit and personality, he decided. "Linn, when are we going to move on?" Raydan questioned.

She shrugged. "The members will present themselves to us. It doesn't matter which way we go; our choice, in the end, will lead us to them." She glanced about thoughtfully. "One member a yearï¿½at this rate, we're going to take till we're all twenty to finish doing this! But I'm sure it's worth the wait."

"Hey," Ketara suddenly piped up. "I know somewhere we can go, if you don't mind trying something new." Everyone turned to him in interest. He ate another potato chip.

"Oh yeah, by the way," Ralinn answered, before the Spearman went on any further. "We're almost out of chips."

telida: change

Once more, Turino had beaten Telida to the prize, the giant slime things that leapt about in the forest. And he always did, nowadaysï¿½why was he suddenly so bent on being better than her?

Telida heard a few leaves flutter through the cold winter air and land on the ground around her. She turned upwards, and moments later, a throwing star had sprung from her palm, killing the snake above, which now fell with a rustle across her feet.

Two years ago, she recalled, he had been so protective of her. It had annoyed her, and she had said so, making her point clear by attacking him. No, it had not seemed to offend him, but after that, he had suddenly turned into an enemy. Treated her like an enemy.

Telida twisted the snake's body in anger, and felt its skin tear beneath her grip.

Turino was simply unbearable now. Why was it that he was always faster than her, better at killing, simply better at everything?

Oh, she knew. She was a girl. Why were girls always worse? Why?

Again, she recalled. She recalled the days when both her parents had been alive. Her father had been cruel to her mother, spared no mercy, made her his servant to her last day, just because he was strongerï¿½and Turino would become like that as well, some day. Telida hated it. Why should all males be stronger? She hated all of them.

Turning away from the place where her brother was training, Telida walked away, through the familiar forest, every trunk and root drawn perfectly in her memory. She would have to work harder from now on. She didn't know when or why Turino had changed so much, but she would too. Gone was her old, generally caring self. She would become ruthless.

clynine: warmth in cold

The sun scarcely pierced through the gaps in the icy clouds as Clynine made her way up the road into her new home. They had been in Mu Lung, her home, three quarters of a year ago. Now, they were in Lanorï¿½'s home, El Nath. If she had thought that winter in Ludibrium was cold, then this was freezing, literally too. All around her, the icicles that hung from the roofs of the cabins of El Nath were longer than her arm.

"Andï¿½here we are," the Ice Lightning Archmage said, stopping before an ordinary-looking cabin at the edge of the dense forest near the town. Its dark brown wood stood out of the whiteness in a painting of starkness and contrast, white snow collecting heavily on the windowsills and on the slanted roof. It looked like any other house on the street.

Lanorï¿½ extracted the key from her pocket and turned it in the lock, Clynine inching up to look over her mistress' shoulder, excited to see how this legendary mage's house would look like inside.

As the door opened, the twelve-year-old was surprised to see that, like the outside, it was perfectly ordinary. As she walked onto the parquet floor inside, she had expected to feel an overwhelming presence of power, but there was none. Clynine ran over to the sofa in the sitting room and fell back on the plush beige cushions. This place was simply marvelous, no matter how ordinary.

"So you're enjoying yourself already," her mistress suddenly said. Clynine instantly leapt off the sofa, blushing, ashamed at her rude actions. Lanorï¿½ smiled and shook her head. "No, it's perfectly fine. This is your home now, as long as you're in my service." Still, she didn't feel like going back to lounge in the sofa while the Archmage unpacked both their bags.

I'm her assistant, for goodness' sake! I'm supposed to be unpacking for her!

She ran instantly to the dining table upon that thought. Lanorï¿½ looked surprised, but her presence seemed welcome. She began to take all the unused clothes from her bag, realizing that she had over-packed, seriously over-packed. But how would she have known, being from a rich family?

It was refreshing to be out of the mansion and traveling with someone she had just met half a year ago. Something new, something that she knew would get her somewhere. She thought of her parents' farewell, and felt a twinge of concern for their safety. But then, she assured herself that they would be fine, believing that fate would let them have the best way. Her life looked bright, as of this moment.

Clynine took a glance out the window and watched the spiraling, spinning paths of the snowflakes. The world seemed to welcome her in every way, to every next moment, and she smiled to the grey clouds, ominous as they looked, before carrying on with her job.

faith

Ralinn stood in the snow of the starlit night and sighed, scarf fluttering in the wind, about her neck. She wondered about everything. There were six more to findï¿½six more, and a prophecy to fulfill. Fulfill? Maybe it was just a conjecture by the gods. Maybe it was just an experiment, an attempt to get rid of the darkness of their homeland.

But it was so full of human emotion, human fragility, this experimentï¿½she thought of her companions: shy Zethis, outgoing Ketara, her good-natured brother Raydanï¿½and whoever else she was dragging into this dangerous task. If it was an experiment that might not work, it was a cruel one.

Faith. The only thing she could do was take faith.

Faith, Telida knew, would keep her alive through the internal turmoil that she was going through. She had to have faith that, someday, someone would come to take her out of this darkness forever.

The new Fire Poison Mage gazed down from the top branches and smiled, an expression she was so unused to. She would have to believe in her life, be certain that she had the capability to reach her true potential.

He would have to have faith in his strength, in his will to stay free. Shirion knew that his future was not his choice to make. But faith would guide him. Guide everyone.

Faith. Belief.

A new cycle of the twelve years was about to begin. The Year of the Rat was dawning.

Chapter 4: Year of the Rat

ralinn: in turn

Ralinn had never thought about the moment when she would be eligible for her third job. She had simply spent every year training whenever she could, accompanying Raydan and Zethis to a multitude of places.

But at that moment when she struck down a drake, and the blazing blue light had grown to surround her, she suddenly realised what she had been forgetting so long, a goal of hers that had never actually been a goal.

She could become a ranger, at last. After so many years, after her narrow escape from the castle. Ralinn thought, again, about the day she had managed to escape the iron grasp of the king's guards, the grasp that had held her tightly for years on end.

It had been a stroke of genius, of desperation, on her part. After three years of working at the castle, a slave, she had suddenly decided that she had had enough.

Then, all the routes of escape, all the paths that might lead her out of the castle, which she had been ignoring for the last three years, became apparent to her. It would be so easyï¿½

The garbage carts were never inspected as they came into and left the castle. After all, the king must have thought, who would try to escape under tons of rubbish?

She would. Not like all those other servants, submitted to service even before they had been born, spiritless, ambitionlessï¿½she wasn't like them. She wanted freedom.

So Ralinn had done just that. The garbage trucks trundled into and out of the castle grounds, horse-drawn, towards the stinking garbage dumps on the grounds to collect rubbish and back out through the heavily guarded gates, without so much as a glance from the guards.

She had thrown herself into one of the garbage dumps, from the branch of a tree some way up the road through the keep. The smell had not been very pleasing, to say the least, but it was a small price to pay for the freedom she had been waiting for for so long.

From there, it was simply digging her way out of the piles of rubbishï¿½fruit peels, animal bones, used papers and other useless bits and pieces that had been dumped into the bins of the castle.

She was free. She had come out dirty, worn out, covered in the stench of the king's garbage, but she had finally earned her safety, her escape from the castle, a breath of the real world that had been taken away from her for three years.

It was time to start her life anew, she had told herself. It was her chance to finally have control of her life.

And now, Ralinn realized, she had come farther than she had ever actually wanted or needed. Ready for her third job already? She had never noticed herself growing any stronger or more experienced.

"Sis, what're you staring at?" Raydan called out, snapping her out of her moment of reminiscence.

"I'm already level seventy," she replied. "I just counted my level-ups..."

"Good then! Let's go back to Henesys, then we might meet Nightfall, and I can introduce them to you," her brother exclaimed enthusiastically. He had told her and the rest about the guild he had met that day after his job advancement, and explained how they had saved him from a senseless death sentence.

It did feel strange, and a little unnerving to know that there was another guild with the same aim as hersï¿½they were competition to their goal, she realised. But Nightfall was so much larger than their measly group of four, even more than the final ten that was planned for Orion's Belt.

She chose to ignore those notions. At least she knew that they were not alone in their quest. There would be others to help them, and they would do the job, should Orion's Belt fail.

Zethis, who had been training with the wild boars in another part of the same mountain, soon came round to meet the three, who stood resting in the shadow of the mountainside, drinking from their waterskins and eating a few of the snacks they had brought along.

Ralinn looked about at the four members of Orion's Belt. Her brother, Raydan, the first to join, was now a Crossbowman, at level thirty-five. He was more talkative than the average person, and prone to getting angry with authority.

Zethis, the second to join, stood beside him, gulping water from his own waterskin in extreme thirst. Though younger than Raydan, he was about the same level, and the Page was quickly overtaking Ralinn's brother in levels. Ralinn had long noticed that he was stronger than others his age, despite his outward appearance of weakness. That shy boy who never talked much to anyone except Raydan had been quite a welcome addition to the guild, being less talkative and complaining than either of the other two, and a lot more thoughtful in his manner and speech.

Ketara, in the best descriptors, was the opposite of Zethis. He jumped at every chance to befriend others, and along with his good looks and natural charm, he had managed to get them out of a whole lot of situations, especially when buying food or other commodities. He was a useful member to the guild, often managing to take the boredom out of what would have been dreary journeys.

He, like Zethis, was stronger than normal, and it was obviousï¿½he was the same age as Raydan, but almost fifteen levels higher. No, he did not practice dark arts, she knew, and neither did Zethis. They were naturally gifted. Somehow, that thought made her feel both secure and honoured.

Now, they were already beginning their journey southeast towards Kerning City, their home, where they would probably rest before continuing down to Henesys. Ralinn felt her heartbeat quicken as she prospected her visit to Athena Pierce again. The Job Master was close enough to be called a friend, and they had not met for many years already.

"So we're really going to the Dungeon?" Ketara persisted on his request. Ralinn nodded absently as they trudged through the stones of Perion, towards their destination, which was at least two months' walk away.

"I think it'll be fine," the guild leader replied. "Since you survived there, I don't think it should be that hard to stay alive."

"It was fun, really! I had no trouble staying alive, except that everything there tasted disgusting. But there were two people there who helped me find my way around..." His eyebrows creased as he tried to recall their names. "Telida and Turino! I hope we meet them. They were...quite nice."

Ralinn nodded, wondering how anyone could be living in the Dungeon.

"That'd be nice," Raydan answered. "What kind of people are they?"

"I don't know how to describe themï¿½cool? They've both got good looks, as far as I could see in the darkness. They've lived in the Dungeon for a long time; knew the way around perfectly. There were huge slimes around the forest as well."

Zethis looked up. "King Slimes?" he exclaimed. "They're in the wild as well?"

Ketara turned back and asked what King Slimes were. In moments, they were discussing the Kerning Party Quest. Ralinn only listened, never having attempted any party quests before, only hearing of them from her brother and from others that she had met during her travels.

Maybe she would start to see more, with the guild around, and her job of finding the remaining members of Orion's Belt giving her necessity to travel further. Maybe, she might even get to see what a party quest was like for herself. So much she hadn't seen yet, she realised. It would really teach her a lot if she were to travel more, and going to the Dungeon would be a good start.

clynine: crossing the sky

Clynine had only gone to Victoria Island onceï¿½when she had gone for her first job. She had only gone to Ellinia, crossed the branches to Grendel's place and come back then, no furtherï¿½but now, she would be going further. Now that Lanorï¿½ was her guardian and not her parents, they would be travelling a little around the Ellinian Forest. She could not wait to see more of Victoria Island, a place that had always lain on the other side of the sky-ocean.

The ride began five minutes after Lanorï¿½ and Clynine had seated themselves in the dimly-lit room below the deck of the tiny vessel.

Earlier, they had had to make their way down to the secret shifting jetty on the coast of El Nathï¿½a jetty made of ice that was melted in one place and refrozen in another every week, its location only known by those who ordered tickets from the organisation's members, who had the most ordinary occupations around.

This time, the ice jetty had been at the coast about two miles into the icy wastes of the southern side of El Nath, having found out the location from the assistant to the armour seller. They had travelled long, only the excitement of journeying to Victoria Island keeping Clynine warm in the close-to-blizzard fierceness of the winds.

Finally they had made it there. The ship rocked in the waters, but it would make it to the other coast safely, like it had managed to for nine years. Though it bobbed in the water, it, like Clynine had heard from many, would soar into the air when it departed. She could not help but feel great anticipation for the moment when that would happen.

Around the bay, Clynine could see the shadows of creatures stirring up small eddies under the shimmering, icy water.

Whales, she knew. The native creatures had always swum down there, below the surface, sometimes tossing water playfully into the air, watching through the shaky surface of the ocean as the sky moved over them.

Sometimes, she saw them spray seawater into the air as she stood on the coast, and occasionally, they would even leap through the air in a human's presence, the large, usually lazy creatures showing a rare display of energy. She had heard that the great majestic creatures had a deep sense of emotion, and often saved people who fell into the ocean.

They would leave the whales soon, Clynine knew. So they had entered, and now waited for the movement of the ship's body to begin.

The seats were made of badly-cut woodï¿½but what could they expect of a ship that had been made in secrecy, and operating in secrecy for years?

She leaned back, trying to quell the deep anxiousness she now felt at the thought of riding on this secret service. Lanorï¿½ had already warned her of the dangerous possibilities of the ride.

The king knew that this service existed, but his policemen had never managed to find it. As a result, a security system had been put in place across the skyï¿½sometimes, the policemen would be standing guard and waiting for ships to arrive. However, when night fell, they would go back to rest, for it was believed that it was impossible to navigate in the dark. That was when they would fly.

But there had been one other time when the ship had been caught in mid-journey at night. That had led to the death of the previous captain, and the vice-captain had only found out about the disaster through a communication crystal when one of the survivors transmitted the message after making it, just barely, to Victoria Island.

But what were the chances that they would be found out? It had only happened once. Why this time? It was always good to anticipate the worst, Lanorï¿½ had told her before the trip. But she didn't really fear much. Besides, it was considerably safer than travelling over water, where an infamous band of pirates was rumoured to make prey of all.

But that is the reason why the king believes that everyone will cross through the sky. If a safe route could be established over waterï¿½

The ship shook slightly in its regular rocking course. Moments later, it gave a lurch, another, and then it gave a third and didn't fall back down. It was flying. Clynine felt as if her stomach had flipped with excitement. She glanced out the window and saw the clouds slipping past within the uneven window frame.

Fear continued to linger in her heart, nonetheless, and she could only will herself not to think of any of the frightening possibilities and watch the sky as it levelled out beyond the window and floated past.

Their journey upon the sky sped on into its late hours. Lanorï¿½ and Clynine were provided with a meagre dinner, but it was enough for them. The magician knew too well that they would not be able to obtain much food if they wanted to remain undetected.

Night fell. The stars spread across the sky like a dark sheet, and all around, the air was cast into darkness. Clynine was lying on her bench, attempting to fall asleep. A few other travellers were there with them; some were resting on the deck to enjoy the starlight. There were about five others with them.

She had been ready to fall asleep with the calm of the journey, sure that by the time she had awoken, they would have arrived at their destination.

Then there was an explosion, and moments later, a colossal crack of wood all around them, shaking her eardrums. Clynine sat up, all attempts at resting now rendered useless. She glanced about, heart suddenly wild with fear, all her earlier, forgotten fears of the voyage now returning with force. What had just happened? It had been loud.

The ship began to tilt to the left. It swung down wildly, suddenly, and Clynine grabbed onto the wood, screaming. The rest were awake now, struggling to hold on to the walls and benches, a few yelling in terror.

Lanorï¿½ soon raced down into the cabin. "We've been spotted!"

"Hï¿½How," she gasped out, running to her mistress and holding onto the arm she reached out to her.

"They shot us with cannon," Lanorï¿½ replied, slightly more relieved now. "The ship is losing its altitude. We need to get out, or die underwater, trapped in the shipï¿½"

Before she had even finished her sentence, there was another boom, and a crack. At once, a section of the ship began to break offï¿½the bow. It swung open, and a huge, roaring rush of ocean wind suddenly poured in as they fell. Ellinia was a mile away, the trees alight with points of flame and light, visible even from this distance. They were still falling, now in a ferocious spiral down towards the darkness below. Lanorï¿½ turned to Clynine and held her harder, her other hand reaching for a shelf.

"I don't know what to do either," she whispered. Clynine felt her heart beating madly like a huge drum, every beat deafening her, as the icy wind swept past her face, smelling of the ocean. Adrenalin shot through the blood like a stream of needles, and she shook with terror, screaming again.

"Jump," another man from behind them yelled. "Jump, get out and swim before the ship crushes us all!"

But we're a mile from Ellinia, Clynine's mind raced. How will we make itï¿½

Just trust yourself! Stay alive, and you can work the rest out yourself. And you're not alone!

Lanorï¿½ was staring down at the black expanse that grew wider as they hurtled downwards. She turned back to Clynine again and nodded.

Then, through the rushing wind too strong to face, too powerful to contain within imagination, they leapt. Those moments seemed so unreal. The sky was soaring past them, and the boat, slowed by the resistance it met in the air, by its wide, flapping sails, fell slower than them. Clynine was still clinging to Lanorï¿½'s arm, and the Ice Lightning Archmage kept her assistant as close as she could, trying to tell her through her strong grip that they would not die.

But would they? Clynine didn't want to think.

It was at the moment when their bodies smashed the water and coldness truly gripped her flesh like a huge iron vice that she realised that they had a chance. She could feel the terrible, dark shadow growing around her, and she didn't stay frozen, waiting for something to save her, as she had all her life, as she had whenever she had gotten herself into a problemï¿½forever depending on someone else to get her out.

She knew what she had to do, and she swam, forcing her way through the water, against the resistance that met her, against everything her old life had taught her to do. No one could help her now.

It didn't matter that she was practically helpless against the dark ocean currents. It didn't matter that the cold was creeping deep into her bones, rendering all her fingers numb. It didn't matter that saltwater was rushing over her face, entering her mouth, nose and ears. She would have to fight for her life if she wanted to keep it.

A sudden, overwhelming splash propelled her upwards, forwards, closer to the starry, whirling sky above her, upon the dark, wet body below. Somewhere close, she could hear Lanorï¿½'s shout, half of terror and half of exhilaration. The ship had plunged into the sea at last, flames smothered instantly. And they were safe, for now.

It was all like a nightmare, too unreal, too strange, that moments ago, she had been sitting in a cabin trying to sleep, and now, she was in the midst of a raging ocean, her existence itself cast into uncertainty.

The sea stilled. All around, nothing seemed to move, except for the great rhythmic movement of the currents around them, rising, falling, the piercing coldness almost overwhelming, but at the same timeï¿½calming. There were yells from the distance of the treetops, but that was the only sound that marred the scene. Chunks of wood floated around them, the remains of the ship that had once carried people across the gap between two lands, two worlds, now gone. She hoped that everyone had survived the ride.

"Clynine," a familiar, slightly hoarse voice called from a little way behind her. She knew at once that it was Lanorï¿½. "Can you see Ellinia?"

Now, the magician turned in the undulating ocean to see the towering trees on the coast a mile away, seeming so tall, now that she could see their entire heights. The lights were lessening, and she sighed, half with relief, half with hopelessness. Her strokes in the water were growing so weak with the coldï¿½

"How will we get back?" Clynine asked. Lanorï¿½ shut her eyes and sighed.

"Iï¿½I don't know. I really don't know."

Clynine was well versed in the rules of what to do and what not to when in cold places. They could not risk falling asleep, and especially not in the middle of deep waters. But if they didn't rest, they would never have the energy to move any closer to shore than they were now. As far as she could see, they were stuck here, simply waiting to freeze to death.

Close by, others were floating in the water, fellows in their predicament. She counted seven in total, some clinging to wooden boards, some floating about, submission in their eyes.

Only at that moment did it really hit her that she might die. There was close to no hope for them now; there seemed no way out, and it would take a miracle for them to somehow make it to shore, for all of them to make it to shoreï¿½

It appeared that the police had decided to leave them for dead. And they probably were already. Was there any chance at all that they would get out of this? They were as good as deadï¿½

As Clynine had been thinking that thought, she felt something brush her feet, and she leapt halfway out of the water. It was as if the ground had suddenly risen up to her feet, for when she landed, she felt something bearing her upwards, still rising, until it had lifted her out of the water on its slippery, shiny surface.

She glanced about, down, heart suddenly in her mouth as she realised what it was. A whale. The native creatures had always roamed in these waters spanning between El Nath and Ellinia, saviours of thousands who had fallen into the same situation as they hadï¿½

This was the miracle they needed. Perhaps they weren't bound to die after all.

Lanorï¿½ gave a gasp of surprise from behind her, as she, too, discovered what they were now riding on. The rest of the castaways were sitting along its huge length, the dark body glimmering in the dim moonlight, stark against the huge ocean. The winds were harsher, and yet they didn't make Clynine feel as cold as she had felt before. Her fear had fled completely, replaced by sudden, growing calm, hope. Somehow, she couldn't feel the cold that bit into her flesh, wasn't bothered by the water that she had breathed in.

The whale gave a low hum and it began to move. The remaining people still floating in the water swam towards it, their hair streaming out behind them, Clynine's own plastered against her neck and face. Lanorï¿½ came closer to her and hunched her figure as she seemed to try and calm herself down.

Clynine smiled, now noticing how sleepy she suddenly felt. The itch in her nose grew and she suddenly sneezed a few times, her eyes watering heavily after that. "Uhï¿½I'm going to catch a cold from this," she sighed, shivering. She had a bad habit of catching colds at the smallest hint of cold weather.

"But at least we'll get back safely," her mistress answered comfortingly. "You knowï¿½it's nice being with you. I noticed how you have some kind ofï¿½calming abilityï¿½it's just nice. Nice to be near you." Clynine turned to look at her, wondering.

Half an hour later, the whale below them slowed, then bumped gently against the sloped shore. Lanorï¿½ and Clynine moved over to the side of the whale and slipped off, the water suddenly seeming warm to the magician.

Lanorï¿½ turned back and whispered a thank-you to the whale, unsure of whether the creature understood. Clynine stood knee-deep in the water, alternating repeatedly between sneezing and blowing her nose on her wet handkerchief.

The rest of its passengers followed them off, and a few moments after they left, it swam away, its great body slowly vanishing below the brightness of the sparkling reflections over the gently frothing, washing water.

Clynine sniffed hard and smiled, looking about at the trees that towered above. The air was freezing around her, now that they were out of the water again.

"Well, so now, we must find a place to stay for the night," Lanorï¿½ said, walking further into the depths of the great Victoria Island forest. "Lucky for us, I have some connections here."

Lanorï¿½ went on, and Clynine followed, trusting that her mistress knew where she was going, for she certainly appeared to.

Lanorï¿½'s "connection" turned out to be a low-profile innkeeper who owned an inn in the roots of one of the trees, the entire building hidden between two wide tree trunks, windows glowing orange from the outside. As soon as they entered, the strong smell of beer and liquor met Clynine's slightly blocked nose. At the counter, there was a short, stout man wearing rugged, dirty clothes, his beard unshaved and growing at least an inch long.

As soon as they came close enough, he squinted, and his thick lips curved into what had to be a smile.

"Ah, Lanorï¿½, good evening," he greeted her, bowing. "Good to see that you're travelling again. Would you like lodging? How long? Twenty-five percent discount for you!"

Lanorï¿½ nodded patiently to the man's exclamations. "I'd like a room for two," she said, then turned to Clynine. "You alright with sleeping with me?"

The Cleric-to-be nodded as they went down the dim corridor towards their room. She suddenly noticed how much her muscles were aching with everything they had done that day, and she sighed. At least her nose wasn't running anymore, after an hour or so out of the water. But she did need a shower badly.

The showers were, sadly, unheated, and Clynine didn't enjoy her bath that much, despite her great need for it. But of course, like the ship, the inn operated in secrecy, and could not afford heating.

Later that night, Clynine found herself sitting on her side of the bed in the middle of the darkness, staring out of the small, roughly square window which was the only opening in the wall. Only a scene of waving branches that swept over the stars every few moments greeted her vision.

She thought on everything that had happened that day. How the ship had been destroyed, how they had to live in secrecy, how she had to take her second job test secretlyï¿½it was all because of the senseless rules of the king.

Lanorï¿½ had told her some time ago that her ultimate goal in training so hard was to someday defeat the king, whether with help or without it. She had then, upon becoming her assistant, joined her in that cause. It was a thought that scared her, but now, it only felt right. All this lack of freedom was wrong. It had to go, someday.

She wondered if anyone else thought the same way. Many, no doubt, wished to do just the same, all too afraid to show their faces for fear of being captured, like they were. It was the reason for the disallowing of job advancements, and for the captures of all the most powerful people in Ossyriaï¿½precautions against rebellion. But why give the people a reason to rebel in the first place?

Something seemed wrong about the way the king was behaving. But that, like so much else, was something she would probably never work out. Something had made him the way he was now. He had not always been this way, as Lanorï¿½ had told her. Maybe, just maybe, he would realise his wrongs and return to his old self.

Clynine lay back down and tried to fall asleep again. She had a job advancement test to look forward to, and she had to get rest if she wanted to succeed.

Sleep came without her notice, and dawn the next day was upon her before she had realised. There were none of the morning sounds she was used to hearing in El Nathï¿½no coos of the morning doves, no skua calls, just the silence that had filled the area since they had first come, and the constant, soothing rustle of the leaves through the small window, through which narrow beams of sunlight were pouring.

Clynine went through the corridors towards the common dining room where everyone would have their meals. As she got closer, the smells of cooking food got strongï¿½she smiled, feeling hungry all of a sudden. She had not eaten since the evening before, she realised.

As Clynine entered the dining room, she found herself facing a brightly-lit table at which about fifteen people were sitting, all with shiny white plates before them. A few were looking uneasily into their blurred reflections, seeming uncomfortable with eating with people they did not know; others were scraping the plates with the bent and worn cutlery, or conversing in hushed voices with each other.

Clynine allowed her mistress to find herself a seat before she sat down on the next chair. The seats were wooden, and not very comfortable, but she didn't really mind. The knife, fork and spoon she saw laid down on either side of her plate, too, were dented and tarnished, probably old. The mage knew that they were probably unable to afford new silverware, being a secret organisation, and had no choice but to reuse their cutlery year after year.

After scrutinising the utensils laid down on the table, she looked about on either side of Lanorï¿½ and herself, observing the faces of the rest of the guests at the inn.

On Clynine's left sat a female youth of about fifteen, staring intently into her white plate. She didn't move or show any expression in her face; it was locked in an image of deep thought. Her hair appeared to have been bleached to silver-white, straight fringe covering her upper eyelids, standing out against her blue gown.

"Umï¿½hello," Clynine attempted to begin a conversation with her.

She turned, icy blue eyes narrowed. "Leave me alone," the girl growled in reply, then turned back to her plate. The magician leapt back in her chair. What had she done that had warranted that reaction? It was scary, and intriguing at the same time.

She decided not to risk that response again, and patiently waited for her food to arrive.

Three waiters soon came out with two dishes each, and at once, the smells of food reached Clynine's nose. She breathed in the warm aroma gratefully, her stomach growling all of a sudden. I haven't eaten for more than a day, she realised. She was starved.

As soon as the food was served, Clynine began to take the salad, eggs and ribbon pig meat from the dishes, before wolfing them down as if she would die if she did not eat. For a few seconds, she turned to the girl to her left, and saw that she was now calmly adding a few pieces of salad to her plate with a bent fork.

"Would you like more?" one of the waiters suddenly came round to Lanorï¿½, who was eating an egg.

She smiled and shook her head, quite surprised. "A glass of water? Fruit juice?" the man went on. Again, Lanorï¿½ shook her head. Another waiter came and laid down a napkin for the Ice Lightning Archmage, and poured her a glass of water, which he set down on the table with a bang. Then another came with a set of almost perfect cutlery.

"You should use these," she insisted with a smile, laying them down at their right positions on either side of her plate.

"I wonder why they're being so nice," she whispered to Clynine. She nodded in agreement.

The rest seemed to have realised this as well, and they were starting to whisper to each other. The mage glanced about helplessly.

"Hey!" the teenager next to Clynine stood up suddenly and yelled at the departing waiters. "Why does she get such good service?" She looked flaming mad, and Clynine cowered away from her. "We're all his customers, so why should any one of us get any more?"

One of them turned around. "Orders from our boss," she replied. "She's of a higher status than you, I'm very sure."

"What? Someone gets better service because of higher status?" the girl kicked her chair aside and walked up to Lanorï¿½, who turned back, slightly surprised. "So what are you doing here, if you've got such high status? Don't you want something better than this lousy place?"

Clynine's heart was thumping in horror at what the girl might do to her mistress. "I actually need to stay in hiding, like all of you," Lanorï¿½ replied, still hiding the truth of her identity. "I didn't ask for this; they decided to impose it upon me."

The bad-tempered teenager folded her arms and stepped back. "Well, then I'll tell them not to be so nice to you," she offered, seething.

Clynine was beginning to feel afraid about sitting next to this girl. "Uhï¿½L-Lanorï¿½, could we justï¿½go somewhere else to eat?" she pleaded, turning to face the Archmage.

"Well, we could, but it's a lot less riskyï¿½"

"ï¿½You're Lanorï¿½?" Now, the girl had her mouth wide open in shock. She was backing away slowly, embarrassed. "Oh, I'mï¿½sorryï¿½"

Lanorï¿½ simply smiled and shook her head. "It's no matter," she replied. "You're, wellï¿½very interesting. May I know your name?"

"Akera," she replied quickly. "It's really anï¿½honour to meet you."

Lanorï¿½'s eyes sparked with interest. "You're the one who killed her parents with magic," she replied. "At seven." Akera's eyes widened.

"Does everyone know about that?" she exclaimed in reply, returning to her seat. Meanwhile, the rest present were conversing excitedly. Lanorï¿½ smiled again.

"More than you know," she answered coolly. "Word got around fast. It is not very often that you hear about a seven-year-old who can not only use magic, but also direct one type of magicï¿½in your case, it was fire." She then gestured to the mage by her side. "Clynine here can direct light, and it's too bad I didn't find her earlierï¿½"

Akera turned to silently observe her. Clynine quickly turned back to her food and stuffed a lot into her mouth to prevent herself from having to answer any questions. She could already feel her face heating up with the undue attention.

She decided to change the subject of the conversation, to Clynine's gratitude. "I see why you have to do everything in hiding," she commented, her voice still respectfully soft and controlled. It seemed funny to her how Akera's attitude towards them could change so much within a few minutes.

"The king, to say the least, is mad," Lanorï¿½ agreed wholeheartedly. "It's not right, really; he fears rebellion only because he knows that we want to rebel. And we want to rebel becauseï¿½he set those rules. It's really absurd. I'm quite sure it's safe to say here, I am going to overthrow him someday. We need a better ruler, or no ruler at all."

Akera nodded. "The Job Masters were given the role of leading the people, weren't they?" she replied. "Maybe they'll do a better job."

"Not while the king is in power," Lanorï¿½ sighed. "An one of us might be helpless facing the king and all his policemen and guards, but maybeï¿½if we could somehow coordinate an attackï¿½but that's almost impossible. None of the people of Victoria Island will have the chance to hold a meeting of ten or more without rousing the suspicion of the policemen. He's quite cleverï¿½"

Clynine sat there, thinking again about everything that had been happening to Victoria Island. There was virtually no way to overthrow the king. Lanorï¿½ couldn't stay in hiding forever; they were bound to fall into a trap someday. The same would probably happen to all the remaining people who had as much power as her mistress did. And there were no alternatives; there was no way to gather a group of people to stage an attack.

There was no point trying to think about it over and over again, Clynine decided. Maybe, if there were loopholes, no one would ever find them. They might as well leave life as it was and be grateful that it was not something worse.

And yet again, she didn't want to run forever. She was sure that Lanorï¿½ thought so as well, as did Akera. There had to be a way, a tiny possibility, that someone would find the answer and save Victoria Island from having to live like this for the rest of eternity.

The rest of breakfast was spent chatting about topics of common interest. Through the course of the conversation, Clynine found out a lot about their new acquaintanceï¿½Akera had, indeed, killed her parents as well as destroyed their home at seven, with fire magic. Then, she had become homeless, and the king's policemen placed her on the highly-wanted list. A year later, she was captured and taken to work at the Ellinia Station, working the sails of the ship, and carrying goods onto the ship whenever it was not sailing.

She told the two a lot about someone named Shirion, whom she had befriended, and who had been her only friend throughout her years there. They had escaped together, and she had been free for three and a half years already.

Now she was fifteen, a Fire Poison Mage. She had taken her test and passed the year before, a feat that hardly anyone had managed before.

"It's my honour to be speaking to you," Lanorï¿½ replied. "I didn't know that you were her. It does amaze me that we met here, in this inn."

Clynine felt uncomfortable about the two speaking to each other with her in between, but she did not dare to join the conversation. Finally Lanorï¿½ spared her the discomfort. "Let's go to Grendel soon; it's best to do the test in the morning."

"I could take you there," Akera suggested. Clynine smiled gratefully, the nervousness rising in her heart again, all of a sudden. Would it take long? What exactly would she have to do? She hoped that she would survive.

They soon finished their breakfast, all three heading out of the inn immediately to make their way to Grendel's home at the highest point in the treetops. Clynine gripped her emerald-tipped staff nervously, hoping that that alone would be enough to keep her alive and help her pass the test. She had heard Lanorï¿½ say that she had used the same kind of staff in her test, but Clynine did not believe that now.

Again she thought about the day she had taken her first testï¿½the test that would decide whether she got the job of Lanorï¿½'s assistant. She had not used a staff then, but had used her usual method of directing magic through her handsï¿½it was not as easy to focus without a directive object in her hands, but she had been sure it would be more impressive. How far she had come since then, she thought. Level sixteen then, and level thirty now.

This test would be worlds different. Her staff meant more to her now than ever.

The Fire Poison Mage led them along the winding pathways of the trees; there was no need to fear capture as long as they stayed in the more treacherous pathways. The trunks and leaves guarded them from the view of the people within the populated inner city.

As they went higher, Clynine felt her fears of falling off the branches growing. They had no choice but to take the most dangerous of paths up to the top, and that only increased the possibility that she might slip off or miss a gap any moment and fall to her death. Swallowing, she willed herself not to turn her eyes to the branches at her feet, watching Akera and Lanorï¿½ as they scaled higher into the branches. Why does Grendel live so high?

At last, they came to it, the Cleric-to-be panting, half with nerves and half with exhaustion. At the top, she allowed the wind to sweep away her tiredness and fear, before they carried on, their path levelling out once more.

Grendel's Magic Library, his home, stood high among the tallest canopies. It was perfectly ordinaryï¿½like all other buildings in Ellinia, its sky-tiled roof sloped gently in a bell-shaped cone, vines creeping over the walls and the frosted windows. She did know, however, that all who worked for the king would not be able to see the building, for it was guarded with a veiling spell that made it invisible to them. Grendel would have been captured years ago if not for it.

Seeing this building, Clynine realised, also meant that her test was drawing close. She wrapped her fingers around her emerald staff more tightly than ever, the white metal warmed by her fingers. Her heart was racing once more, and she felt even more nervous than climbing the trees on fragile vines and pathways had made her feel.

"It's not going to kill you, and you have the full capabilities to pass it," Lanorï¿½'s reassuring voice came through the storm of thoughts in her mind, her mistress sensing her lack of confidence. "I have faith in your abilities."

Clynine turned to her and bowed her head, smiling uncertainly. "Thank you, Mistress Lanorï¿½," she replied. "But you probably think that because it was easy for youï¿½"

"And who ever said that I was any more skilful than you when I did my test?" Lanorï¿½ answered. She was probably way better, but she's just trying to give me some confidence, Clynine thought to herself. Which is what I need.

Akera had gone up the swinging vine to Grendel's front door, and was now knocking it hard. The two quickly walked over to join her at the door.

Moments after they arrived, the door swung open as it had the first time she had come. All three entered quickly, Clynine shutting the door with a slam, knowing that the building became visible whenever the door was open.

One the door had closed off all light and silence had been restored, the library's sombre, stately atmosphere engulfed her again. She glanced about at the book shelves that she had seen almost two years ago, still laden with books and lit by squares of yellow sunlight that ran through the windows, falling upon the worn book covers.

Akera had just finished explaining the purpose of their visit, frustration quickly showing in her voice as she repeated her sentences for a second time.

"I'm sorry about that, I was in the middle of my meditation," he apologised, blinking and inclining his head towards them. "You can't possibly be ready for your fourth job yet; you took your previous test just last winter. Unless you have sprung another, unimaginable surprise on meï¿½"

"Not me!" Akera yelled, shocking Clynine to know that she dared to raise her voice at the Job Master for such a small matter.

Finally, he seemed to notice the magician, the Cleric-to-be. "Clynine? Have you come for your second job?"

Clynine turned to look up at the Job Master with fearful eyes. "Iï¿½have," she replied, voice alarmingly soft. "I'm here to take my second job test." She said it a little louder this time. How would he start? Would they be going anywhere outside?

Soon, her questions were answered. Slowly, the wise old man, whose seemingly frail body hid the greatest well of magic imaginable, descended through the golden morning sunlight and came to her face level, his feet suddenly touching the ground for the first time she had seen, robes falling over his simple brown shoes almost instantly.

Akera blinked a few times when she saw that he was standing on the ground. He ignored their stares. "Of course," he said to Clynine, smiling, eyes still shaded by his tall Archmage's hat. "Ah, Clynine, the one whose soul is so pureï¿½"

"Pure?" Her mouth was hanging open with surprise. What made him think that she was so pure? She was definitely not perfect.

He floated into the air again, only three feet off the ground now. With a sweep of his blue-gemmed staff, the door swung smoothly open and he proceeded to float through the doorway, hat brushing the top of the door without falling off. Why was it that the Magician Job Master could do such comical things and make them look so stately?

Said Job Master's head turned back to face the Cleric-to-be. "Let's not waste any time now; I honestly and sincerely cannot wait to see your performance today."

Blinking a few times with surprise, she followed after, hearing the soft wishes of good luck from her mistress and from Akera, her new friendï¿½or something close to friend, but not quite. "And good day to you, Lanorï¿½," he suddenly said, turning. Lanorï¿½ bowed in reply.

Grendel had already gone as far as the next layer of branches, below his home. Remembering that the invisibility spell stopped working whenever the door was open, she quickly took one more glance at the two inside, swallowed fearfully, then shut the door and clambered down the vine rope, following Grendel towards the place where she would be tested.

ralinn: song of terror

She had heard the fourth and fifth songs. They had the same words, both spirits, the same temperaments as well. Darkness. Anger. Hate. Ralinn was afraid.

"Here, alone for more than a decade,

Blood of hundreds on our hands

Trying, wishing to escape this

Cage of hate to see the lands."

It was a song that sent chills through her entire body. The voices themselves simply weren't normal.

Well, she thought to herself. If the dream voice wants us to stop the king, the guild members can't be normal.

One line hung in her mind, though. Blood of hundreds on our hands. When she found them, she hoped that it would not be in a moment of life and death.

orion's belt: somewhere in the dark

Ralinn had passed her third job test easily. It seemed that her skills at the bow had grown without her notice, for she always said that she was no better than she had been after her escape from the castle. But however much better she was now than last time, she had managed the third job test fairly well, and an hour after she had gone to meet Athena Pierce, she had returned, bleeding, bruised and smiling, a new bow in her hands.

"Hey, Linn, when did you get that thing?" Raydan interrogated her as soon as she had entered their shared room in the small inn. It was just large enough to accommodate all four members of Orion's Belt, the air growing warm in the summer's heat.

Ralinn smiled at her envious brother's expression. "At the shop," she answered. "Where else?"

Ketara stared on at the bow. Once again, he recalled the last time he had ever taken notice of a bowï¿½the day he had been taunted and led into a dangerous part of Perion by a bowman, and had only barely survived there. He still fumed whenever he pictured the boy's face, contorted into a sneer, as he fired a swift Arrow Blow at the wild boar he had had so much trouble killing.

But that was a bygone, he told himself. He wouldn't let that happen again, and let anger lead him to do stupid things like that. And he couldn't think that way of all three of the other job classesï¿½it had only been one person. Oh, but I'll get back at him, he thought to himself, appalled by the look he remembered seeing on his face.

Suddenly, the spearman recalled what Ralinn's return meantï¿½they could go to the Dungeon, at last! "So could we get going now?" he asked the guild leader eagerly, jumping up and down on the bed.

"Don't jump on the bed, you'll spoil the springs," Ralinn advised. "And yeah, I promised, so let's go to the Dungeon now?"

"Uhï¿½are you sure?" Zethis, once again, did not seem too keen on the idea of going into the dark heart of Victoria Island.

Thinking of his experience there, he grinned. It had been tiring, disgusting, trying on his endurance, and funï¿½and he wanted to do it again. "It'll be fun!" he exclaimed in reply, choosing to omit the other three adjectives. "I went there once. And it wasn't as bad or scary as everyone makes it out to be."

"We'll take your word for it," Raydan replied. The Crossbowman was off the bed as well, picking up his bag and crossbow from the bedside. "Hey people, we'd better hurry if we want to get there soon."

They only took a minute to check out, thanks to the efficient receptionist. As they stepped out, Zethis turned back to admire the inn.

"This was the first place I ever stayed after I left on my journey," he sighed, sinking into reminiscence. "This White Knight took me here, and he was the one who inspired me to want to take this job path, in factï¿½Hyrien was his name, if I'm not wrongï¿½"

"Hyrien?" Raydan's interest had been sparked. "He's in Nightfall, that guild! The highest-levelled person around. You've met him before?"

Zethis nodded with surprise and excitement. "The first person to tell me his name," he replied. "I sometimes wonder where he has gone, and what he's doing now. The world is pretty small, it seemsï¿½"

"Maybe we'll meet him again!" the Crossbowman said, looking straight along the road they were taking. "I'd love to introduce everyone to you. But I'm not sure if we'll meet them againï¿½"

They had lunch along one of the more deserted roads of Henesys, where the shopkeeper kindly allowed them to hide during the policemen's afternoon patrol. As soon as the way was clear, they left quickly for the exit to the Dungeon.

As they neared the city's border, they saw the castle of King Caleix, a tall, ancient building on the hill to the east of the city, all its turrets clawing the cloud-streaked sky like talons of a beast. Turning away from it, they finally found the open gates that lead into the dense, unforgiving forest.

Ketara turned to observe the gates. They had stood open for so long, vines and weeds tangling around the wrought iron already, and yet the road was hardly trampled over, the weeds and wild grass growing thickly on the path. So there was something that the king fearedï¿½the Dungeon, so much that he had not sent even his subjects to patrol. That was interesting and somehow comforting to know. That also meant that they would not have to worry about being caught in the Dungeon.

As they stepped through the gates and crossed the grass path to the place where civilization met wilderness, the treetops loomed closer, before sheltering them completely from the afternoon sunlight. They walked on, foliage thickening over their heads, thousands of leaves crackling below their feet, untouched by human feet for years already.

At last, it was dark as night, and everywhere they looked, the area before their vision was darker than pitch. It was just like it had been the last time, Ketara noted, even though they were entering by the south this time.

Ralinn's footsteps froze in front of them, they could tell by the sudden silence in the crackling leaves. "Soï¿½how do we go on fromï¿½here?" her voice asked.

Ketara tried to recall what had happened when he had last come here. He had gotten completely lost, and somehow stumbled upon a river, before realizing that he would have to eat raw meat, and doing just that. "Weï¿½just go with the flow, if you know what I mean," he replied. "And I think I know my way around a little; that might help."

It turned out that he could not recognise a thing out in the dark here. Everyone could hardly see, even though they had been walking about for at least twenty minutes already. The spearman swallowed nervously, realizing that he was to blame, should they get lost out in this endless maze of tree trunks. It was my suggestionï¿½

They trekked through the pillar-like trunks of the Dungeon trees, among the dead leaves and the smell of dampness, for two hours on end, no one ever complaining once that their journey was taking so long.

They think I know the way, Ketara suddenly realised, gulping. What am I going to do now?!

"You know, people," he said, turning in the general direction of their footsteps. "I ought to tell you thatï¿½I have no idea where we're going."

"I figured just as much," Raydan's answer came. Even his voice sounded tired and fed-up. The first hints of real panic had started to reach into his heart, and he was now more desperate than ever to find someplace safe, at least familiarï¿½

How deep were they? A two hours' walk into the Dungeon would mean that they were pretty deep into the southern side. But which direction had they gone? He needed a landmark, or some sense of directionï¿½

Suddenly, the ground came to a steep drop, the trees leaning slightly out into the depth. Ketara's heart leapt. He knew this place. This drop. It meant that they were nearing the weird ant cave, and a fresh supply of water!

"Okay, now I think I know where we're going," he piped up, a smile returning to his lips. Behind him, he heard sighs of relief as the rest of Orion's Belt breathed out their nerves and tension. "There's water close by, and a place to stay, though it isn't the most comfortable. Come on!"

With that, he raced down the slope, grabbing tree trunks to slow his slide downhill. He couldn't contain his excitement and elation at the prospect of their salvation in this forestï¿½a place that he recognised and knew the way around. He had spent at least a month hunting here before.

The sounds of the roaring river were coming through the dense forestation, and they proceeded as fast as they could, waterskins almost empty, and thirsty for a drink. They would probably have to stay around this area for a while, making a temporary home here, and hunting around itï¿½

I really should have told them how hard it was, Ketara decided, a little too late.

Finally, they came to the edge of the source of the sound of flowing water, hardly glimmering in the faintest light from the torches of a town nearby. Sleepywood! He had almost forgotten how near it was to the ant tunnel, the huge cave which gaped in the sloped earth close behind them.

"That's where we can stay," he said to Ralinn, pointing to the cave. "I stayed there for a while. Good hunting inside and out." The rest, whose shapes he could faintly see, nodded as they turned to look at it.

"So why don't we check that place out," Ralinn suggested. "After drinking enough? You're right, the water tastes like plants."

Zethis and Raydan spent the longest at the river. Then they came to join Ketara and Ralinn at the mouth of the tunnel. "Sure about this?" the Page's voice was shaking with true terror. There were strange sounds, the sounds of Zombie Mushrooms, coming from within it.

Ketara nodded confidently. "I'm sure!" he exclaimed, stepping in. By the sound of their footsteps, the rest were following.

As they walked, the sounds of their footsteps rang loudly in the darkness, echoing off earthen walls back to their ears. They went on further and deeper, searching for a place where they could make proper beds to sleep on, and Ketara secretly hoped that they would, since he had slept on the floor when he had lived here.

The rustles of the Zombie Mushrooms as they passed were loud, but the creatures only brushed against them harmlessly, knowing that they were too strong to face. The sense of deepening, pressing darkness grew as they went deeper, but they refused to let that deter them.

"Well, not good for sleeping on. Let's go in further." Ketara decided to listen to Ralinn.

The earth walls ended, and stone ones began. Blue crystals grew over the fallen stone arches and monuments that lay strewn over the ground all around them, giving off bright, azure light. This was a familiar sight, but he had never tried going further than the next doorway, which they were headed for now. Somehow, even he felt uneasy about going too far in.

Suddenly, there was the rush of footsteps from the shadows behind the next arch, and a loud, angry shout. There were other humans hereï¿½

"What are you doing here?"

All of a sudden, a barrage of flaming balls whooshed from the doorway, hurtling with deadly speed at them. All four stepped aside or ducked in time, and the balls of fire smashed open on the wall behind, bursting loudly.

There was another shout, this time from the doorway. "They're mine, Rino," a harsh girl's voice screamed, before the sound of metal slicing the air came dangerously close, and all of them ducked down. The metal objects clattered to the ground behind them.

"Ha, you call that an attack?"

"You didn't do much better! Don't always make yourself out to be so good."

Recognition hit Ketara suddenly. "Telida? Turino? You live here?"

Raydan ran to his side. "You know them?" he questioned.

"Yeah, they helped me last time I came here. Yeah, I had help."

Both twins emerged from the doorways, Telida racing up to the group in surprise. "Ketara?" she exclaimed, not seeming to believe that he was here. "Is that really you?" There was a disbelieving frown on her face.

"You again? What're you doing here, in our home?" Turino was behind him.

Now, in the light of the crystals, he could see clearly how they looked. Both had black hair and matching eyes of obsidian, their hair unkempt and fringes uncut, falling over their faces. But they undoubtedly had this look of grace and coolness in their sharp features, which were carved in ivory skin. Turino's hair reached up to his shoulders in thick, messy locks; Telida's almost reached her waist.

What do you expect of people who have been living without sunlight for almost all their lives, he thought to himself. I didn't think they looked thisï¿½nice, though.

"We need somewhere to stay?" he replied uncertainly, sure that they were the kind to chase people out of their homes.

"No, alright? We won't accommodate all of you!" Telida screamed, walking straight up to stand before Ketara. A snarl entered her voice. "In fact, we should be killing you! I don't know what's with you, but I don't want to kill you for nothing. Get out quick! I don't think my brother is this forgiving."

Everyone turned to Turino, who folded his arms and gave them a passive glare. That was enough to make Ralinn dip them a quick bow and turn around. Ketara followed after.

"Nice home, by the way," he called, turning back, voice definitely too cheerful for the situation. Zethis stammered a greeting and an apology and turned as well.

Ralinn went on in the direction they had come, across the stones of the inner cave towards the exit. They finally reached the dankness of the tunnel, picking their way through in single file. To Ralinn, their encounter withï¿½she struggled to recall how Ketara had addressed themï¿½Turino and Telida had been a very close shave.

"I can't believe you could actually be so friendly with them," she commented to the spearman, who turned suddenly and smiled.

"They were actually not that bad, the first time I met them," he replied. "They helped me find my way around, a little, though they did steal something of mine."

They were killers, creatures of the darkness, and he actually befriended them on his own. Ketara really did have a way with peopleï¿½the social butterfly, as always.

"Have they really not been out of the Dungeon for all their lives?" Raydan's voice was bewildered.

"They certainly seem so," Ralinn replied. "How do they survive? I did hear stories that people who enter the Dungeon never leave. Is it because ofï¿½them?"

"Maybe, and other things," Ketara said, looking up at the ant tunnel's ceiling as if in thought. "As far as I know, they kill everyone they can for their food, clothes, weapons and skill books. But I don't see how they could know how to read in the first placeï¿½I'd suppose one of the reasons why people never come out of here is because the twins kill them."

"For survival," Ralinn said softly. Somehow, she felt pity instead of anger towards them. How had they gotten here?

The animal sounds grew to encompass them as they stepped from the dank murk of the cave to meet the dim surroundings outside, just traces of wind stirringï¿½that was no matter, the air was cold already. There were chirps of insects and calls of birds they did not recognize, and the ever murmuring whisper of the river close by, superimposed against the wild, strangely calming sounds of the animals.

Ralinn suddenly realized how hungry she felt. Thankful for the fact that she had brought some food along from the Henesys potion shop, they sat down for a while at the roots of a huge tree, Ralinn taking out a few of the eggs and hunks of meat in paper bags, and passed them out to the four members of Orion's Belt.

Evening had probably fallen a while ago, but there was no telling whether it had. There was no more natural light from the sun now. Only the dim light that somehow slipped through the dense vegetation from the torches of Sleepywood showed them where they set down their next footsteps.

They made their way to the little town, hoping for some lodging, despite the fact that the only people who lived there were the monks of the shrine, as well as the few shopkeepers who supplied Sleepywood's few residents with food. There would probably be somewhere to stay in the village.

"Excuse me, sir, do you know where we might find some lodging?" There happened to be an old man standing outside his house, watering his plants, so Ralinn decided to inquire about the place.

He looked up with squinted eyes, white beard flung back over his shoulder. Age had turned him partly bald, and the torchlight glared yellow on the top of his head. "Lodging?" was his lisping replyï¿½he had lost all his teeth. "The monks are kind; not many have made it here before, but I'm sure they'll take you in." Ralinn bowed and thanked him. He gave a nod of acknowledgement and went back to his gardening.

The Ranger had intended to ask him where the monks lived, but she decided against disturbing him. It was not hard to find anywayï¿½the old rock building stood on a higher part of the small village, surrounded by a wide garden and many strange statues of rectangular human faces, sharp, squared features carved into rock, dark brown in the firelight. Their gazes struck reverence and odd fear into Ralinn, making her hair stand.

They crossed the gravelly path to the tall, tarnishing gold-decorated door of the temple. Ketara saved her the trouble and stress, and knocked on the great rectangle of wood, making a hollow woody sound that made her feel as if it might fall any moment. The golden decorations, attached loosely, rang with his knocks.

It didn't take long for a monk to answer. The door creaked slowly open, and a bald man, white dots seemingly burnt into his forehead, appeared before them. He wore brown monk's garb, the robe almost too big for him.

"Excuse me, sir, could we stay in the temple for the next few nights?" Ralinn asked. How long? She wondered to herself, before remembering that she was the guild leader, and that she would decide how long they stayed. "For a week, maybe?"

The monk looked up at her face and observed her watchfully. "Ah, some lost travelers, perhaps?" he inquired. "It has been a while since we have had any visitors, but do come in! But take off your shoes first."

The monk took them through dim halls, the walls decorated with ornate weavings of trees, men and women, and dragons. "A temple of the Clock Spirit?" Ralinn whispered to herself as they came to the statue at the main altar, in the center of the building.

It was a huge deity of hardly discernable form, something like a human being overflowing with robes and dresses, the folds of cloth so intricately remade in stone here, exploding over the altar like an upside-down flower. There was a circle of twelve candles burning below the statue, and a pool of water in the middle, the slick reflections of black and orange it echoed making it look almost like oil.

"Guest rooms here," the middle-aged monk told the group of four, gesturing down a corridor leading left from the altar. Wordlessly, they went down the corridor, the air of mystery surrounding Ralinn again. Even the guest corridor seemed so holy and sacred.

After finally getting more comfortable with the room which the four were about to share, the guild leader got some food out of her bag to share with the others.

"No need, I brought some too," Zethis said, digging a bag of salad from the bottom of his bag.

"Salad?" Ketara exclaimed, screwing up his face. He produced a familiar bright orange packet from his bag. "I nicked this from your larder. Chips, anyone?"

Ralinn was in front of him instantly, as was Raydan, and the three began to snatch the packet from each other, stuffing chips into their mouths. Zethis just sat at one side, eating his salad. The Ranger was sure that anyone watching this scene would be laughing to death.

Full and content after having a sandwich and a few chips, Ralinn settled to sleep in her sleeping bag on the floor. The bed only had space for one person, and they had drawn lots for it. Raydan had won the right, and the other three had been condemned to resting for the night on the cold tiled floor. I hope there's a bath around here, was Ralinn's last thought.

The dreams returned that night, the two voices louder than she had ever heard. Angry.

"Here, alone for more than a decade,

Blood of hundreds on our hands

Trying, wishing to escape this

Cage of hate to see the lands."

Cage of hateï¿½of hateï¿½

Moments later, her eyes opened, and Ralinn found herself sweating from the force of sheer anger and desperation in the spirits that had sung that night.

At once, she knew who they were.

"Quick, wake up, it's morning!" Ralinn yelled, glancing at her watch, which registered nine o'clock. The other three groaned and turned as she went to them in turn.

"Zethis," she sighed, returning to the closest person to her sleeping area. "Get up, quick, we have to go back to the tunnel."

He turned. "Why?" he replied, barely audible. "It'sï¿½scary." His eyes were still clouded with sleep.

"Just get up!"

It was easy waking Zethis and Ketara up. But Raydan, who was used to it, knocked her arm away whenever she tried to shake him, burying his head in the pillow when she shouted. Shouldn't have given him the bed, Ralinn thought regretfully. "Get up! The rest of us are ready already, and you're not even out of the bed!"

Ten minutes later, he finally relented and struggled from under the covers, feeling for the table to steady himself as he got up.

It didn't take them long to get ready. The only shower around was the waterfall near the temple, and no one wanted to stay in it very long, and the coldness helped their footsteps speed up as they headed for the dining room for their breakfast.

Their breakfast took no more than fifteen minutes. While they ate, Ketara noted that Ralinn seemed in an awful hurry to leave. She was dropping crumbs of bread everywhere, when she was normally a neat eater.

"Quick, guys!" she exclaimed, standing instantly. "We must find themï¿½"

Them?

They ran down the gravel pathway again, following the course of the river to the point where they had been the day before, where they had taken a turn into the deep undergrowth and entered the tunnelï¿½

Again, they were racing down the tunnel, Ralinn leading the group as she glanced frantically about. She was searching for Telida and Turino, Ketara was sure now. But why? She had been afraid of them earlier. Why had she suddenly decided to reconcile herself with them, if that was what she intended?

They searched for an hour, footsteps ringing over the rock ground as they checked behind rocks and crumbled pillars for the two. Ketara found traces of their habitationï¿½a few sets of old clothing carelessly thrown here and there, many animal skeletons, and a few other odds and ends that they had probably stolen. But no sign of them.

"Turino and Telida," she said to herself. "We must find themï¿½"

"They seem to be gone," Raydan said as they came to meet her near the exit. "Why so badly?"

"It's them. They're the next two members of Orion's Belt."

Orion's Belt went deeper into the cave, which went gradually downward with a series of rooms connected by stairs. The revelation that the twins were to be the next two members of their guild left Ketara greatly surprised. Who would have guessed? The two had never seemed like the kind to want to take on the kingï¿½did they even know what was going on outside the Dungeon?

They had lunch on the marble floor, eating the stale meat and salad that they managed to dig up from their haversacks and pouches, before continuing their search after that. Maybe Turino and Telida would return if they waited. Meanwhile, they went on deeper.

This place wasn't familiar, he suddenly realised, stopping in the midst of semi-darkness, noting how the ceiling above and the ground below was cracked and deeply cratered, seeming as if it had been trampled over by huge footsteps.

He heard a moan. Zethis and Raydan, who had been conversing with each other, fell instantly silent. All their expressions said the same thing. What was that?

Then a huge mass of flesh leapt through the stalagmites, the enormous thump it made knocking them down to the ground. It stood towering over them, its sheer size inconceivable, its full form of horror topped with a brown mushroom cap. They stood, instinct telling them to run. But they would never escape it; somehow, all of them knew. None of them tried to turn.

"We'll fight it," Ralinn said determinedly. Her bow was already drawn, two arrows strung in its curve. Ketara swung the Holy Spear from his back, the four cross-points gleaming. Close to him, Zethis had a large metal hammer ready, and Raydan, his crossbow.

They didn't know what, exactly, they were up against. But this was a fight to the finish, and there was no other way.

Then tension was building in the air around them, the sound of all their breaths audible in the silence of the cave. Ketara's grip on his spear got tighter in anticipation. They would wait for it to attack first.

It came without warning. With an enormous leap, the great bulk of the mushroom flew through the fallen brown rubble around them and landed with a ground-shaking boom. They raced aside as it landed, turning instantly to begin their assault of attacks.

"Power Arrow! Power Arrow!" The repeated shouts were coming from Ralinn as she gathered energy in blue spirals around her nocked Fury Arrows before launching them repeatedly, one after another. Her brother fought similarly with shining Soul Arrows from his crossbow, the projectiles striking like stings in the monster, magic blowing little potholes in its white sides.

"Hyper Body," Ketara whispered, ochre light rising upwards around him and the rest as it always did, mana dropping slightly. "Iron Will." The same happened, with blue light instead.

He glance up and down the great mushroom. It looked like an expanded version of the Zombie Mushrooms nearer to the surface, complete with the yellow tag that held an indecipherable bloody scrawling. He would have to come up close in order to do it damage, but with his long weapon, it wouldn't mean going too near. As for Zethisï¿½

"Power strike!" he yelled, feeling the power gather in his arms with his words. Moments later, he shot forward and the blazing spear found its way deep into the monster. He felt more energy welling in him and got ready to use it again. "Final attack!" The spear slashed down at its side, leaving a gash.

There was another yell of Power Strike as Zethis attempted to get it in the front, swinging his steel Titan down on its face. The creature gave a shrieking cry and retaliated with a full blast of yellow light. The Page stumbled back a few steps, injured, Ketara managing to leap to a side an instant before it struck.

From the right, he could hear commands for Strafe, Power Strike and Final attack, arrows burning in three different colours as they slashed through the darkness and found their marks in the mushroom. Yellow burned upwards from the ground, Ralinn and Raydan falling back with it. Ketara rose to the chance and hit it with another Power Strike.

A shot of yellow flame burst upwards at his feet, and he flew back three feet, into a wall. His head gave a painful crunch as it collided with the hard stone, and he stood, dizzy, desperately rubbing the bruised spot. He just felt the edge of a wound before he realised that there was blood running down his arm.

Wincing, the Spearman quickly regained his composure in time to see Zethis fall forward with the creature's magic attack. Raydan strung another arrow and released it, Ralinn taking a sip from her Mana Elixir before swinging her bow back into position. The monster, despite its numerous small wounds and scratches, hardly looked battered. This was not going to be easy at all.

The two bow-users rested for a few moments. That cost them both some harsh burns. They quickly drank potions while the two warriors continued to attack nearer to the mushroom, taking a lot more damage than the two in the backlines.

"Ketara, I'm out of mana potion," Zethis called over, running quickly out of range. The Spearman pulled his quarter-full bottle from his bag, his arms shaking so much from exhaustion that he almost dropped it. He was losing a lot of blood through his wound. Zethis took it and drank a little gratefully, before returning to his position.

More arrows raged through the air but turned into mere burning pinpricks as they struck the mushroom in its side. It stumbled slightly, but quickly rose again. They were weakening it, but not enough.

Then they froze as a furious call rose over the sounds of their weapons and arrows, and a blaze of red light burst through the battle and shot deep into the mushroom they were fighting. In unison, they turned.

"Didn't we tell you to get out already?" Telida was snarling at them, long black hair fluttering out in the sapphire light of the cave, more throwing stars already burning in her hand.

"Can you kill this thing?" Ketara called, relief suddenly rushing through him to see her.

"No, it's too strongï¿½but we can ask it to go away," she replied.

Turino appeared after her. "But since you've started the battle already," he said decisively, stepping forward, wielding a staff that Ketara had never seen before, its head shaped like a pair of wings.

Close by, Ralinn gasped. "That's a level sixty-five staff," she said, apparently to herself. "He killed a level sixty-five mage."

Turino swept his staff in an arc. The staff burst into a flame, bow-shaped, and from it he launched three arrows, one after another. The flaming projectiles shot through the still air faster than real arrows, crackling with powerful flames. They burnt deep into the mushroom.

"Oh, so you're going to kill this as well?" Telida spat at her brother, stepping aside. "Go ahead. I know I'm no match for you."

"Come on, you know I can't kill it alone, alright?"

"Oh, just stop it," Raydan said exasperatedly, never taking his eyes off the monster as his hands deftly loaded crossbow bolts one after another on his Rower and fired them straight into their foe.

It was slowing, Ketara noted with added relief and hope. "Power Strike!" His spear swung out with more energy than it had in the last few attacks. He managed to drive it deep, costing a little energy, but inflicting it with a lot of pain. It cried out again.

Telida and Turino had joined the battle with full momentum, despite the fact that they had not been prepared for this, and that Orion's Belt was not welcome in their cave. When the stream of throwing stars stopped, arrows came to take on the attack role. The mushroom was given less chances to recover and gather energy for attack, and with that, the two warriors could battle a lot more effectively.

Ketara attacked again, suddenly wanting the battle to end more than ever, so that they could get the twins into the guild. "Power Strike!" he shouted, thrusting his Holy Spear into the monster, feeling more energy gather up into his arm muscles. "Final attack!"

It turned to him. Shutting out all the rest of the attacks for a few seconds, it sent flashes of light out at the Spearman, and he was thrown to the ground once more. The dull ache at the back of his skull burst into sudden, excruciating pain. He stood up, just barely, vision whirling all of a sudden.

Then it vanished all at once, before he could realise. Ketara suddenly felt new energy rush into his body like healing light, and he found all his strength returning. "Power Strike! Power Strike!" He performed three Final Attacks in a row after that. His strange hidden power had returned once more. It seemed to do so whenever he was in a dire situation, it seemed. Would he ever learn to control it?

"Power Strike!" Ketara looked forward as he readied another blow. Zethis was bludgeoning the creature with his hammer with little effort. His eyes wereï¿½glowing. Ketara had been told that his eyes glowed when he unlocked his powers. Could Zethis do the same?

Again, ignoring the dizziness that was spinning around in his head, he ran, raised the Holy Spear and drove it into the monster with all his weight. It froze at spear point all of a sudden, its battered body convulsing once, before it suddenly began to crumble away, its tag fluttering downward like a huge petal to land on the marble ground.

"Wow, you performed the killing blow," Ralinn said, stepping forward. It was strange, the silence; one moment, there was a towering beast before them, and the next, it had completely vanished.

Then as suddenly as it had come, the power vanished from his body. He collapsed to the ground, suddenly noticing that his dark hair was literally dripping blood, the wound throbbing with repeated flashes of claw-like pain.

"Ouch, that's gotta hurt," Telida commented after a moment of silence. Ketara watched through blurred vision as she walked to stand over him. Feebly, he held out his arm, hoping that she would help him stand, no matter how unlikely this was. She did. Her grip was exceptionally strong, almost bone-crushing. "We've got some stuff to put on itï¿½but I'm not sure how much that will help." Immediately, she ran off somewhere.

"Hey, Linn, ask them now," Raydan's voice just barely came through to his hearing.

"Uhï¿½you two, would you, by any chanceï¿½want toï¿½end the oppression that the king is imposing on us all? Umï¿½get rid of the king?" Ralinn asked, voice shaking with nerves. "I don't knowï¿½you are the prophecised fifth and sixth membersï¿½"

"Not a bad idea, really, getting rid of the king," Turino commented. There was a spark of what might have been anger, but Ketara didn't think that he would half care about what King Caleix did or had done. Telida nodded in agreement. "Yes, alright. But don't think we'll let you tell us what to do all the time."

"Alright, soï¿½you will join?" Ralinn confirmed, still seeming too surprised at their agreement.

"Are you stupid, or deaf? We said 'yes'."

Athe guild leader flinched at Telida's response. She cautiously held out two pendants, and they came forward, snatching them from her hand. They observed the metal pieces, somewhat hungrily, Ketara thought. But they put the items on anyway. No one dared to speak for a while.

"Welcome to Orion's Belt!" the Spearman finally exclaimed, grinning, after a few moments of silence. Telida burst out laughing, and Turino sniggered.

"You should see the expression on your face," the female twin said, still smiling widely. Ketara thought on this and blushed. It seemed strange to him how everyone found him so funny.

"That done, let's get out," Ralinn said. "Andï¿½I hope we can find our way around better, with them."

"Definitely," Ketara said optimistically. As soon as Telida had tied the bandage around his head, they began on their way out of the cave, Orion's Belt now two members bigger.

Ketara drifted over to Zethis' side as they went, his question still bugging him. "Hey, Zethis," he called.

The Page started, leaping away in shock. "Y-yes?"

Ketara laughed to himself. "Your eyes wereï¿½umï¿½glowing, just now," he explained. "I was wondering; do you have that weird power that seems to come out at night only?"

Zethis looked up, blinking as he thought. "You're right! It does only appear at night!" he exclaimed, before turning back to face the Spearman, shocked. "Y-you too! Chief Dances with Balrog saidï¿½"

"I guess I can do it too," Ketara agreed. "I don't knowï¿½but it seems we're related in some way. And Dances with Balrog seems to have realised thatï¿½"

Zethis seemed to want to change the subject, now that their conversation had begun. "How do you actually dare to talk to Telida and Turino?" he exclaimed, glancing down at the two. Ketara suddenly noticed that their clothes were badly tattered, as if they had been wearing them for years.

"Umï¿½they're nice," he replied simply. "They just don't like meeting new people, I guess."

"They said that they kill everyone, and that they would have killed us, if not for you!" Zethis repeated what Telida had said. "How did you make them so friendly to you?"

Ketara thought back to their first meeting. True, they should have killed him, like any other person who had gone by before. Butï¿½what had they said then? He tried to remember.

"He's the most interesting, and good-looking, person who's ever come round here before..."

"I see what you mean by good-looking."

Ketara felt himself blush again at the words he had heard years ago. "I should go ask," the Spearman said, more to himself than to Zethis. The Page nodded.

"Umï¿½hey, Rino," he attempted to start a conversation with the obsidian-haired youth. For some reason, Turino still made Ketara nervous.

"Who gave you the permission to call me that?!" he yelled in response, dark hair flying to cover the right side of his face. His eyes were empty, like pools of coal, his expression so furious it would have scared a young child to tears. It only startled Ketara a little.

"Turino, then," he quickly corrected himself. "Why didn't you kill me?"

Somehow, it sounded like he was asking to be killed. Turino gave a sniff of disdain. "Ask my dumb sister," he said. "Well, all I can say is that you're of more use to the world alive than dead. I mean, who wants your stuff anyway?"

"Ignore him," Telida cut in, walking to Ketara's other side. "Rino really loves to kill people. And yeah, you're more useful alive than dead. You wereï¿½nice, I guess. Nicer than everyone else who's met us. And you didn't go crazy when you found out that I stole your mesos." She smiled to herself and gave him a knock on his head. "You stupid or what? Giving in to us like that."

"I don't mind," Ketara replied, not sure of what to do. He really wouldn't have minded if someone poorer than him had taken his money.

"You are really strange," Turino said, not turning around.

"Be nice to the rest, 'kay?" the Spearman said, noting how everyone was drifting away from them as they walked. "They're nice too."

shirion: after so long

Shirion crept between the snow-laden trunks of the trees at the south of Ellinia, hidden by the predawn shadows.

He had reached his seventy-seventh level in the deeper parts of the undergrowth, the sweat still wetting his hair, which was now bound in a low-worn pony-tail. He untied it, his long mahogany-brown locks falling far past his shoulders, before redoing it more neatly.

Suddenly he straightened. He had heard somethingï¿½the crackle of snow underfoot, behind him. It had been made by something larger than the squirrels he so often saw, springing from branch to branchï¿½was he being followed by the guards? He had been on the run for four years and grown to a level that would warrant his instant execution; had they finally caught up with him?

Telling himself to calm down, he braced himself for what he would find when he turned. The winter wind descended through the rustling treetops, as dawn crept through the spaces between the leaves, dappling the white ground below.

The Crusader turned. His eyes widened for an instant, his mind still not comprehending what he was seeing.

"Akera!"

The silver-haired Fire Poison Mage gasped, loud enough for him to hear. She stood just at the edge of the small clearing, a half-silhouette between the wooden pillars. Her mouth curved into a smile Shirion had not seen for three and a half years.

"So, you finally noticed me!" she replied, running forward to give him a bear hug. He was too shocked, initially, to respond. "How has it been?"

"Third job. Haven't been caught, as you can see. I just came, about a month ago, from Perionï¿½"

"Some coincidence this is!" Akera replied. "I've been hanging around here since we parted, actually. Found a place to stay, got to my third job as well, last yearï¿½"

"And you're a year younger than me!"

Somehow, it seemed like a dream. Was it possible that they had actually met again? Shirion had never expected to see Akera again, not in his entire life. He did wonder about her sometimes, but he had never considered this possibility.

So now he had a companion to travel. "Want to go to Ossyria someday?" he suggested. She nodded, stepping back.

"Ossyria, it is."

clynine: the journey back

Clynine had been a Cleric for about two months already. The winds were dropping in temperature as the year entered winter, the trees now bare.

Lanorï¿½ looked forward at the wide ocean that spread from the coast, cold breezes of salt rushing past them. "Time to go back?" she asked. Clynine nodded. They had seen more of Victoria Island than she had ever seen in the full twelve years of her life. Her mistress was smiling, probably at the prospect of home.

"Soï¿½let's go, then." They had already found the location of the secret jetty on the Ellinia side. The ship service had been rebuilt, the previous captain having survived the crash, though the ship had been wrecked completely, and a new one had had to be constructed in secrecy. "Back to Ossyria."

Turning, Lanorï¿½ began walking along the tree-rimmed coast, along the path of the morning. Clynine followed, thinking of where they were headedï¿½home, heart pounding with anticipation. She couldn't wait.

orion's belt: plans

In the midst of the deep snow just north of the great forest, Ketara suddenly saw blue light rise up all around him. He thought for a while, counting. Level seventy!

He was eligible for his third job!

"Judging from that expression, I'd believe it's time for your third job test?" Ralinn walked over. The others were still busy at the drakes, chasing them down through the soft snow.

Ketara nodded. "Hope it's not too hard," he said to himself. "And once I get it, we can go to Ossyria!"

"How about us?" Raydan shouted, slightly annoyed.

"Alright, after you two as well!" Ketara laughed, and the Hunter gave a sigh, probably at the thought of how hard it would be to catch up with his friend.

Ossyriaï¿½how much better was it there? A thought, almost heavenly, an escape from the torture of living in dying Victoria, shriveling at the hands of an irresponsible king. It was only a ship ride away. An exhilarating ship ride, towards a land that was still freeï¿½

How much better was Ossyria, across the great celestial-blue expanse of sky?

Chapter 5: Year of the Ox

clynine: chains

Theride had been so much smoother than the first. As the boat careened over the water and came to a stop, Clynine stretched out her arms in joy, feeling fresh despite aching from having to sleep on the floor.

The Cleric looked down into the translucent path of white ice that led to the land. It sparkled under the sunlight of her new homeland. The air was pleasantly cold, and she was more grateful than could be expressed in words, to finally feel the coolness of El Nath after that boat ride, to see the white hills that had become so familiar to her.

The rest of the passengers were either rubbing their eyes sleepily, or checking their maps. "Clynine, stop daydreaming," Lanorï¿½ called out, yards away. "We've got to start now if you want to make it back to El Nath in time."

Quickly scolding herself, she followed obediently. They would be riding there, most likely, but yetis were hard to tame, and the nearest yeti farm was at least half an hour's walk from the coast.

Clynine pulled her jacket out of her bag as they walked. Glad that it was a sling bag and not a hand-carried one, she pulled her arms through the fur sleeves and zipped it up. Home, she thought. Finally.

The shape of the yeti farm soon emerged from the rises of snow. But almost as soon as they saw it, they froze. For there was something else thereï¿½the rising danger, the small figures of men and women surrounding the building, clothed in black. And the shoutsï¿½why were they shouting to one another?

Danger. Tension. Something comingï¿½a looming shadow.

"We need the mounts," Lanorï¿½ whispered, turning and brushing her long blonde hair behind her ear. Then they ran on towards their destination, Clynine praying, sensing the cold dread growing in her.

Now she could see them clearly. Their bodies were entirely cloaked in curtains of black cloth, hoods hanging low, as they raised their gazes. Clynine felt Lanorï¿½'s body press against hers, and saw a flash of movement from the corner of her eye as she lifted her staff in a reflex action.

Slowly, they were coming to surround them. "It is she," they spoke it in unison. The circle was complete, and no one moved.

The staves rose. Red-and-black lightning crackled in their points, filling the air. And it was about to begin.

"Down!"

Everything blurred, as Lanorï¿½ fell to the snow, pulling Clynine down with her. The Cleric gasped, finding her face buried in ice, the sound of blazing lightning and the touch of burning heat clawing on her skin, so close that she thought she might die from itï¿½

The circle had closed in on them. Their pitch-black robes were fluttering in the sudden gale, almost close enough for every fold to be seen.

She could hear it all. Her heartbeat echoing through her every vein as she lay there upon the frozen ground. She knew what would follow if they were captured. She knewï¿½and she never wanted to experience it.

"Mï¿½Mistressï¿½"

"No. They won't kill us. They'll take us to hangï¿½"

She turned and gasped. The snow beside the pair was blown apart, throwing ice everywhere.

All ease was gone from Lanorï¿½'s face now. Beads of sweat were forming on her forehead, her eyes narrowed. Clynine turned back to the blank snow between her arms, shivering, suddenly dead and hopeless inside.

The air was filled the smell of lightning. It was coming, coming so closeï¿½

The second filled with unbearable heat, and Clynine felt her face flush.

Infernally hot, molten, like a furnace's flames through her robes. Yetï¿½no pain, no darkness, only the glow of brilliant blue light from the corner of her eyeï¿½

Lanorï¿½'s hand suddenly encircled Clynine's own, and her heart stopped as she felt herself being lifted effortlessly off the ground. Knees shaking, her legs almost buckled under her own weight. But Lanorï¿½'s hand kept her upright. The mages were frozen to the ground, some unconscious, some struggling to release themselves from the ice that Lanorï¿½ had frozen them in. Sudden relief filled her.

Then Clynine looked up, and her breath caught in her throat. More coming in from the east. Her insides clenched even harder, until she felt an urge to vomit.

"Orders from the supervisor!" his shout was raw and angry. "Do not kill them! He wants them alive!" They were looming closer, black cloaks filled with the wind.

Lanorï¿½ gave Clynine's hand an urgent pull. "Quick, let's runï¿½"

But to her horror, she couldn't move.

Clynine! Move!

Her body refused to obey, though desperation spun around her.

Lanorï¿½ was waiting! She had to runï¿½

ï¿½And yet she couldn'tï¿½

RUN! Run, Clynine!

By the then, it was too late.

A powerful crackleï¿½stunning energy, like fire coursing through her, burnt deeper than her skin, running through her blood like molten iron. Her entire body crumpled with the pain. Fell.

She screamed.

Her head crunched straight into the snow, yet there was no pain. It was numb. Her vision filled with sparks like fireworks, and they did not fade, blinded her to the world. She could hear the thump of her heart, omnipresent, frighteningly irregular.

Another scream. It wasn't hers; it was her mistress'.

Psychedelic circles of light were covering the sky as two rings of coldness clamped down around her wrists, and the sound of jangling chains filled her almost unhearing ears. She wanted to fight out against the powerful hands, but she couldn't move. She couldn't feel anything anymore. Her thrashing died down.

Then, everything vanished, sudden as lightning.

telida: two ways

Telida watched at the blackness of the cave, trying to make out any of the movement within. She leaned against the rough stone again, wiping more sweat away.

How long is he going to take? She wondered impatiently, having waited there for hours for Ketara to finish his third job test. Dances with Balrog was watching the cave intently, smiling with so much calm that it made her feel nervous.

Again, thoughts of her joining the guild returned. Why, she should have put up more resistance! Why would she give up her independence just like that? It now seemed so idiotic of her, as she thought.

But yet again, it was what she really desired. She couldn't stand living in the Dungeon anymore. She didn't want to stay in shadows for the rest of her life. She sought another lease of life, a chance to live again.

She didn't want to be a killer anymore. She wanted to be something more.

And so, with her and her brother, the small guild had finally left the Dungeon the previous winter. Telida had almost forgotten everything about Victoria Islandï¿½the only thing she could remember was the king.

"We cannot live in plain sight of the king any longer. Turino, Telidaï¿½though I hate to say this, we must go into hiding, somewhere where even he cannot reach us."

It had been those words that had cast her into a life full of shadows and cruelty.

Dances with Balrog gave a grunt and stood up straight. "Normally, a level seventy would be stuck in there for another half an hourï¿½but he should be out right about now," the chief's voice fought its way through her thoughts.

True to his words, the Spearman's shout suddenly rang through the cave. "Done!" Moments later, out stepped a dirty and wounded Ketara, a small black object in his left hand.

He instantly turned to Telida and smiled, panting slightly from exhaustion. His hair, the colour of ebony, whirled about his shoulders, framing his usual cheerful, charming grin, one that was completely unbefitting of a person who had just finished a killer test.

Inside her, Telida felt something unclench with relief; both at the fact that Ketara had survived, and at the fact that she had some company again. No one else wanted to talk to her, the wild girl of the Dungeon. And Turino? She simply despised that brother of hers.

How strange, that though she had always hated males all her life, she had found it exceedingly easy to befriend Ketara. It alarmed her. He might suddenly decide to turn on her, after acting all nice.

Just like her father had. And her brother.

Dances with Balrog took the object from Ketara's hand. "Well, soï¿½you've made it as well," he said. "Another to reach his third job. That's a commendable feat. Not many make it this far withoutï¿½ï¿½Great job, Ketara."

Telida stepped back. She knew about job advancements alreadyï¿½she had studied from official Thief job skill books. But to see one of these job advancements was something she had never experienced before.

Dances with Balrog, the man who wore strange clothes and a headdress of red feathers, took hold of her friend's face. The two emanated a strange glow. Then Ketara staggered back slightly, blinking.

"In the name of the great Dragon, creator of life, I name you a Dragon Knight."

Immediately after that, the rest, who had been standing around him, came forward to ask him about the test.

"Was tiring," he commented. "I think I worked my hand off!"

"Well, it's still there," Telida said, thinking now about job advancements. Why did the king forbid it? Obviously, learning all these skills would accord power of some kind to the learner. If she could get a jobï¿½then she couldï¿½

"I want to take job advancement tests," Turino suddenly said, beating her to her own words.

Telida forced down the stir of annoyance. "So do I," she added. Then her eyes widened, and she turned to her brother, something completely random tugging urgently at her mind. "Father's stone! Weï¿½we forgot it!"

Turino's visible eye blinked, the other hidden by locks of raven hair. "You mean you forgot it?!" he exclaimed, panicking for the first time she had seen. His voice had become a groan of anger and tiredness. "Great! Now, because of you, we've got to go back all the wayï¿½"

"Alright, alrightï¿½we'll go back," Ralinn quickly replied. Still annoyed and tired at the prospect, Telida decided to keep her mouth shut. She sometimes said stupid things when she was angry.

"Great, so I've planned it," Ralinn broke in, gathering everyone together. "You listen as well, Turino." Telida rolled her eyes at her brother, who still stood a short distance away from everyone else. Reluctantly, he shifted over.

"You go to Ellinia with someone to take your job test," the guild leader instructed. "The rest of us will go to Kerning for Telida's job. We'll go through Sleepywood to get your stone, and join you in Ellinia. Soï¿½a hundred and eighty days from now, we will meet in Ellinia, western entrance." The plan sounded clear and practical enough for Telida.

"Who's going with me?" Turino looked about at the rest, eyes narrowed.

"Wouldn't mind," Raydan put in, stepping forward.

Zethis raised his hand warily, as if he were in a classroom. "Could Iï¿½go as well?" he requested. His sister nodded.

"So it's set," she continued. "Shall we depart, after washing up?"

Everyone more or less agreed, nodding. "Have a nice time, then," Ralinn said. "Stay away from the police patrols, alright?"

They returned to their inn somewhere lower down the mountain, where all of them got cleaned up. Finally, clean and refreshed, they gathered at the doorway with their bags, potions fully stocked up.

"Come on, Telida and Ketara," Ralinn said, turning to face the afternoon sun. She gave her brother a single wave. Then, without another instant, the other group departed in the opposite direction.

Telida turned and found that both Ralinn and Ketara were already walking away over the Perion streets. "Wait for me!" she yelled, panicking a little that they might really leave her behind.

Ketara stopped and turned around, smiling brightly. "Hurry, then!" he replied, already two tents away. Telida looked wonderingly about at the tents, still unable to get enough of this amazing city. The long journey daunted herï¿½six months!ï¿½but she knew that it would all be worth it in the end.

Oh, I'll catch up with you! She thought to herself, seeing that they had gone even further already. She ran after quickly, smiling at the touch of the mountain cool, feeling as if she were the wind itself.

I'll catch up! Without fail!

akera: the new order

"Umï¿½Akeraï¿½you should get your hair dyed again," Shirion said as they sat in the dark arms of a tree's roots, in the middle of Ellinia's bottom levels, the air of late afternoon encompassing them.

Akera's hands flew to her hair in alarm. "The stuff's wearing off," she muttered, running her fingers through her hair.

She had dyed her hair to disguise herself, having been on the run for a while, before she had been captured and taken to work at the Ellinia Station. The person who had sold it had said that it would last eight years. She had thought she would no longer need it by then.

On the way back to the inn, they came to the town notice board. Shirion froze, reading something. There, pinned in the middle, was a neat, new notice that bore neatly printed black words.

He turned back. "Akera. You should read this."

Alarmed, she ran to the board covered in sheets of paper, skimming over the notice.

"NOTICE: An order of necromancer guards has been instated in every city, to ensure speed in dealing out of sentences."

Akera shivered. Necromancers. Followers of the dark arts. If those were allowed to enforce the law in all the cities, thenï¿½

"Any person found to commit any of the following offences will be killed immediately: having a job, seeking to get a job, having weapons in possession, having any gold or precious stones in possession, being within barricaded territory, owning a house while in possession of any childrenï¿½"

The list went on and on. Akera simply turned away from it, searching Shirion's face for some sign of reassurance.

"We'll just have to be a lot more quiet when we move," he said, not turning from the notice. "It's no longer slavery for us. We'll die instantly, if they find us."

The journey carried on as deep into the forest as they could possibly go. "We're still going to get my hair dyed?" Akera asked incredulously.

"I'm used to seeing you with white hair," he replied. "I wouldn't be able to take it if you hadï¿½light brown hair all of a sudden."

"It's not white, it's silver!" she insisted, somewhat annoyed. "But yeah, I wouldn't be used to it either."

So they carried on through the trunks until they arrived at the edge of Ellinia, standing at a deserted section of the city that no one ever visitedï¿½the cemeteries. Akera could almost feel the melancholy air about the place, and it made her sigh.

Shirion found them a secluded path up to the hair saloonï¿½the branches were still strong, though a little widely-spaced. Around them was an entire citadel of houses, all of the same designï¿½blue-roofed round houses, walls woven around by vines. It was all the same as it had been, almost eight years ago, when she had come here for her first job.

But it was so silent and empty. Only guards walked the tree branch-streets, the leaves trodden down by their heavy footsteps. The doors were chained, the leaves growing in wild curtains over the windows. Within them, no lights burned in the early evening, as they would have before. There was no sound. They were all gone.

The saloon was seated among a few thick clumps of leaves, glass door and displays hidden by leaves. Streaks of slanted sunlight dappled the wooden door.

A normal person passing it by would probably pass it off as an old abandoned house. Pushing the hanging leaves aside, they opened the door, bells jangling on the doorknob. They stepped onto the red-and white-tiled floor and strolled over to the counter.

The woman there was middle-aged, wavy red-dyed hair held in a short ponytail. She smiled briefly and held out her lists of services, as she had every time they had come.

"I would like my hair dyed white," Akera said briskly.

The hairdresser soon had Akera in a chair, a cold piece of white cloth draped about her neck and shoulders. As she carried out the procedure of dying her hair white, she found herself meditating, trying to clear her mind of worry.

The idea suddenly ran through her head. What if they could somehow kill the king?

She quickly scolded herself mentally for even considering it possible. Someone else must have thought of doing that already, over these ten long years. Not one of them had succeeded, obviously. What chances did she have?

Her mind drifted back to her conversation with Lanorï¿½, almost half a year ago, in the dining room of a hidden inn. She, too, had wanted to do it.

Akera cursed, making the hairdresser jump. She could have asked to join Lanorï¿½. They, together, might stand a chanceï¿½if not alone. They might just be able to save Victoria Islandï¿½

Again, she scolded herself, this time for thinking too highly of herself. If anyone could do it alone, it was Lanorï¿½. And besides, she already had her own assistant.

But just considering it, saving Victoria Island, and having part of it credited to herselfï¿½wasn't it something she desired, more than anything else?

"Miss? It's done," the hairdresser's high voice awakened her from her musings. Sitting up straight, she sighed, a long sigh that seemed to release all that she had thought over for the past twenty minutes.

Akera caught a glance of herself in the mirror and smiled slightly at the resultï¿½good as new. Before that, light brown had been visible at the roots of her hairs.

Light brown hair? She had had dyed hair for so long that she could no longer remember how it was like to have such a mundane colour for hair.

"So, happy about it?" Shirion questioned her. Getting up, she nodded while he paid for the service, despite her insistence to do it herself. Akera went to the door and swung it open, bells jangling on the doorknob.

She stopped.

Black robes. Everywhere. Lining every visible branch-pathway in sight outside the saloon.

No. Oh, no.

The Ice Lightning Mage heard Shirion gasp behind her.

"How did they know?" she whispered. Each necromancer had eyes trained on the two of them. Akera turned back. The hairdresser was holding a cell phone, guilt written on her face. She quickly ran to the back of the saloon and slammed the door shut.

"Well?" Shirion's voice was empty. She could feel her own heart thumping in her constricted throat as her eyes darted about, searching for a way out.

Then she saw it. "The only way is down."

Their black-sleeved arms suddenly rose, staves of fierce violet Lithium going into the air around them.

"Are you crazy?" Shirion sounded completely disbelieving.

The crackle of lightning, lightning of a different kind. The staves, gems as sharp as blades, shining with an ominous red light.

"Yeah. I mean it."

Stupid, desperate bravery suddenly seemed to take control of her. Akera could feel blood rush into her face as she leapt away from the beams of red lightning, onto the parapet of the hair saloon, to the right of the door. The flaming beams burst on the front steps of the saloon, Shirion still standing at the doorway. He gave a shout and stumbled away from the blackened steps.

"Get here!" Akera screamed. "Get here NOW!"

A second burst of red lightning surged forth. The Crusader leapt to the parapet on the other side of the door, moments before the attack hit, burning the stairs away. His face was pale.

"Down, Shirion! We must go down!"

The necromancers' staves were up in an instant. Panting, dizzy, Akera prayed that Shirion had understood her command. It was now or never.

They would certainly die in the next five seconds. It was coming.

They had to jump.

We'll be safe. Please. We will survive to see another day.

Her heartbeat seemed to be timing the seconds till they fired. She could smell the lightning in the air, burning ever closer, ready to claim them both.

Now, or never.

It was coming.

And she let everything go.

An explosion of burning red shook the treetops, engulfing the branches in flame and smoke. Akera and Shirion leapt off the parapet and hurtled down towards the Ellinian forest floor. Through emerald canopies filled with sunlight and birdsong, falling, falling, as they sent their silent screaming pleas to the Goddess.

lanorï¿½: days in the darkness

Lanorï¿½ sat under the shadows cast by the flickering torches, shivering in her plain white cotton dress, dirt-streaked, as the cold El Nath winds filled the cavernous prison of the Dead Mines.

How long had they been here? She looked up at Clynine, as the girl bit from a stiff piece of bread, from the tray that had been brought by a guard. She was haggard, her own dress dirtier than Lanorï¿½'s own, for the Cleric had struggled so much more than she had.

Lanorï¿½ had learnt not to struggle. A single stunning spell from the necromancers was all it would take to immobilize them and knock them out for a few hours.

Even as she sat there and watched the wavering torchlight, she could see those last moments, feel the intensity of it all against her skinï¿½shouts and spell chants, violet staff gems pointed at them, shining bright red. Her assistant's arm held tightly in her left hand, the girl trembling with fear.

Lanorï¿½ could blame Clynine for everything that had happened. It hadbeen because of her that they hadn't escaped. But it wasn't right. She glanced repeatedly at the forlorn Cleric, who was trying to finish her dry bread with a few sips of water.

If she had been more reliable, stronger, faster, they wouldn't be in this situation. It was her fault too. If she, Lanorï¿½, had lived up to her assistant's expectations, the two of them wouldn't have to be spending the rest of their lives in prison. I've survived for so many yearsï¿½and suddenly, I had to let my guard down. While Clynine was with me. Her mistake had cost them everything.

Her stomach ached from hunger that clawed at her. The air was cold, and she was shivering again. Just thinking about itï¿½living here for the rest of her lifeï¿½it made icy submission descend upon her.

It had been three weeks since they had come. They had started off struggling violently against being locked up, but another stunning spell had seen to it that they didn't maintain that attitude. From then, they had never made another sound, had never disagreed again.

Everyday, they had been forced to work in the mines, hacking away at the walls to uncover the ores hidden deep within them. The mines were cold, and they had no more than plain, threadbare dresses to work with. When they fell from exhaustion, there were no healers to heal their scraped knees and arms. She had grazed her leg on a sharp stone and bled, and the wound hurt till now. But the merciless guards had made her work harder.

And she worked with empty diligence, fearful for the jolts of electricity that the guards were capable of giving.

It was constantly terrifying, nerve-wracking. Some guards gave surprise jolts when they felt like it, just for the fun of seeing prisoners in pain. Lanorï¿½ recalled the shock of her first jolt, the way it had made her body spasm excruciatingly, beyond her control. From then, she had worked ten times harder, out of sheer terror.

How funny that now, I am submitting so easily to those I once despised and opposed. But it wasn't her choice to make anymore. Here, they had total dominion over their prisoners. She could either work, or suffer intolerably.

Slowly, regretful and submitted, the Ice Lightning Archmage looked up at Clynine. She was glaring straight at her, dark anger casting shadows over her eyes. There were tears there. Feeling something cut sharply into her heart when she saw her expression, she looked down and tried not to shed any tears.

You're right to feel so, Clynine. I should have done a better job, and kept you out of this life. I was the one they wanted. You need not have been implicated. And yet, you were so faithful.

I'm so sorry.

This time, the tears really did come. And she didn't make an effort to stem their flow, or wipe them away. She couldn't bear the guilt it brought, to know what she had done to a bright young life. Wasted it. Brought it to an unfitting end. It was like cutting a flower bud from its stem, before it had even bloomed.

The ring of spear ends on the dark ground marked the arrival of guards.

"Mining shift," he growled in a guttural voice. A few guards walked overï¿½one came to stand before her gate, unlocking it. Lanorï¿½ couldn't escape; her arms were chained to the ground. Sneering at her, the bearded guard spat at her feet where she sat.

She maintained her calm and gazed up at him. He broke away from her stare and unlocked her arms, before clamping heavy manacles on her wrists, freezing cold. Defiantly, she glared at him, though she knew better than to shout at him. Disregarding her expression, the guard led her out, pushing her to the back of the long line of prisoners.

Clynine glanced back at her, eyes apologetic now. Lanorï¿½ closed her eyes to ward off the terrible guilt that suddenly flooded in.

They were marched towards the mining shafts. Head bowed, Lanorï¿½ followed.

All the while, her thoughts never quietened. I will gain us another chance, she thought, believing her own words, no matter how unlikely they sounded to her. I'll start my life over, and I won't make the same mistake.

clynine: a door opens

The mine was filled with hammering and thunks of metal against rock, as the prisoners, feet chained to large metal balls, worked to free the precious ores from the walls of the mines.

Clynine looked up at her part of the wall, the grey stone pockmarked with the impacts that previous prisoners had made. Who knew, the ones who had made them could be dead by now. About ten people died in the prison everyday. But for every ten that died, twenty were brought in and locked up, and the population of the Dead Mines never shrank.

She turned to gaze towards the deeper parts of the Dead Mines, where the warm blaze of fire was just visible on the uneven ceiling of the shaft, which led down into another depth, towards a hundred more corridors just like this one.

The rules had been clear. No prisoners were to go further than the mine assigned, for beneath the main shaft that connected the mines resided Zakum, the greatest monster of Ossyriaï¿½a furious stone creature that had been entrapped beneath the ground for centuries. Approaching it would be certain death, for its uncontained rage would burn to ashes anyone who came in moments.

The prison didn't want to lose people unnecessarily to Zakum, so strict rules had been placed that no one was to go close to that forbidden place.

But she had heard rumours, among the prisoners, about another reason for the rule. And it was possible too. There was an exit from the prison directly behind Zakum's Altar. A straight exit into El Nath, and freedom, above.

Not that anyone would risk certain death just to escape, anyway.

Turning away from the shaft, Clynine abandoned her wishful thoughts and lifted the pickaxe with both arms. It wasn't like her staff; it was thrice as heavy, its end tipped by a sharp and deadly hammerhead.

Biting her lip, Clynine gave it a swing over her shoulder, and flung one of its points into the wall. The stone cracked a little, and a shower of grey dirt fell out. For moments, she felt pleased. She raised it again to give it another swing. Another bit of rock cracked away.

Beside her, a prisoner suddenly sank to the ground, his pickaxe clanging alarmingly loudly on the rocks. His ribs showed prominently through his dirty clothes, his eyes rolled upwards, his pale skin darkened with streaks of dirt. She guessed that he had been in this prison for a few weeks alreadyï¿½in that amount of time, one would starve to the extent he had.

He was trying to form words with his pale, cracked lips, eyes rolling about rapidly, like a madman's.

"Wï¿½Weï¿½willï¿½the endï¿½"

Clynine shuddered. That was what was going to happen to her, in a few weeks time. Her lifeï¿½the bright life that had been delivered to her without chargeï¿½would end, just like that.

The Cleric heard footsteps just as she got ready to swing a third time. The back of her neck tingled with nervousness, her heart suddenly racing in her chest, triggered by the closeness of the guard's furious presence. She almost let the pickaxe slip from her grip as the man approached, his heavy footsteps driving anxiety deeper into her heart.

"You!" She almost fainted as he bellowed the monosyllabic word, his pronunciation explosive, directly behind her. She glanced back. Relief, then guilt flooded through her when she saw that he was glaring at the man who had collapsed beside her. The guard's eyes were wide and bloodshot, his bronze armour gleaming under the dim torches, the only light in the mine. The prisoner's eyes, too, were wide, but they were terrified and desperate.

With repeated cracks of his wooden rod, the guard flogged him. "Stand!" Spit rained from between his lips and his yellowed teeth.

"Weï¿½" The word was hardly even audible. He wouldn't stand. Words continued to issue incoherently from his mouth as he struggled to gather up enough energy to complete his sentence, foam and saliva slowly rising between his lips.

The guard kicked him with a snarl. The prisoner hadn't even the strength to cringe. He just stared on, and beyond the blankness, there was blazing defiance in his eyes. Clynine cringed for him.

His face convulsed for a few moments. And at last, the words came out, clear and with conviction.

"We will destroy you and your filth in the end, King Caleix. We will prevail. The world was always meant to be free."

The words echoed in Clynine's memory long after he had finished. The prisoner collapsed, his head striking the rock with a thud before the guard, and his eyes closed. His chest no longer rose and fell.

"Idiot," the burly guard muttered, kicking the dead body around a few more times, before commanding another prisoner to carry him away.

Clynine turned and swung the pickaxe. She wanted to believe it, what the prisoner had uttered in his last moments. She wanted to believe that the king would be overthrown one day! But it had been fifteen years since the new laws had begun to be passed, and the new order had begun. Fifteen years! In that amount of time, surely, someone would have done something about it? No one had. The king had planned it all out too well.

Behind her, another prisoner began to cough violently, just as a powerful draught whipped down the mine, from the main shaft. She struck the wall again, this stroke a little weaker.

They were walking a definite path to death. They would all die, one by one. Soon, she would go down that path as well. And so would Lanorï¿½, and all those she now saw.

By the end of their tiring three hours of work, Clynine's entire body was aching from the strenuous work they had done. Now every movement she made felt like fire in her body.

The nineteenth night of their imprisonment fell upon the Dead Mines. Three weeks? Clynine felt as if she had been here for three months. Her evening meal was delivered through the thin gap beneath the gate, and she ravenously wolfed down everything on her tray, arms still restrained by the chains on her wrists.

Just a week ago, she had taken great pains to eat in a neat, civilized manner. Now it hardly mattered to her. At least she remembered to wash her hands with a few drops of her water before eating. The hunger in her stomach was burning, and she hadn't even had a chance to think of being "civilized".

With the night came the cold. Clynine, her usual cold-susceptible self, caught a bad chill soon after her dinner, and along with the gnawing hunger and severe aches, she felt weak and expired. Leaning back against the hard wall, she dozed off almost instantly, despite how uncomfortable it was.

"ï¿½It. I can't stand it. We're losing prisoners by the dozen everyday."

Clynine awakened from the haze of sleep. It was the dead of night. There were whispers of conversation nearbyï¿½whispers that she could make out clearly.

"It's time you got a healer for this prison," one man muttered.

"Yes? And how do you expect me to find one who will work willingly without pay? In a prison?"

Clynine stood wearily in her cell and leaned against the cold bars of the gate, which were burningly cold on her cheek.

"Maybe a prisoner would like to do it. They'd do anything to be allowed around, I tell you."

"And which prisoner would be able heal?"

Heart suddenly thumping, the Cleric banged her chained fists on the gate. It rattled with a metallic clanging, and at the sound, both men fell silent.

"Some restless prisoner," the less authoritative-sounding of the two muttered, and their echoing footsteps and jangling of keys began to come closer. The circle of yellow light cast by the candle drew her eye, and she crossed her fingers.

"Which of you is it?" called the guard, his stern face showing clearly under the candlelight. The other man looked tired and bothered, wearing the uniform of someone higher-ranking. Clynine felt the exhilarated nervousness course through her body. Now was their chance to escape, at lastï¿½a daring step towards possible freedom.

"I can be your healer," she whispered urgently as they came nearer. Both stared down at her, and she knew how she appeared to themï¿½a scrawny, dirty fourteen-year-old girl who could hardly stand without support from the gate. Swallowing hard, she repeated her request to the two stern men. "I will be your healer. For no charge. I know how to healï¿½please give me a chance!"

The two men glanced at each other in the midst of the darkness. She crossed her fingers behind her back. Please. Please agreeï¿½

"We'll see about it," the more superior of the two immediately said, without smiling, but there was hope in his eyes all the same. "Demias, unlock her. We need a healer badly, if we want the mining to be up to speed." Reluctantly, he took the keys from his belt and searched for the right one. Clynine felt her heart fill up, but she took care to hide it.

Meanwhile, the superior questioned her. "Do you have experience?" he inquired. She nodded fervently, explaining that she had a healing job before being imprisoned. Then the key clicked in the lock.

The instant it swung open, and she found herself free from the cell, Clynine suddenly felt the burning urge to run past them to her freedom. But she restrained herself, sure that she didn't have the strength to outrun them. It was what Lanorï¿½ would tell her to do. Wait. Strike in the ripest time.

She would bide her time. The right time would come. And then, she would make her move. And that would be the moment they took back all that they had lost.

Smiling to herself, she followed the two men towards the offices, enjoying the slight freedom she had finally been grantedï¿½enjoying, even more, the prospect of what was suddenly possible, now that she was out of the cell.

telida: comfort

From the moment they had departed from Perion for her job advancement, Telida had expected the journey to be a silent, dreary trip. She had expected long hours of walking, without conversation, without interaction.

But as Telida had slowly come to realise, it would be nothing like that at all.

The journeying itself was tiring. They started early in the morning, after quick breakfast in the darkness. From then, they would journey in the shadow of the valley, away from the eyes of the guards, and from the burning summer sun of Perion. Lunch was usually earned by some hunting, and they would eat in caves.

The nights were enchanting. As they journeyed through the starlight, or sometimes through emptiness on cloudy days, she could hear every soundï¿½the rivers, the calls of the nighttime animals in Perion, and the swoops of birds and bats through the silent sky.

All the while, as they walked, she took the time to get to know the other two more. Ketara had readily made conversation with her, which she was glad for. Slowly, she had learnt about him.

How insecure he really was! It was so incredibly adorable of him. The spearman had always been hiding this darker side of himselfï¿½the side that always worried about the meaning of his life. His outgoing, cheerful attitude towards others had developed as an attempt to ward off such thoughts, he had explained.

But what was she doing, placing so much trust in a male? In her life, they had all been cruel and intolerably proud. How was she to know if Ketara wasn't like that either? Telida's impressions of him kept wavering between the two extremes.

But why shouldn't she trust him, when he had trusted her with his deepest secrets?

"There! See it? On the horizon," Ralinn's call was full of excitement. Telida looked up and saw the smudge of black in the distance, just visible through the mountain mist, nestled between a mountain and a vast forest. She smiled slightly.

It was Ralinn's hometown. Over the long journey, she had learnt of the guild leader's past too, and had come to know when she was thinking about something close to her heart. Her home was one of these things.

Even now, Telida could see the smile in her eyes. "Let's go," the Ranger said, starting their journey down the slope, through the sweet morning air. Ketara went after that, and the thief-to-be followed behind him. They were finally approaching the paramount of their journeyï¿½her job advancement. At the thought, Telida felt her heart flutter, both with unfamiliar nerves and with ecstasy.

But that, at that point, wasn't the thing that made her feel the gladdest. It was this: at last, after years on end, she was making friends. She wasn't a murderess anymore, not a rogue, a vagabondï¿½just a girl on a journey with her friends. She felt like a bird that had been freed from its cage, full of shadows. She could almost have been flying.

They raced as fast as they could into the valley, away from the main road. As day faded into night, they finally reached the entrance of Kerning Cityï¿½a barricaded tar road that led on into a towering metropolis. Spires and blocks of silver-grey were silhouetted against a glorious sunset sky, a heavenly light that lit the clouds, almost as if they were ablaze.

Ralinn quickly found her way back home. As she reached the door and knocked, she heard a replying shout and sighed in relief. As they waited, Telida observed the abode. The house, situated in a small neighbourhood between two skyscrapers, shone in the light of sunset, lavender and violet and rose.

"I really miss this place," Ralinn commented, looking at the sky. "Raydan probably really does to. He just didn't want to show it in front of us." She shook her head. "Just like him to do that."

"All guys are like that, aren't they?" she replied, quickly glancing in Ketara's direction. "I meanï¿½even Rino. He never wants to admit to any of his weaknesses. I know that he wants to have a proper home too, and he misses our parentsï¿½"

Our parentsï¿½it's all the king's faultï¿½

"They aren't too different then, are they? You always tell me that you want a brother like mine, but isn't your brother just the same?"

"Except that mine never jokes," Telida commented. "And never admits to his mistakes."

"You really don't know Raydan, do you?" the guild leader laughed, a joyful, genuine laugh that Telida would never learn. She just smiled. "He gets under my skin all the time. I bet you don't have to wake your brother up in the morning!"

It felt so good. Just being able to make conversation with another without intimidating him or her. Just being herself.

Even now, as she stood there and watched the twilight purple sky fade away, she could feel the winds turning, carrying her life towards a better age. And she thanked the Clock Spirit, master of fate, for leading her to Orion's Belt.

ketara: insecurity

What was this strange insecurity he felt? As he watched the two girls conversing at the doorstep, almost as close as sisters now, Ketara felt this strange out-of-place-ness, this nagging, terrible demon that told him in a whispering, mocking voice, "You don't belong with them. You don't belong among normal people."

But what was it? It wasn't jealousy. He didn't mind Telida and Ralinn befriending each otherï¿½in fact, he was glad for it. At last, Telida was starting to warm up to another besides him. It had been a barrier she had taken so long to break, and finally, she had.

And in return for the devoted friendship she had offered to him, Ketara had told her one of his deepest secrets. That other side of his life, the everlasting question that would follow him everywhere.

What am I?

Why was it that the only thing he could remember from his past was a woman, with hair the colour of mage's lightning and eyes filled with blood? Why were there no proper memories, no places that he could draw back from his past, no feelings of warmth and security?

He didn't have a real past. There was only that single explanation for itï¿½he wasn't really a human. He had been artificially created; everything in him had been implanted into him. His skin, his hair, his heartbeatï¿½they were all false. He wasn't a human. He was a failed experiment.

Failed experiment. The words brought him hurt. Unwanted. Unneeded.

It was the reason he had been thrown out into the forest as a toddler, and left to die. He was just an experiment, shaped like a human, now trying to live among real humans, as one of their kind. All throughout the journey, this knowledge had suddenly begun to grown heavier, this weight on his heart that slowly chasing the joy out of him.

I don't belong here.

Ralinn was laughing. Telida folded her arms in embarrassment, turning. As Ketara watched those expressions under the sunset, he felt himself pull back further, further from the world and from everyone else. The real humans. Who cared if Telida was a murderess from the Dungeon? She was real. The emotions she felt were real. Not built-in emotions like his own.

How can they live with something like me?

It all felt so strange, thinking about himself like that. Why, if he was artificial, did he feel joy and sadness, like everyone else? Which part of him had failed, and warranted his abandonment? He looked down at himself, at the dirty clothes and armour that he wore. He felt the familiar weight of the spear on his shoulder. All these thingsï¿½he had been made to sense them. Was there anything wrong with how he was functioning? Then to what purpose had he been made?

"Come in already," Telida said with annoyance, this strange dark anger in her eyes, though she had been smiling to him just minutes ago. She kept changing around him, between friendliness and hostility.

I know there's something about me that you don't like, Telida. What is it? Is it that? Should I have told you?

He entered anyway, closing the door after Telida, trying to push everything away. Standing at the doorway, he observed the scene before him. Around the table, five plates had been setï¿½one for everyone present. Ralinn's parents looked at him and smiled instantly. He forced himself to return the smile.

Her mother turned to him and paused. "You'reï¿½very handsome," she commented, walking up to him and observing his face with her brown eyes. "Cute guyï¿½I've never seen anyone like you before!"

Ketara looked down with an embarrassed smile. He had yet to get used to the comment, though he heard it far too often.

He leaned his travel-worn leather boots against the wall, and laid down his Holy Spear on the weapon rack, among the bows. The smell of fried octopusï¿½one of his favourite foodsï¿½drew him towards the dining room, and he quickly ran over, his stomach growling.

The instant he sat down, he dug an octopus out of the plate and ate it whole. At the opposite side of the table, Ralinn slapped her forehead while her mother tried not to laugh. Telida smiled slightly.

"Ohï¿½great food!" he exclaimed with a full mouth. Seeing that they were still staring at him, he swallowed. "Hm? What is it?"

The guild leader groaned. "Manners," she sighed. Finally her mother burst into laughter, seeming almost too youthful to be a mother.

"Don't make him eat like a girl," Ralinn's father replied. Telida was visibly upset by this comment. Ketara watched, smiling despite imself.

Thank you, he suddenly thought, glancing around at the people round the table. Thank you for making me feel welcome.

No one responded. As if they could actually hear what he was thinking. But all the same, he felt the warmth grow, somehow bringing him a little more comfort. He felt like he belonged now.

Wellï¿½whatever I am, I hope it doesn't change how things are. I want to help everyone around me, to make them smile. I don't want my doubt to get them down.

Quickly, he put down his fork and started over, even remembering to greet Ralinn's mother first. The rest smiled and laughed at him, as the gentle yellow light from the candles seemed to grow brighter and warmer.

In the end, it doesn't matter what I am. All I know is that this is what I want.

I want everyone to be happy.

turino: reasons

Finally!

Turino looked past the crest of the mountain, and what he saw made him smile. The lush leaves of a forest greeted his vision, blurred by the mountain mist, the treetops of their destination. And he felt total, cooling relief wash over him at the blessed sight.

Finally!

He was sick of putting up with his two travel companionsï¿½Zethis, who talked in his sleep, and Raydan, who always insisted on arguing with him about everything. He was sick, sick of hearing their childish conversation every minute of every waking moment, right from the break of dawn, to the moment they fell asleep. And even then, they wouldn't shut up.

"Cool! It's Ellinia!" Raydan raced to the edge of the mountaintop and pointed at the emerald canopies of the forest, leaping about in excitementï¿½behaviour unbefitting of a sixteen-year-old. Zethis followed after, and as he saw the treetops, he, too, smiled.

Turino was glad as well. But he wouldn't show it. One of his personal rules was never to show that he was happy, whenever he was. It was a sign of weakness.

Remind me why I joined this guild again, he thought to himself, mind going back to the day, the moment he had been invited.

The king. The moment that man had been mentioned, Turino had felt an inexplicable surge of anger. Messages had suddenly begun to stream into his mind, just like that, though he didn't know what their source was.

He is the reason we now kill to live. He is the reason we will never go out into the sun again. He is the reason we were driven into the shadows, the reason our parents died.

He must be eliminated.

And so that righteous lust for vindication had made him agree, there and then. It had all seemed right, at that moment in time. It was something he had longed to do so many years.

But now, as he watched Zethis and Raydan while they chattered on childishly about reaching Ellinia, he felt as if Orion's Belt was reducing his intelligence by the minute.

Raydan turned to him and frowned. "Please don't dampen the mood of this moment, Mister I-always-have-to-dampen-the-mood," he said with a hint of warning. Turino didn't care. Raydan, Raydan was always like thatï¿½always had been since the start of the journey. Disagreeable. How could Ralinn put up with him? He'd die with a sibling like that.

I'm lucky. Telida is...

Telida is so much more bearable.

Unexpectedly, he found all his thoughts turning to Telida. Was she doing fine? Was she happy? Happier than he was, at least?

Suddenly he stopped himself. Why? Turino thought angrily, shaking his head. He didn't need to be concerned with her.

Why should I care about her, when she doesn't want my care?

But the thought had inevitable opened a door in his memory, and once his mind began down that path, it wouldn't stop. And he was suddenly recalling, wishing he wouldn't, but unable to help it, all the same.

It is a waste of emotion to love someone. Your love and care will never be returned. She didn't return it. She threw it aside, just like that.

"Hey, we'll go first to get water, okay?" Raydan's voice cut sharply through his thoughts like a knife. Somehow, Turino was thankful for it. He nodded blankly and handed him the bottle, suddenly unable to find a reason to be angry. Something else was stirring again, at the back of his mind, gradually dragging him in.

It is a waste to care about those around you. What does it gain you? Pain. Suffering. Nothing of good consequence at all. Why waste all your strength, to love another?

Turino watched as Raydan and Zethis ran away down the mountain slopes like two little kids, towards the river to refill their bottles. Slowing down, he sat down on a conveniently-placed rock, looking up through the mist at the sky, clear after a short shower of rain.

He didn't mind remembering now. He always pushed the memories aside when they came to him out of the blue; they had been no more than pesky flies to him then. But now, he felt like it was time to face them, deal with them. It was time to find out how he really felt, under all that anger and pain and confusion.

And so he did. He let them come, and they began to flow into his mental visionï¿½memories full of bitterness, clear as the day they had happened, seven years ago.

She was facing a huge green monster in the clearing. Her arms were bruised, leaves and twigs in her hair, dirt smeared on her face. Her hair was dishevelled, her clothes torn at parts. Her shaking hand grasped a pair of throwing stars, and he could clearly see that she was panting hard.

The monster was almost unscathed, aside for a few scars beneath its bright, lucid yellow eyes. It wasn't tired at all.

Without having to watch, he knew who would lose. And he wouldn't like the outcome. He had told her not to face any of these monsters alone! Now she wouldn't be able to get out of it.

A throwing star blazed with blood-red light; the creature received another gash in its huge green face. But it retaliated with a head-on tackle, and with a massive boom, she was thrown to the ground, buried under the weight of the monster.

"Lida!" Without another second, he ran forward, his wooden staff rising in his right hand. "Magic Claw!" Streaks of blue light tore down across the monster's face, and left three burns behind, across its mouth. His sister had slipped out from under the creature, and now she was facing him.

"Rino! What are you doing here! Get out of the way!"

"But you can't handle this thing alone!"

She growled and stepped back, folding her arms. Then she smirked. "Well, then, since you're so good, why don't you battle it yourself?"

"Lida! You know I can't do it alone," he groaned. The creature leapt up and landed with a crash on the ground. He was thrown back. His sister was too far to feel the effects.

He whirled around, and attack after attack flew from his staff at the green creature. It reciprocated each blow tenfold, each time throwing him against trees, knocking him to the ground, bruising and scraping him all over. Still he called out the spells, fought the pain and attacked the monster with everything in every fibre of his body.

He could feel his energy draining rapidly, and yet he wouldn't stop. The thought of his sister kept him going against his limits, the aching need to make sure that nothing befell her.

His throat was burning, sweat running down his neck and back, dampening his clothes. He felt as if he couldn't make another move, and he threw his sister a pleading glance, a glance that was full of his burning desperation. His knees threatened to let him fall, suddenly untrustworthy at the most crucial moment.

"Lida! I need your helpï¿½"

"Help yourself, Turino."

It was flying at him again, its full mass threatening to knock the consciousness out of him. He knew that if he didn't do something, his life would suddenly been torn from his grip, slip through weak fingers.

Lida, he thought, heart slowly filling with painful need. She had to be safe. He knew that he would never let her fall.

"MAGIC CLAW!" He threw all his remaining strength into the spell, into the cry. The blue light was sharp; it ripped the monster's face, and translucent slime began to ooze from the gashes, slowly shrinking the monster. He staggered back, the fire of battle suddenly fading from his heart and mind, leaving him void.

"Lida. I told you not to fight it alone."

"What? I could have managed! You didn't have to butt in, like you did." Her dark eyes were full of hurt, burning with mad anger, sparkling with tears. Dark, obsidian eyes that they both shared.

He drew back, afraid.

"But I didn't want you toï¿½"

"To get hurt? You make me out to be such a baby! Can you stop it?"

Suddenly, she winced, hand flying to a large bleeding wound on her forehead. Blood ran down the side of her face like rivulets of red sweat. He ran forward, reaching for the wound. "How, Lidaï¿½I shouldn't haveï¿½ I should have kept you safeï¿½"

"I told you to stop it! I don't need you to keep me safe, okay? Just go away!" she screamed, pushing his hand off and turning away.

He stood there, gazing at the blood on his left hand. Her blood. Their shared blood. How could he have allowed her to get injured like that? It hurt him, to see her in pain. Butï¿½

"I said GO AWAY!"

And all of a sudden, he felt her grip twist his hand, something metallic tearing deep into his right arm. He gave a strained cry and stepped back, grabbing his arm and biting his lip.

Her blood mingled with his. His arm throbbed with the pain as he restrained his cry again, his head spinning with the rawness of everything that was happening.

She shot him a glare and turned away.

His hand was wet with redness.

She strode away without another word, back vanishing among the trees. A sudden wave of blackness made him fall backwards upon the roots, among the dead, fallen leaves from the trees above. The pain never ceased, and tears were suddenly rising to his eyes, against his will, to his horror.

She had always been prone to doing stupid things when she was angry, he had always known. Lately, she had been shouting at him a lot, even hitting him.

But...never this. Never before had she cut him with a dagger.

When had she changed? Why had she changed?

Telida! Why, Telida?!

For so long, he had given her all his care, poured all his love and devotion upon her, thinking that she had wanted it. Watched over every step. Kept her safe all her life! But did she care that he had done so much for her? Had there been any point in it all?

Now he knew.

Her eyes burned into his visionï¿½dark, passionate eyes full of shadows and pain. Tear-stained eyes...

Then something broke in his heart, shattered into irretrievable pieces.

"TELIDA!"

His shout of anguish echoed through the forest. Somewhere, snakes slithered in spirals up the trees, and animals sped into hiding. The leaves rustled. Everything was then silent and cold around him.

He threw himself down and let himself cry all his pain out, cry until he couldn't feel any more inside of him. He cried like a child, shouted for all that hurt him. It was too painful, knowing how someone he loved had harmed him like that. He cried, for love and for pain.

Sobbing hard, he sat up, shaking, angry. He closed his eyes, cast out whatever he had ever had for his sister.

It was time for it all to end.

If she wants to be challenged, that is what I will give her!

He would compete with her for everything now. He would be her opponent, her enemy. How much had he done for her? What had he received in reply? She had taught him that it was pointless to love.

He would never love her again. From now onwards, they would be no more than rivals.

It suddenly ended there. Turino was gazing up at the sky again, and the clouds were blurred. Blinking, he suddenly felt tears fall from eyes, onto his handsï¿½tears of unresolved pain. More trickled down from his eyes, wetting his cheeks, uncontrollably flowing down in streams as he shook with sobs.

Stop it! Quickly wiping the tears away, Turino cursed his weakness. There was no point caring! It was all a waste, a waste!

She wouldn't cry for him. She wouldn't care.

The mist was just beginning to clear. How long had he been sitting there indulging in his sad memories? Standing, Turino felt the wind blow his hair into his eyes. Even that seemed to mock him. The tears nearly came again.

Get a grip on yourself!

Breathing in deeply, the Fire Poison Mage-to-be glanced down the mountainside, at the blue ribbon of water at the base of the mountain. It was time he finally got his job, bring himself beyond Telida's standard. He would do his best to stay ahead of her, to prove a worthy opponent for her.

Since it is what you want.

So he began to walk towards the river. Zethis and Raydan were waiting there impatiently for him, no doubt. The scent of the smaller forest of Victoria Island was strong and reassuring, the wind carrying tides of regret away from him, into the distance.

But it was something that wouldn't die, though he had sworn to destroy it, seven years ago. It was something that refused to be crushed, too defiant, too hopeful.

It wouldn't vanish, no matter how he tried to forget. He still loved Telida, more than he could imagine.

That was the strange thing about love.

ketara: departure

Since Telida had exited from the back of the bar, she had never stopped smiling.

But, as Ketara had come to learn, she was actually laughing her heart outï¿½for she never laughed, and a smile was her greatest expression of joy. He sometimes wondered how it had happened, and why it was that she no longer laughed.

Wait, he thought. He had heard her laugh before. That had been when they had first met, and she had stolen his money. Was that the only thing that amused her?

But now he decided not to think about that. She had just finished a test. And so he smiled back and walked up to her, through the sunlight-paved streets of summer, to greet her while she exited from the bar.

"Lida! Lida, how was it?"

Smiling just a little, she glanced back. "Oh, I had a nice chat with the Dark Lord over a mug of beer," she replied, relaxed.

Ketara's jaw dropped. Telida clapped a hand on his shoulder, smiling wider. "I was joking!" Brushing her clothes out, she and produced a throwing star. Her hand flicked forward before he could look, and the black object spun by in a blur and shot straight into a crack on the facing wall, ten feet away. "Hard," she summarised. "But it was worth it. I'm an Assassin now." She said it with much relish.

"Great then! We'll be coming back for your third job?"

"Actually, I am eligible for it," she replied. "But I decided to get some time to try out my new skills first."

"Already eligible? Waitï¿½how old are you?" It surprised Ketara that he hadn't asked her about that yet. How old was she? He had always assumed she was around his age, but he really had no idea.

"About sixteen and a half," she replied. "Almost seventeen. I've lost count, actually."

"That's about my age too. But I'm only turning seventeen around the start of next year."

Ralinn called them together, beside a tall tree with pink blossoms, under its cool shade. Their purpose for travel to Kerning City having been fulfilled; it was time for them to move on through the Dungeon to obtain Telida's stone, which Ketara had learnt was of great value to the twins. The summer was bright, and he couldn't help but feel cheerful that day.

"Doesn't matter that my father was a cruel, heartless jerk," she said. "They died, and this is all that's left of them." The way the Assassin had phrased it, so blunt and raw, made Ketara feel only more for Telida's hidden past. He so much wanted to ask how it had all happened, and why she hated her father so much. But he knew how insensitive it would sound, especially when it came to his response to what she told him.

Ralinn had gotten wind that the fastest route to the greater forest of Victoria Island was through the sewerage system, into a swamp that led directly into the Dungeon. They were disbelieving at first of course.

A sewerage system? Ketara had instantly wondered, imagining himself trekking through knee-deep sludge in a dark tunnel.

But he soon came to realise that the guild leader wasn't joking. Not that she joked very often anyway. And so, after a short lunch in a restaurant, their last comfortable meal for another three months or so, they finally departedï¿½paid Ralinn's parents a last visit, exchanged wishes of good luck.

Then they left the heavenly comfort of city life, and entered the wilderness once again. It was time for their last journey to continue.

shirion: nothing more

What had happened since the attack? It still seemed so recent, yet it had already been four months.

He still remembered leaping. Leaping from the burning beams of red, Akera's crazy ideaï¿½which had worked.

A cushion of leaves had ended their fall, so suddenly. They had suddenly lain there, upon a net of tangled branches, panting, his heart thumping in his chest like a powerful drum. They had made it down that last length, landed upon the dead leaves with a thump, aliveï¿½and he had been in perfect condition, except for numerous scratches on their arms.

They had escaped from certain death. Even the notion still made Shirion's heart race with exhilaration. Already, the leaves were turning red and gold like confetti, fluttering down upon the ground before them, thickening the vivid carpet laid out before the two as they walked. The air was cool with the arrival of autumn.

The taste of death coming so close was still strong and distinct on his tongueï¿½he could have sworn that he could still smell the fresh lightning of the necromancers' magic, hear the vast explosion of flame booming overhead.

A second more, and they would have been burnt to ashes. He shivered with the sheer excitement that had burned through his blood.

They now hid deep within the forest, running further from the city everyday, through dark wooded areas that few had ever explored before. For this was the only safe place now.

Day after day in exhilarating flight, in heart-pounding terrorï¿½a season later, they were still living and breathing.

Akera was cooking their lunch in the depths of the forest, upon a pile of dry twigs. Her face was contorted in a snarl, curses streaming from her lips while she struggled to get the wood to catch fire without burning out too quickly.

Fire suddenly exploded on the branches in a cloud of smoke. In seconds, it cleared, leaving nothing but a pile of ashes. Akera cursed again.

"The key is control," Shirion lectured yet again. "If you make it too big, you'll burn out our wood before it can be of any proper use."

"Well, if you think it's so easy, why don't you try?"

Upon hearing those words, the Crusader decided not to pursue the matter, and turned back to his skill book. It was just like her, being so impatient and intimidating.

Will I ever love her? For some strange reason, the question fought its way into his thoughts. He glanced at the girl who had been his companion for all the worst years of his life, and had somehow always had more strength than he had.

He knew it was possible. But it didn't seem rightï¿½somehow, she didn't seem like the kind he would love. Too masculine, in a wayï¿½she was the kind whom he would rather know as a friend.

But wouldn't it be right? I have known her so long, and I know that she isï¿½a nice person.

It felt strange. But he knew that he wouldn't. She was a friend, and only a friend. She was only someone to accompany him on his journeys and lend him moral support. He had never thought of her any other way.

Besides, she wasn't the kind to fall in love eitherï¿½it would be hilarious, to him, if that were to happen.

And so he made up his mind. Akera was his friend, and nothing more.

"Hm. We really should get going to Ossyria," she said. "I mean, we'll never survive if we stay here. I bet all the guards and policemen already recognise us."

"Yeah. I hate the feeling of being infamous. Not that you don't know how it's like. Butï¿½how are we going to get there without being caught?"

Akera seemed quite confident, despite his question. She smiled briefly and folded her arms. "Remember the place we were working before we escaped? Don't you ever take any notice of their habits? They don't guard the cargo. And they don't check it before loading it."

Shirion raised one eyebrow sceptically. "Don't tell me you're thinking of doing thatï¿½"

She nodded. "We'll hide inside them. They'll never find us that way."

He sighed and shook his head. "You and your crazy ideas," he muttered.

ketara: the dragon messengers

They were at the junction of two forests, the greater and the lesserï¿½and they were surrounded by dragons. Dragons, waiting under the falling traces of sunlight between tightly-interwoven branches and the deep shadows they cast. All around, small black figures gazing down with luminous eyes and tattered wings.

"Woahï¿½scary," Ketara said to himself, staring upwards with wide eyes. There were rustles above; the creatures were shifting to get a better look at the travellers.

"They've always been here," Telida replied, glancing about.

The path was rarely used; the undergrowth was wild and tangled, and it was obvious that no one had ever come here before. The leaves crackled beneath their feet, rustling under the footsteps of the dragons as they shifted.

"Greetingsï¿½"

Ketara felt his blood turn cold, and he stopped walking abruptly, glancing about. Above, behindï¿½and yet he saw nothing.

"Heyï¿½did you hear that?"

"Hear what? A dragon cry?" Telida replied, regarding him with a little curiosity. "That's all I heard."

"Quiet!" Ralinn exclaimed briefly with a whisper, waving for them to carry on. Passing it off as his extremely frightened imagination, the warrior walked on uneasily.

"Greetings, human!"

This time, Ketara was certain that he had heard someones, or somethings, calling out to him. It was a hoarse, inhuman-sounding voice, and at once sent chills coursing through him. It had distinctly come from above, but when he looked up, he could only see silently watching dragons.

"Didn't you hear that?"

Ralinn and Telida shook their heads simultaneously, not turning.

Fearfully, Ketara looked about and breathed in deeply. Perhaps, if he responded, he would find out what it was.

"Uhï¿½ Who are you?"

His voice was dry and probably too soft for that something to hear. But suddenly, he heard a powerful, huge rustling above them, in the leaves, as the nearest of the dragons spread its wings and turned to him with a golden stare.

"Us. Human, you carry the power of our Ancient One."

Ketara's jaw dropped, and the most intelligent answer that he could give was, "Huh?" The other two turned around, staring at him as if he were crazy.

Telida looked a little worried. "Who're you talking to? Stop scaring us, Ketara!"

He glanced about, confused as well. "Iï¿½don't know either," he replied. "I think it's the dragonsï¿½"

Ralinn looked up in surprise. "The dragons?"

"Yes, it is we," came the resounding reply of one, the one closest. Its yellow gaze pierced into Ketara's, almost burning, almost too unbearable to return. But he looked back at it, more questioning than frightened. Was it true? Could he truly hear what they said?

Suddenly there was a blur of wings, and the powerful rustle of leaves. The dragon leapt from the branches, landing heavily between them. It was only as tall as he was, but its black-scaled wings were enough to tell him that it was a lot stronger.

"Believe me." The other two were staring at him as the dragon brought its face close to his. "We are willing to help you, carrier of the Ancient One's power."

"Then could youï¿½uhï¿½take us to Ellinia?" He ventured, suddenly realising that it could well cut their journey by a few days.

"It is our pleasure to do so," it replied with what might have been a smileï¿½the corner of its mouth curved upwards slightly, and it gave a single call to the restï¿½"Come, my brothers and sisters!"

They really agree? It sounded so much a dragon's cry, the usual screeching roarï¿½and yet he could make out words! It felt so strange.

But he had not much time to think, for in the next moment, three dragons were suddenly descending form the treetops, their wings mere shadows that glided down between the leaves and branches, currents of wind coursing violently between them. Ralinn and was staring on in shock from behind him, glancing about and whispering to a somewhat calm Telida in alarm.

"Ketaraï¿½how in the world did you do that?!"

One dragon called out to him, lowering itself to the ground, low enough for him to mountï¿½

Blinking to make sure that he wasn't just imagining it, Ketara cautiously stepped through the fallen leaves that crunched beneath his shoes, standing before the dragon that was watching him with still golden eyes.

"Get onto me," it replied in confirmation. Dumbfounded but excited, he carefully walked up till he was close enough to see its scalesï¿½hooked his arms carefully onto its back. Then to the disbelieving stares of the two girls, he climbed on.

It was strangely comfortable. He hadn't thought that it would be like thisï¿½he had expected its back to be rock-hard and lumpyï¿½but no, its back actually seemed to have been made for a rider.

"Come on, Lida!" he called, turning to the two again.

"You can really talk to those things?" She still sounded disbelieving, still refusing to take a step forward.

Ketara felt certain enough that it was safe. He could feel the assuring warmth of the dragon through its scales; a figurative, imaginary warmth that told him most reassuringly of its sincerity. "Don't worry! Get on!"

The newly-made Assassin glanced up at the second dragon and didn't look away.

"If you say it's fine, I assume it is," she replied, voice determined. Walking forward, obscuring every trace of fear, she hoisted herself onto the back of the second, much more gracefully than the Dragon Knight himself had managed.

"Well, Ralinn," Telida said. After watching the third, unmounted dragon, the guild leader swallowed and nodded. She walked over carefully, seeming frightened of the large creature.

She had made it up as well. "Alright," Ketara said to the one he sat on. "We're ready!"

"As you wish, child of the Ancient one," it responded obediently, quite flatteringly so. "Try not to fall."

He felt a ripple in the muscles of its back. And without warning, it gave its wings a powerful beat that thundered in his ears, lurched suddenly, dizzyinglyï¿½leaptï¿½and never landed.

Then the wind was rushing powerfully, and the leaves were slowly growing bigger, as the rhythmic wing beats continued, full of strength, and he hung on madly. And they broke through the canopyï¿½the leaves were everywhere, drowning him, rustling all around like thundering rain.

The sky opened over them, a sky they hadn't seen for three months.

He was flying. Flying on the back of a dragonï¿½when minutes ago, he had been trekking across the uneven grounds of the forest, struggling from hunger and the weight of his spear.

"Why do you wish to serve us?" he suddenly asked. "Isn't it demeaning to you?" He had always known of the species' pride, so it puzzled him that they were willing to take them to Ellinia.

It gave a low growl, something that could have been a sigh.

"We are the dragon messengers," it said. "We were sent here centuries ago by our Ancient One, to live on this lesser land and send messages from one human to another. Butï¿½they hated us, and they hunted us, drove us into the darkness. Left us to die. Now we wish to redeem ourselves, and so we will help you."

"You'll find some use again," Ketara replied. "But don't show yourself nowï¿½it's dangerous, for us too."

Did they know about the king? No doubt he would destroy the dragons immediately, if they showed up in the open. It hurt him so much to think of this. It filled him with strange anger.

But as he looked out at the open sky, Ketara felt every last trace of anger flee. Today was a good dayï¿½and they were about to meet the rest, at last.

And so, he smiled.

raydan: anticipation

Raydan allowed himself a moment of recollection. The long trip to Ellinia had finally come to an end five months ago, Turino heading straight to Grendel's library on arrival. And so the other two had been left to train without him. Slowly, they had come to realise that both were coming very close to their third job levels.

"You thinking of going as well?" Raydan had looked at his companion, who had been resting against the tree trunk, panting a little. There had been a contemplative look in Zethis' eyes; he had understood Raydan's words as soon as he had said them. Their plans hadn't taken long to shape up after that.

And so, as soon as Turino had appeared, exhausted, at the door of their inn that evening, they had told him of their plans. He had looked pretty happy, which was saying something.

Soon after, they had departed from Elliniaï¿½Zethis to Perion, and Raydan to Henesys. Raydan took care to stay hidden this timeï¿½they had come so close to being captured on their previous journey, and he didn't want to risk it ever again.

The weeks had passed so fastï¿½and as the winter winds had begun to descend onto Henesys, he had finally begun his return trip to Ellinia, test completed, now a Sniper with a new crossbow and a new air of pride about him. Zethis had made it back three days after he had, a White Knight who suddenly looked twice as powerful.

Now the air was cold and sweet. Raydan stood on the lowest branches of Ellinia, concealed from view, watching the road beneath the western gate intently for any sign of his friends' return. He smiled; he hadn't had a day of calm like this for a long while. Turino and Zethis had promised to meet him later, at this spot.

He felt a gentle touch of cold on his arm. Then, the snow began to descend from the treetops, slowly, then in drifts, scarce through the dead branches. He found himself smiling even wider, the sky seeming to dim slightly, pleasantly as he gazed up into the heavens, the snow falling upon the branches around him.

Again, Raydan looked to the gate. When would everyone return? His sister? He missed her. This was the hundred and eightieth day. Soon, they would finally be soaring across the boundless oceans, into a land he had never seen before. Soon. But when?

He wanted it to start now. He wanted to see the world, at last. He couldn't waitï¿½and yet he had to.

So he did.

orion's belt: the ship to destiny

"Here I wait, my wish still lingering

Longing for a sky so blue

From the shadows I have fled, and

Now I seek my life anew."

"Burning in the bonds of whiteness

Speaking shadows, blazing light

Deep dark sighs in which I lingerï¿½

How my memories bind me tight!"

The songs had returned, ever so suddenlyï¿½why were they speaking now? Was it possible that they were here, in Elliniaï¿½two powerful people who had yet to be captured?

They walked on through the snowy roads, on the last leg of their trip to a city she had only visited once in her life. Today was the hundred and eightieth day, she recalled. Right on time.

The winds of winter had just begun to fill the air around them, and the snow was starting to fallï¿½the feeling it brought was beautiful. They had just left the dragons, not before they had given Ketara a pearl of some kind, for calling them again.

Behind her, Ralinn's companions were discussing Ellinia now. Ellinia, the city of trees, of magic, of an invisible skyï¿½it had been Ketara's only true home, and he knew it the best among them.

A patrol suddenly appeared at the edge of their vision. Ralinn swiftly dragged them into the forest, away from the road, and all three took refuge behind three wide tree trunks while the guard patrol came into view.

Another? Ralinn thought. She had expected the western gate to be less well-known, but it seemed that they would have trouble entering.

Finally the guards passed. Ralinn took one glance down the snowy road, now covered in fresh footprints. The patrols came every twenty minutes, and they weren't far from the city. Glancing at Ketara and Telida, she gestured for them to follow, and stepped out into the open once more.

The arch of branches became clear as they walked. Ralinn called out to them and pointed it out, and soon they were running towards it, eager with excitement.

Then two black shapes caught Ralinn's eye beneath the gate, and she froze.

Her mouth fell open in a gasp.

Necromancer guards.

Carefully, every nerve tingling, the guild leader stepped backwards, away from the road, into the dead forest. "New route," she whispered hushedly, pulling the other two in quickly before they made a sound. "In, in now! Necromancer guards!"

They slipped in between the lifeless trees once more, Ralinn's heart pounding in her head. A few more steps, another sound, and they would have been caught.

The trip through the trunks was slow and arduous. They kept their footsteps small, afraid that any sound would bring the guards running with their staves of Lithium.

Necromancers! Ralinn thought again, frightened, as their journey proceeded through dense vegetation. How will we survive now? How will we ever run fromï¿½

"Linn!"

Before she could identify that familiar voice, someone leapt from the branches to land before them, just a blur from above. Just as the realisation slipped into her mindï¿½Raydanï¿½Ralinn found herself wrapped in her brother's tight embrace.

"Whatï¿½Raydan? Whatï¿½whenï¿½" She glanced upwards at where he had come from, only to see two figures, a yard above her headï¿½Zethis, staring downwards with wide eyes, and Turino, his dark clothes stark among the snow-covered branches. They came down as well.

"Hey, you guys!" Ketara exclaimed happily, losing all notion of being cautious. "Hm, that's White Knight armour!"

Ralinn's eyes widened, and she silenced him. "Shut up! The guards are still there," she whispered angrily as Raydan pulled away. The three exchanged glances among each other.

"So," Telida said acidly, not meeting anyone's gaze. "Did you find life reasonable without me?"

Turino stared back. "With those two? Nowhere near reasonable. But a thousand times better than with you around." Telida suddenly whirled around to leer at him.

"Break it up, please," Ralinn half begged, slightly afraid to invoke any further anger. Thankfully, they did so without another word, but she could still feel the air crackling with tension as they began on their way to the city, deep in the safety of the forest.

Telida and Ketara were the only ones conversing after that. Ralinn listened with interest. The Assassin had opened up to Ketara the most, she foundï¿½a lot more than to the guild leader herself. Did the Dragon Knight hold the key to everyone's heart, even the coldest?

She was smiling more and more nowï¿½so much, during their journey. She had said that it was because her brother wasn't there. But was she simply changing, as a person? Despite her outward appearance, she had a beautiful heart. The change made Ralinn glad.

Raydan seemed to be observing them as well. "You two look a lot like a couple of lovers when you walk together like that," he suddenly pointed out. Both stopped walking and turned to him.

"Hm, right," Telida replied, with hardly any disturbance in her expression. "We're just friends. Anything wrong with that?"

"Yup, she's right," Ketara added in cheerful agreement. "She made me promise that we'd only be friends. Because she's sworn an oath to the Clock Spirit never to fall in love. So we're nothing more, hm?"

"I was just sayingï¿½" Raydan began, but stopped. "ï¿½Yeahï¿½fine." Ralinn laughed to herself at how embarrassed he must be feeling.

A risky journey was impendingï¿½their journey to Ossyria, a year delayed. And yet no one seemed tense about it. They were all caught up in their own thoughts and discussions.

Glad for this, she continued to walk, smiling.

akera: the ship to destiny

"Well, here we are," Shirion said as they came to a stop next to the loading area of the ship. The guards were far, getting the workers to ready the sails. It had been her job once, Akera recalled with a sigh.

The sky was a calm grey, the grey of beautiful winter. This would be the day they would finally flee this horrible world, and fly to the other side of the sea. This was the day that would change their lives.

The Crusader, her companion all these years, threw the cover off an empty crate. "After you," he said. She took one glance at the wooden box, sighed, and began to climb in. Moments later, Shirion closed the lid over her head, and she was enclosed in darkness. Allowing herself to lean against the wooden interior, she soaked in the sudden flood of safety that filled her heart.

Though she was in a box, she had never felt so free.

"Good luck," Shirion said through the lid of the box, voice muffled. She murmured cheerfully in reply, closing her eyes to the darkness around her.

Everything was turning. Everything was changing direction. This was the day that would change their lives, and she was certain of it.

clynine: flight

This was the day that would change their lives.

Month after month, she had served the prison, healing the injured, bringing those forgotten smiles back to their faces, and it had heartened her so much. At every chance, she had studied the prison, found all the weak points, all the routes they might take.

It had quickly become clear to her that the front entrance was too heavily guarded. They needed another route out. And as far as she knew, there was only one left.

Zakum. Through the burning dungeons at the deepest part of the mine, and out through the secret exit behind his altar.

It had taken months, but the means of deceit, all their weaknesses and mistakes, they had written themselves into her mind without her notice. They were slow in their shift changes. They let down their guards in the presence of less than three. And with these tiny flaws, they could do everything.

Finally, she felt ready. This day, she had sent a signal to Lanorï¿½ to injure herself, ten minutes before dinner. It was the only way for them to meet inconspicuously, and begin their escape together.

This would be the day, Clynine swore. This would be the day they won their freedom once more.

I promise I will do you proud, Mistress!

The footsteps were coming up the corridor to her tiny room, which she had been given at the start of her job. She sat up, nervous. The echoes were coming closer, and she could somehow tell that those were Lanorï¿½'s footstepsï¿½they had become so familiar over the years.

The blonde woman appeared at the door, her sharp blue eyes not dulled despite the pain she showed on her face. A guard followed them in, and Clynine swallowed as his gaze passed over the two of them.

"Clynine," Lanorï¿½ murmured with a smile as she sat down before her. "How have you been?"

Clynine instantly stood, her heartbeat growing faster with every second the Ice Lightning Archmage stood before her. The window of time wouldn't be open long. They had to act fast.

"Your injury first," the Cleric said quickly, and added in a whisper, with a glance at the guard, "I've found a route out."

Lanorï¿½'s eyes sparked briefly, then she nodded and held out her arm. Clynine slipped two staves from the cupboardï¿½ Lanorï¿½'s Blue Marine, as well as her own Petal Staff, holding them close together. Glancing at the guard once more, she saw that his eyes were on her mistress. Relieved, she quickly slipped the second staff under the table and poked Lanorï¿½'s leg with it.

The Archmage responded fast, grasping it firmly with a hint of a smile. Clynine bent and pretended to look at the wound on her arm.

"This cut could kill you," Clynine said with a faked sigh, raising her staff. The wound was obviously less serious than she had made it sound, but she had to keep up the act, just a little longer. "Alright, let's startï¿½" She gave a small nod. "ï¿½One, twoï¿½"

And they turned to the guard, staves burning with magic.

As the guard's eyes were widening behind his helmet, Clynine gave a glorious cry of "Magic Claw", and the blue light tore into his chest, blowing his helmet off and breaking his chest armour apart.

"Not bad," Clynine's mistress commented, before turning. "Blizzard!"

The whirl of ice that rushed from Lanorï¿½'s glowing staff tip was amazing. The icy cold filled the room, icicles forming on the top of the doorway, at the edges of the desk, pieces of ice scattered across the floor, papers fluttering everywhere, frigid winds blasting down on the guard in a showering of icy shards.

The Archmage stepped back and ended the spell, satisfied. The guard now lay on the ground, unconscious among the remains of his armour, his body white and red in ice and frozen blood. He was out.

And seconds later, they were running. The two began their flight, down the dank corridor, Clynine's heart racing with excited ecstasyï¿½for her mistress' presence, for the freedom she had wanted so long. The wind was strong and free. This was the day!

She gave a sharp cry as they turned the corner to their last path. Three guards had come into view, blocking their passageway into the main mine shaft.

Lanorï¿½'s eyes were full of trust. "Coming through!" Her shout was full of enjoyment, a tone of voice Clynine hadn't heard for months already. As the three guards whirled around, alarmed, she called out a powerful "Chain Lightning", and all three were thrown violently against the grey wall with a boom and an explosion of blinding blue, their armour charred, eyes blank.

Clynine yelped out in exhilaration, and with a burst of confident strength, they made the final dash for the entrance to the main shaft together.

Down, down, down it went after that. They boarded the lift, lowered themselves speedily, deeper, sank past the dark flickering mines in the walls of the vertical shaft, past the tired workers at their labour, down towards the flaming bottom of the pit.

And the air slowly grew warm, hot, filled with sparks and bursts of heat, as they finally entered the final level, and saw the corridor into the next room. Lanorï¿½ swung the gate open and gave Clynine a brief pat of comfort on her back.

"Here, Clynine," she said. "This is our last stop."

Then they ran, across the uneven black floor, hardened lava, towards the heat, towards the blazing room laid before them.

They were past the arch of the entrance, and the last cavern opened. The Cleric had never felt so frightenedï¿½not when they had been captured, not when they had fallen into the seaï¿½her legs were shaking so much she was sure she would collapse.

The cavern was tall and bright, bright with fire, like the inside of a cathedral with a million candles. The flames were blinding, shooting up from the cracks all around the room. Lanorï¿½ glanced back, and they began to run, dodged around the bursting flames, sweat making Clynine's staff nearly slip from her grasp.

She had to stay right behind her mistress, stay right behind her. Trust her. It was the only way.

A blast of flame met her face-on. She leapt back in horror as the fire roared, sputtered, vanishedï¿½and she was trembling uncontrollably after that, sweating madly.

"Clynine!" Lanorï¿½ suddenly shouted from ahead of her, her face full of certain assurance, full of certain glory, shining in the flames. Suddenly, she was sure of everything. And she followed after, followed like there was no tomorrow.

And the world became too hot to bear. The cave had come to an end, the main shaft now far from view as Clynine glanced back. They were past the flamesï¿½deep, too deepï¿½and the roaring was slowly growing louder. A roar like an avalanche, making the ground tremble and quake, filling the Cleric with fear.

Again her mistress called to her, her Blue Marine gleaming brightly in her had. It was time. Time for them to take the final gamble.

And then they stood before Zakum's Altar.

It was beautifully monstrous. The stones were shaking, its mouth gaping like a living statue's, flames raging in a circle around its ten groaning arms, its roars burning Clynine's ears. The Archmage looked up, stepped forward. Walked forward a little more.

Suddenly, everything else seemed so far away. She now stood in the face of death.

Clynine followed her mistress, step for step. She had to trust Lanorï¿½. Trust her. It was the last thing she had.

They were so close that the tiniest cracks on Zakum's fists and on the altar beneath it had become clear. Lanorï¿½ was searching, breathing deeply, turned away from the great statue-monster.

Their time was running out. Soon it would lose all toleranceï¿½the great god that even the king feared, the ultimate power of all El Nathï¿½and they would be destroyed, a death too sudden to reckon with.

The exitï¿½where?

And she saw itï¿½a dark crack in the wall to the monster's right, so narrowï¿½but just enough for a person to slip through. It was there, waiting, elusive as flames leapt to obscure it ever few seconds. That was their road to salvation.

Zakum had grown angry.

"Clynine," Lanorï¿½ said once more, glancing at her assistant with power in her eyes. "We will come out of this alive. I promise, Clynine. I nearly ended your life once, and I won't do it again."

Zakum turned its head to them, the groan of stone, the most guttural, frightening roar she had ever heard, filling her ears to block everything else out, making her blood whirl. Its eyes were furious, and Clynine felt her body fail from terror.

"Let's go; this is the last challenge!" Lanorï¿½ looked ready to run. The statue's mouth grew wider, the flames crackling with unrivalled rage. Coming closer. Ready to destroy them.

This time, I will not fail my mistress. This time, I will run. The day of their capture came echoing painfully back, the day when her moment of hesitation had lost them everything.

This time, I will run.

Her mistress gave a cry.

And it all became a blur.

She felt the Archmage's grip take her hand once more, and suddenly, she was flying through flame, through the raging roar of fire, so close, so closeï¿½

Flying through an inferno, burning on her face, the hot stones beneath her shoes, everything burning.

She screamed. The world cracked open in an explosion of vivid flame, and her skin seemed to tear with the heat. But she was drawn on, pulled on by a strange force, and she heard a gentle, angry cry, cold blueness exploding a second time around them, cold angerï¿½the colour of her mistress' eyes.

"Clynineï¿½Clynine, I promise we'll make it!" the world was filled with a strong voice, a vague voice that gave Clynine all the certainty she needed even though she knew she was dying.

But the flame was coming. It was unbearable, ready to destroy herï¿½

And ice suddenly burst around her, freezing, heartbreaking.

And then, she felt the world turn black, a second time.

to destiny

Even in the dank darkness of the cargo room, Ralinn could hear their roars, violent songs, coming through the deep wood. She leaned her head on the wall, hearing their cries grow closer.

Shouts of warning. And the bottom of the cabin suddenly tore open, the ocean gaping through the splintered wood, wind rushing through from the sky, and their faces, so monstrous, gazing up at them, seeking out their prey.

What a time for a mishap like this to happenï¿½Ralinn had given a call of command, and everyone had come out from among the crates, weapons at ready.

And to her shock, there were not six peopleï¿½but eight.

It lasted only minutes, for there were only two Balrogs. The arrows were true, even in the roaring wind; Raydan did just as well, his bolts fired with certain accuracy. The two warriorsï¿½suddenly joined by a third, completely destroyed them, and rendered the two monsters immobile for the rest to hit.

And the burning stars, the continuous onslaught of blazing fire arrows, had finally forced them to their knees. With roars, they fell back through the hole, dead and forgotten, and Ralinn hung her bow upon her shoulder, turning to the two newcomers.

From where had they appeared?

The white-haired girl glared at Ralinn with icy eyes. "What?" Her voice was furious and low.

Ralinn decided not to say anything to her, already afraid. She turned her gaze to the male youth beside herï¿½

"Shirion?" Ever since the incomplete guild had met him in the Warrior's Sanctuary, Ralinn had somehow been unable to forget him. His hair was still long, the colour of mahogany, his expression the same as before.

"It's youï¿½Ralinn," he replied with a smile.

The white-haired girl's eyes widened, but her frown never left. "You know them?!" Shirion nodded in reply.

"Oh, it is you!" Ketara exclaimed, an excited smile coming to his face. "It's a small world, isn't it?"

Soon, all eight stowaways were seated on the ground in impromptu conversation. The moody girl was sitting aside with a frown.

"This was our ride," she growled, folding her arms. "And you had to intrude! Stupid people. Stupid ship! I hate this!"

"Could you shut up?" Turino suddenly answered from another corner, glaring at her. "It's not your ship. Stop whining like you'll die of it!"

"Why don't you start by shutting yourself up? Mind your own business!"

"How do I do that when there's some idiot girl poking around in my business?" He stepped out, taking his staff from his belt, flaming with magic. The expression on his face could kill.

But, as expected, the girl didn't back down. She gave him an I'm-not-afraid-of-idiots-like-you look, and raised her staff as well, setting it aflame with a silent command.

Perfect, Ralinn thought. Just what we need. A fight.

"This is not how you treat a passer-by," she said sensibly to Turino, who ignored her.

"I don't need you to tell him off!" the girl spat back. "He's just begging to be burnt to death!"

"Not as much as you, crazy woman!" Turino retorted loudly, calling a Fire Arrow to his staff. She did the same. Everyone seemed to have forgotten about the huge hole in the hull of the ship by then. They were watching the two intently, silent and somewhat frightened.

"Akera! Stop it!" Shirion exclaimed with alarm.

She turned back, eyes still narrowed. "And let this piece of crap be smug about it?"

"If you want to prove yourself better than her, let it go," Ralinn suggested desperately.

Turino glanced at Akera and rolled his eyes, folding his arms. "Yeahï¿½you're not worth my time," he muttered, stepping away with another sharp glare at her. He kept his staff and leaned against the wall.

Akera's response showed that the feeling was mutual. She returned to the other end of the cabin and sat down with a frown, not bothering to look at anyone else.

Again, her silver hair caught Ralinn's eye, fluttering in the wind. It was like shimmering white silk. Akera was somewhat beautiful; her eyes were narrowed and ice-blue. And they burned with a fury that had been there all her life, it seemed. She looked so troubled, like something had been chasing her since foreverï¿½

The realisation came just moments later. They were the ones the voices belonged to. The two new songs from her dreamsï¿½it was they, she was so certain. But Ralinn was somehow too afraid to try and ask themï¿½

"Shirion?" the guild leader began cautiously, changing the Crusader's thoughtful expression to curiosity. His eyes told her to go on. "You knowï¿½"

She felt so much more nervous than she had most of the times she had done thisï¿½was it because of the way he looked up into her eyes like that, with a gaze that she was sure could read her thoughts? Was it just that aura of power that he emanated all the timeï¿½or simply the fact that he was handsome, in a strong, reassuring way?

"ï¿½Umï¿½could you considerï¿½joining our guild? Both you and Akera?" Shirion's eyes widened. She smiled, a little shyly, and nodded.

"Iï¿½I wouldn't mind, actually," he responded agreeably with a smile of his own. "But what are you doing after this?"

She thought for a while. "We actually want to keep training until we're ready. Then we're going to try andï¿½overthrow the king."

That made his eyes widen even more. Looking very surprised now, he turned to Akera. "Akera, how does that sound?" he asked. "They want us in their guild. I'm joining. You coming?"

She glanced at the guild leader suspiciously. "Join your guild? Are they all your members?" she asked, looking about at the rest with angry eyes. Especially Turino, whom she fixed a terrifying glare on, and who returned it equally. Finally, she looked back at Shirion and seemed to contemplate.

"Yeah, fine," she replied. "Since I've always wanted to do that. But seeing how your guild is doing, I don't think you're going to have any success."

To Ralinn, the comment was painful. But she decided to brush it off, for she knew that Akera couldn't help it. Just like some other members of Orion's Belt.

And so she stood up, heart pounding suddenly, and drew two pendants from her pocket. It had grown so emptyï¿½only two of the nine chains remained now. How fast time flew! It had been five years, and their guild was almost complete. Two more peopleï¿½and their true journey would begin.

Ralinn had never felt so excited, or nervous, before.

Shirion took it with a smile. Akera stood and held out a hand for it as well, but she wasn't smiling much. And as she put the chain on, she didn't smile eitherï¿½but then something in her expression changed, seemed to find peaceï¿½a peace she had sought for a long time.

And so it was complete. "Welcome to Orion's Belt," she said. "These are our members. That's Raydan, my brother," she turned to the Sniper, who was talking to Zethis. He waved. "Zethis, beside him," the new White Knight managed a small smile, then looked down again. Ralinn then gestured to the two, Ketara and Telida, who were sitting on a crate. "Ketara, the Dragon Knightï¿½"

"Sounds like a girl's name," Akera said insensitively. He laughed in reply.

"ï¿½and Telida, the Assassin there." She looked up at the mention of her name, glancing at the new guild members. "Andï¿½you've more or less met him alreadyï¿½Turino." The Wizard didn't bother looking up from the stone in his hands. He muttered the word "idiot" in reply.

For the rest of the half-hour-long trip, Shirion made conversation with the rest of the guild. Akera, however, continued to hang back in a dark corner.

Not really a sociable one, are you? Ralinn thought, smiling despite how upset she still looked. Things were getting a lot more interesting now, definitely. How things would unfold after this, Ralinn had yet to know. But somehow, despite the darkness that was slowly descending upon the world around them, and the destiny that loomed closer every moment, the guild leader felt certain and contented.

The ship touched the harbour, and they fled, setting foot for the first time in Orbis, Ossyria. The winter wind was cool and fresh, filled with the smell of promise, the ledges decked in shining snow that told them that the Year of the Ox was coming to an end.

And far awayï¿½far, far below the floating stone city or Orbis, lay two rebels upon the snows of El Nath, at the edge of a mine full of shadows and flame, in a world of light and expectance. A Cleric seeking out the future meant for her; an Ice Lightning Archmage who knew all the possibilities laid down. Ready to take it all on.

It was the brink of a new year, a future of a thousand pathways. Which was their path? Where would it end? Victory, defeat, the answer was as elusive as a snowflake against the clouds. Would they live to pass their memories on, memories of this beautiful, heart-wrenching battle?

In the end, it would all be clearï¿½the questions would be answered, and in time, they would know. But for now, they would have to waitï¿½wait for the Year of the Tiger to begin.

Chapter 6: Year of the Tiger

clynine: drifts of memory

From the top of a marble spiral staircase, she gazed down into the shadows, the steps pale and cold in the early spring air. Ahï¿½it was still so clear in her memory, the smell of fresh petals on the breeze in the sliding windows.

"I am Lanorï¿½, pleased to meet you."

She looked up at the sound of the smooth voice. Lanorï¿½

"The Silver Fang of El Nathï¿½yes, yes, our daughter would like to become your assistant!"

Her mouth moved of its own accord. "I'mï¿½Clynine." She glanced up at the Silver Fang and blushed. It was exactly as she remembered itï¿½clear reminiscence of a time on the long river.

She could feel it, the weight of this moment. She could feel it, the tension in the cold.

"What is your job?"

"Magician, level sixteen."

In the present, her heart fluttered once more.

"Clynine, perform any spell."

A spell! She couldn'tï¿½couldn'tï¿½

Her hands were cold, so cold. She raised her palms, called on a power in her heart, her imaginary grip slipping, trembling so muchï¿½

The magic shone, shot forward. It was white. White, as always.

Wrong.

Everything was growing so blurredï¿½pale shining light, hazy and bright, was obscuring it allï¿½

"Was that an Energy Bolt?"

"Iï¿½I did it wrong again." Sorrow that cut deeper than glass.

"Clynine, that is the most amazing Energy Bolt I've ever seen in my lifeï¿½"

ï¿½lifeï¿½lifeï¿½

Then it was fading, the marble stairs, the scent of petals, the forgotten face of the powerful being that was the Silver Fang of El Nath, all whirling away in whiteness and ice and flameï¿½

El Nath?

El Nathï¿½

The blurred shreds of a dream fluttered away, as another cold gale washed past. Now only white, white, a dark cave set in rockï¿½

It all came back to her in a whirl. The prison, bars of metal, fallen guards covered in blood and frost, darkness, flameï¿½Zakumï¿½

Lanorï¿½!

Lanorï¿½, the Silver Fang of El Nath. She was leaning on the rock face, watching the sky with calm eyes, deep blue like sapphire, like the ocean.

Three years ago, the Cleric had stood, anxious, at a flight marble stairs. Now, here she was, upon the snow of a land a thousand miles away. Had she ever foreseen this moment, that day? Ever? Everï¿½

Lanorï¿½ was coming towards her, her smiling face soot-stained. Quickly, Clynine sat up and brushed the snow from her sleeves , her pink magician robes, stained darkly by soot and ash.

"Well done, Clynine," the Archmage suddenly said as she arrived at Clynine's side. "We made it. And it's thanks to you, you know?"

At the Cleric's bewilderment, Lanorï¿½ smiled. "At that last moment, when we were breaking through the flames, you cast the hugest Heal spell I've ever seen," she exclaimed. "And that saved us from burning to death! Well done! Remind me to find you a trainer for your light and healing magic soon, alright? There's some serious talent there."

Clynine nearly laughed at how serious Lanorï¿½ looked when she said it. Then, for the first time, she considered the possibility...

"So, before that, do you want to try out the Orbis Party Quest for practice?"

She glanced up at her mistress. Lanorï¿½ had raised her eyes to the tower in the distance, and the small floating islands aboveï¿½just a dark silhouette, so far it could have been imaginary.

"You really think it's safe?"

"It's hidden very well," the Archmage said. "As long as you make it in safely, no one will be able to catch you."

"What aboutï¿½you, mistress?" Clynine had believed that they would be doing it together all this while. But to go on her own, to go into danger without a companionï¿½

I'm not a defenceless child anymore. I've been one for too long.

So she nodded.

Was it really spring? She wondered, as they walked through the whiteness. The snow was still so bitterï¿½there were none of the sweet aromas here that she had come to associate with spring. Before them, only the snows stood, pale and distant.

Spring? It felt like the world was growing colder everyday.

The days of false safety were gone. Something had happened during the previous yearï¿½and from now, they would have to fight, to keep everything they had.

Spring is coming. The snow will melt.

ralinn: just hold on

"The snow isn't going to melt. Stop being so stubborn."

"It's almost been two months since the year started! Spring has to come, alright?"

"Oh, pleaseï¿½does it feel like it?"

"Well, maybe spring would be more willing to come, if you got lost!"

Ralinn groaned. "Will you two shut up? You're driving me nuts, alright?" Her breaths were deep, her anger alarmingly overwhelmingï¿½somehow, she could not stop it, much as she thought she had control.

"Exactly," Shirion replied from beside her. "It's getting on my nerves."

"Yeah, whatever!" Akera seethed. "Look, I know spring is coming, alright? I can't stand to see snow anymore!"

"Well, put up with it," Turino answered, leering at her. "I'm not whiningï¿½"

"JUST STOP IT, YOU TWO!" Ralinn suddenly yelled, making everyone look up from their breakfasts.

Not another word was exchanged, after that. Everyone turned quietly back to their meals, like children who had just been reprimandedï¿½though anger still crackled in the air. The guild leader sighed and returned to her plate, wondering how she would ever learn to handle Orion's Belt.

Looking down at her lap, Ralinn narrowed her eyes. Then, she felt a hand on her shoulder.

"Don't mind them," Shirion's warm voice came from beside her. The eighteen-year-old's formality had always been strangely fascinating to the guild leader.

Turning, she took time to observe his face againï¿½fine features that could almost have belonged to royalty, brown eyes that always seemed to probe deep into her thoughts; an accent that vaguely hinted at the fairies' way of speech.

"How did you put up with Akera so long?" she asked softly.

"She had no choice but to keep quiet," he replied. Was that amusement coming into his voice? She so rarely saw him happy. "We were all kept away from each otherï¿½and they were very strict." Shirion picked a piece of bacon up from his plate with his fork and ate it.

She smiled. "Hm, and I thought I was a neat eater," the Ranger said in response, cutting an egg.

"What, now you're watching me eat!" At Shirion's response, Ralinn suddenly found herself feeling embarrassed. "I guess it's just a habit. Even in captivity, I couldn't stand eating messily. So strange of me."

Shirion, the professional, distant Crusader of the guild. He had always been the person Ralinn knew the least aboutï¿½but now, he was slowly growing more likeable in her eyes.

"Wellï¿½at least they're not at it anymore," she commented, not looking up from her food.

The guild leader glanced around at the others, silent. They were all either gazing off into their own wonderlands, or conversing with each other. For moments, she felt both pity and gratefulness towards themï¿½all of them.

Taken forcefully out of their old lives, for the sake of a goal they didn't even know was attainableï¿½how much had she disrupted, in doing this?

Just hang on, alright, Orion's Belt? You can go your own ways, after this is over. For now, just keep it together...

But Orion's Beltï¿½Orion's Belt was incomplete, painfully so.

Who were the last two, and when would they come? The lights beyond hazes of her dreams had begun to brighten again. They were close, so closeï¿½their songs were growing stronger. Songs of an icy world, a great lightï¿½songs she had yet to understand.

They were coming; it was almost done. Suddenly certain of the course she was taking, Ralinn reached into her pocket and held the last two pendants, smiling with a calm certainty.

zethis: light of a dream

The instant Ralinn raised the topic of a Party Quest, Akera was disagreeable. "Are you crazy?" she cried out angrily. "It's as good as turning ourselves in to the guards!"

"I've done my research," Ralinn answered with confidence. "Once we make it in, no one under the king's power can get to usï¿½but of course, only those who want to will go."

The Fire Poison Mage instantly pulled out, after which Ralinn announced her intent not to participate. Out of politeness, perhaps, Shirion asked to be excused as well.

Half an hour on, and they were on their way to the Orbis Party Quest site. A heavy risk it wasï¿½they would be taking the dangerous path round the edge of Orbis, thanks to the tight security in the main city.

Zethis shook his head, thinking back to his ten-year-old days. He was fifteen now, taller than he thought he'd ever get, holding a heavy mace he never thought he would. How much had changed since thenï¿½the laws, the king's methods, the worldï¿½

Inevitably, he began to remember. The memories sank deeper, reaching so softly through his soul.

Dadï¿½ Are you still going to Henesys to run your shop? Are you doing better, without me to burden you?

While they climbed out into the light, he watched Raydan's back, struggling not to start sobbing. Quickly, before they exited the dark staircase, he wiped his tears away.

It's no time to be homesick. I might neverï¿½

The road was merely a narrow parapet bordering the sides of Orbis. But it was the only safe path. The three strongest were not aroundï¿½they had decided not to go, for the sake of inconspicuousness.

All around him, the wind was strong. When Zethis glanced over the edge at the snowfields far below, he felt vertigo sweep through him, the snow suddenly flying closerï¿½

Suddenly the knight felt a fierce grip on his arm, and his eyes flew openï¿½he was tilting frighteningly over the edge of the pathwayï¿½

"Careful!" Raydan gasped as Zethis steadied himself. "We don't want to lose anyone to an accident like that."

Nodding obediently, he continued to follow after the Sniper, keeping his unwavering gaze on Raydanï¿½never turning, never turning, as if it would stop him from losing his balanceï¿½

For a few seconds more, all was well.

And there was no warning.

Shadows swept across their eyes, and the flutter of cloth filled the wind. Black wings of ghosts. Black cloaks, encircling the stones, chasing them. Alone they stood, vulnerable in their position, in full view of the ones who sought their blood.

Suddenly, everything was a blank around himï¿½the whirling snow winds, the soaring stones, the whipping cloth. Don't, don't let goï¿½! It was the only thing running through his brain now, as his own heartbeat closed inï¿½

Then the red lights were shining, and the flames were fingering his skinï¿½

"RUN!"

Turino's yell was enough to startle him into motion. Raydan took off, Zethis instantly shifting into motion, too terrified to notice the distance between the sky and the snow, how narrow the icy path wasï¿½

The mechanical footsteps, closing in. The wind, chilling on the back of his neck. His own footsteps, chasing the redemption, chasingï¿½chasingï¿½

The tower wall appeared from beyond the bend of rock. The White Knight gasped helplessly for reliefï¿½the narrow stairs rose steeply to the top, the entrance just beyond a gate of glass.

Furious red flashed again, and Zethis staggered back. Too late he saw that he had been divided from the rest, but there was no timeï¿½Lithium staves were burning, a dark light from the Spirit Itselfï¿½

The hellish shriek pierced the sky in that second, and the edges of Zethis' vision exploded with dark fire. His dodge pulled him just a little further from the gate, from the restï¿½

Raydan whirled around beyond, yelling his name as the magicians of darkness circled him, cloaks whirling, to block the voice out.

"DAN!" The White Knight's involuntary cry for help was drowned out by the crackling of lightning all around him. The heat was growing on his skin, swelling unendinglyï¿½

Noï¿½I have to do everything! For Ralinn's cause, for whatever it is we have been chosen to do!

The mace was already in his shaking hands, shining with weak golden magic.

Strongerï¿½strongerï¿½

The lightning was powerful red, gleaming on metal, gleaming in their dark eyesï¿½

"POWER STRIKE!"

Then the fire coursed through his existenceï¿½and left the bounds of his weapon altogether, a powerful arc, sending the golden blaze outwards like a wheel of light. And it shone like nothing he had ever seen, tore the indomitable circle, made the necromancers cry out as they were thrown into confused chaos.

The circle had broken. Zethis saw his chance.

He yelled desperately, taking off across the stony ground, glancing back once or twice, but the necromancers were not followingï¿½not yet. Just enough timeï¿½

"In!" Raydan yelled, Zethis soaring over the remaining few feet as they rushed through the gate and came to the edge of the stone city, the tower wall suddenly ending at a vast ocean of clouds. "Get the Cleric! In!"

They were coming. The Knight could see the guards approaching, their staves already filled with deadly lightning.

"Ketara!" he exclaimed nervously. "Get the Cleric into the party!"

The Dragon Knight whirled around and pressed his fingers to the startled girl's forehead. "You fine with doing it with us?" he asked quickly. The ranks of black and red were approaching, the crackle of magic already too nearï¿½

She nodded. Together, they raced to the edge and looked down, Zethis following breathlessly. A huge mirror shone against the snow, the stone and sky floating deep within it.

"In, quick!" Raydan exclaimed once more. Zethis felt a firm push on his backï¿½

Then the wind was rising upwards all around him. And the ground, the ground was goneï¿½there was nothing beneath his feet. The clouds turned into streaks as the violent gale tore upwards, destroying the world, ripping the stone pathways to shreds as the city vanished above them, and the mirror beneath grew wider, widerï¿½

And there was a hum. The sun shone from the world in the mirror, blinding, in Zethis' eyes. The glass grew closer and closer, the clouds shining, both the real and the imagesï¿½burning white torches that drew everyone inï¿½

The wind was still tearing away. Up above, the necromancers' faces were shadowed and dark. For somehow, they knew that they would never survive an entrance into the world of the Party Quest, almost as if that mirror beneath them would certainly destroy their souls on contactï¿½

And suddenly the mirror flipped over, showing its bottom face to the sky. The hum, in brightest tones, grew deafening, the bottom of the mirror just as bright, as faithful to the real worldï¿½

It was like the world was turning into a pool of water. The White Knight saw them entering, one by one, below himï¿½his friends and guild mates, vanishing as they slipped through the mirror and mingled with the clouds. Zethis cried out in fervent alarmï¿½it would be him soon, himï¿½

The sky was suddenly around himï¿½above, beneath. The pool was enclosing him, the glass rippling like a lake. He was warm and cold at the same time, frightened, braveï¿½nothing at all under him, only endless dry water-sky. And the glass rose to his eyes, the coldness soaking into his clothes beneath his armour.

He cried out one last time.

The world spun, whirling Zethis through the clouds on the other side, as the entire universe reversed its orientation and left him on the ground, head spinning violently.

It all looked the same, exactly the same. Even through dizziness, the White Knight could see the stones of Orbis, exactly like the city from which they had just leapt. But it was so silent. No guards, no people around them at all.

Raydan stood with a little effort. His crossbow was already in his hands as he glanced about at the city in bewilderment. "It's not called a mirror world for nothing," he commented with apparent understanding. "It's just Orbis Towerï¿½in reverse."

Everyone was getting up from the ground. And the impromptu sixth member of the partyï¿½she was brushing her long brown hair and her dress out vigorously, looking around at everything.

In his dizziness, Ketara called everyone together. "Right! So weï¿½start," he exclaimed, sounding rather convincing despite his tentative tone. "Anyway, let's welcome our temporary new party member!"

Everyone turned to the brown-haired Cleric, strangely silent. She managed a small smile, before suddenly realising that they were waiting for her to introduce herself.

"Umï¿½hi, my name is Cï¿½" she stopped abruptly. "ï¿½Oh, my mistress said that I'm not allowed to tell anyone my name, or anything about myself. Uhï¿½sorryï¿½"

"Ah, that's fine thenï¿½well, we hope you enjoy your Party Quest with us!" he responded with the same enthusiasm. Nearby, Turino gave a "yeah right" sniff, and his sister rolled her eyesï¿½probably at the girl's pink robes. It had been long established that Telida hated anything considered "girly", especially the colour pink.

The Cleric had noticed their cold responses to her induction into the party. As they began their walk through the empty space towards the tower entrance, she self-consciously drifted away from themï¿½towards him.

Zethis prepared to turn away and act inconspicuously as she came nearer, just like he always didï¿½

But it took him little time to realise that something was different.

She wasn't making him feel nervous. One glance at her smile, and Zethis didn't fear anymore. Why? It was like she had an aura that made him feel alright, and even made him forget everything elseï¿½

Turning to the Cleric, he tried to smileï¿½and for the first time in his life, he made a self-introduction.

"Hiï¿½I'm Zethis," he said as she turned, the shadow of the stairway falling over their faces. But he could see the brightening smile that came at his words, and she gratefully took on the conversation.

"Thanksï¿½I was getting a little afraid of being in this partyï¿½"

"Oh, I'm so sorry! That really wasn't a proper welcome at allï¿½"

No one seemed to take notice of their conversation as they entered the first stone room of the tower. "No, no! It's perfectly fine!" the girl's good-natured reply put his heart at ease. "Let's see what this Party Quest is like, alright?"

They drifted quickly to the front of the group as Ketara came to a stop. "'Scuse me?" he called.

Before him, on a pedestal, stood a cloudï¿½and it had a face. Its bowler hat flew off its head as it rose with startlement, glancing up with innocent surprise at the Party Leader's sudden call.

"Good morning, sir!" Ketara exclaimed brightly. "Could we do the Party Quest?"

"Good morning, visitors," the cloud replied formally in a surprisingly solid voice. "I am Eak, the Goddess' Chamberlain. I will begin your Party Quest shortlyï¿½please wait for a moment."

While the party watched, the strange little cloud circled the stone pedestal, setting it aglow for a few seconds. "Alright. Come with me, please," it finally said, floating towards the closed doorway. "Your Party Quest begins in five, four, three, two, oneï¿½now."

The symbols on the stone door traced themselves with light, and the door slid open.

akera: redemption by blood

She lay on her room bed, staring up into the blankness. The ceiling was a deep burgundy.

The colour of blood.

Bloodï¿½

She closed her eyes. The flickering ghostsï¿½they were coming againï¿½

Akera blinked, tried to blink them awayï¿½but they didn't fade, only grew, steadilyï¿½

Why now, of all times?

Pleaseï¿½noï¿½

It was pulling her defence apart, strand by strand, helplessï¿½helplessï¿½

Noï¿½please! No!

She yelled a furious protest, shrieking to the ceiling and shutting her streaming eyesï¿½

No! NOï¿½

But it was swelling all around her. It was filling her eyes, her heart, the red of flame, blotting the light outï¿½

Flame. Nothing but flame. Whirling, devouring the wood and cloth and metal, melting the glass. Thundering wood beams, ash and embers showeringï¿½flames engulfing her world. Smoke, acrid blackness, charred wood, smouldering ash.

She clawed at her face, clenched her fists so tight they hurt, turning over to bury her face in clothï¿½

Two white shapes. A pair of skeletons. The flames parting to reveal the darkened, shattered structures in the rubble. The grinning, blackened skullsï¿½blackened skulls that breathed not, but let flame danced in their eyesï¿½

The tears were suddenly pouring down Akera's face, pouring down in torrents though she struggled to end them.

No, please! Stop! STOPï¿½

But she could only remember, like a horror film playing before her eyes. The truth was unfolding from the dregs of the past, blooming like spots of bloodï¿½

Showering blackness. The sky torn open. A sunset the colour of blood, the colour of the furnace, and the Spirit's Passageway. The black of smoke rising like a death signal, against the calls of the gulls.

It forced itself upon her, deep into her consciousness, like a blade. It drew blood, where blood could be drawn best. It tore her heart into a thousand shreds.

Absolutionï¿½ it was the one word, the only word her thundering heart called out. Freedom was a right of everyone. And freedom she longedï¿½the smiles she longed to smile, the laughter she longed to laughï¿½

But the world denied her her freedom. Kept screaming her story in her ears. Kept coming, again and againï¿½

ï¿½every timeï¿½every million timesï¿½

You are just a sinner! You don't deserve absolutionï¿½how can you live, knowing this? Die, you monster!

She sobbed into the blankets, wishing that the pain would end. She wept, begging for it to leave her. The longer she lived, the more she wanted to die.

Dear Goddess, I'm sorryï¿½forï¿½what I've done.

And one truth thundered in her blood and mind. It didn't matter how she cried, how she pleadedï¿½this single, unchanging fact would never be marred.

Her sins would only be erased by her own blood.

I'mï¿½

ï¿½sorryï¿½

ï¿½for what I've done.

Hugging her legs on the crumpled blankets, Akera lay among the folds, tears streaming from her eyes.

It would never end.

Give up, Akera.

Trapped forever, behind bars of tears and fire.

Weeping, shivering, Akera pulled herself deep into the blankets, and in her ocean of guilt she finally cried herself to sleep.

ralinn: waking dream

The world turned black.

As Ralinn stood, everything was bright again. All she could see was Shirion's concerned expression, and the faint hall lights beyond him.

"Umï¿½I'm fine," she quickly said, blinking.

"Are you very sure?" the Crusader asked in reply, patting her arm. "You look faintï¿½"

"Yes, yesï¿½I'm okayï¿½"

It came again. Darkness swept her off her feet, flooding her brain as she felt a scream swell in her throat.

But thick exhaustion quickly descended on her in her blindness, and her cry fadedï¿½

Everything was suddenly peaceful. Ralinn found her consciousness slowly drifting away, into a world of lightï¿½

Slowly, the singing began. A light surfaced, its song clear and sweet, soft and bright.

"Once a daughter of the springtime,

I now walk across the snow

Helpless, I am so uncertainï¿½

So much left to live and know."

Her voice, sweet and lonely, somewhat unsure. But beautiful in a way. Haunting, and innocentï¿½

"Ralinn!"

The light drew away as quickly as it had appeared, and just as suddenly as everything vanished, Ralinn found everything coming back. The feeling returned to her limbs, and she found herself facing the ceiling in Shirion's arms, his eyes narrowed in worry.

"Ralinn!" he exclaimed again. "Are you sure nothing's wrong?"

Ralinn had to first get over her embarrassment of finding herself in that position. Quickly she stood, trying to hide her furious blush. "Noï¿½just a songï¿½she's nearï¿½"

"Near?" Pulling back, Shirion glanced around at the crowded lounge. "You mean, the next member?"

"I don't know! It just cameï¿½" Sighing, they began to walk back towards the rooms. "There's no way we'll know who it is. Let's just hope that we don't miss her," she murmured. "Please let it work outï¿½"

zethis: first time

It wasn't possible, was it?

This girl, this young Cleric, had already reached farther into his life than anyone else ever had.

Was it normal? Was he imagining?

Somehow, he could feel her working within him, uncovering the veils of fear and self-consciousnessï¿½barriers that had always shielded him from the rest of the world. It was such a strange feeling, being so comfortable in another person's company.

Maybe that was normal, feeling safe around someone else.

But was it also normal that he wanted to stay by her side forever? Was it normal that he had begun to love her company so much?

Zethis didn't understand thisï¿½as he stood facing this tower garden in the spring wind, he could feel it running through his heart.

He felt right when she was there.

Why? I've only known her for minutes!

Ketara was burying the seed in the flowerbed. The party leader stepped away, lifting his prided Maple Berit Spear from its carrier on his back.

There was a light in the soil. Zethis held his breathï¿½but only a Nependeath sprung up, thrusting its flower-bud head into the air.

Ketara gave the plant a few little pokes, dodging the seeds it spat. Then there was a glimmer of light, an explosion. A roar shook the ground, something suddenly swellingï¿½a dark shape in the lightï¿½

The air began to hum again. Then, with an explosion, Papa Pixie appeared.

The sky of the false world was shining blue and white.

"Attack!" The Dragon Knight's command instantly set off the blazing skills, which burst to life all aroundï¿½arrows, shining with the strength of the sun, throwing stars and red flames, head-on attacks that exploded with golden powerï¿½all raging towards the great pixie as it whirled around, sending off barrages of sun-coloured spells in every direction.

In that instant, the garden became a battlefield.

"Well, let's go!" the Cleric exclaimed enthusiastically, pulling Zethis quickly forward into the battle. Her staff flared with light, the arrows of moonlight soaring and singing swiftly through the wind. Strengthened by the sound of her voice, he raised the mace, gave a cry of determination, racing forward with his weapon shining.

Burning sparks of gold and white blasted the creature wherever he struck. Ketara's attacks joined his, and like Zethis, the flames were white-hot golden, filled to the brim with brilliant strength.

Stars spun from a corner, each of Telida's Lucky Sevens cutting straight into the boss' flesh with booms of redness. Flashes of violet were accompanied by raging Fire Arrows from the other end of the garden, streaks of blazing orange that flew from Turino's burning bow, streaming across the monster's skin with furious energy.

It would be a long battle before the creature was subdued. Papa Pixie seemed unfazed by every attack they made, the agile arms shielding each one off. But nevertheless, it made room for more attacks to be slotted in.

Quickly, they took the formation of a circle. Just like the necromancers, Zethis thought, smiling at the irony. Turino stood on the far left end, Raydan launching bolts from the stone parapet, Telida to the right with her deadly throwing stars. And in the middle of the garden stood Zethis, Ketara and the Cleric girl.

There was only the creature before Zethis now, as he gathered strike after strike in his mace, thrusting everything forward every two moments. The strength of the Goddess drifted all around them in this tower, the shining skies sending Her blessing down like showers of sunlight. And he pulled his focus away from everything else, filled his mind with only the monster, throwing all his passion into striking forwardï¿½forwardï¿½

If only he had seen the Death Pixie from his left, wand out. But it was already too late when he suddenly felt blazing heat blast him in the side, and throw him down upon among the flowers, at the Cleric's feet, his entire side stinging with blazing pain.

He cried out, the world flashing. Instantly, her eyes shifted away from the battlefield, the light in her staff dying as she gasped out in terror.

"Zethis!" she yelled, kneeling. He barely saw her hand reach for his side, her staff glow green, the fresh light rising all around himï¿½

It felt so wonderful. His eyes never left as she reached out to help him stand, smiled at him with reliefï¿½until they turned to the battle, in unison.

She'sï¿½amazing.

The thought suddenly made him blush, moments before Papa Pixie's next spell began on its course straight for the two of them. He glanced once at the Cleric. "Power Strike!" he yelled, dissipating the attack with a swing of his Knuckle Mace. He narrowed his eyes on the old monster's belly, grip growing tightï¿½

Why did he feel so wonderful? It was like every joy in the world had been bestowed upon him, in that instant of blessed ecstasy. It felt so easy now. The battle was in the sky, in the surreal, distant garden of another world.

It wasn't much. As long as she was there, it was nothing at all.

The White Knight couldn't help his smile. He charged forth, thrusting the mace, in all its burning glory, straight into Papa Pixie's pale belly.

And its eyes rolled with its final roar. Zethis stepped back, panting. The monster's white body suddenly crumbled into pale dust, shattering on the flowers and fading away.

He gave a call of victory, everyone ceasing their attacks, instantly running to where he stood, to congratulate each other. Only the twins still looked on at the empty flowerbed, strange calm and nonchalance written on their faces.

"Hey, good job," Raydan said loudly, slapping him on the back. Zethis jumped. "Well done, hm? You were great today!"

Zethis didn't feel like celebrating. There was only one thing he could think of now.

He turned to the Cleric. She was conversing nervously with the others, and he suddenly dared not to call her. Nervously he stood there, clasping his hands together.

"Thanks for joining us!" Ketara exclaimed happily, patting her on the shoulder. She smiled, glancing suddenly at Zethis, who waited in the corner.

"It's been my honour," she replied distractedlyï¿½did he only imagine that regret in her voice? Was her smile vaguelyrueful? Everyone turned in the direction she was looking. He felt his face flush.

But his eyes were only for that girl in their midst, the girl whose name he didn't know. The first person who had ever made him feel so sure of himselfï¿½

"Well done," Eak said while Zethis felt his feet leave the ground. He glanced about, found nothing around him except the sky. The empty, lonely sky. Inside him, he felt his heart well up with beautiful forlornness.

In moments, they were standing within the gate of the real world. There was only faintly the sound of conversation from the deserted streets beyond, the murmurings of the necromancers who didn't yet know that they had already exited.

"There is not much time now," the cloud sounded urgent. "I can grant you a spell of invisibility for exactly five minutesï¿½no more and no less. Make haste, congratulations, and good luck."

Ketara glanced around at the rest. "Back to the inn in five minutes, alright? Have a safe journey, miss!"

The girl nodded back, her sweet smile suddenly hurting in his heart more than it ever had, more than anything ever hadï¿½.

"Umï¿½goodbye," he murmured, trying to maintain eye contact, but failing miserably. "I'llï¿½miss youï¿½"

To his shock, she suddenly leant forward and gave him a terribly tight hug. "I'll miss you too!" she replied from behind his ear. "You should learn to talk more!"

Zethis nodded quickly, hoping she would let go before he died of either embarrassment or suffocation. She did, finally. But suddenly he wanted her to do it again.

"Well, alright then," Ketara said to the cloud beside him. "We're ready for your spell."

In the wind, Chamberlain Eak circled them with a trail of light. Everyone around him began to fade awayï¿½and when he looked at his own arms, they too were turning invisible.

He glanced once more at where the Cleric had once stood, but now there was only emptiness there. Eak had vanished. His time was already running.

Remembering Ketara's instructionsï¿½"Back to the inn in five minutes!"ï¿½the White Knight raced through the open gates. Again, with a pang of regret, he thought of the Cleric girl.

Thank you so muchï¿½ he thought, pausing when he realized that he didn't know what to call her.

And if only I knew your nameï¿½then I'd know whom to thank.

It made him so sad, to know that their paths had parted, just like that. But in his mind, the image of her smile was still imprinted, the image of a petite figure in beautiful pink robes, brown hair waving in the wind.

And as he ran, he carved the image permanently into his heart. An image of a girl holding her Petal Staff, her smile filled with a joy that would last forever.

ralinn: vanishing

As Ralinn arrived at her room, she screamed.

Everything was fading, fading at the edges like a painting drenched in water.

The world was emptying before her eyes. The door was draining away, like liquid out of a dishï¿½the lights were turning into hollows everywhere, the ceiling stretching on into blacknessï¿½

Again she shrieked in terror. Her hands and feet were unfeeling; she shivered though there was no wind, no cold where she was. There were faces, melting into the sky. They were stretched and screaming with her, rising like cruel ghosts from every tile.

The ends of the corridor were sliding away. The ceiling was the night sky, black and white, colourlessï¿½and the white was suddenly disappearing as wellï¿½

Everything was turning in to a formless grey slush. Ralinn fell to her knees, crying out in despair, the thick liquid pooling all around her. What was happening to her? Where was everything going? Everythingï¿½everythingï¿½

It was vanishing. The gold and wood, and stone and lightsï¿½they were melting, like a thick grey glacier, mashed into the darkness in unstoppable sublimationï¿½

"RALINN! RALINN!"

The greyness flashed away.

Suddenly everything was back. The ground was suddenly solid and cold. She was panting, lungs burning as if she had just run for miles. And there were tears, blurring the walls and the torches that lit the suddenly linear, unshaken corridor.

Shirion was trying to pull her to a standing position. He looked terrifiedï¿½his eyes were filled with worry as his powerful grip brought her to stand before him.

Ralinn was swept by dizziness, moments after she returned to her feet. The floor was whirling like a merry-go-round, flashing with fancy lights.

Suddenly, she doubled over and began to throw up. On and on she went, sick to the stomach, nausea returning the urge again and again.

"Ralinn!" the Crusader gasped, holding her shoulders from behind, his warm grip bringing her just a little stability. "Ralinn! Are you alright? Really? Do you need some rest?"

"ï¿½Urghhï¿½" she replied, withstanding the next wave of nausea. "S-sorry. Thanksï¿½just needï¿½rest, yesï¿½"

Wordlessly, Shirion helped Ralinn into her room. She managed to smile despite the fetid taste on her tongue, and in moments, she was lying on her blanket, breathing deeply.

"Hope you'reï¿½okay?" the Crusader asked, touching her forehead as he placed a bottle of water in her right hand. She nodded slowly, uncapping it to drink. "I'llï¿½go now thenï¿½"

"P-please stay," she replied voicelessly. The images were flashing through her mind, images she never wanted to see again.

"I'mï¿½scared. I saw weird things just now. Please stay here."

"Alrightï¿½"

She closed her eyes, breathing deeply again. What was the meaning of that daydream? It gave her a horrible feeling, like something bad was about to happen. It couldn't simply have come like that, without reasonï¿½

Ralinn felt warmth on her hand. She opened her eyes a crack, and vaguely saw Shirion, eyes trained deeply on her face, his fingers brushing hers carelessly.

Instantly she felt her heartbeat double, the blush growing in her face, breaths growing uneven.

Stop it. Stop it!

He was smiling now. Smiling, dreamilyï¿½

Shirion? Iï¿½heyï¿½

Suddenly, it made her feel safe. Through the warmth of his hand, she knew that he wouldn't be leaving any time soon. And for the security he gave her, she finally dared to close her eyes, allowing the sleep she needed to come at last.

"Ralinn. Ralinnï¿½I'm sorryï¿½"

The voice reached into her mind. Ralinn glanced up, certain that she would see someone there. Yet there was nothing but a great light, a shining presence that revealed nothing to her. In it, she could almost imagine clouds floating, a blue sky and a lake beneathï¿½but again, it was no more than a dream.

And slowly, her voice came, almost tearful.

"Ralinn, she has left. I can bend fate no longer, to cross your paths. Your journeyï¿½your journey has come to an endï¿½"

Ralinn found her mouth opening with shock. End? As inï¿½end here?

"I do hope it can go on someday. But it ends here. I'm sorry...I'm sorry for wasting five years of your lifeï¿½"

"Butï¿½but it's important, isn't it?" she cried out. "Won't you find a way to bring us there? Won't you find a way to end our troubles?" Tears were already streaming down her cheeks, tears that vanished even before her hands could rise to wipe them away. "It can't just end here! Pleaseï¿½"

"I'm sorry," it repeated, fading slowly, slowly into the blue horizon. "I have let the world down. But I will find another way. I promiseï¿½"

The light was gone. She was falling through the sky, into an emptiness she could never understand or know again. It was going, the world seeping away through a corner, to leave her void and hopelessï¿½

Ralinn's eyes opened. The light was yellow, and the dreams were shifting away like mist under the sun. Only the ceiling now filled her vision, deep red wallpaper that suddenly threw her back into the reality of the waking world.

At once Shirion stood. "Hey, it's been an hour. You feel fine now?" he asked. Then his eyes widened. "Why are you crying? Did you dream of something again?"

Blinking, the Ranger realised that her vision was blurred. She wiped her eyes, surprised to find real tears there, and sighed. "I'm fine. Butï¿½I have really bad news." The Crusader glanced back at her instantly. "We have to end our quest. We lost her. We can't go on. From now, Orion's Belt is disbanded."

Shirion took only moments to take in the shock. He blinked once, twice, lowered his gaze. "Ohï¿½"

Ralinn tilted her head with a smile. "Did you really like our company that much?" she asked, rather glad.

He looked up again, blinking, then turned his gaze back to the floor. "Wellï¿½yeah, I guessï¿½"

"Don't worry about it. I'm disbanding our guild, so you have the freedom to go wherever you want. I know how much this journey is tiring everyone."

As he watched the sadness grow in his eyes, she wanted so much to say, I'll miss you tooï¿½but she was just too shy.

Why so?

Packing her clothes back into her bag, Ralinn felt the taste of regret fill her mouth. How much she had hoped that she could make a difference to the worldï¿½

She almost laughed, as she pushed the shampoo into the side pocket of her bag. Ten people? The ten of them? What would be lost by this ending? Someone else would rise to take the duty.

"I will find another way. I promiseï¿½"

Those words reassured Ralinn, just a little. She smiled, as she cleared the bedside table of her remaining belongings, tied her bag of mesos to her belt, and turned to face Shirion again.

"Why don't you go pack up," she called over to him. He nodded blankly. "Don't be so sad! You've become a happier person alreadyï¿½and at least now, you and Akera can finally get back to that journey you planned!"

"Umï¿½yeah. Alright. I'll see you in a few minutes, at the lobby, okay? We need to break the news."

She nodded, smiling. He waved once, vanished through the doorï¿½but the air was still filled with misery, long after he was gone.

ketara: incomprehensible

She seemed to want nothing to do with him anymore. It was too obvious, the way she shifted away when he tried to talk to her, every time he met her eyes.

Ketara couldn't help but wonder what was wrong. One moment, she could be listening to his every word, following him wherever he went. And at the next, she would be glaring at him, ignoring everything he uttered.

Is it me? he asked the air. Is it something that I once did?

As they waited in the lobby of the inn for the other three to appear, the Dragon Knight glanced once at Telida.

She returned the gaze sharply, stood, and walked towards him.

"L-Lida?"

She fixed him with a terrifying glare, coal-black eyes glimmering, nothing like the girl he had known just a year ago. "Just who I wanted to talk toï¿½"

"Save your breath, stupid!" she yelled back. Everyone turned. "Don't try to fool me anymore with that attitude! I know you hide motivesï¿½and too well, too! I'm not going to fall for them anymore!"

Every word felt like a dagger, each one making his heart hurt.

Telida? Telidaï¿½why?

But it was only presumptuous of him to believe her wrong. Perhaps he was acting in the wrong wayï¿½

"Get lost, okay?" Her words went on mercilessly. "I wish I hadn't trusted you so muchï¿½just get out of my life!"

He blinked and didn't speak another word. In the same moment, Ralinn appeared at the lobby door, her bag over her shoulder, Shirion and Akera following after.

"Whatï¿½we're going already?" Turino's voice was full of complaint.

Ralinn only smiled, and Ketara couldn't help but pick up the silent submission in her eyes.

Ralï¿½

"I've got something to tell you," she finally began, coming to a stop before the group. Raydan finally fell silent. "I'm glad for the time we've spent doing this. Butï¿½we can no longer carry on with our journey."

Around Ketara, in the cool air of the lobby, no one spoke. He could feel the shock slowly sinking in.

The end of the journeyï¿½no travel. No exhaustion.

No purpose.

What then? Work towards his fourth job? How, when everywhere there were necromancers waiting to end him?

Helplessly, he glanced around at the friends he had made. It was such a wonderful feeling, having friends to follow wherever he went. It had been amazing, knowing that he had some purpose in the worldï¿½

"So," the guild leader said, her eyes sparkling all of a sudden in the strange, echoing silence among them. "I would like to thank you for making this journey so meaningful. You have been the greatest travel companionsï¿½"

She held back a sob, but Ketara could tell that it was an understatement. Beside her, Shirion touched her shoulder as she smiled her tears away.

Turino seemed heedless of her tears. "My third job!" he exclaimed. "It's about time! I wish I hadn't forgone it last time. This is such a hindrance, being so weak!"

Ketara glanced around at the rest. "I really want to stay in one place, really," he said. "Does anyone else want to stay here too? I need companyï¿½"

"I guess I can," Shirion replied, to the Dragon Knight's elation. "It's probably the best thing we can do right now. I heard that there are some good hunting places in the cloudsï¿½this looks to be quite interesting."

"Where are you going, Ralinn?" Telida asked.

"Backï¿½home, I guessï¿½oh, which brings me to the subject of travel," she replied. "Look at this." She opened her bag and produced a folded brochure. "I got this off the information counter."

Secret boat service, it found it rather surprisingï¿½that there was actually one! Well, it would certainly make things easier for everyone.

"Great, hm?" Ralinn continued. "We'll all be leaving for it soon. Whoever wants to can follow."

"I'll go to Kerning as well," Telida suddenly cut in. "But not with you. I'll be alone. I want my third job." The Assassin never smiled, her look of savage determination almost terrifying.

Turino glanced down. "Iï¿½erï¿½need someone to show me around Elliniaï¿½"

"Akera," Ralinn instantly replied. She looked up, eyes widening with horror. "While you are still in my guild, and I am your leader, you will follow my instructionsï¿½so show Turino how to get around."

The Mage glanced desperately about, particularly at Shirion. She breathed deeply, narrowing her eyes angrily. "FINE! Stupid orders, stupid systemï¿½I'm glad we're breaking apart!"

Everyone was silent. The air was filled with tensionï¿½abnormal tension. Everyone seemed a little edgy todayï¿½a bad thing, Ketara was beginning to realize.

"Get a life, Akera!" Turino growled in reply. "No one's going to sit around listening to your every complaint! I'm not insisting you help me. But if you half cared, you would! Or are you just too spoilt to do that?"

Akera could only glare on at him, her rage growing slowly. But his eyes were burning, this inexplicably crazy drive behind his every word becoming greater and greater.

"And it just shows how bratty you can getï¿½killing your parents out of anger! Who would ever do something like that, besides you?"

Her eyes flashed, burning with ire. Fiery, so terrible that everyone frozeï¿½thoughts, words, every motion.

She stood, her eyes growing brighter, brighter with raging tears. Tears that swelled and slid down her cheeks, the air itself shimmering and shaking like a mirage around her.

Something fell to pieces. Something that made the world burn away.

With a scream like a demon's cry, the words left her mouth.

"IT WAS A MISTAKE! A mistake, you IDIOT!"

Akera screamed at the black-haired mage. The woman at the counter turned in alarm. But still she cried, clenched hands suddenly filled with vicious, passionate fireï¿½

The shadows grew. The crackle turned into thunder.

The stones slowly melted away.

Ketara could only watch, eyes turning blind, as flames gathered themselves in a deadly arrow-beam and tore across the lobby, straight into his heartï¿½

No one had ever thought it possible to hear him give such a cry. But Turino's next exclamation was wrought with excruciation, dwindling rapidly into a drawn-out gasp, as he sank to the ground in flames. His breaths, turning into formless pleas for life, for reprieveï¿½and it made his heart thunderï¿½

"Akera!" Ralinn gasped, turning with newfound terror, as Zethis scrambled quickly to catch the Wizard. "Zethisï¿½Zethis, is he alright?"

Somewhere beside him, Ketara heard Telida give a sniff of disdain. At that point, the Dragon Knight couldn't think; he was still making sense of the events that had just slipped by before his helpless eyes.

Zethis glanced up at Ralinn, eyes filled so overwhelmingly he looked like he was about to cry. "Heï¿½I don't think he's breathingï¿½"

Minutes later, they had rushed Turino down to the medical clinic, the mage fighting with everything within him to keep his grip on life.

Within the white-walled, sweet-scented room at the lowest level, everything was tranquil. The pale Fire Poison Wizard looked almost dead under the bed sheets, his midnight-black hair falling over his closed eyes, drenched in sweat.

Never before had anyone seen him look so vulnerableï¿½and it was terrifying. He had always been so feared among themï¿½but now, here he lay, defenceless and injured, tears on the edges of his eyelidsï¿½

"He's alright, isn't he?" Ketara quickly asked the nurse. "He'll recover? Weï¿½really do need himï¿½"

She blushed under his intense gaze for a moment, then nodded. "Yesï¿½yes, he was lucky," she responded. "Quick response is crucial, in cases like thisï¿½" Distractedly, she carried on with her duties after he smiled and thanked her.

"Ohï¿½man," Raydan whispered once she had departed. "Heï¿½looks dead. And I'd normally be glad for thatï¿½ But somehow, I'm sortaï¿½worriedï¿½"

Zethis had been daydreaming againï¿½at that point, he blinked and turned back to Raydan. "Did youï¿½say something?"

Raydan smiled widely. "Thinking about that girl again, aren't you," he said, amused. Zethis flushed deeply, glancing quickly back at Turino. The knight's expression made Ketara smile himselfï¿½quickly, he looked to the mage resting on the bed.

"Hmï¿½when do you think he'll be okay?"

"The nurse said that he'll be conscious soon," Ralinn replied. "But recoveryï¿½he'll take some time. Few days, maybe."

"Well, too bad for Akera then," Raydan said, shaking his head.

"Oh, rightï¿½I guess she'll have toï¿½"

Suddenly she heard a complaining groan from the bed, and all four turned. "I'm fine, alright?" Turino shouted, glaring at the guild leader from under the blankets. He winced suddenly as he rose, clutching his front. "No, reallyï¿½just go without me, okay? If Akera isn't happy about it, let her have her way."

Wow, this isn't like Turino at all, Ketara realized. He never acceded to the requests of others. Perhaps he was in a lot more pain than was apparentï¿½and it was muddling up the way he was thinking.

"Get well soon, alright?" the Dragon Knight responded, smiling and patting his shoulder. The returning frown was to be expectedï¿½but at least he wasn't shouting. Which was good enough.

He turned to realize that Ralinn was already departing, and so he quickly followed after. Raydan was chattering away with his sister on their plans, so Ketara went over to Zethis and struck up a brief conversation.

Moments later, as they passed through the door, Ketara saw someone approaching.

Akera.

Her eyes were still red from crying, and she wasn't accompanied. Ketara glanced once at her, and at the brokenness behind that angry gaze was suddenly so apparent, so painful.

Her words, full of passion and guilt, began to whirl in his mind again.

Akeraï¿½?

They walked on past her, but not a word was exchanged, as her icy gaze crossed them one by one. Ralinn ignored her altogetherï¿½it was as if she didn't trust the Fire Poison Mage anymore.

Taking his eyes away, Ketara quickly caught up with the rest of the group, still wondering how much pain she really held in her heart.

turino: fire

As he watched the group depart, Turino found his thoughts going back to the moment it had all happenedï¿½the flames, the fury, the pain.

Again he felt the almost-unbearable sting of his burn. He should be hating Akera to bits by now! She had almost killed him out of sheer irrationality. He should be wanting to get back at her for what she had doneï¿½

But no. It wasn't so. Somehow, it had finally made him understand.

There is something special about fire made by a human heart. Fire is drawn up from rage, from fury, from pure anger. And in every flame of Mage's fire, there will be a part of the human's soul left there.

The moment when that flame had struck Turino and burnt him, he had suddenly felt it allï¿½that part of Akera's soul that was inseparable from the fire she made. That part, that held so much rage and frustration, it had almost killed him.

Was that what she put into every spell? Was it this anger that had changed her so, left her broken the way she was? Never once had he ever realized that she felt bad about killing her parents. He had always thought she had done it without any qualms.

He had been wrong, hadn't he. Now he didn't hate her. In fact, he had finally found someone worthy of his respect.

Respect? Hah, since when did I respect people?

But the thought of Akera only managed to bring surprising honour. For he wondered how a single person could carry so much with her, all the timeï¿½how she could still live, and not destroy herself with the painï¿½

Turino looked up at the sound of a throat being cleared. Suddenly coming face to face with her again seemed to bring everything full-circleï¿½his anger, his honour, his uncertainty about her, and all of a suddenï¿½

"I'mï¿½sorry, okay?" Akera suddenly yelled out from where she stood at the end of the bed, folding her arms. He glanced up, instead, at her dyed hair, and again wondered at how beautiful it wasï¿½

"I shouldn't haveï¿½" she murmured. "Ah, there's no point!" The Mage kicked the bedpost and turned away, long white hair fluttering.

Turino found himself amused. "It's so hard for you to apologise, isn't it," he replied. "Not unexpected. Brat." That made her whirl around again, her icy glare so fierce it actually frightened him a bit.

"SHUT UP! I came to apologise, and I've done that! So be content, alright?"

He smiled slightly, rising despite the pain in his chest. "I understand now," he responded, in a rare moment of emotion. Then quickly his eyes narrowed, familiar hate stirring in his heart at the sound of her voice. "ï¿½But I still hate you, okay? You just threw a tantrum to make everyone sympathise, didn't you?"

She blinked and looked down.

Without hearing, he knew that her answer was "no". But she didn't say so. All she did was scowl at him and turn away, her blue Mage robes swishing.

Turino shrugged and lay back down. But he continued to watch through half-closed eyes as she departed angrilyï¿½the troubled, suffering, amazing spirit hidden behind blue eyes.

And how beautiful she was. How strangeï¿½

telida: descent of acceptance

The morning was golden bright, but Telida didn't see. In the shadow of the stones, her solitary climb towards the snows went on. She had a ship to catch that nightï¿½and it would be a long climb down.

Again she turned to the snows, breathing deep the sweet air from the snows. Sentinels swarmed the entire interior of Orbis Tower, and there was no possible safe path within it.

Telida had worked out that she could get to the bottom either by jumping, or by climbing down the outsideï¿½and she figured that climbing would give her a much higher survival rate.

The cool snow winds made her smile as she paused momentarily. There was no one left to distract her from her thoughts, and they were slowly settling in the stillness. Finally, for the first time, she could tell what exactly she thought of everything around her.

Ketara is so fake, she thought to herself, sniffing. I'm glad I'll never see him again. And Turino is the biggest idiot in the world. I hope I never meet them again.

Watching the thin blanket of clouds fade away into the morning, she resumed her descent. She had a deadline to keep; she had to reach the secret jetty by twilight. Sighing, she felt all her troubles flow away into the icy spring wind.

raydan: last road

Shimmering waves of cold were sweeping down the tiles of ancient stone all around him. Around them, the guardians were still being charged at the waiting points, inactive in the depths of night. It was in this time that Ralinn had chosen for them to make their move.

The mist parted slowly in their wake, and all around only the dim shapes of spherical sentinels were visible under Turino's hazy firelight.

Their footsteps were hurried, both Ralinn's and his; the jetty was only a shadow on the brink of the icy snows. In the early summer, the snows would be thawing anywhere else in the world. But El Nath was in perennial winter, like the inside of a snow globe, and the snow never faded in this realm.

Behind them, in the shadows, the footsteps of the two mages were subdued and gradual. None of the four spoke, as the ice jetty and the stand rose into view in the bleak morning.

"Do you even care that you're getting your third job?" Raydan muttered, half expecting Turino not to hear.

"None of your business." His annoyance was enough to silence the Sniper, and he continued to follow Ralinn.

It was four o'clock already, and the ship was already waiting. Even Raydan couldn't keep the anticipation from his actions, as they raced across the crunching snow of El Nath and came to a stop at the ticket stand beside the silhouette of the ship in the waters.

The icy sea was like a glass mirror, but only the moonlight shone in it. The man at the counter gave them a smile, pleasant despite his crooked teeth. Gosh, anything would have looked pleasant, after their encounter with the king's Necromancers.

But he didn't really want to think about those. For now, all he cared for was that they were on their way home. Home! He recalled too clearly the warm fireplaces, the smoke-spewing chimneys, the destroyed buildings, the haphazardly-drawn roads that led people astray. He loved that place! He could almost see them all, surrounding him, the already-familiar scent of smoke greeting his nose.

Raydan blinked, almost certain that he was home againï¿½but all there was before him was the lonely biting frost of the deep morning, and the swish of the moonlit tides.

"Come on!" Ralinn exclaimed, a stack of tickets ready in her hands. Her eyes were bright, even in the fading moonlight. He glanced back once at the two mages, their faces cast deep in shadows. They followed after them silently, seeming neither anticipating nor anxious.

It was really creepy, in a way. As the Sniper boarded the boat, the deck began to rock. Ralinn had already seated herself somewhere inside. Under the dim light of the early hours, she was only a shadow.

They were alone, just the four travellersï¿½Orion's Belt no more. He had gotten so used to travelling with so many others that this felt almost unbearableï¿½

Almost unbearable?

At least it was quietï¿½there hadn't been a moment like this for a long time. As Akera and Turino sat down at opposite ends of the boat's cabin, Raydan smiled to himself. They were silent, at last.

The boat gave a short lurch, and the gentle splash of water in the night marked the start of their journey back home.

lanorï¿½: crisis

"Target sighted! Move into formation!"

Even before the last word had left, they were already everywhere. Appearing from the old carts that lined the roads, from the skeletons of dead trees from a distant time, from the ice-covered rocks that stood silent guardians at the edges of the cityï¿½everywhere, staves flaming scarlet like deadly torches, crackling like the deepest hell.

They had almost made it to El Nathï¿½and this had to happen. Beside her, Clynine tensed up.

The circle was forming. The circleï¿½just like beforeï¿½emerging from empty icy wilderness, necromancers that had hidden too well finally springing the indomitable hunter's snare.

Trapped.

Lanorï¿½ breathed hard, frightenedï¿½all too clearly, the times were echoing from the ends of her memoryï¿½a similar day, a similar place, a similar eventï¿½

The thunder was shaking. The circle was hardening around themï¿½

And she knew, at once, that she couldn't let it be complete.

"Clynine!"

The Archmage didn't even have to say what to do. They both knew the only optionï¿½the only road away from a life in darkness.

This time, they didn't make the mistake. This time, the snow was open, their feet free.

This time, they ran.

The moment they swerved around and slipped through a weak point in the formation, the commander began yelling, frenzied, and cloaks of black were chasing furiously in the wind. Swiftly, Lanorï¿½ cut their path, towards the yetis tethered at the gates. The yetis that would take them awayï¿½

"Clynine, don't worry!" she called, the snow whizzing by, the yells rising like a storm around them. Flames of red exploded behind them; she never turned, but sent quick Ice Strikes backwards every few seconds.

Clynine smiled back and nodded, their twin footsteps never slowing, no matter how cold the world was growing, how enraged the flying spells became. They shot across the last feet of snow, the sky behind themï¿½two fugitives, on the line between light and darkness.

The yeti fur was warm and soft. The saddles were trustworthy. The outer fences of El Nath were worn and woodyï¿½Lanorï¿½ bade them a last, silent farewell.

And then they were swift as the wind, great creatures born and bred for the wild snowsï¿½galloping through the rises and hills of the great El Nath that they owned.

Behind them, the necromancers no longer gave chase. Lanorï¿½ glanced once back, allowing herself one childish momentï¿½sticking out her tongueï¿½before looking back to the invisible road before them with overwhelming triumph in her eyes.

"Warm El Nath indeed. Well, since my home seems suddenly so inhospitable, let's head for yours."

Clynine rode to Lanorï¿½'s right, utter fright deepening in her gaze. But she turned at her words, and her mouth fell open, eyes filling up with nostalgia and joy and anxiety.

Mumï¿½Dadï¿½ It was all too clear what she was thinking. Lanorï¿½ smiled. She would have reached over to pat her shoulder, had she not been holding the reins.

zethis: charisma

"Unagi? Hmï¿½unagi, unagi, unagiï¿½aha!"

Zethis almost leapt into the air as Ketara went straight for the assortment of eel meat on the shelf. There was the sound of packages knocking against each other, as the Dragon Knight gathered up three dozens of packages, the stack towering higher than his head.

"C-careful with that," Zethis stammered. But Ketara only grinned back and shifted quickly to the counter, hardly daunted by the load he carried. Nervously, the White Knight followed after.

The young lady at the counter was busily distracting herself with a feather duster and her shelves. The instant they arrived, she turned around and blinked at the number of unagi packages Ketara had set down on the counter top.

"Umï¿½we'd like to buy them all?"

She was already scowling at the number of packs, glaring down at them as if they were rotten. "Paranoid idiots!" he heard her mutter. "Can't they just come back for more some other time?" Frightened, Zethis backed away, while she took the first and her barcode scanner gave a beep.

Somehow, though, Ketara seemed unperturbed by her disagreeable expressionï¿½or perhaps, he didn't notice it. "These shops sure are more advanced than the ones back at Victoria Island," he commented, leaning against the counter and observing her strange tool.

She looked up with annoyance at his comment. But as her eyes crossed his gaze, she froze. Her frown softened, turned into a shy smileï¿½and she looked down at the unagi again.

"Uhï¿½yeah, we're quite advanceï¿½compared to the ones across the sea," she murmured back. She glanced up at her customer again, and flushed gently. "Ours run on magicï¿½"

"Oh, that's cool!"

In no time, they were in rapt conversation, the girl now rapidly passing the unagi packages under her scanner without much thought.

Zethis blinked. What? How in the world did Ketaraï¿½

"Mmhmm, they're pretty stingy with resources, really," she responded, almost laughing. "We shopkeepers get some privilegesï¿½but they still leave us to our own means most of the time." She shook her head, taking another unagi from the now half-sized stack.

Carefully, the White Knight crept up to the counter. "Oh, who's that? Your little brother?" the cashier asked. Ketara shook his head. "Just me then; you look similar in a few waysï¿½ And that's thirteen," she commented to herself, her scanner beeping again.

The Dragon Knight shifted to Zethis' side. "Alright, now let's try our luck," he whispered with a smile. As soon as the girl looked up, Ketara returned to the counter front. "Hey, just wonderingï¿½would you mind giving us a discount? Sayï¿½half price?"

Zethis' jaw dropped at the dubious offer. No way, he thought, staring at Ketara as if he were crazy. She'll neverï¿½

"Okay, why not?" Zethis' jaw dropped a second time. "Orï¿½you could keep quiet, and I'll let you have it all for freeï¿½"

Ketara suddenly grabbed her hands and clasped them tightly, practically jumping up and down with his gratefulness, the shopkeeper's face steadily reddening. "Thanks so much! Thanks, thanks, thanks, thanks!"

If only I could do the same!

As Zethis thought over his companion's amazing charisma, he realised how much he lacked. Words failed him all the time. He couldn't even smile at a stranger! Here, beside him, stood someone with so much nerve and confidence, he seemed almost godly.

As Ketara carried the pile of food out of the shop, Zethis followed quickly after, a strange, envious honour filling his heart. Again, he watched the Dragon Knight balance the stack of goods, his hairï¿½deep brown in the bright sunï¿½tossed about playfully by the wind.

"Hm, that was a nice shopkeeper," he commented as Zethis caught up. "Free! Can you imagine? Shirion's gonna be happyï¿½and he's never happy!"

"Yeahï¿½ I see how you get your discounts," he murmured back. Then he added softly, "I wish I were you."

Ketara glanced back at Zethis, his enchanting, deep brown eyes widening in question. "Really?" He laughed. "I'mï¿½not that great, y'know. But you're considerate, and nice, and awfully adorableï¿½"

But you're so much more than that! Not me. I'm justï¿½me. Yeah, boringï¿½unconfident me. If I were you, that Cleric girl would have noticed meï¿½

Waitï¿½why was he thinking that?

Blushing of his own accord, Zethis trailed after Ketara all their way around the precarious edge of Orbis and the gently clouded skies, struggling to keep up.

How can someone like that exist? He wondered. How do you do itï¿½Ketara?

telida: forlornness and fury

Ketara!

The name suddenly, suddenly shot through her mind, the instant she found herself cornered.

She should never have trusted the streets of Kerning.

But now she was here, trapped with a strange man, whose sickening grin and questing hands wouldn't leave her alone.

He chuckled, glancing her up and down, drawing uncomfortably close. "You're a pretty girl," he murmured, as Telida backed away. Straight into a wall. The bricks were rough under her shivering fingers, the dark streetlight from the narrow exit distant, so tantalizingly farï¿½

"You don't know how beautiful you are, do you?" His voice was a ragged gasp now, his smile growing wider. Telida could feel chills creeping across the back of her neck, coldness filling her bloodï¿½

"Get lostï¿½"

She gasped as his fingers crept to her arm. From her arm, to her waist.

Ketara!

The name was a dying gasp, a parting cry. She thought once of him, and everything began to flood in, everything that made her want to carry on living. His warm smile, his enthusiastic joy, his realnessï¿½all the things that she had so furiously tossed awayï¿½

She had to get out of thisï¿½

Her aggressor's rank breath was warm on her neck, his glittering moonlit eyes filled with hungerï¿½

His fingers reached for her shirt.

And something blazed to life within her. She sprang to her feet, swinging out with all the momentum of her body, throwing him down with a crunch against the tarry street.

"I told you to get lost!" she screamed savagely. No, she wouldn't just let him get away with it like that. That wasn't enough. Not enough. Not enough.

She shrieked in fury. Claw sank into flesh, neck ripping sinew by sinewï¿½every tear, every scream a price he was obliged to pay.

Blood! Her heartbeat screamed. She dug the weapon deeper, deeper, until lifeblood pooled all around his neck and ran from his open flesh like fresh waterfalls. Blood! Again, againï¿½her claw struck the tar of the road, straight through the crushed deformity that was his neck. He sputtered, eyes rolling, fading to dullness.

Telida kicked him against the wall, stabbed him thrice in the chest, taking pleasure in the sound of ripping fabric and muscle. At last, appeased, she stood and walked away, her hard breaths suddenly dwindling with exhaustion.

The streetlight brightened hazily as she approached the main street, her shaking legs carrying her back to the most crowded street she could find. Never again. Never again did she want it to happen.

How empty she felt...

"Ketara..." Silently, Telida murmured his name, remembering the way he would make a silly joke in a situation like this, the way he would place a gentle arm around her shoulders and keep her walking with his optimismï¿½

"We'll make it. Don't you worry! We'll get to the Fusion Bar, and then we can go have dinner!"

She glanced to her right, saw no oneï¿½and her heart sank with coldness.

Telida knew she wouldn't survive another day without her best friend at her side.

On through dark streets she trudged, eyes searching tiredly for her destination. Finally, the Assassin's heavy footsteps slowed to a stop.

Fusion Bar. The blurred, colourful words overhead brought her a flood of relief. But she was too tired, too weary from loneliness, to enter. So she sat gently down by the doorstep and sighed, eyes closing to the lights above.

turino: black, white

"Hey, stop staring at me like that!" Akera came to a stop, the leaves crunching just moments agoï¿½silent now.

Turino blinked, and turned. "No, I'm not!" he replied. "It's justï¿½your hair's white."

He reached into his pocket, fingering the cold chain, his secret treasure. She hasï¿½white hairï¿½

"Oh, what an astute observation!" Akera exclaimed back, scowling deeply. "So? Did it take you that long?"

"Noï¿½"

As he watched her ice blue eyes glimmer in the light from the treetops, Turino played around with the thought. No secret embarrassed him more than this oneï¿½but her hairï¿½it wasï¿½simply beautifulï¿½

Why shouldn't he tell her, anyway? Perhaps knowing something so personal to him might soften her a little.

"ï¿½Can Iï¿½have some of your hair?"

Now it was Akera's turn to blink. Realizing how utterly stupid his request sounded, the mage covered his face with his palm, breathing in deeply. "Iï¿½like making brushes. And your hair isï¿½white. I wanted toï¿½"

"What?" Akera stepped back, clutching her head with obvious disgust. "Make brusheswith hair?!"

"Wellï¿½not normally human hairï¿½butï¿½" Finally he gave a groan of annoyance. "Ah, forget it! Your pretty hair is just too precious for you to part with, isn't it?"

"Gross," she responded, turning. Turino glanced away, suddenly caught between utter shameï¿½and soft, growing heartbreak.

The brushes. As he fingered them, the small chain of brushes in his pocket, he could see himself againï¿½

Black eyes watching his hands intently, smilingï¿½full of attention and adoration. Curious praise, deep fascination in that soft, familiar voice.

These thingsï¿½where were they now?

"Hurry up," Akera's soulless low voice made him break out of his short, sorrowful trance. But some of it had already caught holdï¿½for when he responded, he could almost hear the tears in his own voice.

"Don't hurry me."

She came to a stop and watched him with frosty blue eyesï¿½but they were no longer cruel or troubled. They were full of concern.

"Turino," she said gravely. "You obviously need to say something. Don't deny itï¿½sit down."

Staring down at Akera in complete disbelief, he did as toldï¿½more from shock than intimidation.

Akeraï¿½? She's actually being nice?

The Mage did the same, her pale hair whirling over her shoulders like immaculate silk. Her eyes were intent and bright as they searched his, so very different from what she normally was. How much did she understand?

The tears within the fire. The anguish, the suffering, the guilt.

"Well?" Akera looked expectant now, tilting her head to a side. "Do you trust me with your story?"

Turino looked deep into her eyesï¿½it was like looking into a lake, into the night sky that rested within. The depth, the powerful moving fathoms in those eyes, made him turn away again.

"Yeahï¿½I do. Umï¿½let's just sayï¿½I really do care what she thinks of me."

"Who? Your sister?"

"That's it."

Her eyes widened sincerely, and it only made the waves of sadness within him suddenly even stronger. "Sheï¿½ she was important to me, reallyï¿½"

Carefully, Turino reached into his pocket again, producing the object, his secretï¿½the chain of handmade brushes that had been with him since seven.

"I used toï¿½make these brushes for her," he whispered, hoping desperately that she couldn't see how deep his pain ran. "And she loved them. She loved doing everything with me back then! But thenï¿½somehow, she suddenlyï¿½changed. She started hating me, pushing me away, hurting meï¿½" No! His mind yelled the command, for suddenly his tears were on the brink of falling.

Don't cry, not in front of herï¿½don'tï¿½

"ï¿½She doesn't care about me anymore! It doesn't matter what I do! Love her, hate herï¿½it's alwaysï¿½wrongï¿½wrongï¿½" Rising furiously, clenching his fists, he glared down at the mage, gaspingï¿½

"It's none of your business, alright? Just forget about it all! I don't want to remember these things! You don't knowï¿½"

Akera stood as well, so abruptly it made him fall silent, his breaths deep. She said nothing for moments as she reached out to touch his arm, her eyes already full of comprehension.

"I think I do."

Why was this shared moment of pain so strange, and so heartbreaking? Turino felt a single tear escape the corner of his eye, as he let the warmth of her fingers fill his empty soul.

"Hah, at least in your case, you couldn't have done anything about it." She turned away with a smile, her voice fallingï¿½falling. "But what ifï¿½you could have?"

She folded her arms, leaning on the tree, still smilingï¿½but her eyes were reddening. "Yeah, you don't know half the pain of the world, Turino," the Mage went on relentlessly. "You don't know how it feels, to let a mistake take everything away, and have your entire world ruined as a result!"

Akera glanced up into the summer light above, eyes narrowed and shimmering with tears. "Don't whine about your pathetic little situation to me, Turino. At least you can still do something about it. Real painï¿½is when you have no chances left, to erase what wrong you've doneï¿½to find redemptionï¿½the forgiveness you needï¿½to findï¿½"

A soft sob followed those words. All of a sudden, Akera had collapsed among the trees, crying everything out of her, tears staining the lap of her traveller robes.

Oh, greatï¿½what am I supposed to do now? The Wizard wondered to himself.

"Akera, please get a grip on yourself," Turino replied, standing next to her small, curled figure. Her violent sobs didn't cease. "Don't go wallowing in self pity now, especially in my presence."

She sniffed hard again and looked upï¿½her teary glare was sharp and fierce. But instead of yelling back at him, her gaze softened, and she turned away with a sigh. "I'mï¿½sorry."

Her voice made his heart ache.

Standing, Akera quickly wiped the tears from her face. There were a few moments of silence between them, and finally, she looked up.

"You knowï¿½ You're actually a lot like me," she murmured as they resumed their slow walk towards the secret inn. "You hide so much from the world, and you pretend not to care, so people think you're self-assured and strong."

Turino's eyes widened slightly, at how painfully true her words wereï¿½

"I am not like that!"

"ï¿½But you actually care, don't you?" she went on regardless. "I know, because it's the same with me. I pretendï¿½but in my heartï¿½I do. I want everything to change. I hate my life the way it is. You do too, don't you?"

This silence was even longer. The Wizard was still contending with surpriseï¿½with strange, moving affection. She understoodï¿½it had taken this much for him to realize. She knew how it felt, to hide from the world, the way he did.

"Yeah."

Akera turned to him and smiled gently, and for moments her, she was more beautiful than he ever remembered.

As their journey resumed down the increasingly familiar pathway, their conversation somehow grew more lively. "Don't you dare start acting nice to me after today," the female mage commented, not turning. "I'd totally die of embarrassmentï¿½"

Turino glanced down at his hands, wishing he could. But noï¿½no, he couldn't hate her anymore. He couldn't find it within his capacity to hate someone with such humanity, such astute profoundnessï¿½even a self-indulgent brat like her.

Not that she actually cared for itï¿½she'd probably jump at the chance to be rid of him.

But why did his heart hurt for her, then?

Akera had paused in the midst of a strange little copse of trees. "Turino," she said as he stopped behind her. "Just take some of my hair. At leastï¿½it keeps your hope alive."

The Fire Poison Wizard blinked for a few seconds at her sudden offer. Then he took his blade from his shirt pocket and unlocked it, thanking her quietly without smiling. He reached out to take a lock of her hair in his handï¿½

The instant his fingers closed around her pale hair, Turino glanced into Akera's celestial-blue eyes, and felt a strange current of understanding, trust, adoration run deep through his heart.

He realised moments later that he had stopped breathing. Akera raised her graceful eyebrows expectantly, folding her arms. "We don't have all day," she urged bluntly. Blinking rapidly, looking at his hands again, he nodded and sliced a short length of hair from the end.

"I'llï¿½make it while we walk," he said afterwards, holding the silken white strands like the most precious ore in the world. Akera nodded briefly, before they continued their long trek, Turino searching his meso bag for his tools.

This routine suddenly brought back swathes of recollection, of a time when he used to do the same, for someone so dearï¿½

But I've lost her nowï¿½

"At least you can still do something about it!"

He smiled, just a little.

It was so simple that Turino could do it perfectly, even while walking. He never had to take a glance at his hands, as he found the metal fastener, pliers and forceps, and began to work the art that he loved so deeply, secretly.

But now, as he paused and appraised his incomplete brush of silver hair, he decided that something still wasn't right.

The Wizard took his blade again. Cutting some of his own hair off, Turino slipped both tufts into the fastener, side by sideï¿½black next to whiteï¿½and finally, he wound the last wire around his new brush.

This one, somehow, was his most beautiful yet.

clynine: the torches

Ah, the gardens! The night sky was filled with the scent of peaches, for it was summer and the little pink fruits were ripe, lading the trees that stood sentinels on either side of the road. The leaves rustled under the evening wind, all through the town of Mu Lung.

And in the darkness the companions walkedï¿½silent, exhausted, relieved. There was a small smile on the Cleric's lips as the familiar road unfolded before them, the sweet peach aroma encircling her like the warmest blanket in the world.

Homeï¿½home! Mum! Dad! Homeï¿½!

The hill was a mere shadow against the empty moonlight-soaked sky. The familiar peak of the mansion rose high from the hilltop, the wind carrying hollow echoes from the sky overhead. The lights were out in Clynine's home.

They're asleep already, she thought with amusement. Just like them! I thought they promised that they'd be waiting for me!

"Thanks, mistress Lanorï¿½," she whispered, her voice barely higher than the night winds around them. Lanorï¿½ turned and smiled, patting her head. Clynine sighed. "When we're backï¿½I'm going to tell Mum and Dad everything. I can't believe I'm homeï¿½back homeï¿½they're going to be so proud, of how far I've comeï¿½"

Were these tears coming to her eyes? The moon was blurred behind them, tears that suddenly appeared when she had thought of the warmth of home, of her parents hugging her, of the familiar walls and cushions and windowsï¿½

"Let's be quiet and surprise them," the Cleric's mistress suggested as they arrived at the foot of the hill, the end of a lightless road. Through the gate they passed, down the road through their hilltop garden. They were soon at the doorstep, the towering shape of the mansion making comfort sweep through her heart.

"Come on," Lanorï¿½ said. "They probably wouldn't mind."

Clynine nodded and produced the key from her pocket, unlocking the door with a shaking hand. Inside, the entrance hall was empty, the click of the door echoing among the pillars and against the doors. All the servants, too, were apparently asleep; they must have had a tiring dayï¿½

The Cleric's heartbeat stopped.

The torchesï¿½they were always lit. Whether humid or cold, whether the moon was new or fullï¿½the torches of the path were always lit. Mum was very particular about itï¿½

No, noï¿½noï¿½

She backed out of the entrance hall, out into the moonlight. Turned to gaze down the pathï¿½the dark path up which they had come.

Tonight, the torches hadn't been lit.

"Mistressï¿½Lanorï¿½"

Her voice shook and died before she could finish her sentence. The cold wind swept through the entrance hall, echoing on walls that she couldn't see.

Silent, so silent.

Clynine cried out in terror. She dropped her bag, racing up the spiral staircaseï¿½up, up, up to the place where Lanorï¿½ had first met her, past itï¿½to the bedrooms, where they should be sleeping silently nowï¿½

No time to breathe. In the darkness, her world was awash with sparks of colourï¿½but still she threw the double doors open, panting, heart pounding like thunderï¿½

Empty. Empty, everywhereï¿½scattered furniture, broken mirrors, shadows. Everywhere. Everywhere. Voiceless.

Again Clynine screamed, warm tears slipping suddenly from her eyelids, racing down her cheeks. Footsteps behind herï¿½

She whirled around. Seeing the blurred face of her mistress, she felt everything, her heart, shatter at the seams.

"Theyï¿½" she gasped to the pale smudge in her vision. "They'reï¿½"

Her words faded as the tears caught up again. She collapsedï¿½but Lanorï¿½ raced forward, catching her in her arms, just in time.

They had finally been taken. Taken, while she hadn't been home.

"Mumï¿½Dadï¿½you promised you'd be hereï¿½when I came back." She gasped, burying her face in the cloth of Lanorï¿½'s dress. "Youï¿½p-promisedï¿½"

They broke their promise. The most important promise of all.

"Clynine, it's alright," her mistress' gentle, broken voice swept those memories away. "Let's go into the gardenï¿½maybe your mind will clear up there."

They descended the cold, familiar spiral staircase in the night shadows. Each step was a step away from her world, even though she still stood within her home.

The same aroma of peaches wove around the trees, as the two sat on the silent fountain's edge. And wrapped in the scents of her homeland, Clynine sobbed, sobbedï¿½until she was weeping wretchedly, all over again.

Why had her parents beenï¿½taken, merely for being blessed with fortune? What had the king against people like them?

"Clynine," Lanorï¿½ whispered again, a soft, strong voice. "Clynine, it's alright. I promise we'll find them again. I swear."

Weeping, the Cleric turned to embrace her mistress, tears streaming down her cheeks and into her cloak.

Mistress, I believe you.

ralinn: girl in the garden

"Pass the pepper please," Ralinn called across the dinner table, trying to ignore the sound of Raydan eating his noodles. For those few moments, she gazed up at the ceiling, where the chandelier cast flowers of light over the whiteness.

Summer was at its end already, and she was nineteenï¿½Raydan, seventeen. But still a noisy eater. Life was amazing without the pressure of her jobï¿½and at the same time, it was empty.

Ralinn often wondered how the old members of Orion's Belt were doing. Had Telida gotten her third job yet? Were Akera and Turino still trying to kill each other?

And Shirionï¿½ Every time she pondered over the Crusader's whereabouts, her head spun with her overwhelming loneliness. Somehow, being with her family wasn't enough. Something was missing. She wanted him around.

What? Come on! I have Mum and Dad! And Raydan! I don't need himï¿½

"Linn? Hello!" she blinked, to find that Raydan was waving a hand before her eyes. "You've been drifting off a lot since we left the others, you know. Do you, like, miss someone?"

"Uhï¿½no! No!" To her fright, she felt herself blush.

Raydan smirked, folding his arms. "Shirion," he said, with such deep certainty that it made her face flush some more. "Really, since our last day in Orbisï¿½"

"Must you always try and play matchmaker in the guild?" she asked with annoyance and embarrassment at the same time.

"What? I didn't say anything about why you're thinking about him, Linn!" His smirk widened. "Hmï¿½is that what you think?"

Ralinn thought she might die of embarrassmentï¿½

But then, the world darkened, at that very instant. Her parents, Raydan, the lights aboveï¿½all falling away into a endless pool beneath.

And again, she was standing in a dream. She tensed, heart pounding, anticipating the voice that would comeï¿½

The white field vanished, Ralinn finding herself in the middle of a dark garden, the sky full of moonlight and the faint smell of peaches on the windï¿½

The sobs finally came to her ear, and she turned.

A girl. A girl, crying on the edge of a still fountain, in the middle of a garden of trees and flowerbeds, tears glittering in the moonlight. A young woman beside her, blonde hair beautifully lit and waving in the chilling breeze, arm wrapped around the girl's shouldersï¿½

"Once a daughter of the springtime,

I now walk across the snow

Helpless, I am so uncertainï¿½

So much left to live and know."

The song! The same song suddenly echoed through, filling Ralinn's ears. It was she. The girl they had missedï¿½the ninth member of Orion's Belt. Hereï¿½

And the suddenly, everything was coming back to life. Hope, joy, beliefï¿½

In harmony, came the second voiceï¿½this one even more powerful and assured. There were two voices now, singing together, every harmony making her joy light up again, just a littleï¿½

"Honoured guardian, blessed spirit,

Loved by ice and frost and sky

Edge to edge, the paths run distant

Hallowed gift of lightning's cry."

Such beautiful melodies! They danced around the borders of her dream. Ralinn began to walk around in the scene, slowly taking in every detail of this little garden, the place where she would find themï¿½

The flower garden. The peaches. A mansion on a hill.

Mu Lungï¿½

Something like the joy of another heart breaking seemed to touch the world, a whispering cry of happiness. And at once, the picture began to fade into the recesses of her mindï¿½but the beauty lingered like a magical afterimage, the taste of elation still sweet on her tongueï¿½

"Hey! Linn! Linn!"

Raydan's familiar voice suddenly replaced the song, the bright warm yellow of the chandeliers and the scent of her dinner brightening swiftly. "Sorry! I didn't mean to make you faint by saying that! Please, Linnï¿½"

"Yes, yes, I'm fine, Dan," she answered, blinking, glancing to her parents and back to Raydan. Her heartbeat was growing rapid. "Butï¿½I've got news, everyone. We've got the job again."

Her brother's eyes widened. "Again? Likeï¿½it's only been three months! And I'm tiredï¿½"

"And isn't three months enough?" Ralinn's mother replied suddenly. "I do want you aroundï¿½but I know this isn't one of your games anymore. It's important, and I'm glad you came. But you should go now."

Ralinn stood up, frozenï¿½then ran around the table to hug them both.

"Thank you so muchï¿½I promise we'll be back again," she gasped out, holding her mother as if she were hanging on for life. And it certainly felt so!

She glanced back at Raydan, who was back to slurping noodles. "We must go, alright? We have to do it, for everyone!"

Raydan looked up, scowling. But the Ranger could only smile on, at this little brother who could never resist her pleasï¿½

Then his gaze softened, and he sighed. But he was smiling

The night was windy and cold, as if pre-empting her journey. Ralinn lay on the bed, sleep drifting down on her.

The ceiling and the world faded into an imaginary sky that made her heart soar. Before her, there were nine lights, againï¿½nine lights, just as there had been in the beginning.

Nine lights, nine different temperaments, each singing its own song.

But she took little time to appreciate them this time. "Meet in Mu Lungï¿½a mansion on a hill," the ex-guild leader shouted, running into their midst. The songs stopped; the souls turned to face her.

"We must all meet in Mu Lung," she repeated, smiling brighter. "Our last two members are there! Orion' Belt is backï¿½we've got the job again! Meet me, okay? Remember, a mansion on a hill!"

The songs exploded into full-fledged joy, calling outï¿½unfurling the most colourful tunes in the world. Almost crying with joy and excitement, Ralinn saw the bright dream vanish, ordinary dreams rising to replace themï¿½

But it had begun. She knew it had begun, and that thought filled her heart for the rest of the night.

In the gentle light of the early summer morning, Telida rose from her bed in a thieves' hideout. The Dark Lord himself had taken her hereï¿½and they had gladly let her in, upon hearing his request.

The words from her dream were still clear and fresh in her memoryï¿½and recalling made her smile.

Orion's Belt is backï¿½we've got the job again!

Back. The faces of her old friends flashed by, and she smiled, leaping from the bed.

"Telida," a senior thief named Dalran called, holding a frying pan over the makeshift stove. "Eggs again? Or do you want to try my new specialty?"

"No, no breakfast today," she replied, turning away and walking straight to the shower.

"Bï¿½but I really wanted you to try my new veggie dishï¿½"

"I have to go," Telida said. "My old friends are waiting for me." She accompanied those words with a small smile.

"But how in the world did they contact you?! You didn't get any lettersï¿½"

"A voice told me in my dreams."

While they all stared at her incredulously, she snatched up her clothes and entered the shower, slamming the door shut.

Back again!

Telida never thought she'd be so glad to see that lot. How could she have hated Ketara before? Right now, she wanted nothing more than to hear her best friend's voice again.

In the branches, Akera gazed up at the morning sky. The words she had heard last nightï¿½

Were they truly being called together, again?

Shirionï¿½

She had thought they'd never meet again. The two of them had done so much together, it had become almost second nature for her to call his name every time she wanted to talk.

But of course, the only person with her now was Turinoï¿½who was always either being extremely quiet, or extremely moodyï¿½never in the mood to talk.

Shirion, I'm coming! Her mind cried out, as she gazed up through the leaves of the late summer. I miss you more than you'd think. I miss exploring Ellinia with youï¿½

These were words that she would never, ever speak out loud. Akera kept them away, in a little pocket next to her heart. And as Turino finally arrived with the return tickets, the Mage took them, sighing secretly to herself.

The three warriors sat at breakfast in Ketara's roomï¿½he was the only one who didn't mind them making a mess on the floor.

Though he was the only one making a mess anyway.

"Did you dream of Ralinn's voice last night?" the Dragon Knight suddenly piped up, glancing around at the other two. Both nodded. "Isn't it awesome? We'll see them again! I hope Telida's not angry with me anymoreï¿½and the rest! Oh manï¿½I can't wait!"

Shirion smiled. "I look forward to it," he replied, gazing on at the blank wall beyond. "Three monthsï¿½and yet I already feel empty."

Zethis said nothing. But in his eyes, there was hopeï¿½and he could already see it, the path they now took.

full circle

The roads led across the autumn, towards the last meeting point.

In an empty house far away, two friends lived in silence, wishing for the best.

Ralinn had been asking around in the outskirts, about this mansion on a hill. Everyone seemed to know it, and pointed the same way. Raydan hadn't been very helpful so far, picking fruits off random bushes on the roadside during the journey, and enjoying them guiltlessly.

By midnight, they had finally made it thereï¿½the instructions had been so clear that she couldn't possibly have misinterpreted them. Catching her breath on the night wind as they came to a stop, the Ranger gazed up at the silhouette of the magnificent structure atop the hill. A row of burning torches marked the path to the door.

"That is one cool house," her brother murmured from beside herï¿½

A cry of excitement made them both whirl around. Ralinn blinked a few times, a smile spreading across her faceï¿½

Laughing, she raced up to the three youths who approachedï¿½Ketara who ran with such spring in his step, Zethis trailing after him, Shirion walking steadfastly behind the two, a silent smile coming to his eyes.

The Crossbowman greeted his best friend enthusiastically, and instantly fell into excited conversation. Ketara exclaimed an greetingï¿½but Ralinn could do nothing more than nod to him, for she wanted so badly to hear Shirion's voice againï¿½

"Umï¿½how's life been?"

"Ahï¿½with Ketara, Zethis and the necromancers around, one can never be bored," he replied, absently reaching to touch her wrist. "Butï¿½nothing's really the same, without the guildï¿½without you."

Ralinn tried not to read too much into his words. She turned around to see Raydan grinning at her, and quickly she fought down her embarrassment.

And another call, of Shirion's nameï¿½

It was Akeraï¿½when Ralinn turned, she saw the two Mages headed in their direction, a wide gap between them. Akera called out again, and Shirion waved.

Somehow, it made Ralinn's heart sink to see him smile.

The conversation had grown lively with the latest addition. Now there was only Telida left, and Ralinn watched the road, folding her arms in anxious silenceï¿½

"Miss me?"

The Ranger leapt into the air at the sudden exclamation behind herï¿½she turnedï¿½

"Telida! How in the worldï¿½"

"Dark Sight, always useful." She smiled. Then the thief's attention suddenly slipped away, and she glanced about ï¿½

Moments later, Telida had run off. And moments later yet, there was a high cry of "Ketara!", before the two leapt into the tightest, happiest embrace she had ever seen.

"How've you been, you idiot?" the Hermit asked, to which Ketara laughed and wound his arms tighter around his best friend. "Sorry, okay? You are a great friend, and I really missed you! How's life?"

"Alrightï¿½but not as alright as when you were thereï¿½" his gasped reply was stopped short by her returning hug. "Aughhhï¿½airï¿½Lidaï¿½"

How much happier she was nowadays, Ralinn noted with a silent smile. All she had needed was a friendï¿½

"You two look like you're going to kiss each other!" Raydan exclaimed, to which they both turned, and Telida yelled in furious, sincere protest. But the Hermit was too glad to take it to heart anyway. In no time, she was in conversation with Ketara once again.

What a wonderful moment it should beï¿½if only they hadn't a job to do. Turning her gaze to the mansion, Ralinn sighed.

Somewhere in the deep of night, the shouts of command were ringing under the flickering firelight. The orders had been clear. In fact, they had been so clear that some actually questioned it.

"Destroy Kerning City."

It was clear orders that Arqalios loved the most. The attack had already been organisedï¿½and what a glorious one it would be. At last, the rebel of the west, this arrogant city named Kerning, would feel the true wrath of the king!

He glanced about his comrades, who organised the helpers in the darkness. Bandits of every skill level had been too easily won over with bribesï¿½so confused were they about their own principles. Now, they would eradicate their own hometown, for forty million mesos each.

In the deep night air, he could already hear the rustle of notes blowing on the wind, of coins being emptied onto the edges of the border wall. The grey walls were silent and oblivious; within, the city heard nothing, for they were too busy sleeping on too many a drink.

The guard captain would remember this moment forever.

It was New Year's Eve, minutes to New Year. In years to come, this would be the day when the king's ranks would celebrate the fall of the rebel stronghold, the day the rebels would sing dirges for the blood of a thousand martyrs.

And it would begin in five minutes, lessening every second. All around the city, the traitorous bandits were ready.

Ralinn called out to the lively lot. "Let's save up the fun for later," she suggested. "And meet them now."

Soon, they were all scaling the short hill, inevitably noisy from the excitement of the meeting. The guild leader knocked on the door, the rest gathering around the doorstep.

A soft creak. Everyone instantly fell silent, gazes trained hard on the edge of the door as the crack widenedï¿½

There they stood. A female youth of about fourteen, her hair brown and eyes shining with apprehension. A tall blonde woman with deep curiosity written through her gaze.

The two in the garden. The faces instantly brought her job back to mind.

"Umï¿½good evening," the younger girl stammered. "We weren't expectingï¿½"

Gazes met. Brown, black, sapphire, ice, ochre. Gasps of recognitionï¿½

"ï¿½Zethis?"

"Akeraï¿½"

"It's the Cleric girl!"

"Lanorï¿½? Here?"

"Clynineï¿½you know them?"

"Your name is Clynine?"

"Is that really Lanorï¿½ï¿½"

Ralinn stared, agape, at the pair beyond the doorstep. The silence was pregnant, punctuated with the intermittent brushes of wind and the rustle of leaves in the autumn canopy. And they stared back, Clynine's eyes filling up with shock.

No one uttered a wordï¿½but thoughts were spinning, all around.

Lanorï¿½ finally cleared her throat. "So, a mob of foreigners appears at my assistant's doorstep. How fascinatingï¿½" she murmured, stepping out onto the first front step and turning to Akera. "Well, at least I know one person hereï¿½"

Everyone glanced at her questioningly.

"Well, yes," she replied, folding her arms. "I met them two years ago. Anything wrong?"

Raydan answered, "You mean you've met the Cleric before? We did the Orbis PQ with her!"

The chatter buzzed to life instantly, everyone's voices mingling in a crescendo of bewilderment and aweï¿½

"Alrightï¿½alright!" Ralinn quickly called everyone to order. "They're our last two members so once we induct them into the guild we'll be complete!" The words tumbled out, Ralinn too excited to catch her breath. She turned to Clynine and Lanorï¿½. "Do you wish to join our cause, to put an end to all our suffering under the hands of King Caleix?"

Tears suddenly filled Clynine's eyes. "Yesï¿½I've wanted to, all my lifeï¿½" Her whisper was lost in another smile as she turned around. "Mistress Lanorï¿½can we?"

"You know I'd agree to that cause any time," the Silver Fang of El Nath replied, convicted and certain. "Invite us then, miss."

The Ranger took no more instruction. The two chains were in her hand again, chains that she had offered up so many times before, all over the worldï¿½to Raydan, Zethis, Ketara, Telida, Turino, Shirion, Akera.

All those years she had travelled the world. All those yearsï¿½they had finally come to this.

Clynine took her chain first. Her eyes were bright as the stars; her dress and her hair waved in the wind like veils of lace. Lanorï¿½ followed. She touched her assistant's shoulder, her smile like a beacon.

The chains of gold were like shimmering sunlight, in the light of the blissful fire.

Deep in the shining tunnels of the Clocktower, Arelyn blinked her sleepless eyes, gazing at the clock that told all time. She could hear the moment shaking, an echo whispering through the walls of her home. Another happening was on its brinkï¿½yet another, yet another.

But still she watched the clock, and she waited.

In the deep temple behind the mirror that held the sky, Deina sighed. Veriun was restless; she was whinnying, flapping her wings, pawing the ground as if something were coming.

Deina sensed no disturbance in her vicinity. Perhaps Veriun was dreaming again.

Then why do I feel it too?

Something was on its approach, ready to reach her. She didn't know whatï¿½but she was restless as well.

Ancient Horned Tail could not rest. There was a song in their mindsï¿½a song they had never heard, since the great Dragon Himself had sung them to life, and left them guarding fate in the caves of ice.

And here it was again, a song swelling in the night, sweeping their shared heart into a violent, beautiful storm of joy. For something was coming, about to turn the way of destiny down a road no one had ever seen.

Joy was high, and hope was nigh. In the caves, Horned Tail followed the song, and sang themselves to sleep.

The walls of the ancient Sharenians were ringing. Hyrien awakened, for his dreams had bidden him do so.

He could feel a whispering behind his ear, in every wall of Nightfall's hideoutï¿½but there was nothing there, nothing around him in his room.

And there was this anticipation in his heart. Anticipation for what? He didn't understandï¿½it was an anticipation that made him shiver, his heart pound, his fingers grow cold.

Five. Four.

The thunder was rumbling in the edges, and the border of Kerning City became a border of light.

The mesos they had usedï¿½every coin would be repaid twentyfold.

Even in the shadows, they sang. It shivered, drew away, cried.

Three. Two. One.

Horizons tore apart, walls swallowed by thunder, meteors streaking into the sky, bending the dimension with an infinity of screams and the splendour of the sun.

Ah, the glory! The blazing heat was like a christening from heaven. A colossal roar swept the rocks away, and shattered the universe.

The Year of the Tiger was gone. The year of anger, of fire, of toil and pain and discordï¿½it departed like a whispering wind behind them.

The stars filled the ocean; they danced and sang and spoke of the centuries to come. From the night sky, the hunter Orion gazed down from heaven with his prided belt, at the mansion on the hill, smiling to himself.

She slipped the chain round her neck, breathing the night air. Beside her, her mistress did the same.

And, as the Year of the Rabbit was born into its first moments, the guild was complete.

END OF PART I

Chapter 7: Year of the Rabbit/ Crossroad Clocktower

dark lord: crossroad

The sigh that left his lipsï¿½it was a question, a statement.

Dark Lord?

My name wasn't always "Dark Lord".

This insignificant thought was accompanied by a little unnecessary pain. At last, the man emerged from his basement, glancing through the broken bar windows.

I once had a real life, a real name.

The bar was empty. Beyond, the world was the sameï¿½he could see smoke through darkly-tinted windows, streaming into the sky over the dead city. There was not a soul on the pavements, no one peering out the windows. All departed, too soon.

This was Kerning City. Kerning City, now lying in the ruins of its lost power, the city that had stood fast in the face of tyranny. Too long, perhaps. As the Dark Lord had predicted, the weak link of the city had been its own people.

I always considered this within your capability, my students. There was some guiltless pride in his eyes, as he returned to his room.

Dark Lord of Kerning City. This isn't my real life. I wasn't always the master, the absolute heartbeat of the underworld.

His footsteps froze on the cold cement. The key clicked in his drawer.

At one point, I was nobody.

The Dark Lord picked his Ilbis up from within the drawer, pocketing them. At once, he knew that he had to leave before anything came to stop him. He didn't pause once as he slipped swiftly into the world above, and began his flight through the soot-shadowed roads.

Don't take anyone. Travel light. Travel safe. No one will find me.

The job master knew Kerning's streets and shortcuts better than any other in the world, from his thieving days. Between walls he slipped, crossing rooftops and hidden alleys, until at last he came to stand at the crossroads on the border. Around him, the walls were fallen and charred. The buildings were crumbled, the houses collapsed.

Where to now?

One thought slipped through his mind.

Henesys.

If he wentï¿½then he might see her again.

The job master almost fainted with the ache in his heart. So many years, Athena! Do you still remember?

But reason quickly caught up with the fantasy, and the Dark Lord sighed. No, not there, he realised, stomach sinking. That's where Caleix lives.

Cursing himself furiously for allowing emotions to sway his reasoning, the Dark Lord shook his head and turned away from the south road, abandoning all images of bright roofs, of sand roadsï¿½of her.

No, not there. I won't be safe there.

Slowly, he turned to the north, to Perion. That was the best way, nowï¿½the road to an old friend's house. He glanced back once more at the world behind, smiling slightly.

So long, Kerning City.

But before he could take his first step, he froze and looked away again. The job master's eyes darted across the rooftops, downï¿½down upon the pavements, to the drain cover at the doorstepï¿½he knew what lay beneath it.

My old home.

Suddenly, the Dark Lord began to remember. He remembered the way they had fled together under the night sky, laughing, their latest catch in their pockets. He remembered the streetlights and sirens, the scrapes of metal and the deathly duels they sharedï¿½

Once again, the Dark Lord's heart had begun to sway him. He found his gaze lingering longer, his footsteps slowly turning.

I wasn'tï¿½always the Dark Lord of Kerning City. The job master blinked sadly. I wasn't always a master. I wasn't always an honoured man.

Butï¿½I had a real life. A real name. They called me "brother".

Once upon a time, I was only the craziest teenager in the worldï¿½and they were the ones who saved me.

My name is Jet, and I am nothing but a lawless thief.

And they were his family. They deserved to live, so much more than he did.

And so Jet turned away from the north roadï¿½now completely forgotten, for the sake of his new mission. Your brother is coming to get you out of there, he thought, slipping down the gutter pipes and parapets without a sound. You'll live a few years longer. You've never failed me before.

He knew the way perfectly, though no one had taught him. Never turning back, the Dark Lord followed his old heartï¿½the heart of a nineteen-year-old, at the crossroads of his life. And that heart took him home.

the library

There is a tome you must uncoverï¿½of a relic of the past, a great safeguard of magic. It will be your best chance against your enemy. There is but a year to goï¿½a year more, and the world will fall beyond the brink of darkness.

"Good morning!"

As Ralinn pushed the doors open, she was startled to find a small old man staring up at his visitor through thick round glasses. "Welcome to the Helios Library!" he greeted them. "I am Wiz the librarian, at your service. You are my first visitors of the day!" Then his smile faded into a frown. "My first visitors in three years."

Ralinn cocked her head in surprise. "But I heard thatï¿½the entrance to Helios Tower is somewhere here," she responded. "Whyï¿½"

To her distress, his bespectacled face fell even more. "So you, too, are here to reach Helios Tower," he murmured dejectedly. "I was hoping, so much, that you would peruse some of the manuscriptsï¿½"

"But that is why we're here! I just wonderedï¿½why there should be no visitorsï¿½"

His strength returned, but he didn't smile. "Well, curse that king!" Wiz exclaimed with amazing passion, scowling. "Why can't he mind his own business in Victoria Island? He literally cut us off from the rest of the world by discontinuing the ferry service!"

She would have said something in sympathy, but the impatient exclamations from Orion's Belt made Ralinn shift back into focus. "I'm so sorryï¿½may we come in?"

"Certainly, certainly!" the librarian replied enthusiastically, gesturing for the rest to enter. Ralinn thanked Wiz and proceeded to observe the catalogue names on the shelves, walking quickly across the floorboards the instant her eyes arrived at the word "History".

"Hey, guys!" she called out. "Guys! Get over here!"

"You haven't eventold us what book you want in the first place," Akera responded moodily, flinging her silver-white hair back in the warm stuffiness. Some of the others had already set off for other shelves, the rest standing at the doorway. Ralinn sighed.

"We're looking for a information on a magical object from the ancient past," she explained. "It's supposed to be a safeguard of some kindï¿½but the instructions weren't clear. So half of us will search History, and the other half, Theology. Quick, split up."

They nodded one by one, automatically shifting into two groups and going to the assigned shelves with absolutely no fuss. Which was completely unlike them.

Ralinn glanced around, blinking. They're actually listening to me, the leader thought in mild surprise. Look on the bright side, Ralinn. They're being nice to you today!

zethis: the lost warrior

Raydan snatched a book from the shelf, glancing at his best friend. What more should he have expected? The White Knight was looking at Clynine again.

"Hey! Zethis!" Raydan finally yelled. Zethis leapt into the air. He turned away from the Cleric to look at his best friend.

"Yeah?" he responded, acting as if he hadn't been doing anything particularly silly. But the involuntary embarrassment on his face probably suggested otherwise. Raydan tossed the book over, laughing, and Zethis only barely managed to catch it.

100 Famous People of the Century

This, as Raydan had long known, was the White Knight's favourite kind of book. Eagerly, Zethis flipped it open and scanned the foreword. "Thanks, Dan!" he exclaimed, ignoring the Sniper's returning laugh.

"You know, I wish you'd stop being so obvious," Raydan said. But before Zethis could ask what that meant, Ralinn's brother had snuck over to where his sister stood.

Shaking his head, Zethis began to leaf through the pages, observing the various photographs and paintings, marvelling at their vividness and detail. This would entertain him for at least an hour. Settling down by the shelves, he continued his long read.

In the midst of his slow trawl through the information, he came a familiar name. Thaemis Omarden. Quickly he paused on the page, curling the corner in thought.

Thaemisï¿½Thaemis. Zethis blinked as he tried to remember. Hadn't Dances with Balrog once said something about her vanishing? This had to be the person of whom he had spoken. But it just didn't satisfy him. Strangeï¿½it's like I've heard her name somewhere else beforeï¿½even further backï¿½

The White Knight's eyes moved to the photograph beside the printed name. It was faded, but he could make out enoughï¿½a woman stood on a podium, a sword in one hand and a massive medal in the other. He recognised it instantlyï¿½it was a medal from the now-defunct Perion Annual Combat Meet.

Yes, that faceï¿½ I've seen it before!

Zethis remembered, suddenly. Thaemis Omardenï¿½it had been the name inscribed beneath the metal portrait at home. The face of the greatest Combat Meet winner ever.

Thaemis Omarden, the vanished championï¿½

Zethis smiled, calling to memory the pride on his foster father's face as he had shown him those six metal plates on the shelfï¿½memorabilia from the famed old Combat Meet, a thing of the past.

"I got these off an auctionï¿½nine years back, when Thaemiswas still champion," he had said. "Sold my entire cart to get the cash, you know?"

The knight had only nodded, appreciating the portraits' detail. Especially the one of Thaemis Omarden. Even now, he could recall her wavy hair, its blue tint almost visible beyond the dull iron; the breezy smile, cut in shimmering metal skin.

What a tragic way to end your reign as champion, Zethis often thought. Out of jealousy, Thaemis' rivals had decided to confront her, twenty against one. Severely overpowered, they had subdued her, and extorted her of almost everything she owned.

She had been left with nothing, bruised and battered. And then, she had disappeared.

Blinking the reminiscence away, Zethis glanced down at the heavily worded page on the book, intermittently picking out fragments and phrases in the passage.

Five medals at the Perion Annual Combat Meet. Opponentsï¿½jealous, and suspicious of her strength. Gang assault. Vanished. Combat Meet closed down, at the start of the king's new regime.

If the lost warrior would be found, so much would change. Perhaps she would have joined Orion's Belt, and given them all an example to follow. She would probably have led the people into revolt by now.

Please come back, Thaemis. We have so much to learn from one like you.

match

"Akera!" Raydan yelled over to the only other person not reading a book. "Akera, you'd better not back down! I challenge you to a game of match cards!" Already, the colourful deck was fanned out in his hands.

Close by, Telida looked up, mouth opening. Turino hit his face with the book he was reading.

"I'll let you deal," Raydan announced, as Akera turned to him. "Come on, how much harm would a small game do? I'll give you the handicap and play it turn-by-turn. Or are you too much of a coward?"

That statement, clichï¿½d as it was, did the job. After a tiny internal battle, Akera's prideful side won, and she walked straight towards her new adversary with contempt. "Well, alright, if you insist," she growled, sitting down at the table, opposite the Sniper.

"You must know, before we start, that Ralinn has never beaten me before," he commented smugly, dealing the cards out face-up. Close by, Ralinn groaned, head still buried in a thick volume on ancient history.

"But that's because I didn't want to playï¿½"

"No excuses, Linn! I beat you every time!" Brushing off her reply with a flick of his hand, the seventeen-year-old Sniper turned back to the white-haired Mage. "Rightï¿½fifteen seconds start now."

The little monster pictures stood in ranks and files between the two players. Akera frowned with distaste; she glanced up and down the rows and columns of monstersï¿½as did Raydan, face screwed up in concentration.

As if running on clockwork, the cards suddenly faded into identical rectangles of white. Raydan punched the table. Akera said nothing, rolling her eyes. The Sniper offered politely for her to start, so she did.

The first pair of cards came up without a moment of deliberationï¿½two Torties.

"Well?" Akera prompted Raydan impatiently. "Turn-by-turn, right?" Sticking out his bottom lip, the Sniper reached out to turn his first two cards over.

Octopus, Horned Mushroom. He groaned, before the two cards faded to white again. "Your turn," he murmured. Akera fingered at two apparently arbitrary cards, flipping them gracefully over.

Cargo, Cargo.

Raydan gave a moan. "Howï¿½how, how?" He rubbed his forehead, flustered. All the Mage did was fold her arms with annoyance.

"Next move?" she whispered, tapping the tabletop, suddenly absorbed by the game. The once-smug youth now reached for two cards, considerably more panicky than at the start. Blue Snailï¿½Pig. Again, Raydan frowned, racking his memory for the images.

Around them, some were beginning to take interestï¿½Telida was leaning close to watch, Clynine and Lanorï¿½ inching away from the shelves. "You now," the Sniper said, turning up his nose. "Bet it's just beginner's luï¿½oh."

Pig, Pig. The sight of the pair of pink creatures made Raydan clutch at his dark blonde hair.

"Your turn." He clenched his teeth at her calm invitation.

Each move after that was just as predictable. Akera effortlessly produced matches at every turn, revealing pairs Raydan didn't know existed. She gave him no chance to remember any before she turned them up herself.

The Sniper glanced up at Akera. This was crazy. Insane.

Eventually, only the final pair waited on the tabletop. And the Sniper growled, irritated, at the scoreï¿½fourteen-nil. The two Evil Eyes finally showed themselves under his handsï¿½his only successful match in the entire game. Almost everyone had gathered around the table by now. To watch Akera thrash Raydan.

"You cheat!" he shouted, standing. "That was not a fair game! You wrote them down somewhere, didn't you?"

"Where?" Akera murmured, raising her empty hands. "I found it all quite obvious. Didn't you?"

Scowling, Raydan shook his head. "I'll put that off to luck. But oh, trust me, I'll get you next round! Let's raise the stakes. Every time you lose, you'll be my servant for a day. Same for me. Alright?"

Slightly amused, the Mage gestured for him to start.

Oh dear, the looks on the onlookers' faces said everything. One should never challenge Akera to a memory game, and offer such high stakes.

telida: father's stone

Telida finally managed to extract her gaze from the senseless card game. She'd expect someone like Akera not to attend to the childish whims of Raydan.

The cries of "great Goddess!" and "fine, your turn" weren't being very constructive towards her reading experience. She tried to keep her eyes on the text with the little reading skill she hadï¿½but was failing miserably.

"Hahï¿½I swear that that was a pig! You did some of your magic on it, didn't you? Didn't you? Huh?"

At last, the dark-haired girl gave in to the incessant exclamations issuing from Raydan's mouth.

"Shut up, Raydan! Or I'll tear your mouth out myself!" The abrupt silence that followed was filled with the turning of book pages. They carried on with their game almost soundlessly.

Telida immediately returned to her book on ancient monsters, trying to distract herself. The pages fluttered by, the Hermit uninterested by the illustrations. Untilï¿½

Zakum?

She froze, turned back a few pages.

And there it wasï¿½the monster's image was painted on the left page, the great statue and its stone hands.

Soï¿½this is how it looks like. Zakumï¿½that's the name of the monster Father always spoke of. That'sï¿½that's where he got his stoneï¿½

Her mind spun, as she began to recall that day. Her father. Her entire past.

It's because of people like youï¿½people who think they own everything in the worldï¿½you're what make this such a horrible place.

She pulled herself up against the shelves, holding her legs close, struggling to push the pain away. There were tears in her eyes as she thought:

Myï¿½ownï¿½father.

The Hermit ground her teeth with barely-contained ire. Deep inside, her heart was screaming againï¿½for a day branded eternally into her heart, still burning, though it should have faded years ago.

You taught me that, Father. You taught me to hate, by doing what you did.

The evening was cool andï¿½mossy. She leaned on the damp tree bark, gazing out into nothingness. Mother and Father hadn't come home from their hunt yet. It was eveningï¿½time for dinner. Why were they taking so long today?

Telida glanced at where her twin brother stoked the fire. "Do you think they're fine?" she murmured.

Turino shrugged in response. "They're always fine," he said. "Why shouldn't they be today? Dad's a good Crusader. He'd be able to kill anything they meet."

Still unconvinced, she stood, lifting her set of throwing stars and pulling her claw on. "I'm going to check," she said. "I know where they'll be."

And so through the dark trees she sprinted, the forest pathways she had already learnt by heart. She could see clearly, even in the depths of this eternal nightï¿½the familiar sounds of the hunting ground growing raucous, through the shadows. Almost there.

The scent of blood was growing fresher, whetting her appetite terriblyï¿½but she pushed that aside for the task at hand, ignored the bothersome complaints of her stomach. The sounds were familiar, she noted as she entered the hunting ground. This was the most bountiful in the Dungeon, and her parents would certainly be hunting hereï¿½

Beneath the arch of branches, she froze, throwing stars scattering on the leaves.

"Noï¿½"

They were here. Yes, they were here.

Father had his massive sword raised, hilt stained with patches of blood. That snarl on his faceï¿½an image of anger she had never imagined before. No, not on her own loving father's countenance, not in those eyesï¿½

And there she lay, before him, broken and bruisedï¿½body pressed against the roots, injuries marking her face all over like obscene tattoos. Blood streamed from her forehead, her nostrils, her lipsï¿½tinting them vivid redï¿½

They turned at the sound of her dropping stars. All three were frozen for moments, soundless except for the cricket songsï¿½

Her voice was alienï¿½hoarse and raspy and terrified. "Lida," she whispered, eyes wide and humourless. "Don't worryï¿½I deserve thisï¿½"

"Telida! Get out!" Father's words were awash with guilt and fury.

The voices finally unfroze her brain. Everything ran through her mind in that instantï¿½the cruelty that now lay before her eyes, the image painted before herï¿½

She screamedï¿½head spinning, world spinning. "Father," she gasped. "What are you doing?" She swallowed her terrified tears, running to stand beside her mother. "Mï¿½Motherï¿½you can't let himï¿½"

"No, I can," she replied calmly, though she winced in pain. Father's eyes were wide and bloodshot, the frozen depths not stealing from Telida's rage. "I should never have raised my voice at him. I am indebted to him forï¿½everythingï¿½"

"SHUT UP!" Father roared at his daughter. She backed away slightly.

The sword swung down, blade firstï¿½a cry of restrained pain shaking the leaves. And Telida screamed, screamed, clawing at the earth with torn nailsï¿½but it could only go on and on, before her eyesï¿½

"I still love you," the murmur slipped through bloodied lips, a fading gasp that held absolutely nothing, as her skull caved in under the blow. "Allï¿½ofï¿½"

Telida screamed again. Tears were running down her own skin like liquid snakes. Her mother's head fell to her chest, her body collapsed on her side, eyes wide, glazed like dull gems covered in oilï¿½

Father withdrew the sword. The sweat gleamed on his skin. He bit his lip, and strode awayï¿½guiltless. Absolutely nothing.

How can he? How can he just walk awayï¿½afterï¿½afterï¿½?

"Fatherï¿½YOU'RE A MONSTER!"

She clenched her fist with fury, fury that threatened to engulf her, destroy everything. You can't haveï¿½can't have justï¿½

And suddenly, he was charging at her, sword unsheathed.

Another scream tore the forest, leaping across the rocks. The animals scattered. Her blood turned into a frozen river and she swung away, the blade missing her face by a mere inch, hair waving in the blade's windï¿½her own dark eyes reflected in the reddened metal for instantsï¿½

With a roar, he lunged for her. His sudden grip almost crushed her windpipe. The breath wheezed in her throat like the cries of a feeble, half-dead animal. "Telida! She was nothing but a woman," he spat in her face. "Why do you think I married her? Love is a lie. You two were just an accident. She was only meant to perform her function as my woman, nothing moreï¿½"

"NO, NOï¿½you swore! You swore an oath to the Clock Spirit, to protect her till deathï¿½"

His grip tightened. He laughed uproariously, suddenly. "Oath? What oath? Superstitions don't scare me, Telida. You ought to have realised a long time ago." All courage drained away, leaving terror to reign once more.

And she could only think this, as she stood, breaths shortening: Merciless. That was all he wasï¿½nothing more than a sickening monster.

"You will not utter a word about this to Turino," he snarled at the same moment. "You will tell him that a monster killed her. And if Turino even questions what I say, you can be sure that will be the last breath you take." His tight, hard fingers reinforced that threat. She whimpered, for she couldn't do anything else. Just like a pathetic little animal now.

The Clock Spirit will get you, Telida thought with narrowed eyes, as his hand loosened its hold. The Clock Spirit will punish youï¿½and you'll regret what you've done.

"Go home," he muttered, returning to the corpse. "Remember what I told you to do."

In the present, Telida clenched her fist at that heartless expression in his eyesï¿½even though it was only a memory.

Only a memory, a memory, a memory!

Tears were already slipping down her cheeks, and she pushed the book away before the drops touched it. She sniffed, wiped them away with determination. Not the right time to be crying. Not the right time.

She had learnt to take death in her stride, after that. No death was harder to watch than the death of one's own motherï¿½after she had seen that, nothing more could disgust her.

And if that day had taught her anything, it had been this: men were despicable. Abominable creatures that thought nothing of the rest. She clenched her fists harder, clenched them until her bones hurt, her heart hurtï¿½

Breathing deep, the Hermit tried to still her thoughts with force. At least, retribution had come. They had woken the next morning to find Father lying dead among the trees, injured in exactly the same way as Mother.

Exactly the same wayï¿½bleeding lips, caved skull, and all.

Exactly the same. This was the Clock Spirit's answer for his blasphemy.

Telida smiled.

Again, she touched the stone in her pocket. Is it wrong, then, that I still want to recall?

This stone. It probably held different meaning to Turino. It was a symbol, of the parents who had loved and cherished him. She had never told him the truth of that day, and he would never know.

But for her, this stone was a reminder. A reminder that she could never let such a thing happen, again. A reminder, that a little weakness was all it would take to undo her life.

She glanced down at the page, at the ten-armed monster that glared back with empty stone eyes. She blinked, remembering how Father would brag about his single-handed conquering of the greatest monster of El Nath. How he had spoken, of daring the flames, of crushing the creature's stones beneath his footï¿½of taking his trophy from the corner of its eye!

Where there had once been respect for that story, there was now only disgust. Tyrant. Crazy, blood-lusting tyrant. Your lack of faith was your own downfallï¿½I won't make the same idiotic mistake.

After her father's death, she had sworn upon the Clock Spirit. To hate men all her life. To eternally shun them, never to deem any worthy of her affection.

Especially you, Turino.

The Hermit grasped the stone tightly, so tight she almost pierced herself on its single sharp point. No, she would never forget this oath. It was the essence of her life, an oath made and sealed it with blood.

Never, never, never. Never accept her brother, never fall in love. She would eternally lay curses upon her father's memory.

The stone cut her skin. Warm blood ran, pure and dark and sweet.

clynine: the balance

And the Spirit of the Dark, It is fed solely by the vices of humanity. Our darkness It devours; our hate It adores. Anger is Its song, greed Its food and fuel. Every thought of malice, of ill intent, of unreasonable vengeanceï¿½these are what has sustained It for millennia, and what will for millennia more.

Therefore, caution! Caution is the cry I issue now to you. Never let yourself fall prey to the deity of darkness, the cloak of the night. Never stray from the Goddess' path.

For once in the hands of the Spirit, you will never free your soul again. You will become Its power if you fall for Its empty seductions, Its worthless temptations. It will draw on you to nourish Itself, and like malignance, It will expandï¿½and eventually, it will overwhelmed the light and reign supreme.

Not all believe itï¿½they call it a conjecture, a lie. Many still question it, out of fear and denial. But it is far too plain. It happened onceï¿½and by all means it may happen again. Once the Spirit has taken full control, we can hope and plead no longer. Our world will be destroyed, and us with it.

akera: a secret sorrow

Raydan was muttering in complaint, after his sixteenth successive loss. He gathered up the cards, shuffling them.

Why was she still playing?

They would never understand. Akera smiled to herself, humourlessly, as she watched a frustrated Raydan deal out the cards again, laying down the path towards his seventeenth day of serfdom.

Again she shook her head. You shouldn't have, Raydan, she thought to herself. You should have known that I'm a seasoned professional. My motherï¿½there was no game she loved more than this. Match cards.

Blinking before the rest of the memory could catch up with her, the Fire Poison Mage brushed out her long pale silver-tinted hair and got ready for her next game.

Match cards. Again she smiled. Mum has never beaten me at match cards before.

There she was, living in the past again! Narrowing her eyes furiously, Akera tried to keep the pain from her face. She couldn't keep doing this, forgetting to draw the distinction between present and pastï¿½it had made her do something horribly embarrassing, back then in the forest, with Turino.

"Let's start," Raydan muttered, folding his arms. She looked up, no longer bothered by his tone, after having heard it for half an hour straight. She raised one eyebrow, glancing down at the simple little monster picturesï¿½each one imprinting itself permanently in her amazingly receptive brain.

So receptive, in fact, that she could still remember the exact position of every card in the last four rounds.

That wasn't all, of courseï¿½few knew that she could work out the product of 114 and 205 in no less than two seconds. Or that she could remember her way out of an unfamiliar maze without any second guesses. That had happened when she had been six, and her parents had taken her to the amusement parkï¿½

There I go, living in the past again! Why? Stop it!

But it was too much of a temptation this time. The laughter seemed to awaken something in her, a deep monster or angel that hadn't been roused for a while nowï¿½something that made her want to hold, hold on to that memory beyond her fear.

I did love you, Mum. I really did. I wish I hadn't been so proud.

That was the problem with this phenomenal memory of hers. She remembered every detail of every moment, far too clearly, even if it had already been a decade. And as the card game began, her vision was clouded out by the image of anotherï¿½

"Come on, 'Kera. It's fun."

"'Fun' is a waste of my time."

"Akera, stop wasting my time!" Akera pulled herself momentarily out of the memory and looked upï¿½Raydan was watching her face expectantly. "First move is yours," he said. "Or are you just going to give up?"

Why will you never give it a rest, Raydan? You're too bullheaded for your own good.

She sniffed and looked down at the board. Already, she knew what lay under every white cardï¿½the two Pigs side by side, the Cargoes at the two corners of the playing field. It was all so clear, everythingï¿½she would beat Raydan once again, without doubt.

But should I let him lose again? Doesn't it bother him?

Akera opened a pairï¿½two Horned Mushrooms. Raydan didn't look very bothered by her repeated successes anymore. He grinned up at her, then opened his pair. Two Snails.

Two snailsï¿½

Punching the air, he gave a small shout of victory. Yet she didn't hearï¿½the longer she stared into the twin images, the clearer those memories slowly became, writing themselves deep into her eyes, against her willï¿½

The tower bell rang five o'clock, through an invisible ten-year-old window. And it took hold, this memoryï¿½the single memory that had torn her apart so many times.

Men trudging down the gangplanks, backbreaking loads lading their arched backs. Whips cracking in the clouded afternoon, and harsh yells of unreasonable fury.

The tower bell. It was too bright. The song of five o'clock made her look away.

From behind her, there was a call. "Akera! Let's play match cards!"

Hah, match cards.

Somehow she couldn't tear her gaze from the scene outside. The slaves were exiting the ships in slow lines, their cacophonous songs of agony unheard and ignored. Above them, the sky was so open so freeï¿½what a lie.

"I've set up the board," her mother urged the seven-year-old at the window. "Come on!"

Groaning, she rested her forehead on the windowsill. Still the yells from outside rang in her ears. "Playing match cards isn't going to help Victoria Island's situation," she muttered. Her motherï¿½Jazora Asfel, a woman more childish than her own daughterï¿½stared on in confused surprise.

How terrifying it must have been, to hear a seven-year-old speak of concepts that only people twice her age would understand! Remembering made Akera smileï¿½but the amusement didn't last long. Her eyes slowly darkened, as the memory drove her on.

Akera went to her mother anyway, sitting opposite her at the table. "I still don't see why I'm doing this," she murmured to herself, folding her arms as they observed the cards.

In the first five seconds, her mind had taken it all in. Her mother was still staring at the picturesï¿½

Raydan was still staring at the cards, eyes full of fear. Reaching out, he turned one of them overï¿½an Evil Eye.

Akera knew exactly where the other one was, but the Sniper was having some difficulty recalling. He bit his lip, touching a second card tentativelyï¿½

No, not that one, Raydan. The one above it.

He shook his head. Then his hand moved slowly away, came to a stop over the correct cardï¿½and he flipped it over. The other Evil Eye showed its face, and instantly, he broke into a grin. "Akera!" he exclaimed. "There, it's your turn!"

She closed her eyes, trying, trying to forget. For moments, she did, and she brought the pair of Lupins to light. But all too suddenly, their faces struck another image deep into her mindï¿½

She had never felt so edgy in her life. All afternoon, she had watched as the slaves pleaded, cried out, collapsed, bledï¿½only to meet, time and time again, the merciless flogging of the guards.

How could such obvious injustice thrive in her own hometown? The king. The inhuman, crazy king! Why was he still in power? Why had nothing been done aboutï¿½all this?

"Alright, you start." Akera's mother was too busy concentrating on the game to notice the anger that had come to the girl's eyes. Akera glanced down at the board of identical white cards, turning her first pair over.

Correct, as always. It was her turn again. The best thing about this format was that it allowed her to win fast, without her opponent making a single move. She smiled as she uncovered pair after perfect pairï¿½something her mother was already used toï¿½

Suddenly the door burst open. At the doorway stood her father, clothes dishevelled, eyes darting wildly around the room. "Jazora!" he gasped out, gesturing for her to go to the door, which she did instantly. The only thing Akera heard after that was her harsh whisper of "what is it?".

She didn't look again. She continued to watch the gathering clouds outside, hear the roars and shrieks of sufferingï¿½and slowly, her heart filled up with molten anger.

The tower bell chimed five-fifteen, a golden song that flooded the air.

She knew what followed. She didn't want it to come. All these years, she had regretted the moment she had lost everything.

She didn't want it to come, and yet it had to.

Already, the tears were beginning to stream down her cheeks, warm and dark. Raydan was urging her to continue with the gameï¿½but the game was the least of her worries now. She was blind to the books, the shelvesï¿½everything was suddenly fading behind her memoryï¿½

The door flew open. "Akera," her father said, graveness filling his voice. "Akera, we're moving into hiding. It's not safe to stay here anymore. The king's new rule is that families of less than five are not allowed to own houses."

"Come on, Akera, don't be afraid, we'll be fine once we find a place to stay, hidden," her mother said softly. Softly.

Raydan was staring at her in alarm. Around her, everything had suddenly become silent. But she didn't careï¿½didn't care about anything. This memory was her singular adversary. The tears were too warm.

Stop doing this to me, please! Her breaths were becoming gasps, gasps for lifeï¿½

Fury. Fury like fire, blinding her to conscience and to sense. Numbing her fingers and turning her throat dry. How can they still try to lie to me like this? Her mind screamed. How can they smile while saying this?! They think I don't understand what's happening. They think I'll believe their lies. But I know what's going on! I know we'll never be freeï¿½never, never, neverï¿½we'll just keep running, until we can't run anymore. We'll run straight into our own demise. There is only one way. And they think I don't know thatï¿½

STOP PATRONISING ME!

Akera screamed. The fire filled her eyes, as she felt her forehead meet the table, the cards scattering before her. And still her tears wouldn't stop flowing, as they wet the cards and glistened on the table. Fire was blazing in her hands, burning her sleevesï¿½she could feel the flame singing her skin, for she hadn't the strength to guard herselfï¿½

Everyone was staring at her. This is why they think I'm crazy! The brief thought was washed away too fast. She couldn't help it anymore. Her tears rushed on and on, and she felt as if she would never stop cryingï¿½

"Akera, stop it!"

She gasped back the next wave of tears and blinked them away, fire bursting and dying at that moment. Turino was kneeling beside her, anger branded deep in his obsidian eyes as he glared straight at her. "You can't go on doing this." His voice was forceful and reprimanding.

All of a sudden, everything had vanished. Her mind was blank, completely blank, and she glanced away from Turino, wiping her eyes. "I'mï¿½sorry," Akera murmured, looking about at all the faces staring at herï¿½Clynine, Lanorï¿½, Telida, Ketara, Shirionï¿½

Shirion. She felt her heart break. He still stood at the shelves, gazing at her with blank eyesï¿½with hardly any care or concern. Only terror.

She closed her eyes and remembered her childhood, with a painful pang. Shirionï¿½Shirion, my only friend at the station. My only friendï¿½even now. You used to comfort me all the time. Somehow or another, that had changed.

Butï¿½she withdrew and looked down. ï¿½I want his care. I want his care, so bad. The realisation was brief, terrifyingï¿½for the first time, she wondered what had become of herself. Shirionï¿½I always thoughtï¿½we would beï¿½

A miserable cloud seemed to have appeared overhead, as she realised how true those thoughts were.

We wereï¿½partners. I always thought. A pair. I think Iï¿½ahï¿½

But like it or not, the only person who had come had been Turino. Akera glanced back at him, whispering her thanks. He said nothingï¿½but for moments, she noticed an unfamiliar gentleness in his gaze.

ï¿½

Offering him a last thankful smile, the Mage turned back to Raydan as if nothing at all had happened. Somehow, everything had left, sudden as it had comeï¿½and she felt ready to carry on. Turino was right. She couldn't go on doing this. So she looked up at the Sniper and smiled, slightly.

"Your turn," Raydan said, gesturing towards the now-misaligned cards on the wooden tabletop. "I don't really care if I don't win. This is really fun." Those words warmed Akera's heart, somehow.

What a silly game, match cards! The white-haired girl thought with a small smile as she recalled the card positions, stored somewhere in her brain. Why am I even wasting my time on this?

But she nodded anyway, and she reached out for the next pair of cardsï¿½for the sole sake of that smile it brought to the childish Sniper's face.

114 times 205 equals 23370. I think it's pretty obvious; don't you?

shirion: prologue

Shirion blinked with relief, turning back to his book. Thank goodness she hadn't done anything rash.

"Hah!" Raydan's exclamation filled the library. "I beat Akera! Oh yeah, I won I won I won I wonï¿½"

Shock filled his eyes, and he turned to the Mage girl in wonderment. Yet there was only peace in her eyes, and a light in them told him that she had done it on purpose.

Akera! He thought in surprise. What happened to the grumpy eight-year-old I once knew? This was unfamiliar, and yet comforting. I never once imagined that she would actually be nice to someone. Ahï¿½

The Crusader glanced down again at his book. Now it seemed absurd that he was reading this againï¿½a tale he had not visited for years. He had first heard it from Akera, back when he had been nine and she, eight. It was the tale of how the world began.

Shirion allowed himself to lapse into reminiscence, for those few moments. It had been cold and peacefully dark, he still recalled, when he had heard the story for the first time.

That one night in winter, Akera had helped him escape from the camp. And together, they had fled unseen. In a secret corner of the camping grounds, amidst the flutter of snow, the two had settled down in the branches, and they had smiled together for their false freedom. On the wood she had lit a merry fire, and they had shared stories for the entire night.

She had enough control to light fires then. Has she become an angrier person?

Shirion brushed the nostalgia away, turning the page and skimmed the beginning of the tale, searching for key points. It was the usual kindï¿½descriptive passages about an empty universe, a formless mass of energy, and the first appearance of the four deities.

The symmetry was close to unachievable. Chaos was master in those early times, and to have the random scattering of energy achieve symmetry was something that would only happen, once in a billion centuries.

But still it did, before the universe could implodeï¿½and that single moment of order was all it took, to begin the formation of the four deities.

A beautiful story, Shirion remembered. Akera had told the tale to him in almost exactly the same terms, complete with all the advanced vocabulary. He relived it, picturing the universe as it began, the universe with all its stars haphazardly strewn across the universe. And in the corner, he saw the four growing entities of Light, Darkness, Time, Life.

The Goddess loved all that was pure. Purity was divine in light. She rose through the dark heavens, and the stars shimmered to life throughout the universe, sparkling with the first, ancient brightness.

The first instinct of the Dragon was to create other consciousnesses, others with whom He could share and converse. He longed company, the voice of one that would bring colour to the universe. And so the minor deities, humans and animals were createdï¿½

The more he read, the more colourful his imaginary world became. Shirion saw everything happenï¿½the sudden seizure of power by the Spirit of the Dark, the banishment of the Dragon and the Goddess, the plan they were forming at the edge of space. It was a vivid storyï¿½the spectacular show in his mind almost made him believe it, had he not been able to hear the turning of pages all around him.

Broken, almost defeated, they looked on at the far world from a corner of the universe. They had to regain it somehow, but the only way, they knew, was to defeat the Spirit. They had to form a weapon capable of destroying It, one that could only be formed by combining their strengths with sacrifice.

And the only things that the Dragon could give up were His bones and teeth. So He shattered His jaw, and tore a rib from His heart. The Goddess took them in Her handsï¿½and Her pure blood flowed through His gifts, melding the pieces with each other.

The spear was formed, the Spear of Heaven. And it wielded enough power to destroy the stars.

With each word, he felt his heartbeat grow rapid, his eyes widen. His breath was held as the surreal story gripped him tighterï¿½

In the last moments of Her supremacy, the Goddess turned to the darkness at the other end, took aim at the shadow in the distanceï¿½and threw it with all Her strength. The Spear tore the darknessï¿½

Something suddenly seemed to snap into place in Shirion's brain, there and then, and the entire image of the universe spiralled away from his imagination.

That was it!

Shredded starlight danced in between the two moments. There it soared, the only object in the universe that could harm the four great deities, an object formed of the power of the deities Themselves. And it tore the Spirit apart, melting it into a mere mist, so it no longer held any power over the world.

That was it!

Shirion groaned to himself for being so blindï¿½why had it taken him so long? As he cursed his lack of focus, he flipped quickly through the pages, searching for more cluesï¿½but there were only pages and pages of description, continuous prose.

Nevertheless, the Crusader called out his guild leader amidst the silence, fingers shaking. "Ralinnï¿½I think I've found it," he said urgently as Ralinn, then everyone else, turned. "I think the object is the Spear of Heaven."

Ralinn almost dropped her book. "Really? That'sï¿½"An excited smile filled her face. "ï¿½Actually quite possible! Spear of Heavenï¿½why didn't I think of that? All this while, I have been suspecting more recent things!"

In such a situation, Shirion wouldn't have given a response. But her smileï¿½her smile sent his heart into a small trance, and to his surprise, he began to laugh.

"Don't worry, Ralinn!" he exclaimed, walking to her. "I didn't expect it either! I just got lucky." The Crusader tilted his head slightly and looked into her eyes. Her beautiful, beautiful amber eyes.

Ralinn desperately brushed her hair back, laughing nervously. "Don't look at me like that!" she suddenly exclaimed, reddening. "Shirion!"

Blinking with shock, he quickly looked away, furiously bereaving himself. How can I lose control like thatï¿½

Lose control over what?

The possibility was far tooï¿½incorrect.

She is the leader of my guild. She is too far above me. She has a task to fulfil, under orders. I can't try to distract her. I can't let myselfï¿½! Stupid, stupid Shirion! He looked down at his feet and frowned.

"Well, we've got the answer then!" Ralinn quickly called to the rest of the guild, brushing that moment of awkwardness off. "It's quite clear that we'll be using the Spear of Heaven to defeat King Caleixï¿½but it means we'll have to reassemble it. And the main problem we face now is that no one knows where the four parts areï¿½"

"No, we do," Lanorï¿½ objected calmly. While everyone else turned to look at her, she smiled her usual unfazed smileï¿½it almost made Shirion want to worship her. "Light, Darkness, Time, Life. It must contain power from all four aspects of the ancient universe, if it is able to harm all four deities."

"Oh, really?" That was Raydan. There was challenge in his eyes.

Lanorï¿½ went on without hesitation. "Light counterbalances Darkness; Time does the same for Life. The only thing that can harm each is the other. And as we all know, the weapon split into four after the Spirit of the Dark was destroyedï¿½"

"Diminished," Akera disagreed.

"ï¿½Diminished. It is a big assumption to make, but I believe that each part carried one deity's counterbalance, and would thus have been attracted to the greatest source, in this world, of that power."

"Oh! Oh! Oh! I know! I know!" Ketara exclaimed, waving his hand enthusiastically in the air. "The light part would have fallen into the Goddess' towerï¿½she made the place herself!"

"Yes, and the Dead Mines would likewise take the dark part, since it was the darkest region in the world at that point. The life section should have gone to the Dragon's son, Horned Tailï¿½and the final time section is probablyï¿½"

"Clocktower!" By now, Ralinn was pacing excitedly about in front of the shelves, everyone else gathered in a tense crowd around her. "It's perfect! All we have to do is find all four parts and put them together! And there we have itï¿½a weapon that can defeat the king and all his necromancers. That dream voice is a genius!"

"Oh, trust me, you don't know genius," Raydan muttered, glancing at Akera. "Nicely done, Linn. Now all that's left is to beat me at match cards!" The Sniper produced his deck of cards again. But his irrelevant comment was ignored, for a conversational buzz had suddenly grown among the rest.

"We should depart as soon as possible," Akera said amidst the noise. At the same moment, the Mage glanced up at Shirion and sighed visibly, before looking away.

He stepped back in shock. Was thatï¿½disappointment? Somehow, the Crusader knew why she felt so, and he tried not to show his guilt.

"You're right," Ralinn replied to Akera. "The Clocktower is the closestï¿½we could go there now."

"It'll take us at least three days," Akera sniffed. "If we're really going to save the world, we'd better hurry up."

"Alright, we'll leave in a few minutes!" she called to her guild. "Stock up on your supplies outside. I won't be sharing anything with anyone. Got that?" The murmurs of consent were definitely more cheerful than before.

While the rest departed, Wiz had a small chat with Ralinn regarding the path to Helios Tower.

Eventually, only the Ranger herself remained with Shirion. He found himself helplessly gazing on at her from behind, hoping she wouldn't turn around and see him.

Of course she did. But instead of telling him off, Ralinn smiled and looked down at her feet.

"You should go pack up too," she said softly, walking away towards her bag, on the armchair. Somehow, it seemed like she could help itï¿½the Ranger turned back to smiled at him once more, and he returned it.

She's cuteï¿½

Shirion suddenly caught himself, a little too late. Groaning with utter embarrassment, he glanced about, hoping that no one could see his blush. Ralinnï¿½cute! What's wrong with me today?

Oh no, I know. I know what you're doing, Shirion. Don't. Really, don't.

akera: remember

"Telida, how in the world did you get that?"

Telida glanced down at her palm, at where Akera was pointing. There was a wound there, vivid red with obscene patches of oozing yellow pus, the injury far too deep to have been accidental.

"Oh, nothing much," Telida replied flippantly. "It's none of your business anyway."

Akera almost smiled at her protectiveness. "I can guess," the Mage murmured, rolling her eyes. "Something you read brought back bad memories, and somehow it upset you to this extent. Isn't that right?" She glanced down at her own hands, raw and stinging from her self-inflicted burns.

"That isn't important," Telida replied fiercely. "You really shouldn't be prying into my personal matters. And anywayï¿½you, of all people, should know annoying you're being right now. You wouldn't want someone to ask you about such things, would you?"

She blinked for a few moments, then folded her arms. "What happened back then was simply wrong." Her voice had become a snarl. "Andï¿½you know, Akeraï¿½you've become far too agreeable. It's weirdï¿½and I don't like it."

"Well, thank your brother for that!" the Mage answered snappily. "It's not my faultï¿½I didn't ask for it to happen!" She paused for moments, breathing deeply. "Heï¿½he said a few things to me, and Iï¿½"

Telida sniffed in disgust. Akera almost told the Hermit about Turino's true opinions. But he probably wouldn't want thatï¿½so she didn't say anything. "Fine," she said. "I know what you mean, about your past and all. It's not nice recalling."

They walked on soundlessly to the potion shop, neither uttering a word or even attempting to. The silence was strangely awkward, the sounds of the nearby market filling the space between the two. She clasped her hands togetherï¿½remembering, too late, that her hands were burnt. She froze from the pain that crawled outwards on her palms.

"You should try to remember that it's already over, whatever happened back then." Telida had suddenly stopped walking. "There's really nothing much you can do about it anymore. About your parents, I mean. Believing that you can only makes it harder."

Akera looked up in surprise. Was Telida really saying thisï¿½the barbaric girl who had lived all her life in the Dungeon? It was utterly shocking, to say the very least. Telida? Telida, understand such matters? Pretty unbelievable, to Akeraï¿½but her words were making sense. So much sense.

Then the Mage thought about what she had just said, and she felt a lump appear in her throat. Mum. And Dad. Ahï¿½

Telida had said it with more depth and pain than there should have been. Her eyes were glazed with tears. She really understood, then, didn't she? Something must have happened in the Hermit's own life, that almost perfectly paralleled her own. Perhaps.

"The only way left is to repay the debt," Telida went on. "Remember that it's already gone. Rememberï¿½and you'll never have to recall. It's not easy, but it makes everything else easier."

When they began walking again, they were even quieter than before. "Thanks," Akera said softly. "Admittedlyï¿½I never actually thought of it that way."

Remember, and you'll never have to recall. Without thinking any more, the Mage had inked those words permanently into her brain. Telida smiled briefly, so brieflyï¿½it was enough to make Akera believe those words, more than anything else.

Remember that it's already gone. Remember, and you'll never have to recall.

hyrien: esharo

"Hyrien," Pelinor called softly. The Knight smiled, hand shifting to his sword's hilt. The blade slipped out of its sheath, and within moments of that, he had finished his job. With nothing more than a soft crack, the guard collapsed to the ground in a heap of armour, all packed and ready to be delivered to the Nightfall headquarters. They couldn't afford anything more abrasive. A dead man wouldn't be giving them any useful information.

Pelinor tossed him a coil of rope. After that, work was easyï¿½tying up an unconscious man was like tying up a sack. He offered absolutely no resistance, as all unconscious men should.

Within minutes, they were halfway down the road to the headquarters, Pelinor lugging the guard's body through the earthy darkness, the unconscious man's boots scraping the soil.

The guild master grinned. "You see now?" he said through the crackle of leaves. "All that argument was worth it. It went without a hitch. Imagine if we had brought thirty men!"

"Yeah," Hyrien agreed. "Disaster." He glanced back at the man, whose legs dragged a clumsy trail through the moonlit leaves. Helmet removed, the guard's face was obviously youthful, and still peaceful from his sleep. Hyrien sighed and shook his head with strange pity.

Now, Hyrien stood before the captive guard in a windowless grey basement room of the hidden headquarters, nothing but a corkscrew in hand. In this case, a corkscrew was all he needed. Bracing himself for what might be coming, the Knight brought his orders back to mind.

"Use any means. Find out as much about the castle as you can. Then we can release him by morningï¿½make sure that Rako brainwashes him good before that."

Hyrien had never done anything like this before. Yet again, this was the closest the guild had ever gotten to unravelling the castle's secrets. And Pelinor had decided to entrust him with the job. For that, he knew that he couldn'tscrew it up.

Again, the White Knight turned his gaze back to the captive in the chair. The white walls echoed the candlelight, and under them, the man's eyes flickered.

Time to start. Please, let this go fine.

"Good morning," Hyrien said stonily. With a start, the guard awakened, eyes wildï¿½but his cry was held in by the cloth over his mouth. "Oh sorry, did you expect to be in bed?"

Slowly, the guard's eyes shifted to the tool in Hyrien's handï¿½and after a long silence, a muffled cry escaped him. Unsmiling, the White Knight pulled the gag off, the man instantly beginning to pant and shout in horror.

"Noï¿½no! You don't have to torture me! I'll tell you everythingï¿½" Then he froze, terror deepening. "But you must kill meï¿½"

Hyrien's expression quickly faded into bewilderment. "I'll die if you release me," the guard continued desperately. "He'll have me executed. Or killed by a necromancer."

"Then why are you on his side?" Hyrien questioned. "What's your name?"

"Esharo," he replied, bowing his head.

"And Esharo, why are you still on the king's side?"

"I swear I'll tell you everything. But you must kill meï¿½"

"You haven't answered my question!" Hyrien felt a hot surge of anger in his throat. "You're the ones who divided me from my parents. You justï¿½just took them, because you were told to!"

"I know," Esharo gasped in reply. "I know it hurts."

"Then why do you still listen to the king? Do you like seeing humans in pain?"

The room was suddenly very quiet. Hyrien breathed deeply to rein in his sudden rage, the makeshift torture device shaking in his hand. Esharo shuffled his feet on the floor, unable to raise his gaze.

"You're just like me, Esharo. We are but the same age. And you've already given up your life, to the king. Why?"

Silence. Shadows flickering. Esharo looked up at Hyrien, his eyes deep in the shadows.

"Iï¿½I don't know," he finally responded.

Hyrien punched his face. The guard turned sharply with the blow, gasping.

"I thought it was the right thing to do," Esharo defended himself desperately. "I was still selfish. I followed his orders, and in return, King Caleix made life good for me. It was everything I needed." He froze and blinked. "Butï¿½I came to realise the flaws. Almost every guard will, sooner or later. They'll come to a situation where they have to chooseï¿½"

Esharo's hollow sigh suddenly made Hyrien's throat ache. He fixed his eyes on the young guard, suddenly able to understand. Truly understandï¿½

"For me, it was this dayï¿½six years ago. I mean, imagine it! There's this boy at the gatesï¿½no more than tenï¿½asking to enter the city. But he doesn't have a pass, and thus his entrance is illegal. Thereï¿½I suddenly find myself having to choose between what is right, and what I have been told to do."

He paused.

"I let him in. I disobeyed my king, and let him in."

Again the silence was complete. Hyrien gazed on at the almost-lifeless figure of Esharo, suddenly seeing more in that slumped body than he once had.

You disobeyed your master, even though you could have died for it.

And for the first time, too, he began to doubt his task.

"Tell me what I want to know, and I won't harm you," Hyrien said. "But if you don't, we might have to brainwash you."

The guard looked back at Hyrien, gaze unshaken, completely sincere. "I'll tell you. But you must kill me after that. It will be better to die at your hands, than toï¿½"

"No! If you treasure life, then lie! Lie to your king, Esharo. Your freedom and conscience is worth more than anything he could ever give. You are human, just as I am. No one has a right to your lifeï¿½only yourself."

Those words seemed to hit Esharo like a slap. He bowed his head, trapped by this unspoken dispute. "Noï¿½" he whispered. "He has a rightï¿½doesn't he?" He stared at the ground for moments. Finally, his voice came through. "Yes, you'reï¿½right." It was a snarl. "I wasn't born for him. It's so true," he said. "I don't see why I always believed that I was! You speak quite well, sirï¿½"

"My name is Hyrien," the Knight replied on impulse. "I am compelled to believe that you should know my name."

Esharo nodded. "Now ask me what you must. About the castle. I will answer as far as I can."

In some way or other, the torture session turned into an interview session. Esharo was compliantï¿½but Hyrien wasn't keen on trusting him.

And yet, the faithfulness never seemed to fade from the guard's eyes. He only fixed Hyrien with a steadfast gaze, as the secrets rolled off his tongueï¿½outright, guiltless betrayal.

Mildly surprised, Hyrien scribbled all of Esharo's words into his notebook. Mentally, the Knight unravelled the geography of the castle, corridor by corridor. In his mind's eye, the walls came undone, the doors opening and levels painting themselves for him.

By the end of their long conversation, he had more than enough information to formulate an invasion planï¿½and how enlightening this knowledge was! But it had also brought Hyrien to realise that staging an invasion might take up to a year of preparation. The systems were too beautifully sculpted, too perfect and unbreakable.

At last, Hyrien had found the answer to why no one had succeeded in revolt, in all these sixteen years of oppression.

He clenched his fists, digging his nails into his palms. Nightfall had to be different. Nightfall would succeed, where no one among the millions had. They would crack this blasted logic puzzle; find the one loophole that would unravel the entire tapestry.

Soon, Hyrien had all he needed. He stood, thanking Esharo. And just before he turned to leave, Pelinor's order echoed back.

"We can release him by morning. Make sure that Rako brainwashes him good before that."

The Mage who had modified his lightning powers to interfere with brain signals. Hyrien had seen the effects of his powers beforeï¿½the pigs he had first tested on had spent the last days of their lives ramming their blood-covered bodies into the enclosure walls.

And here, now, he looked upon Esharo's armoured figure, still bound to the chair by rope, eyes questioning. And Hyrien knew, at once, that he never wanted to see the guard suffer that way.

Make sure that Rako brainwashes himï¿½

"I suddenly find myself having to chooseï¿½between what is right, and what I have been told to do."

Fifteen minutes from that moment, Esharo was trudging towards the gates at Hyrien's command, the White Knight's face as grim as death itself, his grip steely on the captive man's wrists. Outside, Pelinor awaited them with a smile, muscular arms folded over his chest. Before they left, he stopped them for a chat.

"How are you, sir?" the guild master asked, mockery in his voice. "Enjoyed your stay?"

Esharo's eyes didn't move. He stared on soundlessly, as if the world had become invisible to himï¿½as if his brain had died, and he was no longer able to process the words. His mouth opened and closed erratically.

"Totally cleaned up," the guild master grinned, kicking the man's shin. "So what did you squeeze out of him, before the brainwash?"

Hyrien produced his notes. "This."

The guild master chuckled and ruffled Hyrien's hair, far too pleased. "Well then, you should get going now. Well done, Hyrien."

"Thanks, Pelinor."

As they slipped through the metal gates into the deep morning, the air of the forest was cool on his skin, the leaves crackling. On they travelled through the dead leaves, further and further into the misty darkness and the invisible towering trees, till at last they were out of view of the old Sharenian building. Leaves rustled through the night, the winds making him shiver.

Hyrien slowed to a stop among the unforgiving shadows. "Good work," he whispered to the guard, beginning to undo the cold chains. "That was too convincing, Esharo. I almost believed it."

The guard nodded with a smile, pulling the last of the chains offï¿½they rang resonantly as they fell to the sweet-scented leaves, but the sudden wave of cricket chirps was enough to obscure the noise.

"Well, you're not really going to turn away from your duties, are you?" Hyrien questioned.

"I can't." Esharo sounded tired. "He's runs these intense propaganda programmes to keep us loyalï¿½and I admit that they work very well. Ifï¿½if I'm not on your side the next time we meet, just remember today. Remember that at the core, I wish to be free." His eyes glimmered ever so slightly, his gaze distant in the treetops.

Hyrien nodded grimly. "But there is one thing you must swear," he murmured. "Don't give Nightfall away. Whatever the king tells youï¿½"

Suddenly Hyrien drew out a dagger, grasping Esharo's armï¿½and with abrupt fury he carved a cross deep into the pale skin. The guard winced, eyes shut for a few seconds, the wound darkening and swelling with blood.

Hyrien wiped and sheathed the blade, biting his lip from slight disgust at what he had just done. He was a man of honour, not of violence. "Don't give us away." The White Knight repeated, placing weight in his tone. "Let this be your reminder."

"Yes, I'll do as told," he replied through bared teeth, still clutching at it, trying to stem the ooze of blood. "Giving you away would be completely undermining my decision."

After moments of silence, they continued to walk, till they had returned to the place where Esharo had been abducted. Here the guard nodded a small thanks and returned to his post, lifting his spear from where it had fallen into the grass. Not much of a goodbyeï¿½but more than enough for both.

Hyrien didn't want to say anything more. Growing too close to the enemy, even a man with doubts about his own side, would create problems. So he simply gave the guard a smile and departed soundlessly.

Somehow, though, he knew that he had changed. Today, he had disobeyed Pelinor for the first time in his life. And to his surprise, it had been guiltless.

I'm sorry, Pelinor. He could almost hear his own words out loud, as he sighed softly into the cold morning air, and trudged back to the Nightfall headquarters.

What would happen, if Pelinor found out about his disobedience? The question suddenly caught hold.

If they found out about his act of betrayal, he would doubtlessly lose everything he had earned within Nightfallï¿½

That single thought suddenly sent panic through his blood. He froze among the roots in the undergrowth, shaking.

Lose everything, for the sake of someone I don't even know? Lose all my friends, my companions, the people who have always honoured and loved me? Pelinor, Coelion, Aradel, Yunira, Hinlea, Window, Marcenï¿½

The doubt was dizzying, sweeping him up again in terror. He glanced back. There was still time, time to turn around, time to kill the guard and hide him deep in the forest where he would never be found. There was time to close the matter, nowï¿½

No.

In a split second, Hyrien refused that road. Esharo had made a similar choiceï¿½a choice jeopardising his position, in the world he had always known. It was only right that he did the same.

dark lord: perion

In the winds and mists of the distant world of Perion, a small group of twelve black-clothed men and women came to a stop atop the beautiful, abandoned mountain.

Abandoned. Cloaks and dresses fluttered in the spring mountain windï¿½all black. The Dark Lord glanced around and blinked, reserving his sadness to a small frown. Abandoned, just like Kerning.

Sometime ago, the village had been attackedï¿½even now the signs of violent battle were evident. Rocks were painted a messy scarlet, the tents lying on their sides, some lying tangled, hanging from the earthy ledges of the mountain.

What had happened? The tribe of Perion had never known defeat in battle. They were spirited warriors, their passion seeming to run through their blood. They were born and raised for battle.

At least they went down in a fight. We were sitting ducks. Helpless, hopeless people who were drinking to New Year, to the second of our death.

It wasn't a heartening thought. Trying to push the images of a dead past away, he knocked on Dances' door, and waited for a response. Waited. Who was to know if he still lived there? There seemed to be no life left in the last dregs of the great tribal settlement.

As he stepped away, the Dark Lord glanced about at his companions. The group of eleven friends who had come with himï¿½how many years it had been, since he had been this close to them all. Pan, Lawrence, Erinï¿½ These were names that still fell smoothly off his tongue, though he had never uttered them once in the last decade. Tasting his regret again, he remembered how he had once called them to service.

"Pan, survey the area."

"You're late, Lawrence."

"Erin! Could you get me my breakfast?"

They had been equally joyful to see himï¿½and it filled his heart with strange, silly gladness, to know that they hadn't forgotten.

Now, here they stood with the Dark Lord, all dressed in black, at the door of a building owned by a man they had never seen before, in a world alien to them.

He loved them, for having so much faith in him.

And all he had to hope for, now, was that his faith in Dances with Balrog would not be shortchanged.

A small click. Someone's face appeared at the doorï¿½and the Dark Lord felt his eyes swim. With gladness.

"Hey, Jet!"

He tensed up at the sound of his real name. "Don't call me that," he replied with a frown. "Dark Lord. I'm the Dark Lord."

The Warrior Job Master didn't look too fazed. "Alright, whatever, Mister I-must-keep-my-secret-identity-secret!" he replied with a grin. "What brings you here now, of all times? You can see we aren't in a very good state."

"I think you'd consider the state of your village very good if you compared it to the patehtic state of Kerning right now. My bandits really did a good job on it."

"Come on in!" Dances was still smiling. "The eight survivors of the battle live with me now, so don't be alarmed to see them. We don't leave the place, except to hunt."

It was a hearty responseï¿½but the Dark Lord saw, too well, the regret behind the joy in his old friend's gaze. Dances with Balrog had become the Job Master at about twenty-eight; he looked a lot older than the Dark Lord did himself. The wrinkles that appeared on his forehead, despite his smile, aged him yet more.

The man held the door open. The Dark Lord took one glance back, and called his friends in. "Don't worry," he murmured with a smile. "You can trust him."

Wordless, he entered, silently praying for their trust. He didn't bother to turn to look, though he could hear them murmuring in apprehension.

But when they came, the footsteps were just as eager as they always had beenï¿½when they had fled in the concealing cloaks of night from the dark heart and its tangled veins, when they had first started this journey over the craggy valleys.

They were still brimming with trust, trust undying even over the course of a wearying decade.

It was heartwarmingï¿½though the Dark Lord didn't like to admit it. And he knew at once that the glow of the warriors' flame was the warmth they had sought, all this while.

timeless heart

Far in the clouds a thousand miles away, Orion's Belt had just finished their ascension to the top of an impossibly tall tower on an impossibly slow lift. You could imagine how long that must have taken.

Five hours, to be exact. The lift was that slowï¿½it ran by the century-old magic of the Clock Spirit. Seemed like that deity wasn't one to be concerned with something as insignificant as lift maintenance. Besides, the lift must have been a source of amusement for It, countless people who must have stared at their watches as the lift ascended.

Watch them watch watches. Haha.

And yet again, the stories said that the Clock Spirit was never amused. It never troubled Itself with the matters of the world, or the conflict between the Goddess, Dragon and Spirit of the Dark.

It was all just something in passing, after all. He knew where everything would end.

But every rule has an exception, it seems. One day, many said, the Clock Spirit would find someone with a soul unknown to Timeï¿½someone whose fate It couldn't see. The thought both frightened and intrigued the world.

Timeless Heart, they called him. One day, Timeless Heart would appear, to twist a thousand roads.

The Clock Spirit already knew who he was. Would It ever tell the world? No, guess not. That would always be Its own secret, and perhaps It would only whisper his name into the ear of a lone child in a fever dream.

arelyn: silk death

I'm changing, changing. I'm losing everything I've ever known to be true.

So many times she had already seen itï¿½this blue shimmer around her hands. And every time, it made her heart grow colder, colder.

"Mummyï¿½mummyï¿½"

Arelyn looked away from her clock, at the doorway to the Origin. There was a creature at the doorï¿½a panda teddy. Through tearful eyes it gazed up at her, its clockwork clicking tirelessly away.

The tiny toy creature turned to reveal a huge rip in its side. Arelyn blinked and sighed, walking over to her drawer, where she kept her needle and thread.

This was their jobï¿½Arelyn, Ayris, Kalia. For millennia they had walked the corridors of the Clocktower, keeping it running, the inhabitants alive. Besides their roles as the guardians of time, common duties included winding up the clockwork creatures, sometimes fixing them. They were never without work to do.

So long already, of nothing but this. The nonexistent walls of the Clocktower had held them all these years, years she didn't want to count. And the animals had lived with them all their lives, the three children of the Clock Spiritï¿½their only company, their only joy, in a world and a duty to which they had been assigned since the start of Time.

Yet she was lonely. She was lonelier than the sky she had never seen. She knew that somewhere between the two passages above, Ayris and Kalia shared a love she would never know.

So now, she only had her chargesï¿½these little creatures that came to the Writer of Time to be repaired and to live on.

"Mummyï¿½helpï¿½"

The bear's stuffing was strewn over the floor. The pain flooded its eyesï¿½

No matter how she searched, Arelyn couldn't feel its pain as she once had. Her heart was too cold to feel. It made her look down. It was like she was nearing expiry, the end of her boundless life. Her heart was fading.

How long more, Master? She had asked beforeï¿½and the answer was still clear.

"Until you do what you must. They seek you twice, a shattered world cradled in their hands."

She would probably only know the meaning of those words, once the event came to pass. So often she had stared into the eternal clock, searching for the answer in its moving hands of every light and darknessï¿½but all it gave her were unimportant flashes, of moments she didn't care to know.

The bear waited at her feet now, legs buckled, body half crumpled. Arelyn glanced at the needle and thread in one hand, the fabric in the otherï¿½

I'm changing. I once cared, but I care no longer.

And the doubt slipped through her soul, like poison.

Why should this little creature be made to live again, to feel the pain and anger that came with life? Why shouldn't its life simply be wrenched away, and its feet kept moving by a force that wouldn't bring it suffering?

The pain required to achieve painlessness would be more than the pain if not. But that pain is more organic, a more restless chaos than what I can offerï¿½

"Would you lose your consciousness, for the sake of losing your pain?"

"I love my world and my home, mummy. I don't want to give it up."

But Arelyn lost patience. The cloth was perfect silk, perfect and gold-trimmedï¿½perfect to house a parasitic soul. The shadows, the shadows were screaming to her. They begged to be set free.

My heart is fading. I once cared, so much. I cared for joy, for light, for laughterï¿½

But that, too, faded. I've forgotten it all.

The bear cried out in horrorï¿½Arelyn held a ghost in her palms. A black cloth filled with magic, eyes lifeless and shining. It cried and criedï¿½but she gripped its struggling body tight, so tight it could not flee. She held it, merciless and cold, as the needle went through its arms and into the ghost, slowly draining its life and love away.

Now you will forget too.

Its cries were dying. The key still spun in its backï¿½but its eyes were fading into heartless lights.

Everything. Soon I will have forgotten everything. These daysï¿½they will someday drift into the doldrums of Forgotten Passage, and never return.

Then Arelyn stared down into her handiworkï¿½and it felt as if something were piercing her throat. She could not believe what has sprung from her fingers, could not believe that this was the product of her own hands.

I have forgotten everything else.

But somehow. Somehow, I haven't forgotten guiltï¿½

The bear was dead. Still it walked when Arelyn released it onto the ground. The ghost fed it signals, and the bear could not help but obey and walk, carrying its parasite away.

Arelyn watched its retreating shape, closing her eyes.

I'm sorry. My world is no longer as it once was. I'm changing, and I don't know why my Master is doing this. But I know it is permanent, and I know that someday, you will never see me again.

Again, a flash of blueï¿½she turned back to the clock and tried not to glance at her shimmering hands.

"Expect eight visitors later today," it murmured mistily, tonelessly. Arelyn sighed softly and closed her eyes, leaning her head on its glass face.

She knew that a tide of fate was about to wash her world a new way. She knew it would not happen till the Clock Spirit's prophecy came true, however long that may be.

But all the same, it was a knowledge that slowly closed in on her and her fading heart. And she could only wait. Wait, helplessly, for destiny to claim her.

ketara: ten minutes

"I told you not to eat off the floor! You see? This is what happens when you don't observe proper hygiene."

That was what Ralinn exclaimed, exasperatedly, as Ketara ran off to the toilet and began vomiting for the fourth time that afternoon. The sink tap gushed violently, and the Dragon Knight stumbled out moments later, looking dazed. The rest momentarily looked up from what they were doing to stare at him.

He collapsed onto the sofa of their shared rented house in Ludibrium, eyes closing. "You're rightï¿½" he replied, sounding completely washed out. "Proper hygieneï¿½"

"Clynine, can you do anything about it?"

Clynine shook her head in reply, from where she sat on the sofa, reading her mistress' scroll. "Iï¿½do wounds," she murmured. "If it doesn't involve broken skinï¿½I won't be of any help."

Ralinn felt herself deflate inside. "Guess you'll have to stay here while we search then," the guild leader muttered to the warrior on the sofa. "Come on, let's all go now."

"Waitï¿½" Ketara called back. "Could someoneï¿½stay and keep me company?" The guild leader couldn't say "no", seeing that desperate, tired smile on his face. Sighing again, she turned back to the rest.

"Does anyone here not want to go along?"

It didn't take long for Turino to stand and walk over. Ketara managed to smile at him, but the Mage didn't return so much as a glance.

While Turino sat and Ketara tried to find himself a more comfortable position on the couch, Ralinn called the rest to the open, windy doorway. As she went to join the rest, Telida turned and shot the two of them a glare. Ketara felt his stomach sink at her expressionï¿½and considering that he was rather sick there, it didn't feel very nice.

"Take care," the Ranger called, looking one last time at the two on the sofa. Ketara waved weakly. Then Ralinn began to walk away, and the rest vanished through the door, Lanorï¿½ banging it shut.

The silence was cool and sweet for a few minutes. There they lay on the sofa, Ketara leaning his head on the cushions, Turino staring lazily at the door without a word.

Finally, the dark-haired mage spoke. "Telida's acting up again, isn't she," he commented. Ketara nodded sadly. "Don't care about her. Having friends like her isn't worth your time."

"Butï¿½but she's nice sometimesï¿½"

"Yeah, sometimes. She's just so confused about herself. Worst mood swings in the world." The youth with raven hair leaned back as well, gaze now trained on the colourful ceiling. "She's been like that since ten."

Somehow, Ketara had the feeling that Turino had more to say. But he didn't feel like bothering the highly disagreeable Mage, so he didn't ask.

Another pause of a few minutes. Ketara didn't interrupt itï¿½he felt too sick, anyway. In the silence there was absolutely nothingï¿½perhaps the distant beat of the Clocktower, somewhere beyond the wallsï¿½but otherwise, nothing in the quiet morning.

At last, as the silence began to grow too unbearable, Turino looked awayï¿½and spoke again.

"Sheï¿½wasn't always like that."

"Oh, really?" Ketara asked, sitting up, interested. After all, it didn't matter if she was currently being hostile towards himï¿½Telida was the only person whom he felt he had the liberty to call his "best friend"ï¿½and he would like to hear more about her past.

Silently the mage nodded. Unfamiliar sadness was rising in his eyesï¿½a sadness that Ketara didn't want to understand.

"But she turned into a monster, of course."

The harshness of that statement surprised the Dragon Knight, to say the least. It would be a long time till he understood siblings in generalï¿½but still, it seemed strange that two people who had lived together all their lives could hate each other so much.

"You'reï¿½twins," Ketara voiced his musings. "Aren't twins likeï¿½the closest a pair of siblings can get?"

Something in Turino's dark gaze told the Dragon Knight that he had taken insult from that statement. The Fire Poison Mage looked away defensively. "Hahaï¿½two children, separated at birth by ten mere minutes of time," he murmured, half amused, half outraged. "We were supposed to be closeï¿½and we were. Oh, mark my words, we were." He sniffed, arms folded, eyes burning. "But ten minutes, it turns out, is the greatest distance in the world."

"Thenï¿½what changed that?"

Ketara was ready for a furious, impatient replyï¿½and ready to take it. He slumped nauseously back on the sofa, closing his eyes. But for some reason, Turino made no sound.

Perhaps that question had been too insensitive. Perhaps the Mage was unwilling to share, or just plain unhappy. But when Turino next opened his mouth to answer the question, nothing came.

His glare faded quicklyï¿½his eyes of obsidian blinked in confusion, those graceful depths turbulent with sorrow. He didn't know what to say.

"Sheï¿½Iï¿½it's notï¿½"

He stopped and gasped, still blinking. "Forget that! All you have to know is that it isn't worth it, Ketara. Stop being stupid. If you want to be happy, leave her, and ignore her for the rest of your life. You'll only hurt yourself."

Ketara pursed his lips and looked down into his lap. "I can't," he replied. "I don't just push friends away like that. I'll live through whatever she throws at meï¿½for the sake of the joy that comes with it. And she's really a better person than you tell me she is. She'sï¿½troubled, that's all. She won't tell me why."

Turino rolled his eyes. "You're such an idiot," he sighed. "Suit yourself."

Ketara would have repliedï¿½but suddenly he felt himself gag involuntarily instead, an uncomfortable heat rising in his throat. "Urghhï¿½" he gasped, hand clamped over his mouth. The Dragon Knight leapt from the sofa and dashed to the toilet, slamming the door shut.

ralinn: from the start of time

The Clocktower's beauty was as close to divine as anything worldly could be.

The jigsaw puzzle patterns in the shadows throbbed with a dim magenta glow, melting into icy sweeps of starlight lower down, shimmering walls that never seemed to end.

"Ooh," Clynine murmured, fascinated, her gaze caught somewhere in the shimmering ceiling. Walking at the front of the group, Ralinn took a deep breath of the cold atmosphere.

"Soï¿½" Raydan had appeared beside his sister. "You do know where we're going, right?"

"Shh!" Ralinn replied, pretending to sulk at him. "I'm thinking!"

"There'sï¿½a lift there," Zethis murmured, appearing beside the guild leader and pointing at the glass pillar on which the ladder was mounted. "On the other side." Nodding, she walked over to inspect it, the rest coming to watch.

The refraction made the shapes of the door and the platform beyond clearï¿½but only as far as where the shadows began beneath. Ralinn felt around the edge of the sliding doors for an opening mechanism. Nothing.

"Here, instructions." Lanorï¿½'s call made everyone turn to where she bent down, observing a small engraved tablet made of frosted glass, shimmering in the invisible light of the path. She began to read.

"'Your heart take you not

Into a nonexistent world

An everlasting rhythm guide youï¿½

Forget the lies and echo her words:

"All here is gone. It may never live againï¿½"'"

On cue, the doors slid open. Without much apprehension, they entered, the stars blurring behind closing glass doors. Almost instantly, it began to descend.

"I've got to talk to with whoever does maintenance around here," Raydan muttered, kicking the glass walls as if doing so might make the contraption move faster.

"Stop that," Akera growled. "You're still my servant, Raydan. Do as you're told." He sulked, but could not argueï¿½so he folded his arms and withdrew to a corner. It wasn't often that Ralinn got to see someone bullying her brother, so she took the time to appreciate it.

The lift finally arrived at the bottom levelï¿½the Origin, as it had always been called. The Orion's Belt members found themselves in a vast room, walls and platforms constructed the same way as Ludibrium was.

On the central platform, before a huge clock, stood three people. Two women and a man. The women had blue hairï¿½one had hers shimmering in waves down her shoulders; the other's was short. The man's hair was long and black, a perfect straight waterfall that descended almost all the way to the ground. They were all pale as snow.

"Wowï¿½they're beautiful," Raydan murmured in captivation beside Ralinn. "Even the guy."

Ralinn didn't respond. Instead, she made the first move, greeting them. "Good morning," she whispered.

"Morning?" The woman with the longer hair questioned briefly, eyes still empty. "We do not recognise morning, child. Here, all time is the sameï¿½melted into a single vast river." She ignored Ralinn's silent terror. "I am Arelyn. These are my kin, Ayris and Kaliaï¿½we are like siblings, but not technically so, since we weren't born."

"You weren't born? Did you appear out of nowhere?" Raydan exclaimed in bewilderment.

"Doesn't anyone ever teach you to keep your mouth shut?" Akera asked impatiently. "Do you know how rude that sounded?"

Disregarding them, Ralinn apologised for her brother's interruption. "It's fine," Arelyn responded. "It is a valid question. And so I will answer it. We were handmade by the Clock Spiritï¿½It created us with Its power, and calls us Its children. We have been alive since the start of time itself."

Arelyn's expression saddened while the guild leader was still trying to come to terms with her words. The other two drew slightly closer, Kalia placing a hand on her shoulder.

Finally, she went on. "Our creation, of course, was with purpose," the blue-haired lady said. "I write time's events, Kalia protects its passage, and Ayris destroys it. And we have a prophecy to fulfilï¿½'They seek you twice, a shattered world cradled in their hands.'"

Ralinn tried to smile despite that depression in her eyes. "You aren't the only ones with a divine task to fulfil, then," she replied. "We're here with a similar calling. So we want to know if there is a part of the Spear of Heaven here. We have reason to believe so."

"Perhaps," Kalia replied. "We witnessed the battle, and we saw the shaft fall through the ceiling. But then it melted into dust, and we do not know where it reappeared. You may search, though."

Thanking them, Ralinn looked back at the rest. "Alright, we have permission," she said. "Goï¿½everyone, find a separate place in the Clocktower and start searching. It could well take a weekï¿½so hurry."

Almost everyone set off without a complaint. Letting out a breath in relief, the guild leader made her way to the lift.

akera: the distant dream

One person remained, when the rest had all departedï¿½Akera, convinced that she had no definitive obligation to follow orders. She would so much rather find out about the Clocktower inhabitants than go looking for a spear shaft that could be anywhere in this vast building.

So while the rest vanished through the lift door, Akera stayed behind.

"Why have you not followed them?" Arelyn asked. The Fire Poison Mage looked up, observing the three.

Ayris and Kalia smiled vaguely, hands interlockedï¿½but their joy was shallow. Beneath it Akera could see cold loneliness in Kalia's eyes, dark depression in Ayris'. "Are you three always like that?" She walked closer, calling on the spark of fire at her heart to keep out the chill of the Clocktower.

All three fixed their glimmering eyes on the white-haired mageï¿½silver, coal black, deep blue. "Well, what else do you expect of the Writer, Guardian and Destroyer? We have duties towards Time itself, and Time only. We do nothing else."

"I understand," she replied. Wandering over to the clock behind the three, the mage gazed up at the glassï¿½and to her surprise, she saw images flitting across it. Images of the Ellinia Station, of Grendel's Magic Library, of her friends, a vast oceanï¿½ "What's this?"

Ayris' reply managed to house a little amusement. "That is the most beautiful clock in the world," he said. "Mortals see their own memories in it. But among the three of us, we see all the pasts, presents and futures of the world."

Akera's pursed her lips as she took in this information. "Does it do anything else?"

"Yes. Yes, but you wouldn't want to try. For us, it provides for self-control practice. But I fear a mortal might not be able to withstand its testï¿½"

She whirled furiously around. "Well, you'll never know!" The determined pride was sparking brightly again, and they stepped away from her in shock. "Come on, try me! Don't assume that all mortals fall under the same caste!"

All three blinked. Arelyn was the first to answer, and the look in her eyes was fearful. "It will toy with your emotions," she replied, slightly furious. "If you can't withstand it, you'll certainly lose your soulï¿½"

"Any way out of it?"

"Like I mentioned, it is a device meant to train us to be oblivious to emotion. So in order to free yourself, you must break free of what you feelï¿½rely only on what you know and what you are certain of. In the state of training, you cannot even trust your beliefs."

"But that is not the only danger you must caution yourself against," Kalia quickly added. "If you leave alive, you might leave with less humanity. That clock is all it will take to transform a vengeful man into a heartless murderer."

That. That drove doubt into Akera's heart. But she glanced up at the clock face and heard its clattering clockwork, and she clenched her fist.

"Yes, yes. I'm sure. I won't let a stupid clock beat me."

"Honestly," Arelyn muttered. "I don't wish to see a mortal die from stupidity like this."

"Don't call me stupid," Akera growled, touching the glass.

"Alright, since you are so insistent. I do wish I had done more to stop you, though. Wait for the clock to take you in. Once it does, it will ask you questionsï¿½and all you have to do, to escape, is to answer them all."

Akera did as told. The images swam messily before her eyes, rushing through and in between the frames of her perspective, before they merged into a single pool. The clock hands were whirling, whirling, till they formed three dark concentric circles in the shining lights, before her dazed vision.

A windy voice snatched her consciousness, whirling through her ears. "Akera, Akera, Akera. You know that you are special, do you not? Why have you chosen to pit yourself against me?"

Answer the question. "You posed me with a challenge," Akera replied steadily. "You presented yourself in my life, and now I will never rest till I have beaten you."

"And what if you do notï¿½beat me?"

"What makes you so certain that I won't?"

"Alright, then, Akera. But it is only my role to challenge you as best I canï¿½and so I will. I know your life. I know the moments that will destroy you. I know the weak links in your soul."

Akera felt the painful lump return to her throat, as the colours whirled away, and the lines began to solidify in the mess.

"I'll ask you this simple question. Just a simple question, really. You can answer it; I know you're fully capable."

Windows, carpets, cushions. A coffee table. Sunlight, streaming sunlight.

"When did your world vanish, Akera? When did you destroy it?"

Suddenly, Akera's throat hurt. For she knew what was happening here. She knew what was forming around her.

Her old home. Her old sitting room. Her old world.

Akera looked up, heart brimming, with everything. There was someone sitting on the sofa, gazing out into the afternoon.

ï¿½Mum.

Oh, mum.

Akera felt the dream engulf her. Suddenly, all consciousness of her old world began to dull, fade into greys and blacks. The only thing left in her eyes was the home she had once knownï¿½the face of the mother she hadn't seen in more than a decade.

Now the Clocktower was the dream. A strange past that, for all she knew, might never have existed. A past that she would dream of, occasionally, as she gazed up into the dark sky beside her mother, her breaths steady in the cool night air.

Without hesitation, she turned to the sofa. "Mumï¿½Mumï¿½I feel as if I haven't seen, you for so long!" Akera called, running into the room, hot chocolate sloshing in the mug she held.

"But you were only in the kitchen for five minutes!" Jazora Asfel replied with a bright smile, turning away from the window to watch her with beautiful blue eyes. "Silly girl! You're imagining things again!"

"Hardly 'silly'," Akera replied disdainfully, glancing down at the mug in her hands. Somewhere in her heart, she suddenly felt the gentle brush of distant dreams, almost like butterfly wingsï¿½dreams of an explosion of fire, of falling embers, of charred wood and grinning skulls.

But that was probably another nightmare. Wasn't it so strange, that those images were so hard to remember?

"Come on, I think there's a storm coming," the girl's mother called, gesturing for Akera to go over. She ran there, for she loved to watch the lightning and rain, and sometimes she wondered if she should become an Ice Lightning Mage. The girl gazed out of the windows. Ships were pulling into the harbour, and for some strange reason, fury tugged at her heart. She turned to see that her mother was watching, slightly tensed.

"Soï¿½your job. What do you want to be? Mage? Thief? Warrior? I heard that those Crusader swords are nice. And the Dragon Knight weapons."

Crusader. Dragon Knight. Briefly, Akera's brow creasedï¿½she felt a surge of strange familiarity at the mention of those jobs. "Nahï¿½those Doombringers are fat and uselessï¿½"

Her mother turned, surprised. "Doombringers? Have you seen them before?"

Akera straightened, trying to recall. She hadï¿½she had! This handsome guy with long brown hair. He's waiting for meï¿½

But before she could get a grip on that memory, white light slipped between it and her. While she gazed on into the grey sky with frustration, a small angry voice tore through her mind. Just softly.

Answer the question!

The young girl shook her head, blinking. What a strange day. She tried to concentrate on the darkening sky outside, her legs curling up on the plush sofa beside her mother.

"Mumï¿½let's play match cards."

"Match cards?" her mother turned with curiosity. "Why would I want to do that? It's quite a waste of time, don't you think?"

Something struck Akera. Right there. There.

Mum likes to play match cards. She's always asking me to do it.

Something isn't right here.

"Please, mum?" she persistedï¿½but her mother only shook her head at her daughter's insistence.

No. Something's definitely wrong.

She looked desperately around at the house, hoping to find out why things felt so strangely out of place, all of a sudden. All those dreams she had hadï¿½were they only dreams? Falling embers, charred wood.

Akera glanced up at the rafters and blinked. All at once, she could see them falling in flames, the walls crumblingï¿½and though she only imagined, the thoughts drove unrealistically powerful terror through her.

The truth. I must find the truth.

Akera! Akera, where are you?

Are you sure about this world?

She panted. Akera. You know who you are. You know what's happening.

Again, the girl looked up at her mother, noting her pensive expression, the curtains filled with stormy wind. She could feel the cloth of cushion covers under her fingers, smell the ocean and the smoke on the wind.

But her uncertainty continued to swell, gnawing continuously at her brain. She hugged her knees close to her chest, trying to coax the answer out of the corners of her consciousness.

You know who you are. You know, somewhere, Akera. Somewhere.

Somehow, everything around her was growing more unreal, yet harder to let go ofï¿½as if something were trying to stop her from accessing her real memories.

Akera. This isn't it. This doesn't feel right. It's somewhere elseï¿½

Why are you here? AKERA!

"Akera, it's really anï¿½honour to meet you."

"Akera, you should read this."

"Get a life, Akera!"

"Akera. While you are still in my guild, and I am your leader, you will follow my instructionsï¿½"

"Akera! Akera, you'd better not back down!"

Orion's Belt.

The name was like the note of a gong. Like a flood of rain, everything began to pour upon her. Suddenly, she was remembering strange momentsï¿½

Herself, binding sails on the Ellinia-Orbis ship. Balancing on a branch in the middle of the night. Hiding from guards. Leaping from the sky, falling through a world of emerald. Turning her face to the windy sea.

Yesï¿½I remember.

The king. The Station.

Orion's Belt.

Tears sprang to her eyes. Tears because she had realised that this world had never been, and would never be. Tears, because she knew that there was another world, another life waiting for her somewhere.

Iï¿½I know. I know where my real life is.

It isn't here.

Suddenly, it was too much for her to takeï¿½just a seven-year-old who had made the most terrifying realisation in her life. Dizzy, confused, Akera screamed. She pulled back against the sofa, back pressed against the armrest.

"Motherï¿½" she gasped. "Motherï¿½you fake! This is a lieï¿½a lie, and nothing more! A LIE!" It wasn't real. Wasn't real. All these things she seemed to rememberï¿½they must be the truth. They rang with her heart.

And then, the rest of the images returned, whirling around her in a mad merry-go-round of flames, faces that rose and melted before she could touch them. Fireworks were spinning through the world, turning their paths black, giving way to pits of blazing wood and fallen beams.

The ashes, the ashes, the ashes. Skulls lying in the dust, crusted with soot and burning death. It wasn't a dream. This was what had happened.

Somewhere in the world of all truths, in the world of pasts and futures, she had killed them.

Noï¿½noï¿½

"I am here, Akera!" her mother replied. "You're just throwing a tantrum, aren't you?"

She snarled, rising to her full height. "No!" the girlï¿½the Mage called. "I know this isn't real. I know this is not the life that wasï¿½"

Akera's mother took her handï¿½her grip so warm, so real. Akera felt helpless tears pour down her cheeks, though she knew, she knew it wasn't there. "I'll keep you safe, Akera," the woman said desperately. "We can be the family you always thought we wouldn't be! We can live on, without knowing what the world outside believes. You, me, Dad. Just us, forever!"

The Mage's lip was trembling with the tears, the tears like arrows. "Yes Mum," she said, words shaking. "Yes, I want that. I really do. But I can'tï¿½" She struggled to fight, the world wavering between those dark memories of flame, and these false images of heartbreaking warmth.

It isn't real. It isn't real. It isn't real.

Again, Akera gasped in pain. She swallowed, engulfed in the warmth of her mother's arms.

There's a world waiting somewhere there. Somewhere, beyond the reach of my heart. An imperfect world; a world about to be destroyed. A world to which I truly belong.

ï¿½

These strange songs. These strange words, whirling in ribbons through her thoughts. What were they? Where would they take herï¿½

"Your heart take you not into a nonexistent world, an everlasting rhythm guide you. Forget the lies and echo her words: All here is gone. It may never live again."

Remember that it's already gone. Remember, and you'll never have to recall.

It's over, and I'm glad that it is!

"No, Mum, I can't come," Akera whispered. "No."

Then she narrowed her eyes, and flung her mother's arms away. Her face continued to display anger, though her heart was crying. "And you will not stop me, Mum! I know you're just a dream. You will never give me what you promise." The Mage snarled, gulping the tears back. "If you were real, you would know who I truly am, and what my name truly entails!"

She clenched a fist, focused her strength there, and fire sparked to life in her handï¿½to her horror, her delight. And though she now grinned savagely, her throat was burning with tears, her eyes slowly growing misty.

"I am Akera, the Fire Mage. Akera, of Lith Harbor. Akera, the peasant's daughter, the child prodigyï¿½the girl who killed her parents at seven years old."

From her hands the magic soared and expanded, swallowing the imaginary world. Light, fury, flameï¿½throwing everything into a blazing storm like a million circling firebirds in a thunderous dance. And Akera could feel the tears cascading down her cheeks as the flames raged through her palms, pouring in sheets and torrents upon the image of the one person she had loved all her life.

The body slumped down before her, a blackened figureï¿½still breathing slightly, dying away. But where there should have been screeches of pain, there was no sound. Only resigned silence, and sobs of terror, spiralling into an abyss beyond.

Suddenly, it was too much for her to bear.

"Mum!" Akera cried, the fire falling and dying, as she felt her resolve disintegrate. "Mum, no!"

Yes, it was a dream, just a dream. Her real mother had died, years ago. She was talking to her own fantasies, and drifting closer to death every moment.

But this present reality was all that mattered. The thing she was doing, the actions pouring from her heart and soul. She was killing her own mother.

"Forgive me," she whispered hoarsely, kneeling down beside Jazora Asfel. "I wish I had a choice, but I don'tï¿½"

In that moment, Akera felt a question whisper, just softly, to her through the window, and she turned, the grey storm light falling upon her face.

"When did your world vanish?" it said, almost mockingly. "When did you destroy it?"

Akera mind worked quickly through the numbers, and almost instantly turned up her answer. "Twelve years, five months, twenty-one days ago," she recited.

"Sorry. Try again."

She bit her lip. Beside her, her mother murmured in pain once more. Was there another way to answer?

When did your world vanish? Whenï¿½

Is the answerï¿½the time, then?

As Akera closed her eyes, the day rushed back to fill her memory. One by one, the details of the memory appeared, growing clearerï¿½the clouds flooding the sky, the ships pulling into the harbour, upon the raging ocean. The tower bellï¿½

The tower bell chimed five-fifteen, a golden song that flooded the air.

She glanced down at her dying mother and clenched her fists tightly, forcing the warmth and hope out of her heart, just for moments. She had to answer. She would lose this world, everything in itï¿½but she knew that she had to answer.

"Five-fifteen in the afternoon," Akera said. "Exactly five-fifteen, a few seconds later. I did something I never should have."

Then there was a laugh in the sky. "Very well played, Akera," the same voice said in congratulations. "You have the right answer."

But by then, Akera's attention was all but gone. She had eyes only for her false mother's face now, and the dark pain in her expression. The Mage gazed down at the sad smile, the beautiful sky-blue eyes that she had inheritedï¿½and at once, the tears returned.

She had to say it, now she had the chance. No, she would never have the freedom she longedï¿½but a prisoner could always enjoy the moments when she glimpsed the world. It was the closest she would ever get.

"Mum, I love you," Akera said, grasping her hand. "Iï¿½I was always too proud to admit it. I thought I didn't need to acknowledge my love. But I doï¿½"

Her mother's smile widened slightly on her burnt lips. She reached out to brush her daughter's cheek with blistered fingers, while tears rose again. "I know," she said warmly, fingers fading. "I've always known, Akera."

While the images melted into the light, the Mage watched that ashen smile fade away into a white horizon that she would never reach again. She collapsed upon the shining ground in the breeze, crying into the sky, crying as she hugged her kneesï¿½crying for all the pain, all these burning, turning circles of hate and guilt and anger, for these twelve years, five months, the barrier she would never cross. The edges of her universe shattered, the light and darkness tearing into petals around her.

I'm sorry I didn't save you, Mum. But I'll always love you, because I promised. Even after you leave, even after the words end and the ink dries, even after the world has abandoned me. Because I promised.

Her heart yearned for the voice of her mother again. For the slight figure at the window, for the smile in blue eyes. But it never came, and her tears became the lament of a dying phoenix.

At that point, the voice suddenly returned, quavering. "I stand corrected," it said tiredly. "Too well played, Akera. Youï¿½win."

Then around her, Akera heard glass shatter. Shards flew across her skin, soaring through the air, drawing deep red lines across her arms. The images fell like curtains, and she was surrounded by the Clocktower walls, the remains of reality sinking in.

The giant clock short-circuited, blue sparks exploding all over its broken face. The longest clock hand fell upon the ground with the resonant ring of metal, and the structure collapsed backwards, thundering on the floor of the Origin.

Akera looked down at her arms, where she bled from a thousand different scratches. She turned around to face the three, grimness in her heart, tears in her gaze.

"Akera," Arelyn murmured, her silver eyes very wide. She looked on ahead, disbelief refusing to desert her features. "I must remember your name. Akera."

"It was supposed to play with your mind," Ayris murmured. "Yet you managed to turn the tables and destroy it. It's not everyday that someone short-circuits the eternal clock, you know."

"Yes, yesï¿½Akera. I had better remember that name." Kalia turned to her, blue eyes bright. "I think we will be encountering you again, sometime soon. Such a strong childï¿½"

She refused to smile. Her skin was stinging all over, and she felt like had just gone through her entire life again. "I should have stayed," she whispered, touching her wounds. "I'd have paid for my sin, and I wouldn't have to regret anymore." Then she looked up at the three Clocktower guardians, and somehow, their shared pain brought a smile to her eyes. "But there're people here, waiting for me too. There are people here to whom I'm indebted."

Slowly, the Mage walked to the fallen clock hand. Picking the long hand up from among the shards of glass, she felt the scratches on her palms sting. The long, thin shaft shimmeredï¿½black, white, grey, all the colours between.

Maybe. Hmï¿½

It was a beautiful shaft. Perhaps the shaft of an all-powerful spear.

As Akera grasped it in her hand and began to walk away, she felt it buzz with power, its warmth too reassuring to be something human-constructed. That got rid of all her doubts.

"Is that it?" Arelyn called.

"Mmhmm, thanks," Akera replied. "If you hadn't let me use the clock, we'd never have found this thing. Your assistance will be remembered when we're the heroes of Victoria Island." She smiled, with just a little pride.

summer

Ralinn came to rest at the top of the ladder, sitting upon the blocks and panting from exhaustion. Shirion appeared moments later, considerably less tired than she was. But he sat beside her anyway, and turned, smiling.

"Want a drink?" he asked, producing a waterskin before she even answered. Ralinn smiled shyly and reached for itï¿½her fingers accidentally touched his.

"Uhï¿½thanks," she murmured, quickly looking down and taking it. "Strange place to be restingï¿½"

Suddenly the wind was washing over the world. Both looked up into the magenta lights, breathing deep with deep calmï¿½but each never really forgetting the presence of the other.

And neither mentioned how fast their hearts were thumping, as they sat side by side, discussing the most meaningless topics in the world. As they spoke, Shirion found his mind wandering. He tried to look up into her eyes, but his gaze only fell, all courage fading.

I know what's going on, he suddenly realised. I know why this is happening.

Ralinn couldn't help but smile, at the way he lowered his gaze so desperately. Finally, she knew why she couldn't concentrate on anything, whenever he was around. She knew why she always needed him to be close by her. And he knew, too.

I'm in love.

They glanced at each other again. Ralinn laughed nervously; Shirion turned away, smiling. But neither uttered a word. Neither dared.

A cool wind swept through the Clocktowerï¿½a stray wind hailing from a world to which they would return, a world they already missed so much. How warm it was! The moments were shiftingï¿½a single gale of time in a world of timelessness.

Akera kept the shaft strapped to her belt, as she scaled the ladder. For a few moments, the exhausted Mage raised her face to the fruit-scented wind, and a smile swept across her lips.

Soon the trees would be laden with fruit, Clynine knew as she gazed up at the summer wind, sweeping through the starlit corridors. Soon, everyone would be in celebration. For now, there would be no need to worry about their problems. Summer was joy, and the summer sun would sweep the coldness away.

The winds tossed the curtains wideï¿½winds that didn't carry the wintry cold, winds that marked the end of the spring. Ketara and Turino gazed out the window, the Dragon Knight smiling; the Mage simply folded his arms and sighed, dark eyes full of calm.

Spring ends, the winds called out. Summer comesï¿½summer, of fruits, and sunshine, and rainy afternoons!

The Dragon and the Goddess touched the skies, blessing Victoria and Ossyria and all the lands they guarded. All over the world, as the first summer night began, the people were praying in their gardens for prosperity and luck.

And in heaven, the deities were praying tooï¿½praying for a chance in destiny.

Will this work, the way we hoped it would at the start? Will the Spirit fall, or will we fail ourselves?

It wasn't for them to know. These were things that only one being in the entire universe had knowledge about.

And at the edge of Time, the Clock Spirit gazed upon the world, smiling to Itself, content that Its work was done.

Chapter 8: Year of the Rabbit/ The Ire of Life

It all ends with the dance, my dear. It all ends with the dance.

the age of death

The world was rising from a shallow, fitful sleep. Lacy morning rays slipped through the branches to dapple the soil, blessing the few straggly saplings that had survived the rampage.

No. He didn't want seedlings. He wanted trees. Real trees.

Through the sparse remains of Minar Forest flew a messenger. Fallen around him, the trees' bodies were marked and scarred, blades still lodged deep in their bark like metal splinters.

He wanted trees. Fresh-cut, unmarked trees.

Up the front stairs he dashed, throwing the door open to find himself face to face with a huge, scarred man who almost didn't fit behind his tiny desk. Cautiously, the messenger approached him, bowing. That had to be Naol, the chief woodcutter. No doubt about it.

"I bring an order from the king," the youth recited. "Eighty thousand logs, to be delivered to the Henesys Castle by the twelfth of Aries."

Before him, the heavily-built man folded his arms round his barrel chest. "Those wyverns aren't getting any more generous, ya know," the great man growled, chewing on his cigar. "What's it this time? A new prison holding ground?"

"Noï¿½a luxury extension to his castle, apparently," he responded.

Muttering something, the burly woodcutter dragged his chair back across the makeshift hut floor, gesturing for his spokesperson to come. The girl dashed across the floor of the hut. "Tell the men that more wood is needed," Naol said, tapping his tabletop. "Eighty thousand logs. Now shoo, Loril. Hurry up."

The girl opened the door and ran into the forest. For a moment, the roar of awakening machinery gushed into the hut, smoke and fuel suffocating him. Both turned back to face each other, eyes locking.

"Well?"

"Nothing more sir, thank you sir." With a final greeting, the young messenger opened the door and sped away into the burnt Leafre morning.

By the road, the machinery was chewing at the forest already, trees thundering down into the litter of leaves. Looking up, his gaze met the iron blades of the tractors, his eardrums ripped by screeches of metal as they slugged over the ground.

Swallowing, he dashed away, carrying the images of fallen gods and rustling corpses with him as he went.

horned tail: a child with all their dreams

From the circle above, a deity spoke with His son.

"I always knew, Horned Tail. I always knew that the humans would become the way they are. For they are the perfection of my art, and they are gods in their own right."

"Fatherï¿½"

"The existence of life begets the existence of sacrifice. Perfection cannot exist without pain. But I am pleased, and I will leave the humans as they are."

Horned Tail blinked tears from their six eyes, raising their gazes to the volcano mouth. It held few stars, gemstones in a pool of blue magma. How many more there must be! From here, they could only see seventeen.

The Dragon felt Horned Tail's desolation. "Do not despair, my son!" He called. "There is another child of mineï¿½a child who neither loathes nor spites. I hold him in high regard." The deity sighed, voice softening with tenderness. "I wish for you to meet him. You will recognise him, surely, for the brand of my power is strong upon him. He will bring you all your dreamsï¿½I swear!"

Horned Tail watched with glazed, glimmering eyes as the stars twinkled. All three had heard such wonderful things about the world outsideï¿½from the wyverns and kentauri, from the birds that flitted in through the volcano mouth. They had told him of the wonders of the sky, the leavesï¿½and they, too, had told him of the forest dying.

And so Horned Tail dreamt, every day, of healing their forest. Of seeing the world. Of flying with the wyverns, and watching the stars.

Their father believed that a human would bring all these dreams to life.

How? They were trapped, trapped by fate and by their own father. Only in death would they be released. Three souls in one bodyï¿½a body that would die only when its heart was torn away.

How would this human child grant all these things? It had to be a lie. It was a lie.

So they sighed and continued to cry, and the magma pools of the volcano continued to whisper lullabies to them.

shirion: blue birds and candy

"Yes, blue birds will render extra services to those who pay in candy, you know?" exclaimed Ralinn, tilting her head.

Shirion laughed. Actually laughed. "Blue birds?" he asked. "We don't actually encounter them very much, do we?" The Crusader shook his head with a smile, glancing upï¿½

He froze as his eyes met a pair of ice-blue ones. Their mindless conversation came to a halt.

"Oh, hello, Akera."

"Blue birds! Candy!" Akera muttered, arms folded. "When did we start having enough time to discuss that?"

Ralinn blinked as if she had been hit by a dart. "Oh, right!" she gasped. "Goodness, how long have we been lazing around? We'd better goï¿½"

The Mage raised a hand. "No worries. I've found it," she said with unmasked pride, pulling a thin pole-like object from her belt.

ketara: a thing

Was I ever meant to be here, now, where I stand?

Ketara gazed out the window. He played with his collar, the hem of his shirtï¿½but it didn't matter if he could feel these things.

When he thought about "past", he only saw one person. Hair of blue lightning. Blood eyes. Painted black clawsï¿½

The Dragon Knight clutched at his eyes and gritted his teeth, trying not to think of her nails, oh Goddess, her nails!

Is there any other way to explain it? I'm a thing. Just an artificially constructed thing. Others are the product of a love, even a fleeting love. Iï¿½am the product of curiosity. Blasphemy.

A creature that wasn't made by the Dragonï¿½

Suddenly frustrated, he pinched his arm hard. Not enough. He dug his nails deep into his arm. Still not enough. He kicked the table legï¿½the jolt of pain made tears spring to his eyes. And for moments, just moments, the Dragon Knight could believe that he was just like everyone else. Real.

"Real," he murmured to reassure himself. But in his heart, he didn't believe his own words.

ralinn: the dance

"Guess what we found, guys!"

The door banged openï¿½instantaneously, Raydan leapt onto the sofa, yelling.

As Ralinn stepped through the doorway, she felt heavy sleepiness prickle in her eyelids. Another message, she thought vaguely while the rest of the guild filled the room. The guild leader made straight for the sofa and lay down, allowing sleep to blanket her.

The dream began almost at once. "Ah, Ralinnï¿½your time is limited. It all ends with the dance, my dear. It all ends with the dance."

The guild leader's mouth fell open. "What?" she gasped. The dance? "Why can't you justï¿½give your instructions more clearly?"

But when Ralinn blinked, she found herself back on the sofa. The Ranger cursed softly. Hey, that's not fair! What do you mean, "It all ends with the dance"?

Somewhere ahead of her, the Ranger heard a yell. "Raydan! Get me some orange juice, please!" It was Akera.

This really can't go on, she thought, frustration welling up. We've got to move on! But what does that mean?

Sighing and stretching her arms, Ralinn stood and went to the door. Maybe a walk would do her good.

Down the road strolled the Ranger, towards the marketplace. All the way, many of the local townsfolk were window-shopping. Children ate ice cream, small crowds watching as a magician turned ores into gemstones.

The guild leader yawned from sheer relaxation. But that was when a large billboard decided to stop her in her tracks.

"ANNUAL SUMMER FESTIVAL BALL".

Shocked, Ralinn paused, glancing through the details. Ludibrium Station, second floor, 10th of Ariesï¿½ An attractive offer, for someone who hadn't enjoyed herself for years. But why should they stay any longer in Ludibrium for thisï¿½?

It all ends with the dance, my dear.

She blinked, connecting the two happenings in an instant.

Of course! That was it. This had to be the answer to the dream riddle. Sighing with relief, Ralinn turned around and made her speedy way back home.

partners

"We're going to the summer festival ball, guys!"

The instant Ralinn appeared at the doorway, these were the words she shouted.

"What in the Clock Spirit's nameï¿½?"

"Precisely; I'm confused too," the guild leader responded. "But that's what the voice saidï¿½"

The chatter didn't take long to start after that, some voicing disbelief, some sounding enthusiastic. "What kind of dance?" Akera asked apprehensively.

Ralinn walked over to stand among the rest, as they directed their attention to her. "You knowï¿½the usual kind, with the gowns and suits and probably an orchestra?" the Ranger went on. Clynine's face brightened. Telida's face fell. By now, glances were being exchanged, and when the next question came, everyone almost expected it.

"Are we, like, going in pairs?" It was Raydan.

Instantly, the conversation volume skyrocketed.

"Everyone shut up!" the frustrated guild leader yelled. Silence fell immediately, but the restlessness was still apparent in their eyes. "Now, if you can't find a partner, just walk around and mingle with the other people attending. Whatever it is, you must all be there. Alright?"

All nine nodded quietly. A ballï¿½such a dangerous business it was. What might happen now?

turino: the girl beneath the vines

He stood at the doorway, watching her ever so uncertainlyï¿½the girl who rested in the cool shade of the vine arch. The garden was a spectacular oneï¿½but in her presence, he noticed not.

As he watched her blink the light out of her icy eyes, Turino felt his heart lurch.

He wanted to ask her to the dance.

The mage closed his eyes, and reflected. For the past months, he had noticed something. A change in behaviour, whenever Akera was around. He became less rude, less angry, less discontent. He even feltï¿½shy. He wanted to look away. He didn't want to meet her eyes.

Why was this happening? This was so unlike himï¿½

Confused, he watched as Akera sighed, running her fingers through her hair. Bending farther out of the doorway to observe her, he found himself smilingï¿½she was troubled, it appeared, and it was suddenly so dazzlingï¿½

She looked upï¿½met his eye with surprise. Gasping, Turino slipped back into the house, heart aching as if a knife had suddenly been plunged deep into his chest.

He wanted to ask Akera to the dance, so badly. Yet one thing held him back. Fear.

Whenï¿½did I start being afraid of speaking to others?

clynine: shining ray

The garden of their rented house was generously laid out. It wrapped around three walls of the house, flowerbeds bordering a field of grass.

At the centre of the greenery, Clynine breathed deep. I know I can. Her mistress watched in expectance, smiling. This would be her very first attempt at Shining Rayï¿½something almost no other Cleric had ever tried before.

Staring down into the pond water, the Cleric breathed, one last time, and closed her eyes.

Sharpen. The light streamed swiftly into her palm, as it always had since the start of her magician days. It gathered in her fingers, leaping with energy. Sharpen. Sharpen.

The energy was disobedient. It continued to jump about in her arms, screaming to break free. Sharpen, she thought more adamantly, calling out to each individual strand of energy. Sharpen! Form an arrow!

Then there it wasï¿½it felt like something snapping into position. They were aligning. The bolts sidled roughly against each other, forcing themselves apartï¿½but Clynine continued to push them into a straight lineï¿½

Sweat ran down the sides of her face. Her breaths were shortening with effort, her arm slowly beginning to burn. But she couldn't let go! It wasn't time to let it goï¿½not yet, not yetï¿½

Clynine felt the hardened shape of a burning arrow. Only briefly.

With all the energy that still hung on the thread between her heart and her fingers, she raised her staff like a bow. She felt a smile leap to her lips, only for secondsï¿½exhaustion quickly fell upon her, and she knew she had to use her strength to aim and fireï¿½

The fountain. Fountain. Through her clouded vision, Clynine sought out the shape of the fish head, spitting jets of sparkling water in an arc over the pond. The Cleric lined up the point of her arrow with the tip. And she gave a cry, letting it fly, stumbling backwards with a blind gasp for breath.

Then she cried out in frustration. Her arms had swung down, just a littleï¿½and that was enough to direct the projectile south, straight into the base of the statue. The granite fish shook in its cradle, almost collapsing on its side.

"I'm so sorryï¿½" Clynine gasped, falling back upon the grass, lights shifting across her vision. The sunlight fell warmly upon her face, and she barely made out the shape of Lanorï¿½'s head above. "Mistressï¿½I'm so sorry, I didn't hit it."

"But you got something outï¿½something that looked like a Shining Ray," she responded calmly. The Cleric felt the Archmage's strong fingers grasp her own, and in moments she was standing again. "Alright, find yourself a larger target."

Clynine began to searchï¿½but she was abruptly distracted from her task when she caught sight of a face at the window. "Zethis!" the girl shouted happily, running to the window.

"Arghh!" The blonde youth stumbled back, before his face vanished from the window. Confused, the Cleric climbed onto the parapet to look inside, before noticing Zethis on the kitchen floor, looking very dazed.

Clynine giggled. "My, are you alright?" she asked as he stood clumsily. Another shadow fell across the kitchen floorï¿½Lanorï¿½ had appeared beside her.

"Uhï¿½uhï¿½hi!" Zethis finally exclaimed, blushing. His eyes were gentle bright brown, the Cleric suddenly noticedï¿½and deeply expressive, beneath the locks of straw-gold that fell over his eyes.

He was pretty cute, she finally decided.

The aforementioned mistress prodded her in the ribs. "Hey, Clynineï¿½ask him to the ball," she whispered with a smile. Clynine raised her eyebrows, then seeing the logic behind it, she nodded.

The girl waved a hand. "Would youï¿½go to the ball with me?" she asked breathlessly.

Zethis stumbled back, turning very pale. "W-what? Youï¿½d-did you sayï¿½"

"Yes, will you go to the ball with me?" she repeated with more vigour.

"Iï¿½I'd be honoured to!" the youth replied with shock, turning away. "Iï¿½Iï¿½yeah, of courseï¿½"

Suddenly, the White Knight swooned against the kitchen wall. Clynine called out in concern, watching with amusement. "I'mï¿½I'm fine," he gasped, sitting down and breathing deeply. With a last laugh and a silent cheer, the Cleric left.

akera: broken hopes

Akera ascended the stairs, fingers crossed, as she headed for the study. Shirion would be reading there right now, if she had read his behavioural patterns correctly.

In her chest her heart thumped crazily, like a fugitive trying to escape. Breathing deep as the wind tumbled down, she stilled her heart and continued to run, holding tightly to her courage. She could ask him now, she knew!

The door opened before her, and she took another breath. How nervous she felt! How would he respond?

"Shirion!" Akera exclaimed, soaring across the floor.

On the sofa, Shirion turned. "Akera," he exclaimed back in surprise. "What is it?"

But at that moment, her eyes shifted to the person beside him, and she felt her heart drop like a stoneï¿½and the words left.

"Hello, Akera," Ralinn said, smiling slightly.

"Umï¿½hi," the Mage responded weakly, blinking in disbelief. "Am Iï¿½intruding?"

"No, it's fine!" Shirion replied quickly. "Do you want to read as well?"

Akera shook her head. Her orderly mind was suddenly a vast, chaotic mess, as she slowly came to terms with what lay before her.

Shirionï¿½

She thought, all over again. Thought of the times when nothing could pull Shirion away from her. Times when they were still two lost children, two people different from the rest.

She thought how they had stood together at the edge of the windswept forest, and she had longed to feel the warmth of his hand around hers.

Shirion, Iï¿½Iï¿½

"Akera?"

The girl turned, to find Ralinn's amber eyes searching hers. And suddenly, that gaze was more than she could take.

Akera felt her heart tear in two. "Leave me alone!" she snarled, whirling to the door. Through sunlit stairs she soared, sobbingï¿½down, down, her eyes misting. She could feel her soul breaking into pieces, as she took step after painful step on the marble.

ï¿½It's too late for me now. Too late to acknowledge anything.

By the time Akera arrived at the living room, she felt too broken to care what she did next. The curtains were gold in the afternoon light, the sofas emptyï¿½perfect. She needed solitude now, more than anything else.

Falling down upon the sofa, engulfed in the softness of the cushions, Akera began to cry.

In the midst of her tears, Akera heard the sound of the gushing tap. Turning in surprise, she found Ketara watching her from the toilet door, eyes wide. Again she noted his exceptional looksï¿½all the girls in the guild couldn't help but do that, anyway. Then she saw the depression in his eyes.

"What's wrong?" the Mage asked. "I believe you feel confused about something. It's there in your eyesï¿½"

"Yeah, I'm just thinking," he replied. "About my no-past."

"Youï¿½don't remember anything from your childhood? Interestingï¿½"

"It's not interesting!" he exclaimed, agitation darkening his eyes. "Do you know what it's like? Iï¿½I could be anï¿½an object. Something that someone created, and threw away."

"I always thought you had the most perfect life in the guild," she sighed. "Turns out you're just as sad as all the rest of us."

Ketara turned to gaze at the window. "I look happy," he murmured. "I look happy, so others don't have to feel sad for me. I can't let them feel sad for me."

These words struck the Mage hard. It almost made her feelï¿½guilty. "Oh," she said softly.

"So why were you crying just now, if I may ask?"

"Something aboutï¿½the ball," she mumbled, growling and turning away on the sofa. "Nothing you have to know." Biting her lip, she shook her head. "Don't worry. I'll enjoy myself alone. I always do, anyway."

the boutique

Plans were then made for the purchase of their ball attire, later that night. Telida was rather adamant about not wearing a dress, and thus they allowed her to stay behind.

After a quick breakfast the next morning, the entourage of nine left the semi-detached house for their shopping spree. After a leisurely walk down the bustling street, the group entered a well-furnished boutique at the end.

The smell of cotton engulfed them. "I'm in heaven!" exclaimed Clynine instantly, running towards the racks.

The girls generally leapt upon the clothing like hungry animals, and with great voracity, they ploughed through the assortment of clothes. But not Akera. As she watched, she grew strangely nervous. How was she supposed to do thisï¿½

"Need help?"

The Mage found herself facing Ralinn, the instant she turned. "What makes you think so?" Akera growled. Why should I choose a dress, if I have no one to go with? You think he'sï¿½yours, don't you?

"Come on, I'll help," the guild leader replied, parting the dresses. Guiltily, she followed, wishing the sadness would desert her forever.

Raydan leaned on the door of the fitting room, tapping his fingers on the wood. "Done yet?" he called.

"Well, if you think this is so easy, why don't you come in here and try it yourself?" Turino answered angrily. Ten minutes passed, and the door finally swung open. "Well? Raydan?"

Raydan looked up. He yelped and staggered back.

Turino in a suit. It lookedï¿½wrong.

"Itï¿½looks right," the Sniper replied with a forced smile. "But do something about your hair please." He pointed at the jet-black mess that fell into his dark eyes.

"Yeah, fineï¿½" the Fire Poison Mage askedï¿½

Suddenly, his eyes went blank, and his stare remained fixed beyond Raydan's shoulder. Surprised, the Crossbowman turned around, to find himself looking at an almost unrecognisable young woman in a sky blue dress, her pale silver hair rippling down the back, like a waterfallï¿½

Akera folded her arms. "It fits," they barely heard her tell Ralinn, in a flat tone. "And it's itchy."

Raydan glanced back at Turino. He was still staring dumbly on at the female Mage, as if his life depended on it.

"Oh, Goddess," the Crossbowman gasped, trying not to snort with laughter.

Turino seemed at war with himself. "I have to get this right," he muttered suddenly, locking himself into the fitting room again. "I have to get my hair done. Raydan, can you help me?"

"On the day itself," Raydan replied, amused. "But yeah, I'll help you. Visit my room before the ballï¿½"

"Thanks."

The Sniper sniggered, leaning on the door again. "Oh, no problem," he answered. "I didn't know, Turino. I had no idea you felt so strongly aboutï¿½"

"SHUT UP, RAYDAN!"

the world, turned over

The next days were a flurry of anxiety and excitement. The ten members began their preparations for the ballï¿½most of them, at least.

Times seemed to be getting betterï¿½one could look at them, and almost believe that there was absolutely nothing wrong with the world, that there wasn't a king blowing up cities and destroying tribes and clearing forests.

Ralinn was absolutely abusing this opportunity to relax. She lazed around the garden, complimenting Clynine as she trained with Lanorï¿½, playing pranks on her brotherï¿½even indulging in a short drink every once in a while. She was turning twenty this year, after all. Well beyond legal age.

A recent development had occurred elsewhere. Raydan had discovered that the governor and legendary defender of El Nath enjoyed playing pranks just as much as he did. Now, they made their merry ways around the house on a daily basis, jumping out of people's closets and planting bags of fake blood under their rugs. It was all very well, tooï¿½because sometimes, their idleness got almost boring.

Even Zethis, Turino and Akera were starting to panic now over the ball. The latter two both knew they would be depending on luck, and thus they would have to catch eyes. But Turino, Akera, panicking over how they looked! No one had ever imagined this day would come.

And Ketara. He was as different from before as he could ever be. He spent entire evenings sitting outside, staring up into the sky, coming in only for dinner. He even slept there sometimes.

ralinn: some things are just that precious

And so, five hours to the ball, the crowd at the dining table was more silent and tense than it had ever been. The guild leader had prepared them a magnificent meal, and they were all eating more messily than usual.

She was nervous. Ralinn subconsciously took glances at Shirion as she ate; she didn't know what to say to break the silence. She'd only look stupid. Everyone smiled back, all equally false. Minutes slipped by across the tabletop.

And suddenly, Ralinn was alone in the kitchen, washing the dishes and contemplating the things that could happen, today. She blinked and reached for the first dish, wishing her heart would be stillï¿½

"Hey, Ralinn. Linn."

Then a smile wove itself onto her lips, as she felt fingers entwine themselves with her hair. And she went breathless.

"You looked nervous at lunch," Shirion murmured, touching her cheek gently, to her terror. She turnedï¿½and all at once, he withdrew with shock.

"Umï¿½um, yes, Iï¿½" Ralinn's eyes shifted away. Distract him, distract himï¿½

Her gaze fell upon Shirion's belt, where his sword hung loosely in its sheath. "Hey, you wear it indoors?" she commented in surprise.

"Ohï¿½"

Curious, she reached for its hilt. And at that one moment, he did the same. The guild leader only had a second, before she felt the Crusader's hand close around hers.

Ralinn yelped, her face blazing. I'm so sorryï¿½the words sprang to her tongue as she felt the warmth in his fingers and panicked. Oh noï¿½ Her legs weakened, her heart throbbing in her ears. No, no, noï¿½

All else was still for those moments. Then, to her silent shock, Shirion pried her hand away from his swordï¿½slowly encircling it in his own grip.

"ï¿½Ralinn," he said, stumbling over her name. His fingers fell away suddenly. "I'mï¿½I'm sorry. You're the guild leader, and Iï¿½I can't. No, please. Not the guild leader." He closed his eyes, turning away. "I'm so sorry."

Eyes slowly widening as she absorbed his words, Ralinn tried to understand. No, he didn't mean that, did heï¿½?

"Shirionï¿½" she murmured. "No, Shirion! Don't worry about titles or positions. Don't worry about what they might think!" Her throat was dry. "Iï¿½I think something has to change between us. Something must, because you're no longer just a guild member to me, Shirion. You're moreï¿½I want you to be moreï¿½"

And suddenly, she found herself deep, deep his arms. From above her, Shirion's voice was soft, quavering. "Ralinn!" he murmured desperately, burying his face in her hair. "I've waited so long for you to say that!" The Crusader ran his fingers through her hair, and at once the world seemed to vanish.

"Me too," Ralinn answered softly, heart swept up in elation. "Iï¿½I didn't think you'd ever think the sameï¿½"

As the Crusader drew back and smiled at her, Ralinn opened her mouth to speak. But she couldn't find the words to use; he couldn't either. They spent three minutes laughing uneasily, trying not to meet each other's eyes.

"Well, this is awkward," Shirion commented as he gazed out into the garden.

"Yeahï¿½awkward."

Shirion reached into the sink to retrieve a utensil to wash. Ralinn did as wellï¿½out of nervousness, her grip slipped, and the bowl fell back into the water with a vast splash, wetting their clothes.

He laughed and shoved her aside with his shoulder. She giggled and shoved him back. Smiling, the Crusader reached out to brush her face, his fingers still wet. "You're cute, you know?"

Ralinn felt a tide of affection sweep her away. She giggled again, turning in embarrassment. "In what way, may I ask?"

"You are," he insisted with a smile, bending forward as if to kiss her. But Ralinn only laughed and pushed him awayï¿½and he laughed as well, flinging dishwater at her.

clynine: the last two hours

"Soï¿½how's it?"

The door creakedï¿½and at last, after his half-hour adventure within Raydan's room, Turino exited.

Clynine's jaw dropped.

"Well?" Raydan asked, appearing behind his "customer".

No mistake, Turino in a suit looked completely wrong.But Turino in a suit, with his hair neatened up lookedï¿½

Absolutely dashing.

The Cleric gave a squeal. "I don't believe it's you!" she gushed, reddening. "Turino! Why didn't you do this earlier?"

"Do what?" He touched his hair. As he did so, his dark eyes narrowedï¿½it was the most enchanting expression in the world. What magic a simple makeover had worked.

Raydan's grin widened. "Wouldn't you say I did a good job?" he asked.

Clynine nodded vigorously. "You look sooo handsome!" she cooed, gazing up at the Fire Poison Mage. Turino tried to glare at the over-excited Clynine, but that glare only looked perfect on his face. His features were graceful, and so fineï¿½and his hair and was black as midnight, his gaze reinforced with silent power.

"Go knock the girls out," Raydan said confidently, at which Turino frowned. "You look awesome!"

The Mage folded his arms. "Whatever." He looked away.

Somehow, Clynine knew that the hint of sadness in his eyes was for Akera. Though he had taken trouble to obscure it, his feelings for her were all but apparent.

She'll never notice him. She's too caught up thinking aboutï¿½Shirion.

His sorrow faded rapidly, chased away by annoyance. The Cleric smiled up at Turino and patted his arm. "Don't worry," she whispered. "Go enjoy yourself. It'll work out."

"I didn't ask for your advice."

But she could see the hope in his eyes, and she contented herself with that.

telida: reciprocation

As twilight flew to take afternoon's place, Telida sneaked out through the back door, round the three walls of the house. With a small whisper, she slipped into Dark Sight, turning into a shadow.

As usual, there sat the Dragon Knight, figure slumped on the vine swing, his eyes fixed on the stars above.

The thief tiptoed across the flowerbeds. He'd get a good scaring, Ketara would. He'd pay.

Without a sound, she walked straight up to him, invisible to his vision. Oblivious, he swung absently back and forthï¿½

"Ketara!"

Ketara almost fell off the swing. He stood and whirled around, gasping in shock, before his terror melted and disbelief filled his face. "Lida!" he exclaimed, panting with fear.

Telida ended her Dark Sight and sat heavily down next to him. "Why are you still sitting out here?" she exclaimed. "The ball is in half an hour! You aren't going to miss it, are you?"

Instead of giving the response she had been expecting, the warrior sighed. "Iï¿½I'm not sure," he replied. "I justï¿½don't feel it in me. I don't knowï¿½"

His response irritated her, somehow. Trying to quell it, she sighed. "Don't tell me this is about your past again. You were always able to keep that away. Why now?"

"I don't know." Ketara sighed, turning. "I meanï¿½what's the point, if I'm just a witch's experiment? Shouldn't I just die, like I was supposed toï¿½"

She gave up. It was too much. When, when would he learn to stop showering all this pity upon himself? What gave him the right?

"YOU IDIOT!" Telida screamed, slapping him, shoving him off the bench. The Dragon Knight landed in the grass with a yelp. While his eyes brightened with tears of pain, she panted, squeezing her eyes shut.

"Stop it, alright? Stop pitying yourself! You're becoming worse and worse everyday! I don't give a damn where you came from, or whatever otherï¿½crap you want to give me about your past. No one cares, okay?"

She stood and strode away, tears rising to her eyes. "Males," she growled. "All the same. All so self-centred." Perhaps Ketara had heard her. She didn't care.

Indoors, within the sitting room, almost everyone was dressed and ready. Now they looked up to stare at her. Then their gazes shifted, as the door opened again.

"Lida, I'm sorry," Ketara's voice came from the doorway. Ignoring him, she turned and proceeded up the stairs.

The night winds were always strong, here in Ludibrium. They descended down the stairwell, as she climbed into the night. Here, the Hermit began to thinkï¿½of their quest, of this worthless detour, of all the things that had just flown by.

Stupid ball.

Resting her hand on the railing, she thought of all the tension that had woven itself in with the peace, during the guild members' preparations for the ball. She thought about all the things they had discussed, about what Ketara, that idiot, had been doing all this whileï¿½

Telida froze.

Oh, goodness.

It finally dawned on her. Something she ought to have realised earlier.

He was depressed enough as it wasï¿½and now, she was making him attend the ball alone.

Stopping on the stairs, hand resting on the railing, she blinked with shock. Why had she not realised howï¿½mean, how insensitive, how immature she was being?

The thief clenched a fist, heart pounding harder. If only her actions could be reversedï¿½

Oh, but they can! Her eyes widened, Ketara's words of apology sinking deep into her soul.

She still had time. She could still change things.

Heart thumping, Telida whirled around and leapt down the stairs. As she flew through the living room, everyone turned to regard her oddly. Ketara was slumped on the sofa, and he didn't see her as she passed.

Pausing in front of Ralinn, the Hermit rested a hand on her shoulder. "Go without me," she gasped. "I've got something to do."

The door flew open before her. She soared away across the night roads, faster than she had ever run before.

ralinn: chandeliers and orchestras

Ralinn glanced back at her friends as they walked, smiling. What a sight it was, all eight of her companions in ballroom clothes!

In front of them, the Ludibrium Station's gates were wide open in welcome, men and women streaming into the building with high spirits. Banners hung over the four doors, ornaments and ribbons adorning every wall. As they entered, the lights swelled overhead, the scents of perfume heady and intoxicating.

"Come on, guys!" she shouted, walking towards the staircase to the great hall. Already she could hear the people in merry conversation, the orchestra tuning their instrumentsï¿½it was a sound like the Goddess' voice, shaking the floors and the clocks beneath.

Ralinn stepped through the arch, and at once, she was rendered her speechless in the divinity of the lights. It was brilliant, so brilliant and glorious. This was her first time in an unfamiliar worldï¿½and how wonderful it was!

"Hey, Akera," Raydan said, tapping her shoulder. She turned, struggling to hear him through the noise of the crowd. "I know, I really should be abusing you right now. But I just feel like being nice today. Besides, I know you lost to me on purpose." He grinned. "It still stands, though, that you are my servant for today. And I have decided that there is one thing I want to order of you."

At her look of scepticism, the Sniper took a meaningful glance at Turino. "You have no idea how much that guy wants to catch your eye," he said with a smile. "So please be nice to him. Just for tonight. You're sealed by the deal."

Then he grinned one more time, while she took it in. "Won't be hard. He's really a nice guy, deep deep down inside."

telida: scarlet silk

Somewhere in the night, Telida could hear the bells ringing, the violins serenading upon the brilliance of the trumpets. Her footsteps grew more rapid.

The clothes shop was almost deserted, as had all the streets been. At the counter, the storekeeper woman looked up from her notepad. "Here for a last-minute dress?" she asked, looking her up and down. Telida nodded, gaze quickly leaping across the racks.

"Anything you can recommend?"

"Something low-cut would look great on you," she suggested. The girl felt her face heat up.

"That's not funny!" Distractedly, she searched through the shelves, her apprehension towards being in a clothes shop growing stronger.

A bold sliver of red caught her eye in the midst of the blues and whites. Slowly, she approached the object, frowning at herself.

She had been repulsed by dresses, all her life. But now there was no time to reconsider. She had a friend whom she couldn't leave in the lurch anymore. Leaping for the scarlet piece, she snatched it out and flung herself into a fitting room.

Seconds and many trips later, Telida was done. The Hermit glanced at herself in the mirror and grimacedï¿½her, in a dress. It was just slim enough to look graceful without making her look under-dressed, and blazed like fire. The neckline was slightly too low for her likingï¿½but there was no time to find another.

I'm going to remember this forever, she thought distastefully, trying not to trip over the gown as she headed back to the counter, heart thumping with renewed nervousness. You'd better appreciate this, Ketara.

The storekeeper glanced up at her, a smile lighting up her face. "You look absolutely gorgeous," she gasped.

"Ah, stop it!" Telida growled in response. She paid in a hurry, almost dropping some of the money. Then, lifting the gown off her feet, she sped away through the streets like a ghost of the night.

shirion: first dance

Shirion bit his lip, as he glanced about. Lanorï¿½ and Raydan were currently taking advantage of the free-flow of food. Ketara, Turino and Akera were trying their luck, and Clynine was giving Zethis dance lessons.

Here he was, feeling more lost than he was comfortable with. Ralinn was with himï¿½just as lost as he was. Together they glanced around, worried that any move they made would expose them as newcomers.

How does this start? He wondered, swallowing. Are we going to stand here foreverï¿½?

Then they heard a sudden hush. The people were turning to the orchestra onstage, eyes bright and waiting. The conductor raised his baton; the instrumentalists followed.

In a rush of melody, the music began.

Its effect was instant. Everyone paused in their present preoccupations, raising their gazes to the orchestra. Their gazes were bright, captivated by the magic of the tunesï¿½and as if by that magic alone, the dancing began.

Shirion felt it fill him to the brim, just as it had everyone else. But Ralinn was already inching towards the dance floor with small tentative footsteps, her gaze trapped in the lights.

"Ralinn!" he called, giving chase. Touching her shoulder, Shirion smiled as she turned, and bowed. Suddenly, magically, he knew how to begin. "May I have this dance?"

"Oh, I'd be honoured," Ralinn responded, looking so shy. He took her hand and kissed it. Then, without another second to spare beneath the great chandeliers, their first dance began.

akera: made of shadows

As she watched Ralinn and Shirion take up a stately dance, Akera knew she would die here. She couldn't watch, as the one she loved was dragged away, one footstep at a time. No, pleaseï¿½

Struggling not to cry, the Mage turned away. She had to walk on. She had to try again some other time. Minds could be changedï¿½

Blinking, Akera stopped. "Ohï¿½hey, Turino," she said his name in a whisper, noticing the dark-haired young man for the first time. Then she added in full sincerity, "You look amazing tonight." The Mage could have sworn that Turino blushed.

"Youï¿½are alone, aren't you?"

Akera nodded, walking up to him. "Well, while we're here, I might as well try to make him jealous, don't you think?"

Turino's eyes widened as she took his left hand, gripping his shoulder and pulling up close, so close.

"Akera!" he gasped in surprise. Akera smiled to herself, feeling a spark of defiant belief. She would enjoy tonight, Shirion or no Shirion. Oh, she would make him so envious.

Turino was shaking his head. "No, I shouldn't," he answered. "Youï¿½"

"It's a party!" Akera responded, laughing. "Enjoy yourself, Turino." She looked around at the dancers surrounding her, their sequined, glittery dresses lit a lustrous gold. "Do you know how to dance?"

He smiled sarcastically back. "Do you think I do?"

Finally, Turino had begun to soak up the joy of the night. Reaching his arm round her back, he smiled, eyes gazing deep into her heart.

Gradually, subtly, Akera felt herself sink into the depths of that elegant, burdened gaze. Shadows, she thought, smiling dreamily for moments. His eyes are made of shadows. Such beautiful, sad, sad shadows.

And as Turino's eyes returned the smile, his expression was softeningï¿½still so broken, but softening. It was at this very moment that she finally felt understood. Understood and believed, for the first time in her life.

The music was soft and smooth. And so romantic, Akera added mentally with a sigh.

the latecomer

There was just something about the way he smiled that drew gazes, something about the way he spoke that entrapped their hearts so hopelessly. The girls who had come partner-less were all practically flocking round him, all begging for a dance.

Ketara was having an undoubtedly good time. Having been raised by the cultured, refined Ellinian fairies, the Dragon Knight was well versed in the art of ballroom dancing. He had probably had the most dances of the night already, and more still awaited.

Yet however he enjoyed himself, it was evident that he wasn't as happy as he should have been. Some were puzzled by the way he would glance every so often into the distance, as if hoping for something to appear there.

But none of them would guess that he was keeping a part of his heart reserved, for someoneï¿½a friend he had not yet seen the entire evening.

Elia gazed up into the deep brown eyes of this young man who now held her in his arms, and she felt a thrill chase up her spine. His eyes reminded her of melted chocolate, of walking in the woods, of everything warm and uplifting.

This had to be the best dance she had ever had, in all her years of attending balls with her family. And he was, she was unafraid to admit, absolutely the best-looking guy she had ever seen.

I'm not too bad looking myself, am I? She thought to herself with doubt. With her soft brown curls and vivid blue eyes, he must think she was at least a little pretty too, surely?

"What'sï¿½your name?" Elia finally dared to inquire, as they waltzed into the middle of the silk ocean. His eyes widened slightly, and she felt herself pull back with shyness.

"My name?"

The girl nodded, hoping she wouldn't melt at the sound of his voice. He smiled back and tilted his head thoughtfully, with an expression that made her blush with adoration.

That was when a commotion began to rise in the back of the hall. It started soft, then began to swell as people around turned to stare. Surprised, Elia looked as well, wondering who could be drawing so much attention.

Speechlessly, she watched and gaped.

It was a girl, her hair the colour of raven feathers. Her beauty was simply indescribable with words. She wore anger, or panic, on her featuresï¿½who knew? It was pretty. Her dress was blazing crimson, the silk swishing about her legs as she walked on hurriedly. Her eyes were dark, her face pale, her figure the most beautiful, alluring one imaginable. And the way she glared through the crowds was the most commanding, terrifying expression Elia had ever seen before.

Who in the worldï¿½

Snatching her gaze away, the girl directed it back to the young man beside her. He was watching her in shock too, disbelief running deep in his expression.

It took him a minute to realise that Elia was watching him. But finally, he did.

"That's my best friend!" he exclaimed, grinning. "I never thought I'd see her wear a dress! Ohï¿½Lida!"

His attention was gone; he was too caught up with trying to catch his friend's attention. "Lida!" he shouted again, waving excitedly. The girl named Lida suddenly whirled around, joy rising to her own eyes.

"Ketara!" she called back, racing towards him while surprised gazes followed. "Ketara! Wait for me!"

Elia glanced up at Ketara in mild surprise. Thatï¿½sounds like a girl's name.

"My goodness, Lida!" the warrior still couldn't contain his excitement, his disbelief, as Telida came to a stop before him and curtsied, rolling her eyes. "You're wearing aï¿½aï¿½"

"Yes, a dress," she replied, smiling wider. "For you, no less!"

"Wow, Lida, you justï¿½rhymedï¿½" But she didn't reply, for her expectant gaze was fixed too deep on his. "Alright, alright!" he exclaimed, taking her hands, feeling his heart swell with joy. "Thanks so much, Lida. I won't forget this. Really. Thanks."

Telida smiled back, eyebrows rising. "Well, then, Ketara," she replied, slipping into position. "Let's make this the best dance of the night."

Ketara laughed in reply. "No," he said. "Let's make this the best dance Ludibrium has ever seen."

lanorï¿½: a view from the sidelines

Lanorï¿½ glanced up momentarily from her paper plate of chocolate cake. "Done yet?" she called to Raydan. He said something unintelligible, and when she turned around, she saw that there were cream stains all over his mouth. "Alright, where are the lollipops?"

He pointed with a grin at his suit, where a conspicuous new bulge had appeared. Laughing, the Archmage turned to see someone coming towards the table. "Turn around and pretend to eat," she urged quickly. He did as told, but not before reaching into the bowl of sweets and stuffing a few more into his outer garments.

While the bearded man obtained a paper plate and some food, Raydan and Lanorï¿½ observed the dancers. Their gazes crossed the mass of people, the Archmage picking out a few interesting couples in the mix.

Then she stopped, and gave a gasp. Surely not! Was thatï¿½?

"Raydan," she said, tapping his shoulder insistently, eyes still fixed on the girl in the crowd, dancing among the rest like a blazing firebird. Raydan looked, and almost instantly, his mouth fell open.

"Goddessï¿½don't tell me that's who I think it is."

Lanorï¿½ nodded, smiling despite herself. "Yes, it's her," she repliedï¿½but Raydan didn't answer.

The Archmage turned to find Sniper staring at the young woman, face flushed deep red. "Oh, Goddess!" he panted, unable to pull his eyes away. "Telida is so hotï¿½"

Lanorï¿½ laughed. "Keep your drool for the food," she advised, grasping his shoulders and directed him back to the food table, against his protests.

ketara: i'll be waiting

Was this real life? It felt like heaven, or something beyond. Ketara only felt his spirits rise higher with each step he took. And she seemed to feel the same.

"Well, this is amazing!" the warrior exclaimed. "You're wearing a dress. And you're dancing. And you're happy."

Telida shrugged. "You know this isn't going to last," she replied. "I'll start pushing you away again, like I always do. This side of me will justï¿½vanish."

The Dragon Knight gripped her hand tighter. "And I'll be waiting for it to return!"

Telida looked far into the distance. "Not depressed anymore?"

With a final perfect cadence, the music came to its end, and the instrumentalists began to turn their pages. "Course not!" Ketara said. "But like your anger, it'll come back."

"And I'll be waiting to pull you out of it."

The warrior laughed, even more merrilyï¿½she smiled in reply. I'm glad I met you, he thought to himself, as the music rose again around them. A sane friend like you is what I've always needed.

ralinn: stargazing

"It's a great night, don't you think?"

There was a sea of stars above, the windows flung wide to the full sky overhead. The guild leader watched the twinkling lights and sighed. "It is," she whispered. "Hm, there's the constellation Orionï¿½"

Beside her, Shirion took a grateful breath. "Someone once told me that I was chosen by the stars," he replied, folding his arms on the windowsill. "Something concerning glowing eyes andï¿½something like that."

"Yeahï¿½I know, your glowy eyes areï¿½coolï¿½"

His gaze brightened in the chandelier back-light, his smile affectionate. "Thanks," he whispered suddenly, wrapping his left arm round her back. Ralinn slowly found herself leaning towards himï¿½and in silent response, his other arm came to encircle her shoulders.

"Thanks too," she replied, closing her eyes and leaning her head against him, heaven descending upon her and making her sleepy. "Thanks for everything."

turino: drowning in heartbreak

At last, the clock at the head of the grand hall struck midnight. Simultaneously, all movement ceased; the music faded, the curtains fell.

"Thank you for this dance," Akera murmured with a smile as she came to a stop, curtsying before Turino. He bowed in response, thrill still rushing through his veins. As he looked upon her face, he found himself longing for another dance, for the touch of her fingers, forï¿½

The Mage looked down self-consciously. "Soï¿½let's go find Ralinn, I suppose?"

Turino heard no response. Surprised, he turned again to look at Akeraï¿½first with curiosity. Then, with alarm.

Her blank gaze was locked on the windows. He felt his heart sink. It was Ralinn. Ralinn, half-asleep in Shirion's arms.

What Akera must be thinking nowï¿½watching him give his love away to someone elseï¿½

Terrified, the male Mage reached to touch her shoulder. "No," he gasped. "No, Akera, don'tï¿½"

Akera heard nothingï¿½for one thing overrode all else. There and then, something was crumbling in her heartï¿½a defence of some kind, a stronghold, a barrier. Turino could see it in her eyes.

"Shirion!" she cried hoarsely, burying her face in her hands. "Shirionï¿½"

With a single sharp scream, she turned and soared away.

"Akera!" Turino gasped, shoving passers-by aside, forcing himself through the crowd after her. Oh crap, oh crapï¿½it ran through his mind, over and over. He knew what she could do in anger. He couldn't let her do it againï¿½

Down the stairs they spiralledï¿½Turino never lost sight of the beautiful young woman and her flowing silver hair, as he chased her through the empty, echoing corridors of the station. Her blue gown trailed after her, her hair waving like a veil as she tripped, over and over again.

"Akera,"he called again, panting, but she didn't hear, only ran, ran, crying. Down the stairs. Down, after her.

Akera stopped at the bar, flinging the door wide. Turino stopped to catch his breath at the foot of the stairs. Outside, the night was warm, and above them, a carpet of stars was spread wide. He took no notice, watching in terror as Akera walked to the counter, placed an order, wiped more tears away.

No. He stood, picking up his pace. Don't be stupid, Akeraï¿½

The Mage burst into the bar. Racing straight towards Akera, he called her name angrily, ignoring the stares he received. She looked up to regard him vaguely. Five mugs of beer rested on the tabletop.

"Go away," she snarled, raising a mug.

"Stop it, Akera!" Turino shouted.

"GO AWAY!" Akera shrieked, clawing his hand away, rapidly downing the drink. Her expression was crazed, her eyes narrow and bloodshot, as the golden liquid splashed down her chin. She stopped, and gasped. "I thought you would love me. I thought we could be together, the way we were supposed to be. But she stole you away."

"No one's supposed to be with anyone," Turino replied, sitting. "Control yourself, Akera."

She ignored him. Second mug down. Akera glared motionlessly at him for a few secondsï¿½then she gave in, and collapsed upon the tabletop, sobbing wretchedly. "Go away, you monster," she croaked. "I know you hate me. Everyone hates me. Everyone!"

It made his heart so sore, to see her this way. Turino reached out to touch her shoulderï¿½but she flung his hand away.

"It's just me, after all," she snarled, picking up her next mug. "Pathetic, useless, ugly me." She drank.

"No, Akera, you're not useless," he whispered, bending close. "And you're beautiful."

"LIAR!" Suddenly whirling to face him, Akera swung the empty third mug at Turino, and he dodged away. "Liar, liar, liar! If I were beautiful, I wouldn't be the way I am now! Rejected, unneeded, loathedï¿½" She screamed at the ceiling, then picked up the next mug.

"That's not true!" he exclaimed, watching as she drank deeply. "I wouldn't reject you. I mean, if it counts for anything, I like youï¿½"

I like you.

I love you.

Gasping, the male mage pulled his hand away. No, noï¿½what was I thinkingï¿½?

She stared on at the last two mugs with a glassy gaze. "Oh, trying to suck up now, are we?" she asked, smiling demonically.

He was still confused, dazed. "Let'sï¿½let's go home," he suggested, glancing away.

Akera laughed raucously, thrusting one of the last two mugs in his direction. "I paid for this!" she yelled, before raising and gulping down her own. Looking down at the mug of beer, he momentarily felt some annoyanceï¿½but concern and pity overbore everything, and he took the drink from her.

Turino, you didn't have to get yourself into this.

Five minutes later, he was supporting a laughing, screaming Akera, as they stumbled home. Occasionally, she would unintentionally light fires in her hands, singing his clothes and occasionally burning himï¿½but he withstood it. It was all for her, after all.

Why? He wondered. But he took one glance at her half closed eyes, her pale face, and he knew.

Everything was quiet as death, as Turino downed a canned drink by the dim lamplight of the living room, and Akera slept on the sofa close by. Every few seconds, he helplessly took another glance at the female Mage.

I've softened so much.

Hadn't life in the Dungeon already taught him to be wary of everything? His parents had been killed by monsters. His sister had almost suffered the same fate. Why did he still allow himself to lower his guard so often?

But Akera probably understood too. The need to hide from the worldï¿½

The doorknob clicked. Leaping from the couch in shock, Turino felt his drink spill down his nightshirt. Cursing, he turned around to find his sister and Ketara standing at the doorway.

"Oh, you," the Mage muttered, sitting back down, paying them no more attention.

"I didn't ask you to comment," Telida answered coldly, before heading up the stairs.

Ketara headed off to the kitchen, switching on the lights and fiddling with the cupboards. Glancing back at Akera, Turino noticed that she was drooling into the cushions. He found himself trying not to smile.

He gulped down the remains of his drink, and tossed it into the bin. Tilting his head slightly, he turned back to watch Akera, her slight figure veiled in shadows. Her chest rose and fell with steady, deep breaths, her eyes flickering beneath their lids every few seconds. What was she dreaming of?

Sighing, Turino reached for the lamp cord to turn it off. He could still hear, distantly, the sound of Ketara trying to get something off the top shelfï¿½but it didn't bother him. Not now. Gently, he closed his eyes, leaving the world behind.

As he drifted into sleep, the indiscreet oceans of his mind whirledï¿½and slowly, they fell into perfect rhythm with Akera's breathing.

packing up

Everyone came downstairs at the planned time of six o'clock the next morning to find Akera in mid-hangover. Alarmed by how much she was vomiting, they asked her if she was feeling fine, to which she answered with a very annoyed "yes", before heaving some more.

"We're going to Leafre," Ralinn announced as the first few guild members came to sit round the dining table. "Soï¿½"

"Two eggs!" Lanorï¿½ suddenly shouted as Clynine appeared at the foot of the stairs. Ketara answered from the kitchen, and soon the delicious sound of frying oil filled the air.

While they ate and discussed, Akera went back to sleep. Shirion had decided to take it upon himself to care for her. She awakened groggily, ten minutes later. The Crusader touched her shoulder and placed a glass of water in her hands. She took it and drank deeply, her eyes unable to leave his.

Akera took about half an hour more to recoverï¿½and by then, Orion's Belt had finished their preparations. Some items were uncovered during their final check of the houseï¿½a canned drink, some sewing needles, a broken pendant. Zethis soon claimed the pendant, and Raydan the drink (no one actually knew whether it was really his or not). The needles might come in handy someday, so Ralinn pocketed them.

At last, the guild was walking down the sunny streets towards the Ludibrium Station. To Leafre! The cry resounded in their it be as prettyas the Clocktower? Some of them certainly hoped soï¿½

rila: broken forests and firefly lights

Her eyes were closed, and she was blind. Blind to the world, blind to the pain she knew so well. In her ears she heard the echoes of an old songï¿½the same song as always.

The song of the Dragon. The song that had raised life from the rich soil of the world.

Wearily, the brexton lay down, and glanced at the egg that rested on her back.

She had waited fifteen years already, for her baby girl to be ready for the world. How she had laboured, protecting it from storm and hail! Every night from the start of the decade, she had sung it lullabies and serenadesï¿½fading fragments of the Ancient One's song.

Sighing with nostalgia, she felt the warmth of the past engulf her, and a smile came by itself.

She still remembered those nights. Nights of fifteen years ago, when she would look deep into the sky, and watch the fireflies drift around the moon. They were trying to recall the Dragon's song too. Every year, the little creatures would emerge to dance by starlight, at the pinnacle of summer, drenching the night in the warmth of yellow light.

Rila would gaze up at themï¿½and feeling the weight of the egg on her back, she would smile, making her baby a promise.

"When you wake up from your sleep, I will show you the fireflies' dance. It's beautiful, darling. I promise you will love it!"

She would think, of waiting fifteen years for her baby to hatch. And then she would fall asleep, reciting the philosophies of the forest.

Life was beautiful. Life was not like the others. Within the cold fathoms of Light and Darkness and Time, there was no mercy. End was end, and when the blade was lowered, nothing more could be said or done.

But life was versatile, accommodating. With life came mercy, selflessness, guilt, love; with life came the possibility that one's suffering could be the key to another's redemption. Life listened; life offered second chances.

Chances. Chancesï¿½

She blinked, sweeping her gaze across the broken treetops spread beneath her mountain.

Life will give us a second chance. It will. I knowï¿½it will.

The world was empty, so empty. The hollow winds sang no more, only whispered sad secrets and stories into the ears of the dying trees.

Everything had been so divine before. Fruit had been sweet, and rivers made of crystal. How the birds had sung to the sky! How the wyverns had ventured into the Canyon, and brought back such wonderful treasures! The nights had been glorious, the days made in heaven.

Then, the two-legged creatures had arrived. With them they had brought many strange thingsï¿½grey fumes, stinking black liquid, moaning blades that spun and sliced the trees as if they were soft meat.

At first, the newcomers had been no more than a novelty. But five days passed. And all of a sudden, Minar Forest was being eaten alive.

Rila's body sank lower, her belly touching the cold rocks. She tried not to recall all the things happening to the forest. She tried not to think about the trees, thundering into the earth. She tried not to remember the dead bodies scattered through their abode. But though she tried, they flashed rapidly before her eyes.

And she remembered, remembered the night the fireflies had stopped dancing.

The air had grown poisonous with fumes. The insects had been clueless, that night when they had risen to the skies, to take up their dance. Thousands had died that nightï¿½and together they had deserted the forest, growing sluggish and sad, growing afraid of the world. They had hidden themselves deep in the volcano of the Canyon, and no one had seen them since.

Rila looked away into the empty heavens, remembering all too vividly how, once, millions of lights had flooded the darkness.

Within the fractured silence, she felt a molten tear rise to her eyes.

She could feel it. The baby's heartbeat was strong, stronger than ever. Her time was coming soon.

I will show you the fireflies' dance, Rila thought forlornly. I promise you'll love it.

Then she looked into the cold, lightless sky, and she cried.

ralinn: into the canyon

The guild's carrier across the sea was a magnificent specimenï¿½a large bird with a plumage that matched the sky.

As land came into sight, the guild members clamoured at the sides of the bird's back-saddle, pointing at the new shores in rowdy discussion. At last, as noon began to beat down upon their heads, the bird began to drop in altitude.

"We arrive," it said, lowering still.

Squinting through the sunlight, Ralinn looked over the edge of the bird's back, searching for the trees and the rivers she had heard about so oftenï¿½

She blinked. No trees. No greenery, nothing. The Ranger turned to the rest, struggling to arrange her words. "The treesï¿½!" she exclaimed. "There aren'tï¿½"

"Yes," the bird whispered. "Our land has been ravaged by your kin, humans."

Slowly, they descended towards the surface of the world. And as their view became clearer, it only became more vivid. A vast field of rotting stumps was all that remained of the old forest, a pale ring of death around the cluster of the last, living trees.

The bird headed for a pile of ruins in the middle of the wasteland. It spread its wings to brake as they approached, dropping upon the highest point. The winged creatures sighed, lowering itself to the ground. "Welcome to Leafre."

"Leafre?"

Ralinn was gaped at the ruin in which they had landed. Even she didn't believe the bird. It had to be a trick. A sick, sick joke.

"Leafre? Really?" But the bird nodded, and as it did, the Ranger felt as if cold water had just been dumped upon her.

"No, noï¿½then what about the Spear? The fragment of it? What happened to all the animals, the wyvernsï¿½"

"Gone."

The word slapped her in the face, and she stumbled backwards into the dust.

"Go to the Canyon," the bird advised, ruffling its sky blue feathers for its next flight. "Go to the Canyon if you long to see. The wyverns are graceful, the kentauri are swift. But they all despise humans. If you long your treasure enough, then go to the Canyon, but beware the creatures."

With a soft chirp, the bird was swept up by the next gale into the sky, and its iridescent blue plumage changed colours in the sun.

Ralinn spoke not a wordï¿½only turned around and called the rest, walking purposefully towards the Canyon, vast and dark in the distance.

Half an hour of walking took them there. As they approached, the guild leader observed it with awe. It was a great chasm cleaving a high plateau, dark at the edge of the forest.

"I have read many things about Leafre," the guild leader murmured. "One thing I am certain of is that the creatures will stop at nothing to kill us." She turned. "And I don't want all of us to die. Lanorï¿½, Akera, Shirion, you will come with me to the Canyon. If wefail, the rest will go and find the other parts of the Spear first."

"No!" Clynine cried. "My mistressï¿½let me go with my mistressï¿½"

"No, and that is an order," Ralinn growled back. "The quest is more important than four lives. You will take on the responsibility, if something befalls us. You must stay."

"But why bring all four strongest, and possibly have them all killed off?" Turino gasped. "I don't want to seeï¿½anyone dieï¿½"

Ralinn turned to him, slightly surprised at his worry. Then she smiled. "That's why I'm leaving you here," she replied, patting his shoulder. He glared up at her, wanting to protest. His gaze said everything: Akera. But the guild leader forced herself to turn away, heart aching.

The three stepped forward to surround Ralinn. Lanorï¿½ gave her Blade Staff a last polish; Akera closed her eyes and meditated. And Shirion touched her hand.

She knew that this journey had two equally likely endings. And it wasn't really up to them to choose. But for their sake, she knew she had to look as if it was.

"Hey, Linn," Raydan called suddenly. "If you die, I'm gonna be the one listening to Mum and Dad cry. So please don't die, okay?"

Ralinn managed to laugh, but his words stayed stuck in her heart like knives. With a last wave and a few goodbyes, they raised their weapons, and raced off into the Canyon.

ketara: pre-emption

From behind them, the roar of tractors swelled. Cries of jubilation broke the air, a tree trunk cracking and thundering from the canopy. For moments, Ketara found sadness filling him upï¿½

Then, he looked, and realised that the tree was falling towards them.

Instantly, all six gave cries, leaping to their feet, sprinting from the humongous falling shape. Stopping at the plateau face, beside the vast canyon, they panted in fear.

Ketara gasped. Metal glinted between the trees, brightening, gleamingï¿½

A solid, jagged shape emerged from the forest shadows. Another. Three more from the periphery. Rumbling to a stop before the six, the roof of the middle tractor flew open.

"You!" A large man stood from his seat, fixing his eyes on them. He had four scars on his cheek, his sneer twisting his deformed countenance even more. "How did you get here?"

"Stop it!" Telida screamed. All six guild members leapt into defensive positions.

"You either get lost," he sniffed, "Or die painfully."

"You won't do anything to us!" Zethis, suddenly spurred by fury, raised his mace in anger. "Stop it now!"

"Oho, and what will you do if we don't?"

Turino stepped forward with a sneer of his own. "Blow you up, of course."

akera: a fatal awakening

It was their luck that they had entered the wyverns' territory in a quiet hour. They were napping, every one of the hundreds of reptiles of the Canyon. Now, if their luck would hold for just a while moreï¿½

"Half a mile left," Ralinn whispered, running ahead of the rest. Lanorï¿½ and Shirion caught up quickly; Akera's feet were already aching, and she found it harder to follow. The silent walls rushed on, the sound of irregular wyvern breaths filling the air.

"Hey, Akera," she heard Shirion's voice close by. The Crusader was beside her, holding his hand out. Nodding in thanks, she caught hold of his fingersï¿½elation sweeping through her for momentsï¿½and found herself soaring forth.

Ralinn turned back to check on them. When she saw the pair running hand in hand, irritation swelled in her eyes.

At the sight of the Ranger's annoyed expression, Akera felt something bloom within her. Something blazing, caustic on the walls of her heart.

No. No you don't, you green-eyed monster.

It engulfed her, suddenly, melting everything else away. Everything, except for the poison in her throat. Her heart pounded impossibly harder, the ache in her feet vanishingï¿½

Finally, Akera spat the words out of her mouth. "Wipe that disgusting look off your dumb little face, Ralinn!"ï¿½

Whirr.

Their footsteps crunched to a stop, and there was nothing.

Only the cry of a wyvern. Ten wyverns. The steady whirr of wing beatsï¿½

A scream sent rocks tumbling down the cliff. Shadows fell, fell like poisonous blossoms with golden eyes.

Carefully, the four backed away. "Thanks, Akera!" Ralinn gasped in exasperation, throwing up her arms. Akera rolled her eyesï¿½

Claws, screeches, swinging wingtips. Ralinn gave a yelp, as a wyvern shot straight at herï¿½and she ducked, the monster ripping the air overhead like a missile. But it had come so nearï¿½and the sight of its teeth had branded itself into her eyes, her body stiffening.

"Oh, shit. Shit."

Akera turned, heartbeat going crazy. Hoof beats, pounding in the earthï¿½hollow, a-rage with power. She cried outï¿½a stampede of kentauri advanced from the edges, snarls on their lips.

She could smell sweat. Sweat, and bile, and bad breath.

Lanorï¿½ turned as well. Their weapons glinted, brightening as they soared over the breaking lava. Lifeless shades swooped to tear at herï¿½all around, like shredding swords.

Akera's first instinctï¿½her staff. Flame instantly sprung from her weapon, surging outwards like a blooming flower. Wyverns screeched and swept around her like a whirlwindï¿½and she could hear the twang of Ralinn's bowstring, the crack of Shirion's blade.

No. The wyverns weren't for her. She whirled around, gritting her teeth as she locked her gaze on the kentauri. These are mine.

This was how to do it. Divide the battle. Divide and conquer.

Hooves rumbled through the dust. Ash flew everywhere. "Come on, try me," Akera snarled, narrowing her gaze on the foremost kentaurus. Her heart drummed in her chest as she licked her dry lips. Lanorï¿½ stepped closer, both staves pointed at the oncoming army.

Our battle. Four against a hundredï¿½

ketara: spirit of the shaft

Turino's answer still hung in the air. Blow you up, of course.

The woodcutter's scowl twisted further, all his amusement crushed into nothing. "Yes, I see," he muttered between gritted teeth.

No more words. The man slammed the roof back on, falling to the controls.

And the tractor blades roared to life. Light flashed in their eyes, and the thundering of wheels began, metal shooting sunlight at them.

The hulking metal bodies surged forward, bellowing. Rocks crumbled beneath them, their groans and bellows shaking trees, scattering leaves. Ketara felt stones shower his skinï¿½stones and dust and earth, the smell of cut grass and broken trees stinging in his nose, the heat of the spinning blades pressing on them. The tractors' fronts were tipped with brilliant, gleaming, whirling blades, so closeï¿½

No. No backing down.

Ten feet left, between them and the tractors. And the smell of whirring metal, the guttural rumble of wheels.

His battle-worn Omega Spear rose. On either side of him, the twins had their weapons ready.

Three feet.

Clynine's staff burnt like a brand. Zethis leapt to the Dragon Knight's side, dropping into his ready stance.

"I've waited long to kill again," Telida snarled, her stars blazing. "I see my chance has come!"

Fire. Light. Gold. All the weapons were drawn, and all the battlers were ready.

The earth exploded. Flames billowed outwards in an arc, as metal slid from hidden compartments, and guns rattled into the earth.

Hell began.

Weapons blazed and swung in a storm of fury. Metal was rendered no more sturdy than paper. Wheels buckled, walls were dented. Over and over the flames came again, weapons and arrows punching holes in the steel armour. The guns thundered, bullets flitting in frenzy like wasps on crack.

And all around them, the silent trees were watching.

"And so your end begins." All six turned, momentarily, and they saw the woodcutter grinning through the dented glass of his windshield.

Explosions shook the forest. Rock shattered. The battle rose again to claim them all, and the onslaught of bullets was relentless. Fire on fire. Steel on steel. Wood ripped them both, and metal succumbed to feather.

Ketara felt a bullet zip past his ear, and he dodged the onslaught, charged forward with his burning spear, landing a deep strike that shook the machine. He swung aside and ducked under the bullet stream, panting and sweating, his throat on fire. His hands were slippery with sweat, his weapon threatening to slip as he leapt from rock to root, deep into sand, searching for foothold to launch another attack.

Something fell from his belt, clanging on the rock. He whirled around in shock to find the shaft of the Spear of Heaven, lying among the broken mountain rocks, gleaming in all shades. The flame of battle rapidly drained from his spirit.

Would Ralinn require it? He ducked down, snatching the shaft upï¿½

All at once, the Dragon Knight felt a soft song soak into his fingers. It was calling, calling to its other three quarters. There was a spirit there, yearning to find its friends.

Ketara knew at once that he had to bring it to Ralinn.

"Guys! I need to get the Spear shaft over there!" he shouted, deflecting bullets with his spear. He had to leave this battle, join another. Raydan called out in agreement; Turino growled, irritated.

"Just go," the Mage muttered, teleporting away. "And hurry!"

Ketara didn't bother to agree; he had already taken off into the entrance. The shadows threw themselves over him, and his feet bore him on.

The instant the sounds of battle had faded away, the Dragon Knight found himself surrounded by echoes of his own voice. The warrior glanced at the canyon wallsï¿½all he saw were skulls and straggly plants within the cracks, wyvern wingtips protruding from the higher crevices.

Remembering what Ralinn had said, Ketara fell silent. Holding his own little spear close, he hurried on across the rhythmic dunes of old lava beneath his feet.

ralinn: torn

"Strafe!" Ralinn screamed, sending four arrows into the wind. Beside her, she saw a blur that was Shirion, and that alone brought her belief back, over and over, despite the sweat that burnt, salty, on her lips.

She felt the cool spatter of wyvern blood on her forehead. The Ranger shifted her bow, aiming another four arrows at the soaring creatures. Behind, weapons clashed and scraped on each other, as they met fire and lightning and ice and poison.

She had only seen, momentarily, the wave of attackers from behindï¿½but she couldn't distract herself with that now.

"Strafe!" Arrows sliced the air and found their marks. Blood showered and a wyvern fell, screaming. Wind tossed her hair as she strung another arrow with blistered, sweaty hands.

Ralinn fired arrow after arrow. Minutes soared, filled to the brim with roars and screeches and the spray of blood. Stones were stained; rocks were cracked again and again. It was a whirling procession of minutes, drawing on and on, a seemingly endless labourï¿½

In her exhaustion, she only barely heard the thunder of wings, felt the pierce of claws through her back.

Her body was so numb with exhaustion she didn't feel the fatality of the situation seep in until much later. She only vaguely understood, as her bow dropped from her aching, sweating hand, and a dark claw emerged through her abdomen, followed by a spurt, a stream of blood.

Shadows shot across her vision, backwards; she finally felt the pain bloom deep in her flesh, and it drew her shrieks out of her like threads out of cloth. Behind her, they called, called her name through the mists of a coma...

"Linn! Ralinn!"

"RALINN!"

Her eyes could see nothing, and her fingers no longer felt. Yet she knew that she was on the ground, somehow. It must be the taste of dry ash on her lips. Or the thin crack of light in her gaze.

Her body cried for help, but her mind bade her ward them off so they could finish the battle. She had to tell them to fight. She had to push them away. Tell them to carry on, leave her to dieï¿½the battle was more important. More important.

But there was no strength, where her strength used to be.

No, no, noï¿½

Their fear overrode the fire of battle. They lowered their defences, flocked to her in terrorï¿½as all humans would. And thiswas their downfall.

"Noï¿½"

Splayed claws, jaws of steel. Together they were ripped off the groundï¿½Akera, Shirion, Lanorï¿½torn into the sky by wyvern claws and teethï¿½screaming, screaming with rage and terror and shock.

Ralinn felt herself being boundï¿½but she didn't fight, for she could not. She saw shadows flitting across shadows, the crack of light slowly vanishing.

She felt tears on her cheeks, too cold to be real. Then, it was only another dream.

zine, hypot, tagen

And with roars and howls of jubilation, the four humans were bound in ropes while they danced and screamed in ecstasy.

"Horned Tail! Horned Tail!" the wyverns and kentauri chanted to their primitive drumbeat of wings and hooves, raising the captives upon their backs, carrying them towards the mountain of fire.

How pleased Horned Tail would be! The great Dragon's son had thirsted for the blood of the two-legged ones, so longï¿½the blood of those who had ravaged the forest, and ruined it beyond repair.

At last, the sacrifices were here and readyï¿½sacrifices to the powerful Zine, the wise Hypot, the wily Tagen! Four humans, four who had proven nothing against the army of Minar Forest. What a feast!

In the ranks, the monsters congratulated each other for a battle well-fought. Bloodshed was bitter, but victory was so sweet.

"The monsters who destroyed our world shall pay the price!" The kentauri roared, thrusting their fists and weapons into the air, as they thundered down the road of lava.

"Pay the price! Pay the price!" the monsters echoed together, snarling and screeching and swiping their claws at the sky. The magnetic pull of blood, trailing down the female human's skin, shook their souls to the core, whipping them into a raging frenzy.

Together they chanted and sang and bellowed, parading the sacrifices towards the volcano of Horned Tail. It would be a good day. A feast day. A day of blood, violence, meat.

ketara: bound by the ancient one

Ketara froze as the wyverns above suddenly rose and began to flit from their crevices in the dark cliffs, a hundred at a time, swooping down the Canyon. He watched, and yet none of them attacked, or even noticed him.

What was it that called them, so powerfully, that they would ignore a mortal enemy?

One by one, they leap from their holes, drawn by a more primal pull than that of vengeance. There was a rousing call echoing from the distanceï¿½and somehow, suddenly, Ketara felt its tug deep in his blood. Battle. Violence. Meat.

For instants, those things suddenly drew him into a vicious wave of bloodlust, so strong he almost felt himself spread his own pair of nonexistent wings and fly after them.

But his humanity rooted him to the ground. Blinking, the Dragon Knight watched as the last wyverns soared away at the call. Then, in the dark, he sensed coldness at the back of his neck. He turnedï¿½

And leapt away, yelping. It was a wyvern, its scales blue and dusty, glaring at him with empty, deep eyes.

"I-Iï¿½"

You, human! It advanced with a roar. Why does a human carry the power of the Ancient One soï¿½strongly?

"Theï¿½Ancient Oneï¿½"

Gasping with realisation, the Dragon Knight glanced back into the wyvern's sunken eyes. "Ohï¿½oh, you can understand me!" he exclaimed, recalling the dragon messengers of the Dungeon. Ketara advanced towards the winged creature, his footsteps faltering slightly. But it only beat its wings gently upon the ground, leaning closer.

He had a request to make, he suddenly realisedï¿½

Breathing deeply, he bowed his head. "Will you take me to Horned Tail's cave?" the warrior asked, reaching to touch the creature's forehead. "I want to meet Horned Tailï¿½"

It blinked and raised its wings. And while Ketara watched, the blue wyvern lowered itself to the cold ground, calling for him to mount. His face brightened, heart pounding. "Are you sure!" the warrior exclaimed, grinning. He wasted no time, leaping onto the creature's scaly back. "Thank you! Thank you so much, Mister Wyvern!"

The final leg of his journey was nigh. Touching the shaft of the Spear strapped onto his back beside his own weapon, the Dragon Knight felt the spirit within it sing, even more yearningly. Take me home. Take me to Life. Life, lifeï¿½

And he called out in jubilation, ready to fly awayï¿½fly into a volcano, and send the shaft back home.

Wings spread out on either side of him with a vast, moving whirr, filling his heart to the brim with life. Together they leapt into the sky, ready to enter the vortex of flamesï¿½man and beast together, for the first time in fifteen years.

telida: fifty

"Surrender!" Telida screamed. Bullets snipped past, and deftly she fell to the earth. From above her, she heard the scouring vrrsshhh of Clynine's arrows, as they burnt their paths straight into the vehicles' guns.

"Naol never surrenders!" the woodcutter roared through the glass. Metal pellets rattled into earth and rock. Crack, crack, crackï¿½they met with swinging staves and crossbows and claws, metal resounding on metal, engulfing their worlds in their dissonant screams and the acrid smell of dry gunpowder.

"Die! Die!" Turino roared, throwing straight pillars of fire into the tractors' armour. Burns had appeared everywhere. Holes lined every inch of the machines' hide. But they roared and the blades spun, bullets as pestilent as hail.

Crazy, cracked people! Telida's brain screamed as she dodged, leaping between the bullets. Again and again she hid within her Dark Sight; still she had to flee, for the bullets were everywhere. Sparks boomed at gun barrels, holes into death, flinging more shots at their enemies.

They ceased, for seconds. Panting, Telida stopped and glanced upï¿½Naol was punching into his phone, yelling red-faced into its receiver. "Call all men to sector B12! Yes, I said all men! All men!" He slammed it into the floor, and sprang to his controls. Instantly, the Hermit's hand shot for her stars, the black metal discs glinting in her handsï¿½now red, now gold, now black again.

"Avenger! AVENGER!" The stars swooped like blackbirds, burning a trail of three coloursï¿½thudding deep into his scratched, dented windshield, cracking it at last. Naol gave a furious, desperate roarï¿½revved his engine, spinning it round to charge at herï¿½

Alarmed, she quickly somersaulted over the bullets, and landed on the tractor hood.

Her eyes widened. A vast army of tractors was advancing through the trees, their metal bodies gleaming in the sun.

Headed for sector B12, as commanded.

"Crap!" Telida gasped, leaping off the monster vehicle and landing on its other side. "More coming!" she screamed to the rest. "Fifty, at least! Fifty more tractors!"

All four whirled to glance at her, mouths wide and panting. "No way," Zethis gasped, before a bullet thudded against his dented armour, and he pulled himself behind a tree.

No. Telida cursed under her breath, grasping her throwing stars tighter. No, we're going to die.

ralinn: falling asleep

From within the bundle of ropes, Ralinn watched with glazed eyes as they carried their four captives towards their master. All around her, it was blue. Blue flames leapt between the rocks of the ceiling, flickering, their light glinting off the rocks. She only caught glimpses of their captors, as her breaths grew shallow, her gaze still misted and fading.

Ever so often, she felt another slash of pain in her side, but she was unable to cringe or screamï¿½her strength had deserted her, her breath too weak.

"Ralinn," she heard a whisper, but could not turn. "Ralinn, are you alright?"

"Shirion..." she gasped, and then closed her eyes. Her instinct for survival kept her lucid, her heart pounding for escape. But the stench of blood soaked into her brain, directing her thoughts only to her most fundamental need. "Water. I'm thirsty."

The only answer was the vibrating growl of monsters around her. The pale cave walls were silent, unrelenting, as the ceiling rose higher to melt into a cavern like a cathedral.

Now the crackle of flame had become the roar of magma. Rivers of molten blue flowed like glowing threads everywhere, on towards the place where their path led. The walls swooped sharply now, tapering at a wide hole in the roof. A volcano. They were in a volcano.

The dying Ranger could hear the echoes of footsteps far below. They weren't on the ground level, she suddenly realised. They were on a ledge, in the middle of the volcano's central chamber.

As Ralinn observed, thunder shook the wallsï¿½and she winced in pain. Then she realised that the thunder was a voice.

"What do you bring? Sacrifices?"

It was Horned Tailï¿½and her heart leapt with fright. Horned Tail, the son of the Dragon. Horned Tail of the Dragon Canyon. How majestic they sounded! Nothing could quell the awe coursing through her blood.

The chief wyvern screeched something in replyï¿½something that none of them understood. But Horned Tail did, and the three heads roared in furyï¿½in furious delight.

"Excellent! Excellent, my brothers! We shall season our meat with their blood tonight! I am pleased. Now let the ritual begin!"

Then the ropes were cut, and she fell. The smell of blood rushed into her senses like a slap. Close by, Akera began to scream as her mouth was unbound, the rest of her body still trapped. "Leave us! Leave us alone!" she shrieked, struggling against the ropes, her hands encased in ice.

The guild leader felt powerful claws lift her up. They were carried down the ramps, towards the vast lava pool at the bottom. Wyverns, kentauri, rextons, skelegonsï¿½the creatures of Leafre stood in concentric circles round the burning lake, chanting their prayers, ready to taste the blood of their enemy.

Ralinn's heart hurt, when she realised that this was where she ended.

The smell of sheer nature and life filled her noseï¿½overbearing, mockingï¿½pagan and raw. But why did that matter now?

She wanted to fight away from the ropes of death, and start their journey again. She wanted to hit a reset button somewhereï¿½get the chance to do everything right. But even now, the guild leader could feel her life seeping away through her wounds. There was no way out of these ropes. Out of this fate.

Drenched in despair, Ralinn's eyes closed once again, and she cried a tearï¿½no more.

I love you, Mother and Father. I love you too, Raydanï¿½you idiot. And I love you, Shirion. Though it only just began. I wish it had been more.

And she was certain she could feel herself falling into hell, though she was only falling asleep.

ketara: hanging in the balance

"Wait for me!" Ketara cried into the blue evening sky, as they cruised over the thin forest atop the plateau, and the first hints of night washed overhead.

The wyvern had already updated the warrior on the situation. Ralinn and the rest were about to perish. Realising what this implied, the Dragon Knight clenched his fist around the Spear's shaft.

Take me home to life! The metal screamed now. She is so nearï¿½so near, so near!

"Yes, I will," Ketara answered, narrowing his eyes on the volcano mouth far ahead. "I will."

turino: the single window

Even as the sun began to descend beneath the world, the shadows grew deadlier, thudding and rattling everywhere.

"We can't do this," Raydan gasped, eyes half-closed, breaths coming in disconnected pants. He fell down upon the grass in exhaustion, clutching at the bullet wound in his shoulder. "Can'tï¿½doï¿½thisï¿½"

Clynine cried, lying in the sand at the roots of the trees. Zethis gave a yell of fear, leaping away from the buzzing saws, racing to her side to call her back before she diedï¿½no, she can't dieï¿½

No one noticed, though, that Turino had vanished.

High in the shadows above, the Mage was calculating his flight, his final move.

It was the deadliest risk he would ever take. He could well die, if his deductions were wrong. But if he succeeded, he would gain the honour he had never had. A warm, golden honour that was different, so different from the terrified reverence he always received.

Akera's face entered his mind, her imaginary presence his consciousness. With a pang of pain, he closed his eyes.

This had to work on first try. He had to do everything the way he played it out in his mind. No slips. No hesitations.

Around him, ripples of light burst between the trees, smoke blooming with explosions of gunpowder. The earth cracked with the onslaught, his comrades screaming for help.

Just a little longer, please.

Within the last dregs of daylight, he crouched upon the lowest branches of the ravaged trees, waiting for the window to open.

with life

Ketara scrabbled over the rock, to the edge of the volcano mouth, craning his neck over the rim. Within the burning cavern, the view was amazingï¿½his guild mates were at the centre of a vast gathering of creatures, the monsters circling in a hypnotic, primitive dance that echoed through the caveï¿½and though he longed to call out to them, he knew he could not.

I'm sorry, he thought, devastated, as he watched the happenings below. I wish I could do something.

In his palms, the shaft was shaking, vibratingï¿½almost as if it knew its other part was close. It threatened to leap from his hands, so excited it was. But he hung on tightly to it, lest it betray his presence to the gathering beneath.

Life! It screamed into his fingers. Life, lifeï¿½ Wait for me!

Ketara heard its desperation and frustration, and his heart broke with pain. I'm so sorry, he thought again, swallowing his tears back, gazing down into the horror fantasy of magma beneath. I wishï¿½I could do something.

So helpless, so helpless. It was the most terrible feeling in the world.

comes sacrifice

Horned Tail's first head gave a call for silence, and all grew quiet.

"You," the middle head began, turning to the four captives. "Humans. Two-legged creatures. Monsters."

Silence was overthrown by fury, all of a sudden. The creatures in the cave broke into a chorus of hisses and snarls, a vast sound that made even the fiercest human wince. The first head Zine called for silence, and they fell into quietude once again.

The sky spoke, like angels. The magma whispered, like demons.

"You have taken what is not yours. Turned our home into a wasteland!" Hypot turned away. "But the Dragon knew, when He created you, that this would happen one day."

More unrest. The magma bubbled, and the humans struggled in their bonds.

"But it is only right. It is only right, for this is what life is! You monstrosities are what came from our beautiful creed!" the third head screamed, tears of blazing light falling from all six eyes. "Because this is the law of life: life brings new things. Life brings change. Life brings things you never wantedï¿½"

All three howled, and it sounded as if the entire forest was crying. Tears trickled in six glowing streams, down the glistening age-old scales of Leafre's king. "The head of the Spear has been given to our keeping," Tagen snarled. "Kept here, deep within us. Because our father believed in the value of sacrifice. If you want the spearhead, we must die!"

All was suddenly still within the cave; the magma had dwindled to a thin trickle, and the cavern darkened gentlyï¿½gently. Only silence and shadow remained.

In this small moment, everyone looked up, to see the fireflies resting forlornly upon the volcano walls. There were a million tiny points of light, a field of stars upon the ceiling. Fireflies, who had been chased from the world by the humans.

"Itï¿½it was the same with our father," Tagen sighed tearfully. "He gave up His teeth and ribs to destroy the Spirit of the Dark. He suffered for the sake of His world."

"Sacrifice! What a rule!" Zine's voice soared to the top of the dome, panting, panting. "With life comesï¿½the possibility, that one's suffering could be the key to another's redemption."

Then they withdrew their heads, breathing deep, eyes flashing blood, tears glowing deep red. "Do you know where the spearhead is?" came a ragged call, a single voice from three mouths. "Do you know where it lies, within us? Here!"

Their claws rose to touch their body, touch the point in their chest where their shared heart beat. Everyone was silent; the humans' eyes glowed with terror.

"Here! Here, where it will never be lost again! Now, let us not humour you! Let the ritualï¿½"

Thunk.

Heads rose in sudden shock. Everyone turned and stared at the source of the sound. A long, thin bar of metal had appeared from the ceiling, a mere sliver in the shadows. It had plummeted through the rippling airï¿½swerving in mid-fall, as if drawn by a magnet, to strike the point where Horned Tail's claw had lain upon their chest.

The queer object vibrated on the monster's scales, one point stuck against the great body.

In one united motion, the entire congregation looked up towards the volcano mouth. Gasps were issued. Shock swept across the crowd.

Another humanï¿½his eyes bright, as he stared deep into the volcano.

Unease instantly spread through the gathering. Snarls rapidly began to swell in their throats, their fury slowly mounting. They raised their hackles, bared their teeth, rage sprouting like vicious thornsï¿½

Then all was silent, stilled in motion. A new emotion swept over everyoneï¿½and all around, no one dared to stir. Disbelief, more potent than fury.

For the aura of the Dragon was suddenly so strong, so strong within the cave.

the deepest wounds in the world

The shaft finally slipped. He still remembered yelling after it, grappling at the fleeing objectï¿½but like a pin drawn by a magnet, it was drawn inexorably away by a force deep within the cave.

And now he had gone and blown his cover. They were staring at him, every one of the thousands far belowï¿½inhuman eyes burning holes into his armour. Horned Tail's heads were staring as well.

The Dragon Knight gasped, sheer nervousness making him shiver. "I'mï¿½sorry," he said.

But Horned Tail was not angry. Its eyes were flooded with disbelief, terrorï¿½hope.

"Noï¿½" it murmured, a rumbling whisper. All at once, the monsters below began to grow terrified. "No," Horned Tail's middle head repeated, red horns gleaming brightly as it drew closer, closer. "Can it be? Is it youï¿½?"

There was no dreg of doubt in their eyes, as tears began to swell. Wyverns were slowly raising their heads in shock, claws withdrawing, murmurs echoing through the crowd of monsters. Kentauri were pawing the ground. Hafs twittered and whirled.

Suddenly, the heads roared, snarling and thrashing as if in pain. Their red wings flung wind through the cavern, cries shaking the entire volcanoï¿½

With a terrible groan of rock, Ketara suddenly felt the stone give way under him, falling away into the wavering shadows of the cave beneathï¿½

The Dragon Knight yelled, lost foothold, his grip slipping from the rocks he snatched for, snatched forï¿½descending so gradually with the plummeting stones, nothing beneath himï¿½

NO!

Desperate wyvern screeches tore his earsï¿½and from the stone he saw a flash of blue scales. Something slapped his front, midair.

Then, Ketara found himself drifting higher and higher upon wyvern wings. Blue wyvern! The thought briefly swept through his mind.

"Thanks," he gasped to his saviour, his heart still thundering as he gripped the wyvern's flanks. Below, monsters bellowed in outrage, waving claws at the creature he rode. But it was unfazed, and it swooped to land at Horned Tail's feet.

Panting, the warrior turned. He was near his friends, he suddenly realised. Glancing back at them, he saw how pale Ralinn's face was, how laboured her breaths. But the rest were staring at him, pure shock in their eyes.

"Ketara!" Lanorï¿½ gasped, breaking into a smile. "Ketara, thank goodness!" He smiled back momentarilyï¿½but lost his cheer when the wyvern's voice rose to claim his attention.

Master. Do not harm him. Heï¿½

"I know."

Ketara gasped, fearful. I don'tï¿½understand.

But Horned Tail never turned back on their words. "Come here, human," it whispered, facing him, voice laden with sorrow. Surprised, the warrior leapt off the wyvern's back, advanced to their feet, and bowed low.

But Horned Tail's response said everything.

"Do notï¿½bow to me."

Behind him, he heard a thousand cries of shock. No! they cried in their own languages. It is a human! The enemy! He cannot truly hold the Dragon's power. It must be a hoaxï¿½

"SILENCE!" Their voice of thunder rattled the stones, and all at once, the entire gathering was silenced. "Ketara. Ketara, I read your name in your eyes."

Ketara blinked back, confusion filling his gazeï¿½then honourï¿½then confusion again. Above him, he heard a great sigh. Horned Tail's two side-heads slowly closed their eyesï¿½and all of a sudden, glowing tears were streaming down their faces.

"Ketara, I have waitedï¿½so long. I know it is you. The Dragon's power isï¿½so strong in you."

Everything was still, and gone. Suddenly, there was no one, no one but he and Horned Tail. Everything else drew back into the shadows, and here he stood, alone, facing the greatest monster in the world.

The fireflies flitted gently, distantly. The monster's tail came to touch his shoulderï¿½beckoning him to step closer. He did.

"I never once believed that I would call the humans "life"," the middle head whispered as Ketara entered its embrace. "They are unworthy. They have ripped our land to shreds." The great glowing eyes blinked. "But you areï¿½different, Ketara. You are true life, where the rest of humanity is lifeless and cruel. You have no idea how proud the Dragon is of youï¿½"

At those words, Ketara suddenly felt something deep within him protest. It began as a soft, nagging doubt, a shadow of disbeliefï¿½but slowly it swelled into disagreement.

He saw an explosion of redness. A woman with blue hair. A dark creature.

"Noï¿½he can'tbe proud of me," the Dragon Knight answered suddenly, turning back to his friends. "I'm nothing to be proud of. I'm a witch's creation. A mortal's attempt at creating lifeï¿½"

The demons were screaming: Nothing! You're not worth anything you've ever been blessed with!

And they broke him, broke his soul in two. "I'm impure!I am not a child of the Dragon. Just a useless projectï¿½"

Ketara's breath grew uneven, tornï¿½though he struggled to force everything out and continue standing. He stumbled forth, one step, anotherï¿½each one more laboured than the last. Suddenly, he believed what he had always, always denied.

"The Dragon shouldn't be proud of me!" the warrior roared, hiding his face. "He should be ashamed of me. Ashamed of meï¿½"

Collapsing against Horned Tail's cold, scaly body, the Dragon Knight began to cry. He knew it would be the same forever: circles of alienation that would only wind tighter and tighter. He was nothing like all the people he knew so well. He was only a witch's doll, a failed project, a false creature with a false soul.

He was only a thing, a thing that had been disowned.

I have no free will of my own. Only opinions and truths sewn into my heart by a witchï¿½only the products of a pagan ritual, a cruel experimentï¿½worth nothing more than rubbish! Useless rubbish!

Ketara sobbed, shivered against the hard hide of the great monster. He never wanted to see another second, for it was too muchï¿½a truth ripping him apart from inside.

Then he felt the touch of coldness on his head, and he fell silent, still sobbing. Horned Tail breathed softly into his hairï¿½and its voice was gentle, surreal, painfully godly.

"Do you understand yet?" they whispered, all together. The young man blinked and shook his head, burying his face in Horned Tail's scales. They smelt of earth, rust, mossï¿½of all things ancient and beautiful. His breath left him, as he was engulfed in a fantasy of tears.

"Do you not understand?" Horned Tail asked again, drawing even closer, their heart entwining with his. "With life comes sacrifice. And you have sacrificed so much, Ketara! Your sadness, your rage, your painï¿½your freedom of expression, just so you don't burden anyone else! All your life, you have suffered alone!"

Its heavenly voice shook, eyes bright with tears and with questions. "How do you live with all this pain inside you?" it gasped, their souls brushing his heart with gentle fingers. "How do you live? Tell me, child! Tell me how you came to be so strong!"

Horned Tail breathed deep, crying tears of its own. The shining drops soaking into his hair, filling the warrior's soul with heartbreak. Tears of a god. Tears of a god moved by the heart of a mortal.

"I don't know, Horned Tail," Ketara replied. "But I was abandonedï¿½and it hurts so much, Horned Tailï¿½do you not know? It hurts, so muchï¿½"

And together they cried, for they both knew how it felt, to be forsaken by their creators. Their two hearts were one and the same now, beating to the rhythm of a pain no one else would ever know. The fireflies waved their wings in the silence, watching as two lost children found solace in each other.

"Ketara, it matters not where your life came from! It matters not, if a human constructed you, or if you were born of the Dragon's power. You are life, Ketaraï¿½and He is so proud of you! So proudï¿½"

Horned Tail broke onto tears again. Ketara closed his eyes, leaning against the monster's vast body, dreams of the living forest sweeping through his heart like light lace.

"Ah, how the times have changed," it whispered, eyes closed. "I still remember when the forest was green, and my people were happy. They ate and drank to their hearts' pleasure, and were proud to be part of Leafre. But such evil has come, ah. Tell me, Ketaraï¿½what has become of Life?"

The warrior blinked and drew back. "It shouldn't have happened this way," he answered. "We were a part of Life too. But we turned on you. We thought ourselves entitled to it, raised ourselves above. And nowï¿½now it is all gone. You have lost everything to the humans. I'm sorry."

The middle head only smiled, tail brushing his cheek in affection. "But life listens, does it not? Life offers second chances." Its gaze rose to the volcano mouth. "Life will give us another chance too, won't it?"

Ketara swallowed. "The Spear of Heaven cansave us," he said softly, glancing at his friends. "We need the spearhead. Will you allow meï¿½?"

Horned Tail pulled back slightly, submission slowly filling its eyes. "I believeï¿½my time has come to release it," it sighed. "Cut my heart open and take it. If you believe it will save our world, then you must be brave and do it."

The Dragon Knight swallowed, closing his eyes. Horned Tail murmured in gentle reassurance, smiling again. "You can do it, my brother."

Bowing his head, Ketara reached for his weapon, praying. He leapt up the rocks, till he stood at the level where the Spear shaft protruded from the monster's scales. "I'm sorry, Horned Tail," he whispered, readying his Omega Spear, pulling the shaft away from its skin.

Then, breathing deeply, Ketara swung and drew the first blood.

It was here. Open, open. And he leapt.

Leapt through the bullets, beneath the tepid belly of the monster.

Here he wasï¿½the smell of earth and gunpowder filled his nose, the shadows swallowing him whole. He was blind, and yet he had to see. Concentrate. Snatching at a weak point in the machinery, he tore a metal plate away, leaving the pipes and vessels exposed, vulnerable. Perfect.

Biting his lip, Turino lit a flame and tossed it in.

That's it. Get out. Out. Out.

And again he flew. He flew through night in the next secondï¿½heart failing over and overï¿½

Just get as far as you can! Far as you can! NOWï¿½

He threw himself into the shadows, forgetting caution, forgetting everything, tossing it all awayï¿½praying, praying that this was far enoughï¿½

Fire, blood claws.

It overwhelmed him like a blooming monsterï¿½thunder shaking his bones, heat tearing his skin repeatedly away, over and over, as he fell into the stomach of hell.

A scream ripped itself from his throat. A scream for life, for tears, for just another second.

Roar after roar tore the volcano. The creatures were bowed to the ground, crying with terror.

"Horned Tail!" they screeched. "Horned Tail, why?"

But Horned Tail never answered. The three heads flinched, screamedï¿½took the pain, one stroke at a time. The human's weapon swung again and again, ripping scales, skin, muscleï¿½and with each, he cried from hurt.

"Be strong!" Horned Tail shrieked. "Ketara, be strong!"

Slowly, slowly, he unearthed the forest king's heart. There it lay, beating among their vessels and musclesï¿½a large pulsing red organ, huge and powerful enough to support the entire monstrous creature. It was beautifulï¿½and he was so afraid.

Ketara bit his lipï¿½his face and clothes were covered in blood, his weapon painted crimson. "Be strong," Horned Tail whispered once more, weakly, moaning.

This is the end, they thought together. This is where we leave everything behind.

But was death such a terrible thing? Throughout their long, long lives, all three had seen a thousand come and go. Yet the departed never really vanishedï¿½they lived on through their children, their children's children. Through an inheritance, a birthright, a legacy.

It was the same for them, wasn't it? Horned Tail had no offspring to speak of. But the world was their brotherhoodï¿½their life, their soul, their essence. They lived on, though they were dead. They needed no offspring, for life itself was their legacy.

They were immortal, forever.

"Thisï¿½this is the sacrifice we were born to make," they whispered. "Take it, Ketara. Take your redemptionï¿½our redemption. Save the world for us."

The warrior bit his lip harder, his hand shaking, quiveringï¿½tightening.

Go on and do it, urged Hypot.

This is our answer, mused Tagen.

I will stay strong, gasped Zine.

His last stroke was loosed. The heart stopped beating.

A thousand fireworks exploded through the cave, and the spearhead was finally free.

an ephemeral heaven

Ketara cried out in shock as he snatched the spearhead from Horned Tail's wet, red flesh. Light was swelling from its wound, light in every colour, expanding, blooming violently across the cave like an amazing dandelion. It engulfed him, drowning his vision and his earsï¿½and suddenly, he was lost, lost deep in a world that didn't exist.

Around him, he suddenly heard a voice that seemed to come from the distance, and slowly soared closer. Blinking, Ketara ran forth towards it, dizzy and disorientedï¿½towards the heart of the light, the heart of heavenï¿½

And he saw a face, deep within the fire of rainbows. A face with blazing eyes, with a mischievous smileï¿½the face of a creature he knew he would never, ever learn to describe.

"Dragonï¿½!"

Ketara felt his breath leave.

The Dragon smiled, and bells seemed to echo through the warrior's spirit. Ketara was terrifiedï¿½but the Dragon reached a claw out to brush his cheek, and he went completely still.

"You've done more than I thought you ever would," the deity whisperedï¿½but even His whispers sounded like hurricanes. "I love you. I love all of my world. And I believe the time is finally here for healing."

Dragon, oh, Dragon. I am honoured.

While Ketara stared on, at a loss of words, the Dragon spiralled away into the sky of vibrant flame. Three voices followed in excitementï¿½three children's voices, laughing and weeping for all the joy of the world.

"Freedom!" they cried, chasing their father. "Freedom, at last!"

Though Ketara never got to see their faces, he knew who they wereï¿½and he smiled, a tear rising to his eye.

Ripples of rainbow exploded through the volcano's peak, tearing the cavern ceiling wide open, blossoming into the dusk. In the remains of the forest on the plateau, the last inhabitants leapt from the canopies and shrubs to be engulfed by the colours, awe filling their eyes.

Tree wounds were healed, metal tossed free from their bark. Dying animals were brought back to life. Sorrow was conquered by the blade of life.

And the proclamation was made. The volcano was open; the woodcutters were gone. At last, the age of death was over.

Ketara gasped deeply as the light receded, gazing upwards. The rest followed suit, breaths swept away by the view.

The volcano was a volcano no more. The roof had crumbled, and the full night sky gazed through, stars pouring light through the vast holeï¿½filling the eyes of the wyverns, the kentauri, the skelegons, the rextons, the hafs, the birksï¿½the humans.

The smoke was gone. Finally, the world could begin again upon the fertile new soilï¿½the stories were written into the cool gale that washed through the broken mountain.

From that moment into the future, birds would soar and scatter seeds over the land. The wyverns would bring water from the river, and the brextons would tend to the young saplings as they grew.

One day, they would return to the brilliant emerald canopies, and fill its eaves with sky and love. One day, they would rebuild their city from scratch, and the forest would kiss the clouds in a transient, everlasting heaven.

One day, just a golden second closer. The forest was still a barren ruin. There was much work to be done.

Come, people! The chief wyvern called, soaring through the broken volcano mouth, oblivious to the years of work to come. There is a new world ready, waiting for us! Life has given us another chance. Let us not make our mistakes again!

The monsters cried out in response, raising fists and claws and voices. The rhythm of life swelled around them, tugging at their soulsï¿½an instinct deeper than violence, deeper than fury, deeper than blood.

To our new world! They roared in reply. Together they departed, in a majestic procession that could be heard from heaven.

Alone at the edge of a cliff, a lone brexton's heart thumped. She had waited fifteen years, fifteen years of time and tide and painï¿½and at last, at last, the fruit had arrived!

Rila had already chosen a name for the childï¿½Starlight, after the starlight she had once loved so deeply. Again the brexton closed her eyes while the sound of cracking shell played in her ears, praying fervently to the Dragonï¿½that the child would be healthy, and that she would grow up happyï¿½

In mid-prayer, a breeze began to play with her scales, her toes, her snout, like a mischievous child brimming with laughter. For some reason, this breeze was different. It felt magical.

Distracted from her prayer, Rila opened her eyes a crackï¿½and gasped.

The stars were dancing about her, suspended in the air, so near she felt as if she could actually touch themï¿½

Her heart stopped, and her eyes filled up.

Fireflies. They're fireflies. Theyï¿½

No, it can't be! The fireflies are dancing again!

Suddenly, Rila heard a sound between a sigh and a sobï¿½and she glanced down. Just in time to see her baby emerge from the fragments of her shell, and take her very first breath.

"Starlight," she gasped. The new-hatched brexton blinked its wide eyes, taking in the sights of its new world.

Rila she pulled her baby close, suddenly sobbingï¿½suddenly weeping. "Watch them, Starlight!" she exclaimed, pointing at the fireflies in tears. "They're beautiful, aren't they? I told you they were beautiful! Don't you love them?"

The baby sighed and sank deep into Rila's embrace. The old brexton smiled and muzzled her forehead, calling softly to the fireflies in the sky. They swirled to gather round her, spiralling round her child with murmurs of surprise and adoration.

You've waited so long, so long, Rila. We have waited too. We always knew you'd be here; always, always. She's a sweet thing now, isn't she?

Gathering around the new mother, the fireflies tried to remember the melody of the Dragon's song. And together in the embrace of the shattered moonbeams, they sang Starlight to sleep.

Atop a pile of rubbish that had once been a tractor, Raydan popped a can beneath the stars and drank. Around them lay the remains of the other forty-something machinesï¿½all blown up in the last moments of the day.

The rest sat upon the same destroyed truckï¿½Telida, scraping the dust from her stars, Zethis having a small meal of saladï¿½and Clynine, desperately trying to use every healing spell in her book on Turino.

The Mage lay upon the metal, scarred all over by the rain of shrapnel. His robes were torn, his upper body exposed to the cold. But he didn't shiver.

Is heï¿½? Sweat ran down the Cleric's face, as she shot another Heal at himï¿½

"Oh, Clock Spirit, ouch!"

Clynine gasped in relief as Turino awakened with a jerk, his wounds finally starting to close. "Did it work? Did theyï¿½"

"You crazy man!" Raydan responded loudly. "You almost got killed by shrapnel, almost got torn to deathï¿½but you saved the forest! Yes, you did! Oh, and put on some clothes, please! Why didn't the explosion burn you, though?"

"I'm a Fire Poison Mage," the Fire Poison Mage said, managing a wry smile. "Now wouldn't you love to have a gift like that?"

While Raydan snorted, Clynine forced Turino down again and clicked her tongue. "Rest, silly!" she exclaimed. "The magic isn't going to get rid of those scars if you don't. And you really don't want Akera to see you this wayï¿½"

"WHAT?! Hey! Raydan, who let youï¿½"

The Sniper pretended to be too caught up drinking his soda. Everyone else laughed, even Zethis. And as the warm day faded into the distance, the light of the stars shone down upon them.

None of them noticed, though, that the stars were actually fireflies, and that they were waltzing through the air in celebration.

ralinn: a riddle's answer

Ralinn shook her ropes off, standing with much effort. Till now she was still dumbfounded, at everything that had just happened.

Moments after Ketara had pulled the spearhead from Horned Tail's heart, an explosion of rainbows had flooded the caveï¿½and she hadn't seen a thing during those few minutes.

And suddenlyï¿½here she was. Completely alive, completely healed. During those minutes, a miracle had happened.

The Ranger walked over to join the other three, flexing her once-torn fingers with new gratitude. Akera, Lanorï¿½ and Shirion already stood around Ketara, gazing through the volcano's broken roof at the sky of silk, conversing with each other.

"Look!" Ketara called as she approached, pointing at the lights, breaths deep in exhilaration. "The fireflies are dancing! Don't you think it's wonderful?"

That was when Ralinn realised something.

A smile gradually came to her face, little by littleï¿½a smile that grew into a grinï¿½and suddenly into laughter.

"Oh! I get it now!" she cried, slapping her forehead, laughing at her silliness.

"What is it?" Shirion asked, coming to her side. She took his hand with a smile and leaned against his shoulder, but said nothing more.

Up above their heads, in the sky over the broken volcano, a million fireflies whirled between each otherï¿½celebrating the end of an era of pain, the start of the next story. In exuberant hope they spiralled through the velvet night, prancing about within the fantastical beat of lifeï¿½

Almost as if they were caught in their own lively waltz of glory, their ball gowns of light twirling across the floor of the sky.

It all ends with the dance, my dear. It all ends with the dance.

Chapter 9: Year of the Rabbit/ Shadows Cast Forward

caleix and ceramina

There was a time deep in the catacombs of the years when Caleix wasn't a tyrant. Wasn't a king.

There was a time when he was still learning in the ways of the Warrior. He, too, was swept by the tides of the world. He, too, loved the warmth of the sun upon his face. He was only a youth, thenï¿½a youth with no real friendship or truth in his life, only the lies and shadows of one who is next in line for the throne. It was a smoke-marred world for him, one lost almost completely in the greyness of the sky.

But one day, forty-three years ago, that changed forever.

"Celdan! Over here!"

The voices wove themselves with the spring wind like dancing ribbons, Caleix turning in curiosity. Beneath the shade of the young cherry trees at the far end of the field, a throng of youths had gathered, chattering busily amongst themselves.

He raced across to join them; with a smile he glanced down at the source of their interestï¿½and his smile vanished as he realized that there, in the three-foot ditch beneath the trees, lay a petite girl with dark eyes and unkempt brown hair full of twigs.

Instantly, realization awakened in himï¿½Ceramina, his brain supplied. Ceramina from our class. Ceramina, who was always in a corner, reading her skill books or polishing her sword. Her cheeks were flushed red as the cherries above, red as blood swelling on her scratches. Yet her face was untouched in the dappled shadowsï¿½and suddenly, he saw that her eyes were more beautiful than he remembered them being.

"What's going on?" he cried in alarm, kneeling at the ditch's edge. The rest chortled and guffawed as Ceramina's pleading eyes rose to meet his.

"Come on, join in!" the one he always called "Astef"ï¿½though his real name was Sleinï¿½invited, the look of an entertained torturer upon his countenance. Caleix drew back, repulsed.

"What is wrong with you?" he gasped, voice rising in subconscious assent.

The others now turnedï¿½Colle, Tarnel, Garris. False names. "What's wrong with you?" Tarnel replied, bending for another stone, tossing it at the girl. He laughed, but it was a choked donkey's cry.

"No," the terrified youth murmured. Her shining eyes struck pain deep into him. "I'm not going to hurt her."

Ceramina whimpered weaklyï¿½and at once, projectiles rained from their hands, laughter from their lips. Caleix gave cries of refusalï¿½but no one heard him. Still his heart hurt, screaming into his thoughtsï¿½

In that moment, blind courage took control. With an exclamation, he felt a barrier breakï¿½and leapt into the ditch, landing with a thump in the dust before the startled girl. Above, their voices rose in assent, hoarse with mockery. "You chicken!" cried his friends. A shower of stones flitted from the edge of the ditch, from those dirty hands and twisted grinsï¿½but no, it drove no fear into him. Regardless, he bent to lift Ceramina, her eyes continuously widening.

"Princeï¿½Caleixï¿½" she murmured, blinking her dark brown eyes in awe.

"If you want a name to call, it's Celdan," he responded, before the sting of another sharp stone reminded him of his task. "Let's go." And he took off along the gully with her body in his arms, trees and earth rushing past his vision in streaks and spirals. Together they fled, until finally the pair lay panting upon the bench of the front garden, where the gardeners were too many for any odd event to go unnoticed.

As their breaths evened out, the silence began to grow uncomfortable. "Hey, it's nice to meet you," the young man finally made his introduction. "Since you're going to be calling me by a false name, might you want to choose one for yourself too?"

"Ah, so that's why you call others by other names," she replied, face brightening suddenly.

"Oh, but that's not all," he replied with a sigh as his eyes slipped across the scenery on Henesys' outskirts. "I like to believe that the world isn't set in stone, that I can always be forgivenï¿½and that truths can change, no matter how permanent they seem to have become."

"That's poetic. I think I'll choose the name Eleira. Your approval, please?"

Caleix smiled with fondness for her choice. "Deity of cherry trees. How apt." He laughed merrily; she laughed along. At once he felt true warmth blossom in him, for the first time in his short, wearying life.

Some classmates were puzzled after that, at the way the prince of Victoria Island would now spend all his time training with the unremarkable Ceraminaï¿½almost as if he were making up for the lack of attention she had received from the start. She was a surprising beauty, others began to noticeï¿½fitting for his looks, as many liked to sayï¿½but was she any more than a dull bookworm who resided in the back of the classroom? What point did Prince Caleix see in befriending someone like that?

He merely disregarded all the curious, puzzled, contemptuous comments that constantly flew around the class. He ignored their stares and murmurs of disapproval, and reassured her whenever she expressed regret. It didn't matter, after all. Her friendship was more than worth it.

No one will understand, the prince told himself. She's not afraid of being herself around me. She doesn't pretend to be someone she isn't. That's all I want in a friend.

All I want.

Summer flowed on. Outside of school, life became more burdensome. Caleix's parents constantly asked: "You're nineteen, and you have yet to choose a wife! Will you hurry, for the sake of all the ancestors watching from above?"

He never did answer the questionï¿½for he didn't want to. All the time, he would gaze at his parents' faces, faces aged with care, faces layered with grey worry. He knew that he would someday inherit the kingdom and all the responsibilities it entailed, and that whomever he married would share the staggering weight with him. For that, he didn't want to find himself a wife. It wasn't right, to drag another into an torment for the sake of selfish love.

In school, Caleix maintained a vast group of "friends"ï¿½sure, if they want my friendship they can have itï¿½and yet they had receded into the shadows, replaced by the brilliant new presence in his life that was Ceramina. She was a partner, a confidante, a supporter. And it was inevitable, though surprising, that he found more solace in her than in all the companions he had once known.

There was something about the way she glanced back at him every time she departed, which never failed to bring a warmth to his soulï¿½a warmth that defied even the coldness of his looming future.

As the present year slid by, so slow that it seemed almost as if the Clock Spirit didn't wish to let it go, the summer melted away, and the cherry leaves blazed like falling flames. The autumn wind brought biting cold to Henesys, and this was clearer than ever as they observed the scenery from the school's front doorway.

"Remember that place?" He whispered these words to Ceramina beside him, pointing towards the distant trees at the end of the field. Shivering, she nodded, though her face was alarmingly pale.

Caleix asked her many times if she was feeling fineï¿½and each time, she claimed that she was. But during their return trip, she finally succumbed. The girl stumbled suddenly to her knees, clutching her sides with moans of pain. "Eleira!" Caleix exclaimed, turning to catch her before she collapsed forward.

The male youth wasted no time to take her to the sick room, laying her upon the bed and covering her with the blanket, before calling the healer. The woman hurried in and examined herï¿½fast, but somehow never fast enough. Even as the Cleric went through the process, Ceramina weakened further. Beads of sweat shone on her face, her cheeks flushing with sickness.

"Why didn't she report her ailment earlier?" the healer nurse muttered.

"What is it?"

"Spider's Needle. A mild disease normally, but it worsens to fatality when the body experiences sudden stress. In this case, the cold."

Fear sprung to his face, but the healer shook her head. "No, it isn't your fault; she told no oneï¿½"

Minutes turned into hours, laden with shadows. "Why, Eleira?" he kept asking. "You almost let me kill youï¿½" Almost as if hearing the words was too much, Caleix felt his tears spill over.

"No, noï¿½" Ceramina, Eleira whispered, shivering. "It's not you." But even now, her face was red with fever, and her eyes dulled further every moment.

Ceramina stayed within the ward from that day on. And he stayed at her bedside everyday, skipping classes and training to watch her lest her spirit fled while he wasn't there. How many times he had cried for herï¿½but every day, she would smile and entwine her fingers with his, and promise with fortitude to someday return.

I'm sorry, Eleira, he would think to himself as he departed from the room each evening, pushing the door open a crack so he could look at her face again. It didn't feel right to leave her hereï¿½something in his heart made him want to guard her, always. Why had he allowed her to suffer so? When had he let down his caution? He wished he could remain her guardian foreverï¿½and yet he was about to become her murderer.

Seven weeks slipped by him, seven weeks of sitting and kneeling and soft whispered conversations. Don't leave me here, Eleira, he begged silently. If you survive thisï¿½I'll make sure that it never happens again.

It had been exactly seven weeks already, Caleix recalled as he came to Ceramina's bedside once more. There had been defiance in her eyes, before thisï¿½but now, even that had vanished. In her limp figure, there resided only submission, and that pierced Caleix's heart the deepest.

"Eleira, why aren't you fighting?" he asked softly. "Why are you letting go so easily?"

She closed her eyes and shook her head.

"Please, Eleira! This isn't you! You're not the girl I knew you to be!" he cried suddenly, though the despair was only for his own guilt. "I want to walk with you again, don't you know? In the garden, when the spring is here again, and the cherry trees are blooming! Will you not let me? Are you going to leave me hereï¿½here, where no one trusts me or loves me, and yet everyone watches me?"

In his rage, he struck the wall with his fist and gave a cry. The prince stumbled to the sink, dousing his face in cold water, crying out angrilyï¿½wretchedly. Then, turning back to Ceramina, he suddenly realized that glittering streams of tears had appeared on her cheeks, her sobs violent and tired. "Eleira!" he gasped.

"Yes," she answered softly, as he hurried back to her side. "I want that too. I want to walk with you in the gardens, and see the cherry blossoms." She leant sobbing against his shoulder, and for these moments, it hurt more than ever.

The young woman suddenly began to recover in the days to come, like the world after the scourge of winter. The nurses and healers gave surprised murmurs every time they made their checks, sometimes having excited discussions among themselves. Slowly, Ceramina's eyes regained the brightness they had lostï¿½slowly, too, the sickly hue faded from her face. Caleix brought her her favourite food every dayï¿½red bean soupï¿½and they would converse with more liveliness with each passing hour, as she ate and read.

"I want to see them with you," she whispered over and over. No one knew what those words meant.

And on the eighth week, Ceramina was deemed well enough to be discharged. Caleix watched, heart singing, as she rose from the bed and stretched her legs. She swayed as she took her first step, young man coming quickly to support her to the door. Then she turned around, realizing that she had left her books on the bed, before stumbling back to gather them in her arms.

Wandering slowly back to him, the young woman smiled and declined his offer to help her with the stack. "I can't thank you enough, Celdan," the girl said sincerely. He smiled in response, with a fondness he didn't remember ever feeling.

"No, don't thank me," he replied. "You were strong, yourself."

"Nahï¿½it was becauseï¿½you were there." Ceramina glanced up at him, smilingï¿½just for a momentï¿½and his heart danced wildly in her gaze, though he didn't know why. Smile widening, she shifted all her books onto one arm and leant forward, extending the other for an embrace, her silken brown hair carrying the faint scent of cherries.

That was when everything finally made sense to Caleix. An impulse reigned over him in that momentï¿½and instead of taking her embrace, he bent forward quickly and kissed her.

Ceramina's books scattered across the floor. She stumbled backwards, gasping. Suddenly self-conscious, Caleix stepped away, blinking and glancing at the floor.

"What wasï¿½that about?" she asked, shock lacing her voice.

"Iï¿½don't know."

But when he next looked, she gazed at him with smiling, brimming eyes. That was all he cared for.

Ceramina never really returned to full health again. The sickness had weakened her limbsï¿½and now, she could never be a Warrior again. And because her stay no longer served any purpose, she had to leave the school.

"Where will you go?" he asked brokenly, as they met on the front steps again that evening.

She was smiling, but her eyes belied it. "Oh, I don't really know." Her gaze fled to the distance, where the cherries had lost their leaves, and the blustery winter sky was devoid of colour. "Become a seamstress, maybe; my parents were in the trade."

"'Were'?"

The young woman nodded slightly, but explained no further. Heart falling to pieces over and over, he tried to smile and look her in the eye.

"Ceraminaï¿½"

Ceramina glanced at him in surprise. Rapidly losing the thread, he sighed and closed his eyes, shaking his head. "Don't bother," he replied. "There are other roads for you to take. Other ways."

"Other ways?" she inquired.

"Other ways to live your life. Not trapped in a castle where you can't roam further."

Ceramina must have understood, for her eyes were wide. "Thisï¿½is such a surprise," she murmured, looking down, smiling. "Are you sure? There must be better peopleï¿½"

Caleix laughed. "Am I sure? You've done so much for me," he replied. "Things you didn't notice you were doing. You were real. And you never let me hurt myself, though I did anyway. Isn't that reason enough to be sure?"

Her eyes continued to stray; her smile lingered. "It's becauseï¿½you saved me," she whispered with a wayward gaze. "You saved me from what my life could have beenï¿½"

"ï¿½And why not let it stay that way forever?" he asked, taking her hand suddenly. Then he glanced away. " I have a promise to keep. I nearly killed you once. Let meï¿½let me have a chance to correct that."

Ceramina glanced looked downwards as his grip slipped to her wrist. "Will you let me love you?"

Caleix could have cried from sheer joy. "Yes, yes, I will," he gasped, voice brimming. "I've been searching all my life for you, Eleira!"

And so the prince found his princess. He took her to meet his parents the following weekendï¿½and they were shocked to see that he had chosen a commoner over the noblesï¿½but his commitment to the choice was obvious, and they allowed it. The time soon came, when the cherries were blooming and spring was slipping through the cracks of the winter sky, for the pair to be wedded. It was the most massive wedding party the city had known for the last few decadesï¿½Henesys was bedecked with streamers, and the market stores were closed, for everyone was there to celebrate.

Things slipped quickly into place, after that. Ceramina seemed almost made for the roleï¿½she had learnt so many things through her reading that she hardly needed to be briefed. She even had her own opinions on how things could be improved, and all her ideas were surprisingly good. Life was wonderful for the prince and princess, and neither could ask for better.

But of course, when a prince marries a commoner, one can't expect things to stay calm for long. The nobles, all of whom had assumed that a girl from one of the noble houses would become the prinncess, had been sorely disappointed. It was a violation of an unwritten age-old rule, as far as they saw it. And the right punishment would have to be meted out.

One day in the first flowering of summer, when the sun was burning high, the attack was suddenly launchedï¿½an attack to punish the royal family. The king had had no warning; all four families rose to the flame, and in the scour of summer swooped down upon the resting royal household.

With great fury in their eyes, Caleix's parents stood from their thrones and took their weapons. "They think that because they carry the blood, they have all the rights to the throne, and only to themselves," his father said with unnerving strength in his eyes. "I want them to see that any other person could prove just as worthyï¿½as long as Love is the diviner." Then, in what the prince would consider a stupid move for the rest of his life, they joined the battle.

The summer became a storm. Within the rage of the sunbeams, the striking and ringing of metal swallowed the birdsong, echoing against ancient walls and young trees. Flashes of blood lit the sky, and the gardens were stained.

The screams numbered more than the flowers. In the hollow pools lay royal blood, peasant blood. As the rancor of violence slowly drained away with the onslaught of exhaustion, the last living dozens began to stumble from battle, hearts crying though their faces were set. Bodies littered the castle grounds, corpses of the guards and the traitor lords alike. Curses were exchanged; last scuffles, all spiritless. Then, in the dark of the twilight, the surviving attackers rode finally through the gates.

And they rode in triumphï¿½for upon their horses lay the corpses of the dead king and queen.

The castle mourned for the entire week. A funeral followed a wedding, so closelyï¿½and both painfully linked, too. For weeks, Caleix found himself with tears upon his face at the strangest moments, and when he spoke to the servants, he could never keep his voice steady. The summer nights were warm, but they shrieked of disaster and irony.

Only in Ceramina did he find comfort. He knew, over all, that the job suddenly lay upon him, sooner than he could ever have imagined. He glanced at his wife, and upon the sweet, youthful, timeless fairness of her faceï¿½just like the cherry treesï¿½he wished it didn't have to be this way. Yet it had to beï¿½and for the sake of law, of the country, of all the soulless eyes upon him, he allowed his life to go on.

A wedding, a funeral, a coronation. Summer waned, and King Caleix took the crown in the wreaths of bitterness, rising to the throne where the clouds were falling in the courtyard of a broken castle. The occasion was solemn tombstone-white, the clouds boding a summer storm as the jeweled crown was lain upon his head, the scepter in his palm. The applause was not congratulation, only mere acknowledgement.

And from then, like sandpaper on rust, the grey walls stripped away the careless days of oldï¿½days when life had been a frolic of starry eyes beneath the cherry trees of innocence. Days when he had been Celdan, and she, Eleira.

Now they were only King Caleix and Queen Ceraminaï¿½two marble dolls, seated upon the shelf of lost heaven.

"Well, Aismeth," he called to his housekeeper-cum-advisor. "What do you make of this?"

Two notes had appeared on the tyrant king's desk that day. As he had been sifting through his complaint lettersï¿½the usualï¿½these two had caught his eyes. And as he now read them aloud to his housekeeper, his eyes grew dark.

The first:

Your Majesty,

Captain Guard, Sir Feldoren Coime, was murdered on routine patrol yesterday. We believe the perpetrators to be members of an illegitimate guild in the Henesys area, whose members and practices we have not been able to gather sufficient information on, except for their existence and intent.

Asst. Captain Guard Esharo Hesprel

He gave a hollow sigh at the end of his words and tossed that note into the bin. Bad news wasn't commonï¿½and when any came, it had to be dealt with immediately. Caleix went on to read the second, this one hurriedly scribbled in juvenile script:

Your Majesty

Your woodcutter unit was massacred yesterday evening. I saw a group of about ten leave the forest after that. Among them were a white-haired girl, and, unmistakably, the Silver Fang of El Nath.

Loril Whithria of the Leafre Woodcutter Unit

This one brought more agitation to his eyes, and to the eyes of Aismeth, who shifted quickly away and glanced into her hand-mirror. The sigh that now left the king was even more aggravated than the first.

"Charming. Absolutely charming."

The Silver Fang, again. He had been hearing a lot about her latelyï¿½and about a girl with white hair. A similar girl had escaped from the Ellinia Station years ago, he vaguely recalled. She had been put into the station and left weaponless, because she had been dangerous. But now she had escaped and joined the Silver Fang. Things were turning ugly, very ugly.

Well, problems always had to be nipped in the bud. Caleix brushed all the complaint letters into the bin, together with the crushed pair of notes. Calling to Aismeth, he whispered something to her. The woman departed from the room, and returned fifteen minutes later with his Assistant Guard Captain.

"Mr. Hesprel," the king murmured, still seated. The guard bowed. "There will be no official ascension for you. We are short of time. This is the first task of your term: I want you to rally your men, and clean the rebels out now. Use all your contacts. Bribe. Go where no one thought to go."

"Yes, sir," Esharo answered, grey eyes hardening to steel. "The rebels will be gone."

The king steeped his fingers and mused for a while, taking glances at his housekeeper. "Hm, Mr. Hesprel," he went on after a while. "I do remember something else. Something pressing. Four particular rebels have escaped our clutches for more than a decade. It's time to end the games and begin the real war, don't you think? If there are any people I want rooted out first, it's them."

"Ah, the Job Masters, your Majesty?" The king nodded, before Esharo suddenly picked up on an earlier thread of thought. "Sir, I believe I ought to voice one of my fears now. I have begun to feel a strange tension about the people of Henesys. They are becoming defiant. I have every reason to believe a revolt is on its brink now. Shall Iï¿½"

Caleix smiled in calm praise. "Ah, that. I was expecting that. I think weï¿½the two of usï¿½we will ensure that this revolt doesn't succeed, won't we?" he replied.

This time, the Guard Captain dared to smile in response.

"Yes, we will. When do we start?"

ralinn: fire and ice

The lush trees of Minar Forest's remains were laden with waterfalls of sunlight, as the guild trekked on towards the main city. Ever since the Spearhead had been found, Orion's Belt had lived in Leafre, lodging under the care of the native Hafringsï¿½furry, intelligent, creatures with a quaint sense of humour and an obsession with protecting wyvern eggs.

During their stay, all ten had been sorely disappointed to find out thatï¿½contrary to what their naï¿½ve little minds had hopedï¿½no one could find a good way to connect the Spearhead to the Shaft.

"Let's use super-glue," Raydan once suggestedï¿½an idea that was graciously shot down.

The birdsong swelled, and sunlight streamed. At once all canopies and trunks of the forest fell away, leaving only a parchment of bare land before them. But even now, there were signs of recovery everywhere. Around the newly-built huts, furrows had been tilled, and some seedlings were already sprouting green through the rich earth.

In time, they arrived at Naol's hut, their temporary home. "Okay, pack pack pack," Ralinn snapped the instant all ten were inside. A chorus of lazy groans cameï¿½as expected. "If it's any consolation, guysï¿½the next stop is going to be interesting. Dead Mines of El Nath, anyone?"

The groans transformed into horrified gasps. "Dead Mines?" Raydan moaned. "I don't want to die again!"

"Well, Dan, what do you expect? You said you wanted to defeat the king. And you know that won't happen unless we risk death many times."

Akera's attention had been grabbed by this revelation. "Which part are we looking for this time?" she asked.

The guild leader fished a dog-earedï¿½probably overdueï¿½library book from her bag and leafed through it. "Neck," she replied. "Joins the Shaft to the Spearhead. Now we know why our pieces haven't been making any sense."

"We're going to find the Neck," Akera echoed as she gathered her belongings from the table to pack them. "Alright, so we'll break into a prison with a hundred corridors, find a tiny object item that could be anywhere insideï¿½and leave unscathed. How very simple. Except that we'll have the entire necromancer guard unit on our heels."

Somewhere in the room, someone snorted. Otherwise, there was a beautiful, dead silence.

"So?" Akera asked, her glare raking the room of silent guild members. "How is that going to happen?" The words were stunningly crushing. Ralinn bowed, almost conceding defeat.

Then she realized that she knew the answerï¿½and looked up, smiling.

"Ah, but of course," the guild leader replied, voice cutting the air like a blade. She, in a very unbefitting action for the moment, picked up her underwear and stuffed it into her bag. "We know how smart you are, Akera. Don't you think you could create a way for us?"

Ralinn mentally placed her bets. It was a challenge. Akera never refused a challenge.

"So?" the Ranger asked. "We're leaving for El Nath in fifteen minutes. The decision must be made before then. What do you say?"

The pause was tense and full. Finally, with haughtiness upon her features, she answered. "Of course, but with Lanorï¿½'s help."

Ralinn's heart was buoyed up by the light in those icy blue eyes. Lanorï¿½ gave an exclamation from close by, and her eyes met Akera's, flashing with delight.

Almost as if the agreement was the starting gun everyone had been awaiting, Raydan suddenly gave an enthusiastic call and commenced his packing, though he hung close to Telida toï¿½observe her clothes as she packed. Clynine was flushed with pride for her mistress. Zethis was staring at Clynine. Ketara and Shirion were suddenly in rapid conversationï¿½or rather, Ketara was suddenly in rapid monologue, and Shirion in a very admirable Zen state.

At the corner of the room, by the toilet, Turino was trying to stay away from everybody else.

The guild took merely five minutes for them to finish. After a customary final check of the area, they carried their bags and opened the doorï¿½only to find Chief Tatamo standing there with a bag of gifts in his hands.

"Greetings, humans! Or fare you well, shall I say?" he called, waving.

"What are those?" asked Ralinn, glancing at the bag.

"Oh, Black Crystalsï¿½very useful they are," he murmured, stroking his beard as he presented the small bag to her. "Vampire crystals, they are called; effective in absorbing magic." He tapped a very terrified Zethis' armour breastplate. "Good for armour. Here we have three for you. Use them wisely, hm?"

With a bow and many thanks, the guild leader wished the affable old Hafring goodbye. Upon the streets of new Leafre, they found directions, before proceeding towards the eastern border of the city.

Sure enough, there lay the quarry of their searchï¿½a brilliant bluebird nestled in the ruins of old Leafre. This was her old docking pointï¿½Sorelia was her nameï¿½and though it had been destroyed long ago, she could somehow never let go. There she rested, eyes closed as she dozed in the sunshine, azure feathers puffed out beneath her beak.

"Excuse me," the guild leader murmured carefully, approaching the bird. The creature gave a cry of alarm and leapt from her roosting position, chattering in shock.

"You again!" she cried furiously. "I refuse to carry such a weight again!"

"Butï¿½but please," the guild leader exclaimed. "We needï¿½El Nathï¿½"

"El Nath!" the bluebird shrieked, fluttering crazily about. "No, not the blizzard land! No!"

Ralinn suddenly felt faint. She stepped backwards, hoping, just hoping that someone else in the guild had a planï¿½

Then, from the group stepped Raydan, a bright smile on his face and a hand in his pocket. "There, now!" the Sniper exclaimed, advancing slowly. "We'll pay well. Promise." The bird murmuring skeptically.

What are you going to do, Dan? Ralinn thought incredulously. What can you do? She frowned, the scolding already upon her tongue.

Then, he did something unbelievable.

He produced a lollipop. One of the lollipops he had stolen from the Ludibrium ball, no doubt.

And to everyone's shock, the bird suddenly went still, her iridescent feathers flattening on her round shape.

"Ah, lollipop," she gasped, hopping carefully towards the Sniper. "Can Iï¿½?"

"Help yourself," Raydan responded with a smile.

All she could do was gape, as her brother unwrapped the lollipop, and the bird tentatively snapped the piece of candy off the end of the stick, allowing it to roll into her silver beak.

The bird's eyes brightened. "Candy! It's been so long!" she exclaimed, hopping about in circles. Instantly, she was upon Raydan again. "More please, good sir!"

"All in due time," the Sniper responded coolly. "Would you take us to El Nath then, dear bird?"

"Please call me Sorelia," she responded enthusiastically, all laziness gone. "Of course, how much more candy do you have?"

Ralinn spent three minutes in complete puzzlement. When in the world had her brother learnt the secret art of Communicating with Birds? As the goings-on slowly grew more and more bizarre, it was Shirion who finally connected the dots for Ralinn. "Hm, Ralinn, this is very surprising indeed," he murmured from beside her. "'Bluebirds will render extra services to those who pay in candy', you once said? Seems like that conversation wasn't so pointless after all."

Moments later, the entire guild was mounting the bird for the second time. Thanks to Raydan's hidden genius, they had regained their straight six-hour road back to El Nath. Once they had mounted, Sorelia quickly ascended to the clouds, the Sniper upon her neck, laughing as he helped her pull her goggles on.

"So," Ralinn murmured, turning her gaze to Akera and Lanorï¿½, who sat together in the corner of the saddle. "Come up with anything yet?"

"Hey, easy on us!" Lanorï¿½ replied with a smile. "It's only been half an hour. We have a draftï¿½but we need more information on the place; my memory alone won't serve us far enough. But information will easily come, if Sorelia here will land within El Nath's borders."

The Ranger nodded, and turned to her brother. "Any chance of a landing in El Nath?" she called over. Raydan presented the request to Sorelia, who, surprisingly, acceded with absolutely no fuss. She soared on, cutting through the sky, leaving nothing but a trail of scattered clouds in her wake.

This candy sure is something, mused Ralinn.

a sky of drafts

As Sorelia made her swift course northwards, the gales beneath her wings grew fiercer. Already, they carried the bitter sting of wintry cold, even though it was still early autumnï¿½and to everyone, this was a sure sign that they were nearing El Nath.

Throughout the entire four hours that had already passed, Akera and Lanorï¿½ had been deep in discussion. With whatever memories Lanorï¿½ had of the place, they had cooked up a deliciously elaborate scheme to find the Spear Neck.

Then, Lanorï¿½ had decided to make a passing comment.

"Ah, it's such a pity we can't free all those prisoners," she had murmured.

Instantly, Akera's eyes had widened. "Hey, why not?" Typical Akera. "Now that's a challenge. What do you think?"

And almost immediately, the two had launched into another long discussion.

Occasionally, one of the others decided to tune in to the conversation. They would find themselves engulfed in an ocean of clauses like "but don't you think they'd realizeï¿½?" and "that leaves no room for mistakes" and "they won't fall for it". Then, there were all sorts of technicalities; long periods of discussion on psychology, physics, probability.

Eventually, anyone who tried to listen in soon turned off.

By now, a full sheet of paper full of cancellations and rewrites had been produced, and the two were still adding to it. The pencil spent most of its time in Lanorï¿½'s hand, but the ever-ferocious Akera would often snatch it away to make additions.

raydan: white and blue

Two more dreary hours passed the group by, Raydan trying his best to ignore Akera and Lanorï¿½'s conversation. Things he didn't understand had a bad habit of deflating his egoï¿½and Raydan hated having his ego deflated.

Instead, he turned his attention to Sorelia, spending the entire trip conversing with her.

Something of a silent bond had grown between the two, over their long trip together. She had a sweet sense of humour that came across as surprising tasteful, to him. Together they had had an enjoyable evening, joking with each other, commenting on the lovely shapes that the clouds made. Over the six hours, too, Sorelia made many requests for the lollipops she loved so muchï¿½but he had grown to love the bird enough to submit without any fuss.

"Savour it while you have the chance," Raydan called with a wide grin, as the bird fell into a glide, and the Sniperï¿½having a keen eye and a true aimï¿½tossed the candy into her beak. Sorelia gave a cry of adoration, before proceeding to savour it, just as he had suggested.

Swiftly the minutes soared on. And though it made their hearts hurt to see this moment, the time finally came when the white fields of El Nath flooded across the dimming horizon, and Sorelia fell into gentle descent. The bluebird didn't realize it, but Raydan could see the tears in her eyes, crystal droplets that sparkled as they fell through the winds and the dying sunset.

Somehow, too, the Sniper found himself sighing.

The pale snows came to swallow the world, and as the dark village houses grew larger beneath them, windows glowing with firelight, the bird spread her wings to brake, Raydan hanging onto her neck; an embrace. Finally she came to land, bouncing twice across the slippery snow before stopping in a small mound of snowflakes, her breaths coming deep and soft.

Just as sudden as the landing had been, the frigid white winds came upon them, a blanket of freezing cold in the star-spangled, indigo twilight. All conversation among the guild members instantly rose with anticipationï¿½but the young Sniper's heart only fell into silence.

"Ah, home!" Lanorï¿½ exclaimed. Then to the bluebird, "Perfect landing, Sorelia! My commendations!" The ten dismounted, and began to put on their winter clothes. "Just follow the street, away from the sunset. Third house from the end, with the silver wind chimes. It hasn't been used in a while, so the stuff might be dusty."

Eight others departed quickly, all desperate to leave the coldness of El Nath and light a crackling fire in Lanorï¿½'s fireplace. Akera stayed behind, shoving Raydan aside with a small mutter, before whispering something to the bird. Something probably unrelated to a farewell, the Sniper noted from her expression. That done, she departed into the whiteness, following the rest.

But Raydan couldn't leave. However freezing the weather had grown, his feet were rooted to the ground, beside the beautiful Leafre bird.

"Hey," the Sniper suddenly murmured. Turning to him, Sorelia sighed and fluffed up her feathers against the cold. Raydan proceeded to dig around in his bag, and he produced a lollipopï¿½his last lollipop, though he didn't tell the bird. "Parting gift."

Breaking the candy from the stick, Raydan placed it in Sorelia's beak. She chirped in response, though the clear note shivered in the coldness, as she gently touching her beak to his snow-covered, dark blonde hair.

"Fly safe," he said, softer than usual. How funny, he thought to himself vaguely. I'm not used to hearing my voice say sad things.

And as he waved, she was already rising on the winds, singing a song to himï¿½a song he wouldn't forget for a long, long time. In a blur of blue and white and the colours of heaven, Sorelia vanished through the mists of the snow and stars, taking Raydan's last lollipop with her.

clynine: always go for the white knights

"Clynine? Heyï¿½Clynineï¿½umï¿½"

Though she could already feel the cold setting in, Clynine turnedï¿½and she smiled when she found her hazy gaze upon Zethis. Withstanding the cold just a little longer, she waved back. "Hey," she called, drawing her arms close and sniffling. "Cold dayï¿½adythi'g you wadded to say?"

Instead of replying, Zethis clasped his hands together and blushed, glancing at his feet. "No-nothing," he replied softly. "Let'sï¿½let's goï¿½inside." Clynine giggled at his expression, though she was shivering, her nose running like a tap in the biting cold.

"Yeah, led's go idside," the Cleric echoed with a wet sniffle. Then she turned away and sneezed twice into her gloved hands, before raising her gaze back to the warrior. "Comi'g?"

"You sound terrible!" Zethis suddenly exclaimed, hurrying to her side. "Sure you're fine?"

"Dahï¿½I'll ged by," she replied with a shaky smile, before turning away and sneezing again. Hand clumsy from numbness, she dug out her handkerchief and blew her nose until it was clear. "Today's really cold, even for El Nathï¿½"

She gave a cry of surprise as the White Knight placed a gentle arm around her shoulders, the warmth of his hand banishing her coldness. When she turned to him, he shifted his brown gaze quickly to the door, desperately trying not to meet her eyes.

Once inside the house and close by the wonderful fire, Clynine dumped her bag on the floor, blowing her nose desperately. Then her mistress called her to her bedroom, and ever obedient, she followed.

"Clynine," the Cleric's mistress murmured as she dug around in the heavily-laden drawers. Clynine glanced at her questioningly. Lanorï¿½ looked out the doorway, and smiled widely. "That boy likes you, you know."

"Eh? What?" Clynine exclaimed, reddening and dropping the jackets in her hands. "No!"

The Archmage folded her arms, shaking her head. "Clynine!" she said. "I'd do anything to have someone like Zethis going after me! But I'm a littleï¿½old, you know?" This was accompanied by a small laugh. "And anyway, always go for the White Knights. White Knights make the best husbands."

Her mistress flashed her a blinding lightning smileï¿½and before the girl could go on, the Archmage had buried her head in her wardrobe again.

the introduction

On adjacent armchairs in the empty living room, Ketara and Telida were currently in a very lively discussion about scarves. The thief was in a red sweater, while the warrior had his usual jacket on, his feet propped carelessly on Lanorï¿½'s coffee table. As Raydan headed towards the bathroom, towel in hand, he glanced at the pair and paused.

"Oh, the two lovebirds," he exclaimed, appearing behind Telida's sofa.

"Rubbish," Telida replied with much annoyance, throwing a punch back over her shoulderï¿½a punch that narrowly missed the Sniper's face. "Do you have evidence?"

"Come on, Lida!" Ketara laughed in response. "He's joking!"

Telida made a grumbling sound and withdrew, but Raydan didn't bother hanging around any longer. Teasing them wasn't any fun.

In half an hour's time, almost everyone was ready in the living room, waiting for the two mages to address them on their plans. Unfortunately, Raydan decided to delay the entire schedule by taking his time in the bathroom. But every bath must end, no matter how wonderfulï¿½and by nine o'clock, the entire guild, Sniper included, was gathered in Lanorï¿½'s carpeted living room.

Akera took a last glance at the three-page draft that the two Mages had scripted, as the rowdy group slowly began to settle down, gathering in a semicircle on the living room floor. In the depths of the snowy El Nath night, the flames crackled and murmured, warming their fingers and toes.

"Take it away, Akera," Ralinn finally murmured after a short silence. The Mage shot her a glare, and this was not helped by the fact that the guild leader was beside Shirion.

"Alright, alright," Lanorï¿½ put in. "There's no need to distract yourselves with little rivalries now when we've got bigger problems coming."

The younger mage nodded reluctantly, before straightening and beginning to speak. "Right, we're done with our planï¿½more or less," the white-haired girl said. "All constants have been dealt with. Now, all that's left are the variables."

"Our variables," Lanorï¿½ continued. "Are all about the guards' knowledge. We need to know whether they know where the Neck is. And we need to know just how smart they are. And to gain this information, we need to ask around."

At this point, the Archmage glanced about. Some were twiddling their thumbs; others were looking at their laps. "No worries," she then went on. "We have already chosen the ones who are most likely to succeed. Namely, the ones who would meet the least resistance from a stranger. Namely, Ketara and Telida." She turned.

"Why Telida?" asked Raydan from a corner.

"Why don't you ask yourself, pervert?" Akera replied sharply. The Sniper glanced down at his palms, humming.

Lanorï¿½ took another glance in their direction. "Are you alright with doing the task for us?" she questioned. Ketara nodded enthusiastically; Telida watched him before agreeing cautiously.

"Good thenï¿½these are your instructions," Akera proceeded efficiently. Beside the sofa, the fire purred warmly. "Lanorï¿½ says that one of her acquaintances defected to the king's side a decade ago. You will pay him a visit tomorrow eveningï¿½and while you are there, this is what you must do. Find out whether the guards know where the Neck is, and see if you can gain any clues on its whereabouts. If they don't know where the Neck is, we might be in for a little trouble.

"Secondï¿½if possible at allï¿½find us a map of the Dead Mines. Remember, we're facing enemies on their home turf, and they have infinitely more knowledge of the Mines than we do. If anything, a map will help level out the playing field." Her cold blue eyes fixed themselves upon the two, like a predator observing her prey.

Meanwhile, Lanorï¿½ took the stage at the other end of the room. "There is the second task, though it need not worry you," she added in a tone considerably lighter, a crooked smile curving her lips. "Just a small test to see how smart these prison guards areï¿½"

The Archmage left it at that. So that was that. Nothing more was revealed about the plan that night, and Orion's Belt later went to sleep in various parts of Lanorï¿½'s little house. But already the nervousness had set in, even in their dreamsï¿½especially upon the two who had been chosen for the mission tomorrow.

telida: away from the cold

The morning mist curled in lazy wreaths round the support posts of Lanorï¿½'s house. Here, autumn was colder than winter nights, and everyone was safe within wooden walls, lying awake upon the floor, where they had fallen asleep the night before.

All except for two.

In the bitter cold of the morning, Telida stood ankle-deep in the snow, shivering. Behind her, Lanorï¿½'s wind chimes were singing like ghosts, whispering across the frost. "I can't do this," she sighed, swinging away when Ketara, behind her, attempted to touch her shoulder.

"Don't worry, Lida!" he exclaimed, trying to smile, though the worry in his friend's eyes hurt him. "It's just a short, simple trip."

"But I don't want toï¿½to screw it up, and ruin the whole thing for our guild!" she replied angrily, never meeting his eyes. She fumed for a minute more, pacing about. Then, the Hermit's shoulders sagged. "Iï¿½don't want everything to failï¿½because of me."

Ketara turned to her in surprise. "The Telida I used to know would never say that," he remarked suddenly, a warm smile coming to him. "You've changed a lot, you know?"

There was silence, and the howl of the winter, for minutes. Telida blinked, considering his terrifyingly truewords.

I'mï¿½changing. Weakening.

Could she accept this? Was it right, to allow herself to let go of the values she had held so true, her entire life before? He was changing everything for her, erasing every mark and rewriting her storyï¿½would she simply allow it to happen?

Closing her eyes, she felt his warm presence behind herï¿½and slowly it dawned on her that she had already accepted it.

"I never really believed in joy," the thief murmured. "I never thought it possible to leave the darkness." Then she turned back to him, a tiny smile coming to her face. "But being with someone has changed that, it seems."

For lack of better response, the Dragon Knight laughed. "I'm not always happy," he replied. Telida gave a sniff of amusement, and his eyes brightened slightly. "Soï¿½this evening? Are you sure you want to do it?"

"You can't possibly go alone, can you?" she answeredï¿½then drew back. "I don't understand. Why am I so scared? It's not like me to be scared."

In response to that, Ketara patted the thief's shoulder, grinning. "Because it's something new," he reassured her. "And everyone's afraid of new things. But don't worry, Lida. I'll be there too. I'll keep it easy for you, okay?"

And that smile rendered all her fear invalid, nonexistent. It suddenly made her forget her shadowy past, her terrible father, her abusive brotherï¿½just for a second. Though she willed herself not to, Telida found herself smiling with hope. When she next looked up, though, the Dragon Knight was already returning to the house, calling to her. With great haste she followed.

Ketara vanished into the kitchen as Telida closed the door, and there she remained, alone at the doorway, gazing at the wooden wall opposite her. All of a sudden, she noticed how numb her fingers wereï¿½with cold and with surprise. Deep in her mind, something was mocking her.

I'm so weak now, she realized with dizzying disappointment. I smile, and feel, andï¿½my best friend is male.

I'm becoming a girl. A soft, helpless girl.

Then something else replied, quiet but clear.

But you are a girl, it said. You always were. And you were never given a chance to accept that fact. Why not accept it now?

As the Hermit entered Lanorï¿½'s bathroom, she gazed into the mirror at her dark-haired reflectionï¿½those jet-black eyes, those dark lashes. Shadows, so many shadows.

I've changed so much, she whispered again in her mind. Am I weakening, or am I finally seeing the truth? Is thisï¿½right?

lanorï¿½: one needle

Lanorï¿½ stood, a solitary figure in the morning street snow. Upon her face, there was the gentle, knowing smile of one who has full certainty of the events to come. In her right hand she held a needle, suspended two feet from the snowï¿½one of the two needles they had found in the Ludibrium house.

She glanced into the pale morning distance, and watched the swirling snow clouds with deepening calm. The beautiful world, she thought, smile widening slightly. The beautiful midnight world beneath. Within these mountains lay the Dead Mines of El Nathï¿½the unforgiving black prison, blanketed in layers of white.

Suddenly, she pictured her frail parents raising pickaxes over their shoulders. And knowing too well the surge of fear that came with the thought, she brushed the image away. That was a future she didn't want to consider.

Alright, the Archmage thought quietly, smile never leaving as her eyes came to rest upon the white horizonï¿½white on white, grey on grey. Let us see just how smart you are.

And she let the needle fall into the snowï¿½a spine of silver glinting among the crystals of white.

And so the game begins.

Breathing deeply in the silence, Lanorï¿½ returned indoors, though her eyes never really left the deathly pale horizon for the rest of the day.

And by lunchtime, the guard patrols on the streets had suddenly doubled, and necromancers were passing by everywhere, queerly. Every now and then, there were violent flashes of lightning at feet of the mountainsï¿½and beneath the snowy peaks swarmed throngs of guards, a hive of bees in panic. They were on full alert, and now the guardsï¿½human and necromancer alikeï¿½were charging up their mana reserves, readying themselves for a hypothetical disaster.

In the middle of dinner, Lanorï¿½ glanced out through the glass of the restaurant faï¿½ade, observing the scene far beyond the twilight snowfields, a tendril of anxiety mingled with thrill creeping around her heart.

Excellent. You're just as smart as we hoped. The Archmage smiled, twirling her soupspoon in her fingers. This will be a good game.

telida: a map and a road

As the evening deepened into frosty blue, the lights shone orange through the windows, painting the streets with squares of orange. In the frigid darkness, a pair strode across the thick snow, hearts pounding in the cold starlight.

"I'm scared," Telida whispered again, softly, gently. "I'mï¿½terrified."

Ketara touched her shoulder from beside her and smiled. "It'll be fine," he replied. "I'll do all the talkingï¿½all you have to do is find an excuse to look around."

Telida pursed her lips, her pale face shining whiter in the last light gleaming off the snow. Through the dusk they stumbled, both getting into character for the short act they were about to put up. They were posing as a pair of lost guards, sent to work at the Mines. Ketara was finding it relatively easy to take on the role, but Telida could only attempt to imitate him.

All too soon, the wooden door appeared before their vision, glowing windows on either side. Ketara extended a hand to knockï¿½then he hesitated a second, glancing back at the girl. She nodded, and he let his fist hit the door.

From within, there was the heavy dragging of a chair. "Yesï¿½coming," came the reply.

Telida swallowed. Don't do anything wrong.

"Who are you?" the harsh question was like a gunshot in their ears. Possible answers spun by her head for a momentï¿½then all at once, Telida felt herself blank outï¿½

"Evening sir." The confident resonance of Ketara's voice instantly jerked Telida out of her terror. "We were sent by King Caleix to work at the mines, butï¿½um, it seems we have lost our way."

Everything suddenly spun into place, and her eyes came to meet the stooped old guard's. Before her, she saw her task, her task only, laid out like a scrollï¿½untainted by the stains of fear, uncertainty, chance. Within the tones of her friend's effortless conversation, she found her footing again.

"ï¿½Oh, no, noï¿½lodging isn't necessary, Mr. Rudilo. We simply require some food," the Dragon Knight replied warmly to the old man's offer. Already in his element.

The man glanced behind Ketara and saw the Hermit. His eyes brightened. "Oh, you are a fair-looking couple," he commented, eyeing her again.

"Ah, we're not a couple," the Dragon Knight replied quickly. "Just good friends. But thank you for your compliment."

Within moments, the guard, Rudilo, had whisked them into his little home, his eyes bright with welcomeï¿½so much welcome it almost alarmed the thief. "Feel at home, friends!" he called happily, pulling three chairs at the dining table, before rushing over to the kitchen as fast as his rheumy old feet would allow.

Ketara dropped into one of the chairs with delight, bouncing happily on the cushion. Telida quietly took her place beside him, glancing around at their woody surroundings. "I almost feel bad," the warrior whispered over. This suddenly brought her job back to mind, and she sat up, watching the kitchen door for the man to reappear.

He did, five minutes laterï¿½with three steaming bowls of stew. "Not much," he apologized. "I just grabbed the good ingredients and stirred them up."

"Oh, it's perfectly fine!" Ketara replied, his smile widening. As they ate, the urgency of their mission consistently tugged at Telida's mind. A map, it kept whispering back. Find a map. As they ate, she fidgeted in her seat, wishing that Ketara would get a move on their job. But he was too busy enjoying the admittedly tasty stew, and certainly wouldn't be starting any time soon. It was up to her.

"Helloï¿½sir," the Hermit suddenly began. Both heads turned with curiosity. For moments, she lost her gripï¿½then quickly found it again. "Do youï¿½know anything about the mines that we'reï¿½going to work at?"

"Ah, the Mines!" Rudilo exclaimed. "You have come to the right person, my friends! It's ever so tough, guarding the prisonersï¿½you know, always the usual. Prisoners always trying to escapeï¿½why, just two years ago, we had our most grievous prison break yet!" His brow furrowed as he recalled, so much that Telida actually felt twinges of pity. "Four guards died at the hands of two prisoners. How in the world did they get a hold of their staves? I can't believe Xelion allowed it to happen!"

Ketara sat up in interest. "Xelion? That'sï¿½"

"Our necromancer guard captain," he replied with a small shiver. "He's a scary man, if 'man' I can call him. Knife-sharp too, his mind." He gave a short chuckle at the next words. "I'd love to see someone cause trouble while he's in power. Humans, necromancersï¿½we all fear him. Only he can open the prison cells. Only he knows all the ways in the Mines."

As he said these words, Telida mentally catalogued the new knowledge. Doubtless, Ketara was doing the sameï¿½but possibly in a less conscious manner, for the conversation continued.

"Ah! So I see," he said. "But I heard other rumours too. Something aboutï¿½a dangerous darkness, somewhere in the MinesDo you know anything like that?"

There was only silence in his response.

Rudilo's gaze seemed to turn to ice as soon as the Dragon Knight had uttered the word "darkness". His lips parted, but no breath came. All over his pale face there was terror, weaving its way between his cracked lips, through his empty pupils. Ketara glanced at Telida.

At length, the old man spoke. But his words were laboured, his breaths uneven. "Ahï¿½ahï¿½yes," he murmured. "Are you sure you wish to know? Somewhere in the mineï¿½"

At this, Ketara leant forward in interest. "Will you tell us?" he asked, placing a hand on his trembling arm.

Rudilo raised a hand, a hand which shook with a fear deeper than could be understood. "You ought to knowï¿½so my mistake is not repeated," he murmured. For the first time, Telida noticed the trust written deep in his eyes, and guilt welled up like acid in her throat.

Blinking what might have been tears away, the old man began. "It was a dark day. Colder than usual. My torch was in hand, as I looked for my way to the dormitories. You know how all the horizontal shafts are connected at the main vertical shaft? I entered shaft one, where our dormitories are situated. At least I thought I did. At the end of the corridor I turned right, as I was supposed to. And it never struck me, how dark the corridor wasï¿½"

He closed his eyes in despair. "Thenï¿½the ground just fell away. I never saw it. I fell inï¿½fell so deepï¿½and my torch went out. Queerly, there were no lights in this passage, I suddenly realised. Why had no one ever installed torches there? What was this place?

"I realized, then, that the exit was nine feet up, and I was trapped. And suddenly I felt something there, with meï¿½

"I couldn't see, and I wanted to cry outï¿½but I had realized long agoï¿½that there was only one way. So I just felt, and crawled." Suddenly, his resolve weakened, and he sobbed. "ï¿½Throughï¿½through death. There were bones under my fingers. Aï¿½a skull. Grinning. And then an arm. Soft, and it smelt ofï¿½of blood and rotï¿½

"It was the tomb of the Mines, it hit me then. I was among dead prisoners, and they were talking to meï¿½"

He glanced at his bright ceiling lamp, and his eyes glazed over. "We want you! They said. I just told myself, over and over: all side shafts lead to the main shaft. All side shafts lead to the main shaft. Among the broken bodies, I crawled on. Untilï¿½I hit a wallï¿½wet with stale groundwater.

"And there were holes on itï¿½ holes, like a honeycomb."

Again he sobbed, eyes shut tight, fists clenched. "It was a dead end. I was trapped. Trapped. I just began to cryï¿½like that. I didn't want to crawl forever in a tomb, among prisoners who had died. I wanted to go back, go home, see lightï¿½

"Then I suddenly felt a small, soft breath of air to my right. Itï¿½it wasn't a dead end. It was a sharp turn right! I gave a cry, and followed the path.

"Yet as I crawled towards the trace of air, something was tugging me back into the darkness. And there were tentacles, again. I could feel them now. The darkness didn't want me to leave. We want you! It said, louder than ever. We want your skull! I screamed and crawled as fast as I could, running my hands along the floorï¿½thinking I was about to dieï¿½"

Rudilo gave a gasp. "I pulled, like pulling against a rubber bandï¿½and it snapped," he exclaimed. "It just snapped, and I collapsed upon my elbows. The light grew as I pulled myself the remaining distance, crying, and found myself at a tiny hole in the main shaft. I saw the rope lift opposite, with passengers on board. I was saved! Saved..."

The old guard heaved a sigh and trembled a little more, collapsing back against his chair. Ketara patted the man's arm and smiled reassuringly at him. He gulped more soup, and Telidaï¿½still rolling her eyes at the man's recountï¿½drew back her chair, standing."I require the toilet," she said loudly. During his long story, her sharp eyes had picked out a shelf of rolled-up papers in the shadows of the far corridor.

"Oh, please do," Rudilo replied with a smile. "To your right, over there." He gestured towards the very corridor Telida had been hoping to visit. With a nod, she hurried over. Once within the darkness beside the shelves, she reached a casual hand out to check the first sheet.

A map of El Nath. Close, but not quite. She picked up the next roll and pulled it open a crack with her index finger, shaking her head when she saw that it was a guardhouse plan. Then, having a hunch, she glanced about elsewhere. She was looking for a more unique paperï¿½

Almost instantly, her eyes found a well-fingered roll on the shelf below, a solitary map in the midst of a mess of stationery. He ought to need this map a lot more than the rest, she reasoned, picking up the scrolled-up sheet. The thief checked inside. Bingo.

Telida glanced cautiously back at the dining room. Ketara was again in rapt conversation with the man, the bright lamplight making their smiles warm, creating the illusion that they were well acquainted with each other.

She quickly directed her attention back to the scroll in her hand, heart pounding in her throat. Having another thought, she quickly grabbed a similar-looking scroll and placing it where the map had been before. Then, folding the map and stuffing it in her shirt pocket, she entered the toilet at the end of the corridor.

"We have it." The door swung open, Telida and Ketara entering half an hour after departure. The two walked over to the group in the living room, the Hermit producing a folded sheet from her pocket.

"The map," she said proudly, placing it in Akera's lap. The Mage nodded in thanks, and Telida smiled slightly.

Meanwhile, Ketara repeated Rudilo's story to Lanorï¿½. The Archmage took it in thoughtfully, stroking her chin and constantly asking the Dragon Knight to repeat parts, word for word. As he concluded, something seemed to run deep through her eyes, like a river whose currents were turning.

"Thank you so much, Ketara," she replied, though her voice was not as strong as usual. "This information was essential. Thank you." Then, after echoing the story to Akera in hushed tones, she turned to the rest, glancing from one face to another.

"Our plan is complete," the Archmage announced. "There will be four teams, four tasks, all equally important. Ralinn and Raydan, you are together. Shirion, Ketara, Zethis, the second team. Turino and Telida, you will be in the third. And I will take Akera and Clynine with me for the fourth team." She blinked, regaining her tone of regality. "Now, we will brief each of you on your parts. Ralinn and Raydan first. Everyone else is to leave."

With these words, the rest departedï¿½while the first pair drew up to Lanorï¿½'s feet, like children waiting to be told a story.

Akera held the map under brilliant lamplight, observing the old, faded pencil drawing with rapt fascination. Shafts one to twelve, she thought to herself, tracing the lines with a finger, then triangulating. Six radiating from the main vertical shaft, six connecting them together. A dark wheel.

One by one she picked out interesting features of the mine, racking the faded map for every drop of information it could offer. Both entrances faced westward, towards the distant sea. The main gate closed the entire Mines in, and the security gate divided the entrance hall from the prison. At the northwest edge of the map, a vein of magma ran through area where the rock wall was thinnest, just as Lanorï¿½ had said. One magma flow every half hour, the Mage recalled. Perfect security.

The night was still young; it was merely ten o'clock, and the final touches were almost finished. As Akera's eyes formulated the paths they would take through the shafts and the minor tunnels creeping between, something caught her eye.

Whatï¿½?

She glanced back at it. A dotted line, so faint that she had missed it till nowï¿½demarcating another shaft. One that branched out of shaft number sixï¿½and took a sharp turn right.

She glanced back at the strange line, feeling an awful surge of familiarity. It could well be another decoration, or a fault line in the rock. But that wasn't it. It was too regular, too deliberate, too artificial.

Akera traced the right angle with her finger again. The guard's story echoed back to mind, the inevitable connection slowly dawning upon her.

first strike

The mines were situated within the largest mountain of El Nath. This mountain, Mount Taryon, was surrounded by a ring of low foothills, putting it in the perfect position for a coordinated attack. Except that a coordinated attack had never really happened before.

Today, though, that was going to change.

Their foe was laden with manpowerï¿½he had so many pawns to spare. On this side, there were none. Everyone was crucial, and everyone would survive through today, unharmed. If fate will allow it. There was little room for error, but even space and time are fluid when manipulated in the right way.

Morning had bloomed in its fullest upon the snowy hills. Everyone was in position upon the concealing rises of snow. Down in the valley, the necromancers and guards were on full alert, pacing about in their posts at the gate, ready for the imminent attack.

The shadows were black; the snow was white. The pieces had been arranged, and the game was about to commence.

"Turino and Telida: make a hole in the northern mountain face. Be noisy, blow things upï¿½make as huge a racket as you can. Just make sure you catch the guards' attention."

The pair flew across the snow like twin blackbirds, leaping over rises and down into the last valley before it sank to the base of the Mine mountain. Neither wanting to meet the other's eye, they shot on towards the gleaming mountain, speaking not a word. Around them, snow birds were calling into the morning, the sun peeking over the brilliant edge of El Nath.

Somewhere behind, the three mages were waiting for them. As huge a racket as you can, the words came back to Turino over and over as he meditated on what they were to do. Down at the main mine entrance below, the prison guards swarmed like flies, necromancer cloaks fluttering, guard armour gleaming. Again, the Mage's fear returned. And it didn't help that his sister was bent on ignoring him.

They arrived at last at the place where the rock was thinnest, where they would break into the mine. Instantly, he raised his staffï¿½and at the same time, Telida snatched her throwing stars out, readying her hand and her stance.

Then, silence.

"Will you start?" she suddenly asked, sharply.

Turino gave an irritated snarl, rolling his eyes. But there was no time for this bitterness, he recalled. "Explosion!" he called. His staff shone, his first strike coming with a boom.

All at once, it began. The instant the flames had bloomed against the mountainside and smoke rose, the sky seemed to break open. Telida screamed, swinging her arm, firing Avengers into the snow. Ice cracked and tumbled down the rocksï¿½they only shifted backwards, resumed their assault, threw everything in their arsenal at the unforgiving layer of rock between them and the Mines.

The unrest had begun at the main entrance. The Fire Poison Mage allowed a grim smile, as he heard the agitated voices rise around them. Guards who had been readying themselves for this moment turned in alarm to find columns of grey smoke ascending over the mountaintop, and quickly they went to their leader for instructions.

Turino swallowed and prayed they had seen his attack, heart pounding all the harder as he readied another spell in his staff. That's the signal, guys. Start quickly.

"Shirion, Ketara and Zethis: attack the secondary mine entrance. An explosion will be your signal. Depending on whether Turino and Telida succeed or not, there might or might not be many people attacking you. Enter the mine as soon as possible, find a faint line on the ground, and stay behind it at all times."

The flames cracked into shards as Turino's attack struck the ice surface on the other side of the mountain. All at once, red flashes began to erupt into the sky, tearing the clouds. Shirion glanced at Ketara and Zethis, and noted the anticipation in their eyesï¿½different kinds of anticipation, but all at the core the same.

"Well, as Akera said," he said, glancing once again at the explosions of red in the distance, then down at the unguarded secondary gate beneath. That was their signal. It was time for them to begin their charge.

xelion: the draft unfolds

It was happening, all of a sudden. Explosions on the north-western face of the mountains.

In the cold of the morning, Xelion snorted. That is about the stupidest distraction anyone could come up with, he thought incredulously when his guards turned to him. And I'm certainly not falling for it.

He was about to give the command for them to stay their groundï¿½when a thought suddenly occurred to him.

No, they aren't this stupid. They know that I won't fall for this "distraction" of theirs. It's simply misdirection. They want me to stay here, thinking I've outsmarted them, while they send an attack force to the only weak regionï¿½

"The secondary entrance!" he yelled, pointing the guards forcefully in its direction, mouth drawn into a thin line. So you have decided to challenge me, eh? The necromancer thought, glaring out into the foothills, certain that the enemy was hidden somewhere in them. Well, I'll make sure you don't try a second time.

The warriors froze in their tracks, for a great roar had suddenly risen around the threeï¿½and as they turned, they gaped. An entire mass of guards was marching towards the secondary entrance at full speedï¿½forty-odd, Shirion estimated. The full force of the Dead Mines.

All at once, terror came flooding into Shirion's throat. As far as they were concerned, their part of the bluff had been foiled. But the job still had to be done, for the plan was the only thing they had. All they could do was hope that Akera and Lanorï¿½ had covered this possibility. "Let's go," the Crusader called nervously to the other two. Ketara nodded profusely, and Zethis dipped his head once. Then the three raced across the remaining distance, snowy light glinting on their raised weapons.

Akera glanced to her left; flames and smoke were rising in the north. She glanced right, and saw that the second entrance was in chaos. "Lanorï¿½," the Fire Poison Mage whispered, pointing at the mass of guards gathered around the open gateway some distance away.

"Excellent," she responded. "They took the baitï¿½hook, line and sinker."

The woman smiled, brushing out her miraculously shiny hair with a smile. It had been treated with an extra dose of Shora's Herbal Conditioner that morning, and gleamed like gold in the sun. In Akera's pocket, the crystals were jangling, and beside her, Clynine had her staff high in hand. Fire, Ice, Light. A magic triangle.

"Are you certain about this?" Akera asked again with a harrowed voice, taking apprehensive glances down the hillside in both directions.

"It's called 'synergy', Akera. He may be just as smart as either of usï¿½but if we work together, we'll create more than double of what he does. And it's the only way to fulfill all objectives. You know it."

Nodding, the Fire Poison Mage allowed her gaze to return to the circular valley. Somewhere close by, red fire was leaping between the peaks, melting snow and cracking rocks. Somewhere further, the warriors were about to take on forty guards, alone.

Everything boiled down to the three on the hill, on whom the heart of the deception lay. It was time to tip the scales, time to turn the winds. They glanced at each other for comfortï¿½then, turning to the gates beneath, they entered the fray.

With a final flash of thunder, the snow fell inwards to reveal a massive hole, stark black in the whiteness.

"Half an hour," she whispered to herself as she leapt and landed upon the mine floor within, flickering torchlight greeting her vision. Turino followed her in, rather clumsily.

They were currently in shaft eight, according to Akera. Telida took a moment more to survey the area, raising her face to the stale airï¿½before taking off like a whirlwind. Right, left, right, right, left, left, she repeated to herself, making the turnings as they came.

She burst into the prison shaft. There were moans and calls from the prisoners inside cages as she entered and passed, cries for water and food and real light. She ignored them, ignored the sweat streaming down her back, sprinting down the flickering shaft as if Time Itself were chasing her.

The instant the thief located the narrow corridor in the wall, she turned again. The ceiling fell suddenly and the stalactites dripped from aboveï¿½still unharmed, unlike the larger shafts outsideï¿½and she slipped inside. The sharp-eyed thief quickly took in the new environment. It was a part of an ancient cave system, Akera had told them. Bending low beneath the glimmering spikes, she dashed on, gasping and panting as sweat dripped from her chin and soaked into her blouse. Faintly Telida could hear her brother's footsteps behind, those despicable footsteps of someone too proud to admit to his inferiority. Who couldn't even keep up.

Time was gaining pace. The walls rushed by in a series of monochromatic rainbows, all the same orange and black in the hard torchlight, burnt into relief all around her. On she raced, the stalagmites never tripping her, however close they grew. She soared on through the coldly warm rays, flinging sweat to the wind, seeking out in the distance the exit from this dark prison of minerals and spikes.

Finally it came. Though the air was stale outside, the Hermit could almost taste its freshness, compared to the tiny passageway she had just passed through. Ever sure-footed, she whirled left, and soared down the path, searching, searchingï¿½

With a gasp, she came to a stop, darkness flashing into her vision.

Ohï¿½Master of Fateï¿½

This was the entrance to the thirteenth shaftï¿½a gaping black mouth with stalactite-stalagmite teeth, even the light of the torches around her unable to penetrate further than the rim. All at once, dark coldness tumbled down upon her shoulders, eating away at her determination like black worms.

I'm afraid.

Telida flexed her fingers, but they were soulless. The realization made her mind reelï¿½and yet she could only prove it truer and truer, the longer she gazed into the shadows. Suddenly, her feet would not budge. They were frozen, by the ice of terror, a small voice begging to flee.

No. I can't do this.

Footsteps appeared behind her as she stared on. Within Telida's wintry silence, Turino came to a halt, panting. "Lida," he gasped. "Thisï¿½is it, isn't it?"

For a minute they stared into the shaft mouth. Something in the blackness kept telling her, over and overï¿½no matter how she ran, she would never escape the darkness alive.

"I'mï¿½afraid," she whispered, trying not to meet her brother's gaze. "I'm scared, Turino. I'm reallyï¿½scared."

The defiant part of her brain was instantly reprimanding her. Don't show your weakness to him! It bereaved. Even now the fathoms of hopelessness were deepening like ocean tides, tears welling in her dark eyes. He'll use this against you. He'll leave you behind. You just gave him the perfect chance to hurt youï¿½

Then, the Hermit felt a hand fall upon her shoulder. Warm and cold, firm yet trembling.

"No, Lida," whispered Turino's voice. "You're not afraid. You aren't, because you're Telida."

The girl shook her head, shoulders drooping. "I don't want to screw it up," she answered, turning away, her tears running at last, falling into the stony dust at her feet. "I don't want everything to failï¿½because of me."

Then, something happened, something that would stay with Telida for the rest of her life.

There in the black shadows between the torches, Turino took her in an embrace. "Don't worry, Lida!" he whispered back, sounding suddenly so vulnerable, so powerful. "I'll be there too, okay?"

Telida's breath left her.

Ketara said the same thing. The exact same thing.

As her brother drew away, Telida struggled to still her confusionï¿½finding no answer.

I don't understand. I don't understand.

She turned back to face the darkness, her world shivering at the seams. "Our time is running," she replied, steeling herself though nothing made sense to her. "Let's go."

He smiled at her again, upon the ledge between firelight and shadow. That smile pierced her heart deeper than the sky. Suddenly, she had realized that her life was just a huge mess. Her eyes lingered upon her twin brother's pale face, the face of the one who had come into the world at the same moment as she had.

I don't understand, Rino. I don't get it. I made you hate me. I sealed our hatred, irrevocably.

There was a flash of movementï¿½and Turino vanished into the unforgiving darkness. Telida cried out in shock, staring into the place where he had disappeared.

But then she realized that this was what she had come to do.

Telida closed her eyes. And, arbitrarily estimating the distance to the ground, she jumped.

"Find a line on the ground, and stay behind it at all times."

Akera's fierce warning had stuck with Shirion. He had found the "line", faint as it wasï¿½and throughout the battle, he had taken care to stay behind it, often warning the other two to do so as well.

Three against forty. Oftentimes, the Crusader would find attacks flying in from all directionsï¿½and only with the sheerest depths of his perseverance had he managed to hold them off. Valiantly the three warriors had battled, charging and striking with flaming spirits, struggling against twenty guards and twenty necromancers with the little they had.

For three people, they had done a good job. Yet it wasn't enough. During its course, the three had been separated, hopelessly, in the sea of men. Somewhere beyond the thick of shouts and slam of weapons and crackle of red lightning, Shirion could see his comradesï¿½tired, faltering. He too, was weakening. For every strike, he paid with a hundred bruises, a burn in the arm, another drop of blood. If he was to stand a chance, he would need to find extra power, somehowï¿½

Extra power! He gasped as he swung again. Why didn't I consider it earlier?

Freezing, he closed his eyes, finding the fingers of his soul upon that glowing core somewhere in his heart. An innate source of power, which had nothing to do with his training, or with Dances with Balrog's skill books. It shone now within his grip as he drew it out, expanding outwards through his every fibre.

Two flashes. Somewhere else, too, Shirion felt as if the same power had awakened outside of him. And he just managed a fleeting glimpse of themï¿½Zethis and Ketara, their eyes glowing a brilliant gold, like stars, as if his power had awakened theirs.

Zethis? Ketara? Howï¿½

But he lacked the time to ponder. Already, five guards had launched themselves upon him. New strength was raging through his veinsï¿½and for the first time today, he smiled. Flames streamed from his hands, where barely any power had once pooled. With unnerving ease he flicked his shining sword, smiling and slicing a guard's helmet in two, beheading him before he could retaliate.

At the sight of spattering blood, everything awakened.

Shirion's smile turned into a grin. He dodged between streams of lightning, for they were suddenly so slowï¿½between rainbows of nothing and everything, slicing and hacking like a saw through a hedge of thorns. Towards the center. Constantly, the words came backï¿½behind the line, behind the lineï¿½and he followed the command, battling as if his spirit had escaped his body and now fought beside him. Towards the center.

Through the flurry of shadows he burst. His heart swelled when he saw the other two already there, battling like ripples across water. Their eyes burnt, and their weapons shot through with terrifying force as they snipped and burnt armour and robes, deflecting blows as easily as flies.

Shirion gave a cry as he rejoined them. They were together, againï¿½at the center. They stood back to back, facing their attackersï¿½and between them there was not a drop of fear.

"Welcome back, Shirion!" Ketara exclaimed with a grin, readying his next charge. "Your eyes are glowing too!"

He gave a short laugh, before their effortless battle resumed.

It took about ten minutes for Xelion to realize that something was wrong.

There were only three attackers. Three. Simple reasoning yielded the indisputable fact that this job was far too important to be placed in the hands of three people.

He had assumed, from the start, that the three warriors were the enemy's main attack force. But that wasn't it, he had suddenly realised. All this while, he had been dancing into a lie. This, too, was a distraction. The main force was somewhere elseï¿½approaching the main entrance right now, happily finding it unguarded. Cursing, Xelion whirled around and raced towards the main gate, snow flying in his wake.

They had intended for this to happen, all along. And he had taken the bait. Hook, line and sinker.

Well, you have not won this yet! His thoughts were a whirl. You play the game well. And I would love to meet you in person, should you not perish today.

But the great necromancer knew that, suddenly, he was losing. The weathervane had swung around; the winds were whipping, throwing shards of ice in his face. And he realized, too, that resignation would be the fastest, simplest escape. Just knock your king down, and let it be done. Submit. Concede.

Then, no, he told himself. I don't resign. I'll turn the tables again, just as a master player would. There's a way.

There's always a way.

And there is almost no time. His quick mind instantly took to the taskï¿½searching in the vast pool of ideas he always had, narrowing down mercilessly on the possibilities, discarding ideasï¿½before fishing something out. An answer.

A grin rose to Xelion's face.

Snatching his staff from his belt, his footsteps quickening with cruel confidence. There would be no escape from this trap. And unless his opponent was an inhuman super-genius with split-second mental reflexes or a precognitive ability, none of his foes would leave the Dead Mines today.

This is the only way, the only way to do all we sought to do. It doesn't matter that a millimeter is the distance between success and failure. It doesn't matter, because there will be no other chances.

Lanorï¿½ whirled to face the south. Already, the black figure soared across the snow towards them, staff glimmering in his hand. She glanced back briefly in the direction Akera had left for the mines, praying silently for her. Then, upon the snow road, Lanorï¿½ and Clynine turned.

"Clynine," the Archmage called to her assistant. "You can do this."

Shivering, the Cleric nodded, gripping her staff tighterï¿½stepping up to the fore. I am so proud of you, Lanorï¿½ thought briefly with a smile as the dark figure closed in. Only sixteen, and already so much braver than I ever was.

The black cloaks of death fluttered about Xelion's feet as he swept over the snow, staff glowing blood-red. His face was pale as the snow around him; from here it gave him the appearance of a masked man. Fierce grey eyes flashed against his pallid complexion.

And finally they stood face to faceï¿½king of the shadows, queen of the snow.

"Ah, so I see!" The man's grin was crazed and delighted. "The Silver Fang herself! I should have guessed so!"

"It's you, Xelion," she replied, blue eyes burning. And though Lanorï¿½'s gaze was upon the necromancer, her attention was on Clynine. Distract him, her mind commanded adamantly. Buy her time. Don't let him see her. She faked a smile at Xelion. "I've wanted to meet you for quite a while now."

"Likewise, you crafty little creature," the necromancer spat the words out, his smile dangerously poisonous. "So, what is your next move?"

"Ah, I will dazzle you," Lanorï¿½ responded, a genuine smile rising to her lips.

"I'm not easily impressed," he replied, smirking and pacing about.

"But do keep your eyes open, Xelion."

He began to laughï¿½

And that was the moment when Clynine let go. Arrows of light soared straight forward, into his eyesï¿½and Xelion's laugh instantaneously turned into a yell of alarm. "In the Spirit's name!" His cry died as he stumbled blindly through the snow, a bat in daylight.

Lanorï¿½ and Clynine were upon the winds in no timeï¿½and soon, they entered the shadows and rejoined Akera in the Mines. "Done with the mechanics and the crystals yet?" the Archmage asked Akera briskly as they raced down the corridors, into the prison. All around them, dying prisoners groaned and clawed at the relentless bars. The gauntness of their faces brought pangs of recollection, and quickly the woman blinked the thoughts away.

"Just some trigonometry; it wasn't too hard," Akera replied. The woman nodded. And now as she took a final glance around, breathing steadily, she readied herself for what were to be the hardest five minutes of her life.

Now, within these five mere minutes of time, she would decide the fate of the Mines, the Spear, the world.

Within these five minutes, she would either secure victory, or die.

Risking the queen for checkmate.

She ran her fingers through her conditioned hair nervously, praying that all her theoriesï¿½their theoriesï¿½were correct.

Akera whirled around at the distant sound of footsteps. "He's coming," she whispered. "Quick, Lanorï¿½. End of the corridor, where I put the yellow pebble." Nodding, Lanorï¿½ raced past the crying prisoners and their iron cages to her place, Clynine and Akera slipping into the shadows of an alcove.

The glares in Xelion's vision finally faded away, and now he was twice as furious as before. They had long vanished. Stupid me! Caught off guard again! He took off immediately towards the only place they could have goneï¿½the Mines.

The Dead Mines had two entrances. And at each entrance was a pair of iron gatesï¿½a main gate at the snow's edge, for keeping the cold outï¿½and a security gate further in, used to secure the prison whenever a prisoner was on the loose inside. This security gate was positioned such that it only locked prisoners in when shut, and all guards were still free to enter and exit the Mines. All four gates were controlled by a complex set of mechanisms, which, together, had ensured that only two prisoners had ever broken free from the Mines.

Through the main gate the necromancer strode now, shadows falling over him as he left the snows and entered the dark entrance hall. In the walls, the corridors towards the guards dormitories were black and motionless. No one. He then proceeded to walk on. Past the security gate, into the prison.

In his throat, he felt a surge of triumph.

There stood Lanorï¿½, at the far end of the prison corridor, her distant figure recognizable even from here. Laughing, the necromancer allowed his voice to echo through the tunnel.

"Well, well. Why has your little friend abandoned you?"

Xelion advanced through the shadows with a grin. The necromancer knew fully well that at any moment, something could go wrong with his plan. But how much, truly, could go wrong? This was his prison, his home. She was in a place she had never been before. He knew all the rules. She knew nothing. Only he could open the gates of the prison. Only he knew every secret, every passageway.

And only he knew this: A single lever was the key to the whole of the Dead Mines. The lever that controlled the two security gates. Its primary function was to prevent a loose prisoner from escaping the Mines, by staying unforgivably in place until the lever was pulled again. But it could work in other ways.

Just one lever pull, and everyone inside the prison would be trapped indefinitelyï¿½with no food, no drink, no contact with the outside.

It didn't matter anymore, what happened within the mines. All he had to do was pull the lever while Lanorï¿½ was still inside.

Storing this away in his mind, he raised his gaze once more. "Lanorï¿½," the dark magician proceeded to acknowledge the Archmage's presence. For the first time, he noted the shimmering ice shield before her. "Now what would this be?"

"Oh, that. I have a bargain to make," Lanorï¿½ replied calmly. "This here is an ice mirror, invented and patented by yours truly. You can kill me, by shooting through this ice shield and smashing it with enough force to break me. But in doing so, your attack will be reflected in all directionsï¿½and the prison gates, receiving your magic, will be unlocked."

"To design such a device takes skill," the man murmured, stroking his chin as his eyes wandered across the prison walls. It was ridiculous, yesï¿½but he was actually considering her offer. It would simplify mattersï¿½

But in that momentï¿½by luck or by chanceï¿½Xelion's eyes slipped to the gleaming vein of silver in the ceiling above. Shining, brilliant silver.

And suddenly, another ingenious idea sprang to mind.

"I take your offer," the necromancer answered, smiling. "You die, and the prisoners go free."

"Go ahead. I'm ready."

And with that, Xelion casually raised his staff, directing his attention towards the sliver of moonlight above, though his eyes and staff were pointed as Lanorï¿½'s heart. He calculated the angle, the force. His staff crackled red and black. Carefully, he narrowed his eyes on the woman's ice shield, chantingï¿½

And in the final moment, as the spell was about to burst forth, he swung it upwards.

Lanorï¿½ gasped. From that moment, Time began to resist, slowing as if it were folding upon itself. Gradually, her eyes turned upwards, following the bolt's sure course through the dark airï¿½as it struck the bright silver above, ricocheted with a powerful pingï¿½

And shot straight into her head.

Everything rushed back. Time unfolded.

There was an explosion of red and black light. Without a sound, Lanorï¿½ collapsed against the wall, lips parted, eyes fading.

Checkmate.

The realization was so stingingly sudden that Xelion took a minute to believe it.

As his gaze slipped over the Archmage's eyelids, the necromancer had a momentary, sickening feeling that somehow, she had defied deathï¿½and that she was still awake, waiting to pounce.

No one survives a direct attack like that, he reassured himself, stumbling dizzily forward. It hit her. Her head. There is no way she could have lived through it.

The necromancer's footsteps were silent and echoing, and around him the cries of the prisoners rose like the songs of ghosts. They mourned and sobbed, but he had learnt long ago to block those calls out. Forward, one step after another, like a broken machine. The shadows tightened with every second, bowing to his miraculous deed, bending at his fingers.

The cold lines of the stone wall were clear in his vision. He finally allowed himself to grin. Lanorï¿½ was motionless; no breath slipped through her lips. He struck the useless ice shield with his staff, and it shattered in an explosion of white and grey. Then, he reached out to grab her neck, lifting her so that her deathly pale face was level with his. A sneer twisted his lips.

"Not so great after all, eh?" he exclaimed haughtily. "For a moment there, I actually feared you had somehow defied death!"

His smile widenedï¿½

ï¿½Then, those brilliant, burning sapphire eyes flew open.

"You feared right, Xelion."

The cold face of Lanorï¿½ smiled back.

He only vaguely felt the coldness of the Archmage's Blade Staff pressed against his neck, as he lost grip of everything. She had escaped. She was inhuman. He was powerless against her. Trembling violently, he released his grip, bowing his head beneath the sheerness of her gazeï¿½forcing his brain to work, for that very last opportunity to escape from this demon.

There must be a way. There's always a wayï¿½

He made a passing glance in the direction of the gates, the leverï¿½

ï¿½and drew in a breath.

"Now, we can take this easy, can't we?" Xelion murmured, suddenly realizing that he had a last, glimmering chance. He backed away in mock fear. Misdirection. It hinged on that now. Misdirection. Sleight of hand. His heart was a rolling drum.

"Why, of course we can, for a charge," Lanorï¿½ replied as she advanced, staff crackling. He felt the static tug at the hairs on his neck.

She's falling for it. He stepped backwards. Closer, closer to the gate.

The lever.

"State your price."

Slowly, they traversed the length of the corridor, Lanorï¿½ advancing, Xelion backing away. She made her request, that he free the prisoners, againï¿½a request he refused. But still she kept her blade staff raised, and still he crept backwards, closer, closerï¿½closerï¿½

"But what harm is there in doing so?" the woman tried to reason.

"I'll lose my jobï¿½and my head."

Almost there, his mind fed him the information, his black heart throbbing in his ears. He felt as if it might explode as he arrived at the gates, and crossed the threshold.

Silently, slowly, he extended a hand to his left.

"You'll lose your job and your head, if you don't free them for me," the blonde woman growled, jabbing the staff closer. But she was still on the other side. Just across the line. Just.

Xelion's hand shook, as his fingers closed around the lever handle. In this single moment, he suddenly faced the jarring, terrifying notionï¿½that Lanorï¿½'s life was resting upon his fingertips. That he could end her, now and forever.

Before him, the Archmage's eyes were narrowed and dark. "You have already lost, can you not see that?" she asked.

Hearing those words, Xelion finally let himself smile.

"No, I don't think so."

And he pulled.

All around the necromancer, there was a rush of shadows, a resonant clangï¿½and Lanorï¿½'s face vanished from his world, forever.

The instant the gate had shut, Lanorï¿½ threw her head back, breathed deep, and began to laugh like a madwoman.

"Really, I amaze myself sometimes!" she cried. "He completely ate it up!"

"The most beautiful act I've ever seen," Akera agreed, appearing from the alcove with Clynine.

Together, the three sped down the corridor again. "Mistressï¿½how did you do that?" Clynine exclaimed from between the two, as Akera knelt and searched the floor for something. "The black boltï¿½it hit you! Why aren't you hurt?"

Lanorï¿½ smiled. "The secret, of course, was the hair conditioner," the Ice Lightning Archmage replied. "It was all a terrific plan that Akera came up with. She positioned me such that Xelion would inevitably see the silver, and naturally hit me from above."

"And theï¿½the hair conditioner saved your life?"

This time, the Fire Poison Mage stepped in. "Not the conditioner, so much as the shininess it causes," Akera explained. "Dark magic works in the same way as light, its inverse. If an object is reflective enough, it won't be affected. So that attack was really a complete waste of his time. But what we did manage to do wasï¿½"

Akera unfolded her fingers, to reveal a sparkling black crystal in her palm. "One of Chief Tatamo's gifts," she explained. "A vampire crystal. I embedded it in the floor, right where the scattered particles of Xelion's beam would hit. Now it's full of his magic."

Clynine's mouth opened, slowly. "Andï¿½you're going to use it to unlock the gates!" she squealed, grinning. "Pure genius!"

Both mages turned. "I know," they said in unison.

There was a groan deep in the ground.

A colossal groan, deeper than the wrath of the earth. Faint, but growing.

And then there was a scream, a screech of metal, and the great gate came tumbling from the hole in the ceiling, so swift that the guards beneath barely had a moment to notice before it crashed down, upon their heads and their wide eyes.

Bones snapped everywhere. Blood shot across the ground in vivid streaks, guts and muscles and brains mingling in sanguine pools beneath the fallen gate, crushed deep into the dirt.

Zethis made a queasy sound. All three warriors leapt away in surprise, glancing at each other, at the bodies, and at each other again.

"Behind the line," Shirion murmured, noticing that the gate had fallen right where the line used to be. "No wonder."

Then, turning, the three noticed the five remaining guards.

Before the armoured men had even had the chance to see the incoming attacks, all five had been slaughteredï¿½either by a sword or spear thrust through the heart, or a massive bash on the head. The instant the last foe had fallen, all three underwent a simultaneous energy drain. The glow in their eyes subsided, and their power vanished like the tide drawing away from the shore.

"Woohï¿½I feel weirdï¿½" Ketara murmured with a smile, eyelids drooping as the light died and he collapsed against the wall.

Shirion sighed involuntarily. "Well, that's ended," he said. "Now for the last part. We must get to shaft eight as soon as possible."

"Easier said than done," Zethis replied, shoulders sagging. Ketara nodded. Nonetheless, the Crusader knew he could spare them no mercy. So, grabbing their arms, he dragged them away with whatever strength was left in him.

"Quick, quick!" Akera constantly reminded the prisoners as they crawled from their cells. Repeatedly, she glanced at the end of the corridor, where a door opened into the shaft.

Ten minutes. Ten minutes, and the window closes.

"Let's go," Lanorï¿½ exclaimed as she touched the crystal to the gate and the last prisoner was freed. Turning, she commanded the entire crowd of a hundred with her powerful voice, taking the lead, racing towards the main shaft.

It took no more words. The entire crowd followed like a flock of sheep, their chatter like thunderï¿½all desperate for this final chance to escape the Mines and the death they had always believed inevitable.

"Thank you, Lady Lanorï¿½!" cried a prisoner as he ran on behind the trio, his voice full of tears and full of laughter. "If I could, I'd give you my entire fortune for this!"

"No need," Lanorï¿½ responded simply. "Your freedom is the reward."

The grey walls rushed onwards, until they abruptly opened into the great cathedral of the main shaft, light falling away into a burning darkness far beneath. The rope lift was swinging, and the entire group came to a halt beside it.

"Fear not, my people!" the Archmage cried. "This is our final flight. Our final leg to freedom!"

She paced forward, eyes shining in the flamesï¿½eyes of a mastermind, eyes of a queen. "But we must make haste. We have ten minutesï¿½ten minutes to move there. But take faith, my people! The Goddess will take us upon her wings and speed us to the light. Quick, let's go!"

There was a resounding cry, one that echoed down and up the main shaft like a deity's song. Twelve prisoners rushed onto the lift at her commandï¿½and once they were ready, the gate was closed, the ropes tuggedï¿½and it ascended. They watched intently, anxiously from beneath, breaths bated, as the passengers ran out of the lift and along the precarious ledge into shaft eight. Twelve by twelve they went, the numbers below dwindling.

"Last ride!" Finally, Clynine gave the call as the final tenï¿½the three mages includedï¿½boarded the lift, and the people above began to tug on the pulley system as fast as their muscles would allow.

"Pull!" They heard the communal cry from aboveï¿½a system, a tribe, a world. "Pull!" The lift rose, soaring to the ledge above.

And suddenly, they were flying down shaft eight. The lights turned into lines and the walls melted into each other as they ran, swifts and swallows riding the gales of the mountains they all knew, deep in their souls.

El Nath, our home. Our freedom. Our love.

Lanorï¿½ gave a call as they arrived at the vast hole in the wallï¿½the hole that the twins had smashed for them. Light streamed in, mingling with torchlightï¿½the pure with the tainted. The prisoners cried with joy, at the snowy light they had lost.

"Return!" Lanorï¿½ cried, and they instantly began to scramble through the hole in tides. "Return to safety!"

The lava flow was due in less than a minute, she suddenly recalled. Forty seconds.

And they were a people fighting to go homeï¿½after days, weeks, years of imprisonment. They were the maddest, most desperate children in the worldï¿½

Her heart stopped.

The rock was groaning, burningï¿½a vast monster crawled in the wallsï¿½

Only six prisoners left, ascending clumsily, their legs swinging in midair.

A devil, creeping along an adjacent passageway, snarling and snapping and ready to kill.

No, no, no! They won't. They won'tï¿½

Lanorï¿½'s heart was screaming tears of blood. She pleaded with the Goddess, with the deities of fire and ice. Still the devil scraped its inevitable way through the rocks. Closer, closer, like the omnipresent thundering of drums.

She stared, crying silently.

The stones burnt, melted. The walls blazed orange, as the tube within burned, crumbling with the heat.

Mistily, vaguely, Lanorï¿½ saw in flashes what happened after that. She cried out, cried one name after anotherï¿½knocked her two friends out of the way, raced into the flames, burned in themï¿½and in their darkness she flung a powerful "Ice Strike" towards the streams of lightï¿½

A divine wall of ice erupted from Lanorï¿½'s fingers, swelling and spiking in swift crystalline carpets, blooming and extinguishing the entire corridor of torches, turning the path into a gleaming tunnel of icicles. And the lava curled outwards at Akera's fingers, like tentaclesï¿½shooting in sun-rays out of the hole, spurting onto frozen walls and hardening in dark smudges. The ice began to melt, and water showered upon them like rain, steam flowering through the air like cottonï¿½

And it was the steam that took their lives. One by one, the prisoners collapsed from the light with dimming eyes, gasping for another breath, another breath. Lava gushed in in burning streams, cracking the ice, embalming them gently in darkness. Flooding their open mouths, burning their teeth.

Like the last trickle of summer, the red flow hardened to coldness. Everywhere, there was nothing but ash and snowï¿½gleaming, white snow. The torches were lifeless.

In the silence, Lanorï¿½ leant against the icy wall, sobbing softly.

"I let them die," she gasped. "They trusted me. I took them here. I was too proud."

"No one knew this would happen," Akera responded, touching her arm, glancing up at the now-sealed hole. "It was a mistake. It wasn't you. And besides, this death was better than any death they could have seen in the Mines."

Lanorï¿½ blinked and straightened to her full height, taking comfort in the young woman's words. "We must see this through," she said, glaring with determination into the distance. "This isn't the end. There's another way."

telida: open

Suddenly, eternities of darkness were above, beneath, all aroundï¿½oppressive, pure, terrible.

In the darkness, Telida groped about for handholdï¿½and felt a nest of worms beneath her fingers. A shriek ripped itself from her throat as she leapt away, struggling to hold her sobs in.

It's worse than the guard described it. So muchï¿½worse.

"T-Turino," she whispered desperately. "Turinoï¿½where are you?"

A breath echoed through the hollow shadows. "Here," his voice was trembling. "We must go." Swallowing, the thief heard the gentle footfalls of her brother, somewhere far aheadï¿½and gripping the walls, she stumbled after.

An inkling of a voice came, just slightly, curling around her neck.

Telidaï¿½we want youï¿½

Gasping, the Hermit sped to a desperate dash, her breaths broken like the bones on the floor. Falling again and again, she chasedï¿½but Turino was ahead, always ahead. Despair chanted through her veins, shredded whispers and screams of fragmented souls. Souls of thousands of miners, prisonersï¿½dead, dead, dead.

And somewhere deep within, there lay a throbbing mass of tentaclesï¿½questing for her.

ï¿½Telidaï¿½we are waiting.

Turino's footsteps were a short way ahead, her compass. Closing her eyes, she followedï¿½traced the vanishing rope. But they didn't depart, only grew. Cold, cold tentacles, snatching hungrily at her.

We want you. Want your heart and teeth.

Somewhere far awayï¿½the clock of hell began to tick, faster.

Tick.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Telida felt her breaths become shards. "No," she whispered.

But they listened not. "You are beautiful," they cried tauntingly in replyï¿½

And thenï¿½she felt it. A seam appeared in her neck. A seam of blood and sinew, unzipping through her skin. She could see it, yet she couldn'tï¿½a phantom. A claw, slicing down across her skinï¿½slitting her in two.

She stumbled into the stones, broke herselfï¿½and the world screamed like the clocks.

"HELP!"

Tears, tears and tentacles choked her as she shrieked for help, unfolding outwards. Her body was in pieces, her bones and vessels lying open to be devoured by chattering teeth. Her heart was on the floor, and it struggled for its next shuddering throb, crawling bloodied across the stones, towards the skulls that called and promised comfort. She saw spurts and flashes of blood everywhere as it crept on black trailsï¿½dark words scrawled across the ground.

"Sleep", the letters read. Sleep. Her body was an open treasure chest.

"Stop! Stop, please!"

ï¿½Telidaï¿½we want your face in our armsï¿½

"PLEASE!" Her thoughts suddenly turned to her last lifeline. "Turinoï¿½Turino!"

The name forced themselves through her frozen lips. Silent rhythms. Blood spewing from her open neck, Telida fell to her knees in the rot, legs and lips bleeding, sobbing and shrieking wretchedly in the tangles of veins around her. Dark hearts were beating all around like little machines, in mechanical synchrony with hers. Hearts of those who had fallen before her.

No question, no answer. No start, no end. A chain, running in loops forever.

ï¿½you are beautiful, Telida! Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful!

Only a scream, a ticking clock-heart. Their fingers were cold and groping, as they began to tear her skull from her neck.

Where are you? Her brain begged, crumbling at their frozen touch, leaving her skull empty.

Turinoï¿½Ketaraï¿½Akeraï¿½Ralinnï¿½Raydan, where are youï¿½?

youï¿½?

ï¿½?

Suddenly, an answer.

"Telida!"

A shaft of untouchable brilliance suddenly pierced through the blackness. A knife of light. A cry from the distance, chasing her deep into the abyss.

She raised her head with tearful, ruptured eyes. It was another rope, a thin silver rope being tossed towards her, through the grinning shadows.

"Turino," she gasped hoarsely again, voice echoing in the emptiness, chest heaving with laboured breaths. In the dark, she felt the distant warmth glowing upon her skinï¿½an arm about her shoulders, a hand upon her wrist.

Ever so warm, growing stillï¿½growing still.

The girl gasped softly, as the darkness began to melt away around her, and more things began to appear in her world. She felt warm tears touch her fingers, mingling with her own. The screeches of the skulls were suddenly desperate and cacophonousï¿½but those strong arms came to embrace her tightly, shielding the voices away.

"Lida, I'mï¿½here." Turino's gentle voice resounded through everything else, sobbing and shaking over her shoulder. "We'll get out of this alive, Lidaï¿½I promise."

You came back for me.

And all she saw, in the ethereal, illusory flames, was the brother she abhorred more than death itself.

"I'm always here, Lida," he whispered in her ear, defying the shadows like a faint firebrand. "I won't everlet you get hurt." His arms, they were so tight around herï¿½so tight, and so strong with love.

A magical girdle, protecting her heartï¿½as they stumbled through the darkness like lost orphans, away from the ropes of death.

Their breaths were echoing close, and Telida knew at once that they had arrived. Quickly, her fingers extendedï¿½and leapt away when they met a surface pockmarked with a thousand holes. Like a honeycomb. "The wall."

Beside her, she heard the sound of Turino drawing his staff, and she followed suit, smiling shakily. The throwing stars were cold, hard, and trustworthy in her fingers. They remembered the strength and magic of so many years.

"Give it everything," the Hermit's brother whispered. "Let's finish this fast."

She nodded, though she knew he couldn't see.

"EXPLOSION!"

"AVENGER!"

They saw no lightï¿½only heard a massive boom, and the grumble of breaking rock before them. Telida felt the shower of dust as she leapt away, Turino snatching her arm.

The rubble thundered to the ground, taking a minute to subsideï¿½and the instant it had, Telida reached quickly for her belt, finding the two Spear parts, Time and Life. They were singing desperately into her hands, pulling her towards the third part, like needles to a powerful magnet, a force more ancient and divine than magic itself.

Darkness! Darkness; he is here! Take us to him!

Her feet stumbled into the dust. Her hand reached into the rubble, following the gentle, violent tug of the Shaft and Spearhead. Together.

Among the broken rocks, her fingers closed around something small, cold, and divinely roundï¿½sending tendrils of blackness into her skin.

"I have it," the Hermit whispered.

"Great, now lets' get out of here," Turino's response was impatient yet hopeful. Together they turned to face the distant scent of fresh air, a scent piercing through the putrid warmth like a narrow blade of light. Together they swept forward, believing and certain at last.

While they ran, Telida fitted the three parts of the Spear togetherï¿½Time, Life and Darkness. Between her palms, the weapon began to vibrate like the thrum of cicada wings, flaring red-hot and divinely bright in her fingers.

And finally, the millennium-old shadows lifted. Firelight bloomed to life in the distance: it was the most beautiful, brilliant light they had ever seen in their lives.

joining paths

It was along the ledge, on the way out, that the three mages were reunited with the three warriors. In a mass of exclamations, everyone came to a stop, conversations instantly beginning as the two sides caught up with each other.

"Shirion!" exclaimed Akera, smiling foolishly as she approached. But the Crusader ignored her, for there were more pressing matters abound.

"Lanorï¿½," he said urgently to the Archmage, who was conversing with Ketara. "Aren't we supposed to be inï¿½" He pointed.

Lanorï¿½ shook her head, turning momentarily from the Dragon Knight. "It's closed," she answered. "But I know another path. Let us hurry." Her eyes darted over the ledge. At once, the three warriors gave exclamations of shock.

Lanorï¿½ nodded, striding purposefully towards the lift, the rest trailing nervously after. They were trembling, yet no one dared to disrupt the Archmage's powerful deliberation.

Then, in the flickers of fire, a question broke the silence.

"But what about Telida and Turino?" It was Ketara, his voice laden with the weight of his panic.

At that, the entire group came to a jarring halt.

telida: shut

The corridor of blackness rushed to an end, the distant light swelling to a tantalizing brilliance in their blinded eyes. Telida gave a cry, and Turino gasped exhaustedly in response. Thirsty and burnt by the tongues of darkness, the twins stumbled along, panting and crying with delirium, supporting each other with strong arms so neither would fall.

Brother and sister. Hated and loved.

Just a short way more, they shared the hope and the blood in their veins. We're almost there.

As they approached, the crack opened out, wider and wider, like a fire lily blooming. Still they stumbled and laboured forward, away from the skulls, away from nonexistent horrors, into the embrace of light. Gradually, the corridor narrowed like a cone, the ceiling closing in on the floor. Their walk lowered to a gentle stoop, and soon to a crawl.

Then, the waves of firelight flew open. They had arrived at exit. The two gazed down, expired, into the burning pit far below, its full glory lighting their pale faces.

"We're here," Turino whispered, pulling his sister close, resting his cheek against her shoulder. Beside him, withdrawn and cold, she felt her confusion grow deeper.

I've hated him so long. Yet he loves me still.

Whyï¿½?

Then her thoughts were interrupted, when a brilliant gleam made her look up. And she gasped in shockï¿½a lift had swung into view, some way above. Its bars and handles were glinting in the flames, and as Telida inched further to look, she realized who was on boardï¿½

A smile lit her face, the widest smile she had ever smiled. "Here!" she cried, waving a hand to the lift, feeling a surge of tears attack her. From beyond the lift railings, Ketara was the first to recognize her voiceï¿½and he whirled around in surprise, shouting her name and waving back.

"Telida! There is a ledge beneath you," Lanorï¿½ called excitedly. "It's about five feet downï¿½"

With a yell of wonderful victory, she leapt from the hole, landing on the ledge with graceful ease. But this time, instead of taking off, she found her gaze leaping back to her brother above.

"Rino!" she called. "It's safe, Rino! Come here!"

"But Iï¿½Iï¿½"

"Jump! Jump! I made it; you can too! Unless you're going to admit defeat now?"

And he did.

A second later, he was on his knees beside her, moaning from the pain. But he was alive and well.

Telida smile again, teasing her brother before dashing away.

turino: into the mists

"Lida! Oh, Goddess, you're here!" Ketara almost instantly attacked the Hermit with a huge bear hug. As the Dragon Knight came upon her with his arms outstretched, she gasped before being engulfed by his embrace. As the lift continued to sway through its descent, the warriors' eyes shone with joy.

"Will you stop all the mushiness already?" Turino muttered. He had recovered from his trip through the thirteenth shaft, and as far as he knew, all was back to normal.

"Will you leave me alone?" Telida spat back.

Well, she was certainly back to normal. Turino sighed, folding his arms and leaning against the railings. With a pang in his heart, he watched as Shirion gazed into the flames, and Akera leant close to him.

Akeraï¿½Telidaï¿½

I don't get it. I swore to abandon love.

He blinked, and saw the smile upon the white-haired Mage's lipsï¿½a smile he desired, a smile meant for someone else. Again he was seized by heartache.

I love her. I love Akera.

Then he looked up, again. He saw how the joy in her blue eyes was all for the Crusaderï¿½him only. Her heart had already been given, and no other person would ever claim it.

In the flickering flames, Turino felt himself drift awayï¿½out of the frame of her vision, out into the unknownsï¿½a ship in the mists, lost forever.

clynine: burning away

It was all so familiar. The thought first struck Clynine as they left the lift, and raced along the blazing corridor to the Altar. The blazing rocks, the pressing heat, the swelling tensionï¿½it was allï¿½soï¿½familiar.

Around her, her seven companions were hushed. The crackle of fire and gurgle of unseen magma urged them on.

If anything could scour a sin from a heart, it was these flames. There were faces within the magma; fire spirits with crackling jaws, jeweled crowns, and empty everlasting eyes. Silently they watched, as the group of eight crossed the vast, burning pathway, heading towards the great god, the hidden doorï¿½certain death. Fearless.

How strange, they whispered among themselves. So strange, and yet I feel they have something to share.

The fire carved holes into the Cleric's vision, as the stones grew more and more fragmented beneath their feet. Now, her robes were drenched in sweat, tips burnt by flares. The dehydration too was beginning to weigh down upon herï¿½she panted and gasped, struggling to keep up speed, tongue thick behind her lips.

The young Cleric glanced about. Around her, everyone's faces were grave and gradually turning hopelessï¿½Shirion's, once so set and certain, now so exhausted; her mistress', worry clouding her eyes; Zethis'ï¿½gazing in her direction.

At Clynine's notice, the White Knight instantly turned away and walked fasterï¿½but persistently she followed. It was in moments like this, when they were walking the cliff between life and death, that she felt she needed his company more than ever.

The magician hurried to his side. "Hey there," she whispered hoarsely.

Zethis murmured in acknowledgement, reddening even more. "Are you okay?" he asked. She smiled widely back and noddedï¿½

Suddenly Lanorï¿½ gave a cryï¿½a flare burst close to their feet. The Cleric shrieked and leapt away, before swerving and running forth, faster than ever, her skin singed. "Let's pay attention," Zethis exclaimed, as the forerunners picked up speed and the true race began. He smiled at her, just onceï¿½and she felt her heart soar.

Around them, the flames and demons shot by in streaks, as they raced across the archipelago of islands upon the magma, the ground shattering and breaking as their feet skipped lightly across, the eight scattering and taking multiple pathsï¿½for the same path could not be used twice. Lanorï¿½ often turned to freeze new paths for them, hardening the liquid lava to form a useable road, before it was broken again by the tides of flame.

Halfway there. Clynine held her breath and steeled herself, racing and crying and leaping like she had only once before. Ahead of her, Lanorï¿½ forged, continuously, the path of ice and sootï¿½and ever faithful, ever blind, she followed. To Zakum. To death.

Like blackbirds they shot across, landing finally upon the section between this room and the last. Clynine followed helplessly, yet her feet slowed every moment, and she cried in terrorï¿½

Then she felt a hand grab hers. Zethis. In his brown eyes burnt a greater bravery than she had ever seen in them beforeï¿½the desperation and the hope of a person for his closest friend. Or his child. Or his wife.

She called his name as they completed the last few feet of the road, and landed on the other side, the last blazing room. She was covered in sweat, clouding her eyes and matting her hair and soaking her robesï¿½and she was burnt, dizzy. "You'll be okay," Zethis suddenly assured her from beside her, gripping her hand tighterï¿½voice still as shy and sweet as ever, though it was also fierce like the flames. "Last room. Come on."

And againï¿½they stood before the altar of Zakum.

Flames exploded all around themï¿½still the eight ran like they were dying, Zethis and Clynine furthest behind. Upon the throne, the creature was in its fullest fury, its crown of fists about its head like a halo, hands pounding the burning earth with rage.

"YOU!" it bellowed, turning its stone head to face Lanorï¿½. "You have come and gone before! Die! Die! DIE!"

And suddenly, they knew that they were about to be extinguished.

Fire erupted everywhere. With a cry, Lanorï¿½ sent a river of ice in seven directions, engulfing them in frost, then thaw, then rain. Around the Ice Lightning Archmage they circled, weapons ready thought they knew they could do nothing.

Another eruptionï¿½this time, Clynine screamed when she felt her feet burn moments before ice embraced her and tossed her into the air. Lanorï¿½ yelled furiously, staff whirling in her hand. Magma thundered upwards in a column around everyone, and blazing heat swallowed her, shrieks all useless in the flames. But instantly the Archmage was there, and she raised a Blizzard through the cavernï¿½freezing the lava rivers, scouring the monster's face, tearing the rocks apart with hail.

Zakum did not relent, its great teeth gnashing as the winds fell, unbearable flashes of heat and thunder exploding around its hands, its blank eyes rolling in their placesï¿½

Then everyone saw it. A hole in the corner of its eye, where a small chip of granite had fallen out.

"Noï¿½stop!" came a cry. It was Turino. Everything froze, even the glow of the flames.

Gasping, the Mage raced forward to Lanorï¿½, holding up a hand to stop her from performing any further attacks. The Fire Poison Mage strode up to the surprised monster. "Your eye," he said bravely.

The monster's hands shuddered. "Myï¿½eye," it echoed, slowly, raising a vast hand to its broken left eye. "Someoneï¿½stole a piece of my eye."

"And I have it."

Telida gave a cry of shock. In his palm he produced a shard of rock, the same shade as Zakum itself.

"Our father stole it from you," he went on, walking closer and holding the piece outï¿½an unarmed young man before an ancient behemoth of stone. And as if a thread were breaking, Zakum gave a sigh, like an ocarina note.

"Myï¿½eye," it said again, spreading out its gigantic palm before Turino. "It hurts. Help me. It hurts."

Breathing deeply, Turino clambered onto the great hand, and slowly, he was raised to the monster's head. Carefully, he fitted the stone into its eyeï¿½a perfect jigsaw match.

Zakum returned the Mage to the ground, all its rage vanishing from the cavern. Above them, the monster's eye shone; the shard magically sealed itself in with the rest of the stone. It gave another sighï¿½and this time, it was a humming harmony.

"Good bye," it murmured. "Good bye, friends. Good bye."

And as they stood, the lights in the cavern slowly began to vanish in a clockwise spiral, from the edge of the room to the centerï¿½a million candles going out, one by one. The scent of incense whirled around them, in the stonesï¿½and upon the streams of the walls, the fire spirits were dancing softly, their brilliant crowns glowing upon their heads.

"Let's go," Lanorï¿½ murmured, within the divine darkness. "The job is done, but the schedule remains to be completed."

The group of eight exited through the tunnel beneath Zakum's Altar, crying for joy at the brilliance of the coldness outside. Within five minutes, they had circumnavigated a section of Mount Taryon, arriving close to the secondary mine entrance. Ten armed guards still surrounded the closed gate, though they were obviously in chaos.

Turino frowned, as they arrived upon the slopes near the entrance, hidden from view. "Alright, but what now?" he asked, gazing at the dangerously large gathering below. "What do we do?"

Akera gave a small laugh. "Oh, just wait for the command."

She counted two minutesï¿½and then, the command was given.

The guards began to awaken from their dazedness, only to find a group of eight soaring down into the snowy valley, mad laughter in their eyes. Many derogatory cries were issued as the ten charged straight to the gates, shoving guards aside like sacks. Rushing to a stop, they stood, exhausted and elatedï¿½yet still somewhat confused. Why were they waiting? Certainly, they were safe for now, but reinforcements would inevitably arrive if they waited too longï¿½

Then there was a deep rumbling in the snow. Everyone turned to its sourceï¿½and at once, all their questions answered.

Out of nowhere, a thundering mass of white had suddenly appeared on the horizon, the sun shining in their backs, steadily galloping closerï¿½

"Oh, my word," Shirion murmured.

A herd of yetis advanced towards them, their riders calling out in joy. In no time at all, they had arrived at the gates as well, panting with exhaustion, roaring to the skies of their homeland.

The first yeti came to a stop beside the Crusader. From high atop its back, Ralinn grinned down. "Good timing, eh?"

Lanorï¿½ instantly commanded the rest to mount, though the chatter was still loud and animated. "Got our luggage?" Lanorï¿½ called through to Raydan, who nodded and tossed the house keys back.

"All ready?" Akera asked. There was a general murmur of agreement from around her.

And with a single shout from Ralinn, the herd sped into a powerful gallop. The grand animals soared across the wild snows, swift as the wind that rushed by their faces and through their fur, tasting the snowy gales with relish.

"So, Akera," Lanorï¿½ said, riding at the front of the group. "All the loose ends tied up?"

Akera nodded wordlessly. The Ice Lightning Archmage smiled and gazed at Orbis Tower, tall in the distance. "Oh, but are you sure you did the modifications correctly?" she inquired.

"Are you sure you want to question my abilities?" she replied sharply. Lanorï¿½ found herself grinning.

"Don't worry, I trust you." Then, with a glance backwards, "Hmï¿½I wonder how Xelion is taking it right now."

Suddenly, Xelion realized that the entrance hall was slightlyï¿½darker than usual. Suspiciously he turned around and observed his surroundings, noting nothing strange at all, to his momentary confusion. The doors were polished, the torches were burning, the main gate was closedï¿½

The main gate was closed.

Noï¿½.

Something was wrong here. As the first drops of panic began to slip in, the necromancer glanced back, stomach churning.

Behind him, the security gate was shut as well, tight as a cork on a wine bottle.

Closed in, on both sides.

Gasping, he realised the only way it could have happened. Lanorï¿½.

No, it couldn't have. Not in his own home. Heart pounding in his throat, he turned to his last chanceï¿½the lever on his right. Tugged it.

Icy terror flooded into him as he pulled it again, harder, and cried out.

It wouldn't budge.

Pacing about, he felt the orderly catalogues in his brain throw themselves into disorder. No. He wouldn't believe it. This final, beautiful, inevitable victoryï¿½it had been snatched out of his hands. All over again.

How?

Desperately, his mind rewound back to those five minutes in time, when he had encountered a girl and a woman on the snow, both in magician's attire. He recalled how he had been blinded, out of his own stupidityï¿½and how he had immediately found them again within the Mines. No, nothing this complex could have transpired within that mere minute. Nothingï¿½

Then he remembered the tracks in the snow that had passed as he had run, the freshest ones springing clearly back to mind.

ï¿½Three sets.

He gave a hollow, crazed gasp. Three.

Xelion screamed, throwing his body against the levers, bruising himself. There had been three all along. Three people, working to ruin his life. And if they had made someone invisible, helped a person survive a fatal blow in the head, and altered the functions of his leversï¿½then perhapsï¿½perhaps they hadï¿½

Panting with outright despair, he pressed his ear hard against the cold metal of the security gate to the prison cells, listening, begging to hear anythingï¿½

Absolute silence.

Impossible! He wanted to shriek. Impossible that they had outsmarted him. Impossible that they had taken his victory away.

But he had used the word "impossible" too many times todayï¿½and every single time, he had been wrong.

Xelion buried his face in his palms, making a horrible noise in his throat, watching as the world turned around. He had meant to fool the Silver Fang, to starve her to death, to claim the most savoured victory of his life. Yet he was the one who had been fooled, unforgivably. He was the one now waiting to die, between two gates that would never open.

But perhaps this was the best way.

If, somehow, his guards did find a way to open the gates, then he'd lose his job. And his head.

Sobbing wretchedly, flinging himself repeatedly at the broken black walls, Xelion felt the cold jaws of death close in on him from either side.

At the base of Orbis Tower, Orion's Belt dismounted and set the Yetis free. "Alright," Akera announced, walking to the middle of the group as their heads turned. "We could fight our way up the tower, and butcher some guards on the wayï¿½but no, there will be a much easier road to Orbis."

"And what would that be?" asked Telida testily.

"I think you'll know, when you see."

Dramatically, she turned to the sky over their heads. One by one, the rest followed suitï¿½and gasped.

Lifted by the winds, three glorious chirps set the sky aglow, as the flutter of feathers whirled into their midst.

"Sorelia!" cried Raydan happily, racing to the blue creature with tears in his eyes, as she cried out in elated response.

"Up we go," Lanorï¿½ rounded up the excited lot, shepherding them on board with much anticipation and joy in her eyes.

The autumn cold was pleasant, and everyone's gazes were transfixed upon the distance beyond as Sorelia made her course into the blue winds.

Everyone except for Clynine, of courseï¿½she was currently blowing her nose miserably into a handkerchief, trying to appear as polite as possible. Yet, within the azure sky's embrace, beside the White Knight she had grown to like very much, Clynine knew that she had never felt such joy before.

Akera was meditating; Lanorï¿½ and Shirion were in calm conversation. Ketara and Telida were watching the clouds slip by on the lake, a smile upon the girl's lips like no other before. And in a corner, as always, Turino sat, a deep sadness in his eyes that no one would ever understand.

And at the head of the saddle, beside Raydan, Ralinn had no attention for anything around herï¿½only the top of the tower, and the sky, and the stars beyond. Orbis, she thought. Orbis, the tower of the Goddessï¿½where the journey began.

What, then, beyond the last Spear part? Are we flying into danger or redemption? Perhaps they are inseparable; perhaps they are the same. I must be wary and strongï¿½this much, the world has taught me.

But what will we lose, and what will we gain?

The tower ended, and Sorelia rose beneath the white arches of the skyï¿½her wings one with the firmament, her eyes the treasures of life. She sang for joy as the blue skies came to surround her, and the veils of light parted in the breeze, wishing them luck.

And somewhere far away, in an old Henesys school courtyard, the cherry trees were shedding their very last leavesï¿½shadows of a past that has been lost, a future that could have been.

Chapter 10: Year of the Rabbit/ Tower of Light

council of the deities

"This meeting has been called for the sake of an important decision that has to be made," announced the Goddess to the deities gathered, in the icy-white amphitheatre of heaven. At the touch of her voice, even the most disobedient deity was put to silence. "The chosen guild has arrived at the last part of the Spear, and they have done well. But the darkness has grown too, so much that I fear that they might not succeed. Thus, I have to propose a change in the planï¿½that we relieve them of the duty, and go in their place."

It was one of those questions that the Goddess knew would be objected to. And the first objection came a mere two seconds later. Gazes turnedï¿½it was Arelyn, servant-daughter of the Clock Spirit.

"Do you now doubt the plan that you believed so deeply in?" she asked. "Look at how many times they almost died for the sake of this quest! Will you now take it from them?"

A conversational buzz ascended from the audience almost immediately, the buzz of discussion that gradually expanded into the rumble of argument. Deities began to throw up suggestionsï¿½some likely, some horrible. Fists were raised, and bolts of light glowing in palms.

"We will gather and defeat the Spirit!"

"But the Goddess and the Dragon have lost almost all power, and the Clock Spirit will not fight. We cannot win."

"Then these humans will die, and the world will die with them!"

The stands were full of voices in assent. The arguing would have lasted hours, everyone knew, if not for the sense of some. From the first row, there was a rustle. The deity of hope had stood, and the sound of her movement sent another hush through the crowd. She gave a suggestion that put all thousand to utter silence.

"We can help them, can't we? It's not a tradition of the deities to help humans, but we have had to do it before. Why should tradition hold against the looming shadow of the Dark Spirit?"

Mouths opened, ready to rain protest, that the humans were none of their business, that there were better ways to save the world now that the Spear was finishedï¿½but the Goddess seemed pleased. And her palm struck the tabletop, a gesture that meant there would be no further argument. "Excellent suggestion. The humans may have fallen to sin, and we might have sworn them off. But they own the world just as much as we, and they have grown to own the power we have sadly lost. They might have darkened, but there is We can let them go on, but they will not go unassisted," she said. "If they call on us, we will be there to aid them. Especially you, Clock Spirit, and you, the Keepers of Time. Closed. Now, are there other mattersï¿½"

Before She finished, Kalia the Guardian of Time had risen from her seat. "That's enough!" she exclaimed, plunging straight into her speech. "There is no justice or mercy in Heaven! All we decide, we decide through votes like this!"

The restless voices rose in a swell around them. What is wrong with the Clock Spirit's children? Many were muttering among themselves. Does It not know how to educate them?

"For matters that we started, such as this, it is fine. But for matters that were never ours to start with, there is no justice. And yet no mercy! If a deformed child is born, we vote and kill him! If an important woman is destined for death, we vote and save her! What if they don't want us to choose?"

In the seconds that followed, everyone was silent. No one spoke, no one objected. Yet no one wanted to agree.

At length, the Clock Spirit intervened. "Guardian, it is not your place to speak in this way," It murmured.

A pause. "Yes, Master," she finally whispered, lowering herself back into her seat. From then, her words were forgotten.

deina: loneliness

While the meeting was in progress in the theatre of heaven, a solitary deity was locked in her perpetual guard shift. Alone in a chamber of her tower, Deina sat scraping rust from her halberd.

This was a world behind a mirrorï¿½a reflected version of Orbis Tower, turned on its head by light. Here, she had made her binding pledge of selfless service to the Goddess, to guard the Tower until the end of the world. Here she had been left, for centuries she no longer wanted to count.

But echoes of the minutes of her life before imprisonment continued to haunt her, all the time.

"Will you stand guard forever, my daughter?"

The guardian lowered her gaze to the tiles of the ceiling, sighing at the chandelier lying tangled on its side. "Until my world ends, and I with it," Deina whispered in replyï¿½something she did day after day; a reminder, a charm.

But is this not injustice? I am weary and I have been dutiful. When will my reprieve come?

Allowing her unfinished job to fall to the ground, Deina strode to the window, climbing out of it and onto the balcony outside. She went to the edge and sat among the snowflakes. At the horizon, the grey peaks plunged into the blue like icebergs, wearing wreaths of grey cloud.

This world was beautiful in every right. Then why did she long to escape? A mirror levitated just beyond the balcony, the only doorway out of her world. She had tried to use it beforeï¿½but it had only left her with burns on her fingers.

A sudden coldness passed over her heart.

It's because I'm lonely.

Hoping to chase the despair away, Deina sang a short tuneï¿½a melody she somehow remembered, despite never hearing music before:

I might dream and weave and sing

And then you might know everything

A minute later, the beat of wings heralded the arrival of Veriun, her black winged steed. The beast descended to her mistress' side, hooves clip-clopping on the marble stones. Deina smiled and rose to meet her.

"Sunrise is almost here," the guardian whispered, the smile hanging defiantly onto her lips, turning to the orange horizon. It was a horizon she had tried to visit before, trapped in an eternal, unrelenting blizzard. The ocean was the same, locked in sea-storm. Made to trap her.

The only way out now was downï¿½to freefall through the sky, until she reached the other end. But Deina knew not what waited there; she feared she might never return.

Where does the snow go, when it falls into the sky?

Veriun whinnied, nuzzling her mistress' violet hair. She raised a hand to the horse's neck, brushing out her fur. "We'll go there one day, Veriun. On the day we're released, we'll see what's on the other side."

yunira: spring of communion

Circled by the autumn breeze high in the branches, Yunira was thinking about Raydan. Which was odd, seeing that the last time they had met had been four years ago. Four long years, and yet the burning impression of those amber eyes had refused to leave her. What could she say? He still amazed her. So ready to accept others for who they were.

Even me.

So she was a Spearman. And she wasn't an extraordinary girlï¿½she had flame-red hair, and eyes greener than the canopies. She was dressed the way any ordinary teenager girl would dressï¿½v-neck tee and old jeansï¿½Nakamaki resting against the branch beside her.

She found herself sighing, without wanting to. It had been a long timeï¿½such an immeasurably long time, since she had wished him goodbye, and he had headed off into the morning. And how silly it was, too, to harbour any hopes of meeting him again! But Victoria Island was a small place, and King Caleix made it even smaller. Who knew? She might just meet the guy againï¿½

A crackle of dry leaves far ahead awakened Yunira to her surroundings once more. There she spotted her guardian Hyrien walking towards her, sword in hand. "Thought I'd find you here," he murmured. She rose with a bright smile at the sight of her unspoken foster father, leaping from the crook of the branches. At his beckoning, they proceeded further into the forest, towards their secret drinking spring. Recently, there had been signs of a group of unknown creatures using the place as well. It was puzzling, for the footprints were clawedï¿½and no clawed creature lived in this forest, as far as they knew. But it was no matter; the spring was to be shared.

"You're bothered by something," Yunira suddenly remarked. "You don't normally go to the spring before training."

The male warrior turned in surprise. "You sharp little thing," he murmured, his smile rapidly lost to the grey weight upon his head. "Pelinor just told me he's planning the king's assassination. His assassination. I meanï¿½it's a good plan. But I've learnt to trust my instinct. And something about this bothers me. It's like we aren't meant to do thisï¿½"

It was at this moment that four flashes of black shot overhead, scattering leaves in their wake. Yunira leapt behind Hyrien with a shriek; the White Knight backed awayï¿½bumping straight into her, turning around.

"Dragons?" he murmured. As Yunira turned, she too saw the four reptilian figures, crouched low on the branches with brilliant yellow eyes. "I thoughtï¿½they were extinct. How did they come to be here? Didn't they die out years agoï¿½?"

"Strange," murmured Yunira, equally bewildered. "Why are you here?"

"Water," the first dragon cried. "We come to drink from the spring."

Yunira yelped, stepping away in shock. "Itï¿½talked," she gasped, and Hyrien gave her a look. "The dragon there! Didn't you hear it?" Certain from Hyrien's expression that he didn't believe her, she turned to the winged reptile. "Dragon? Did you speak to me?"

"Hello," the same dragon replied.

"Would youï¿½come down here, please?"

"But is the one beside you a good person?"

It was as if a wall had been broken. The girl grinned, going on. "He's one of my closest friends!" she answered. And seeing her smile, all four dragons instantly leapt from the branches, landing with excited cries. Till then, Hyrien had been wearing disbelief. Now he looked even more disbelieving.

"Nice to meet you!" the Spearwoman exclaimed. "I am Yunira, and this here is Hyrien."

"I am Hterizl," the apparent leader replied. The girl nearly choked trying to repeat the name.

"Adrile," said the next, very succinctly.

"My name is Ileihran," the third added. Yunira echoed both names with some trouble.

"Yunira, Hyrien, I am Kiherhlarhoxp," the last introduced itself. This time, Yunira wisely chose not to pronounce it. "Would you be so kind as to allow us passage to your spring?"

"Of course!" the Spearwoman replied. "In fact, we should head there now."

All four dragons bowed, their scales and eyes glimmering in the golden streams of sunlight. "You are kind," murmured Hterizl. "I wish to meet you again."

"You will! We live in that white stone building close by here. Now let's go!"

The young Spearwoman gave a cry of joy and dashed ahead of the White Knight, laughing. Hyrien gave a call of surprise, giving hurried chase. Overhead, there was the sound of wings unfurling in the windï¿½and four shadows slipped through the branches above them, swifter than arrows.

lanorï¿½: hometown

"So, the Neck," Lanorï¿½ murmured, taking the round object from Ralinn and turning it in her fingers. While the ten members of Orion's Belt carried on with their own private conversations among themselves, Lanorï¿½ smiled to herself. She had only just won the most satisfying victory of her life, in her very own hometown.

Hometownï¿½

Occasionally, Lanorï¿½ found her thoughts being directed back to her lowly past by the strangest of things. And it was happening right now, now as she watched the mountains drift further and furtherï¿½

A soft bun warming her hands, as the rhythmic knock of a hammer on woodï¿½leather betweenï¿½saturated the frigid evening air. The gentle, homely smell of tanned leather and wood shavings; brown, brown, so much brown. Brown of the earth, though the world was all snow outside. Brown, of poverty, and of the hearth, and of the woods. And so warm, so warm.

Lanorï¿½ sighed as her heart was reclaimed by the memory. She watched as the windows streamed with afternoon gold, the grilles silhouettes in the dust. She watched as her father hammered the sole onto another boot, and her mother arrived with a dish of cookies.

"Don't you think that's enough work for today?" she exclaimed, sitting down on the stool beside the pairï¿½Lanorï¿½, and her father Heliodor.

"Exactly, Fatherï¿½when will you finish your work?"

Disgustingï¿½you seem so sure that they are happy!

Glancing back at the round object in her fingers, the Archmage felt her heartbeat rise with surprised anger. All at once, she began to feel the darkness seep down from the edges of her vision, like running inkï¿½she blinked, turning her gaze abruptly from the cursed item in her hand.

The more attention I pay to it, the more it will anger me, she warned herself. That's what it wants.

She could already feel the dark veins of doubt and spite tangling themselves with hers. But she had to protect the rest.

preludes

In the sun, the stones seemed to glow as if they had been imbued with magic. Yet again, it was possibleï¿½for the Goddess herself had built Orbis Tower, stone by stone, in those early times when humanity had only been a figment of the Dragon's vast imagination. Everyone in Orion's Belt spent extra time wandering down the streets, taking in the gorgeous scenery.

"No sightseeing!" yelled the guild leader.

Towards the inn they eventually proceeded, down a staircase at the edge of the city into a network of corridors. The guild waited at the counter of the lobby as the receptionist took Ralinn's order, showing much annoyance when she requested ten roomsï¿½though it pretty much vanished when Ketara smiled at her and said a short "thank you".

"There he goes again,"she murmured, almost bored.

"Tell us why we're here already!"

Ralinn had called a meeting in her room at two-thirty in the afternoon. The rest, all of whom had either gone for a sightseeing trip or lunch, had begun to trickle in around one-thirtyï¿½Zethis and Ketara colonizing her mattress for match cards, Clynine proceeding to do her hair at the dressing tableï¿½and eventually, everyone else, each with their own personal entertainment.

The latest to arrive was, as always, Raydan. And the instant he turned up at the door, Akera finally lost patience.

Recently, the Mage had been growing very touchy. Especially around the guild leader. One could tell quite plainly why this was soï¿½and it couldn't be a good sign for the guild.

When Akera was angry, everyone was at stake. Look what she did last time she lost her temper. I'm surprised Turino survived.

"Crap, why do we have a slow, dumb leader like you?" she exclaimed, when no apparent progress was made.

Ketara and Raydan went silent, sweeping their cards away. Ralinn's mouth opened in utter shock. "Why are you so rude?" spat the guild leader back.

All Akera did in response was to roll her eyes. "Stay away, then," she answered venomously. "You can't change how I act, so change yourself."

Ralinn's mouth went even wider. "Why, youï¿½"

"Akera!" Turino suddenly cut in from behind. "Don't do this, Akera." She turned to glare at himï¿½but his dark gaze was steadier and stronger. Perhaps from the sense of obligation, the girl said no more, withdrawing to a corner.

"Alright," exclaimed Ralinn, resuming distractedly. "As I was trying to say just nowï¿½our quest only has to be completed by the end of the year, giving us five months. And if all we're doing is killing the king, then we have quite some time to spare. What I was thinking was that we ought to take a breakï¿½you guys deserve it."

Raydan leapt to his feet on the bed. "Finally, Linn talks sense!" he whooped. Ketara yelled and clapped, and his applause was quickly followed by that of the rest.

"So, so, so," the guild leader finally cut through the chatter, grinning widely. "Ready, guys? The one month break begins now. Dismissed!"

clynine: butterfly

In the gardens of Orbis, there stood a pair of mages. One was blonde and rather tall in comparison; the other was slight and some way from full adult height. The Cleric glanced up at her mistress' countenance in expectanceï¿½but there was nothing in her gaze that suggested what they were about to do.

"Clynine, are you ready for this?"

"Iï¿½think so."

"Well, you should be."

Suddenly worried, the Cleric fingered her gown. Where had Lanorï¿½'s encouragement vanished to? And now, of all times, when I need all the encouragement I can getï¿½

For today, she was about to do what no Cleric had ever done before, in the history of magicians. Not that it wasn't a first for her. She had mastered every Bishop skill in the book, after allï¿½every Bishop skill except one.

"So, Clynine," Lanorï¿½ resumed the lesson, voice tight and testy. "Tell me what you've learnt."

"I learnt how to summon souls," the Cleric echoed her book mechanically. Her eyes strayed to the butterfly flitting over her mistress' head, following its traipsing flight. "I learnt how to call them, and guide themï¿½"

"Pay attention!" the Archmage snapped, the eyes flashing.

"ï¿½Y-yes, mistress Lanorï¿½! I-I read about itï¿½and I have learnt all that I must, mistress Lanorï¿½!"

"Alright, then." The legendary magician now raised her gaze to follow Clynine's, and serenely, she snatched the careless butterfly from the wind. With a simple crackle of lightning from her fingers, it was dead, the scent of smoke faint in the breeze.

"So, are you ready to perform a Resurrection?"

The young Cleric glanced at the dead butterfly in her palm. Am I? She thought to herself, then realised that she would have to learn to do it someday. So she swallowed, and ran a preliminary check through her knowledge, the basics that would save her from any likely roadblock.

Some time in the last ten seconds, the creature's soul had fled from its body. Somewhere within, its motionless heart was longing to beat again. But not without its soul. The soul was gone, and the heart couldn't beat without it. Only she could call it back from its journey to heaven, reunite the two entities and bring the creature back to life.

This is the basis of Resurrection: convincing the soul to come home.

"Yes, mistressï¿½I am."

"Then be hasty," warned the Archmage, her palm extending a little further. "The longer you wait, the more it will hurt."

The sound of Lanorï¿½'s voice made her leapï¿½propelling her head-first into motion. She raised a hand, squeezing her eyes shut and extending projections of her magic everywhere. Rays of her influence soared outwards around her, searching the sky above, the ground beneath, imprints of the wind and the leaves forming pale patches behind her eyelidsï¿½

Until her consciousness suddenly chanced upon a struggling presence skimming the treetops.

Come, butterfly! Her heart screamedï¿½and she staggered, for every syllable was like a dagger through her. But it was to no avail. The butterfly was still drifting away.

No, noï¿½I'm leaving forever, it cried. Forever, love. Foreverï¿½

The young mage shook her head vehemently in reply, advancing, stretching an open palm in its direction. No, noï¿½ and she screamed again, falling back in utter unspeakable pain. Pleaseï¿½followï¿½

Something warm and sheer began to crack Clynine apart from insideï¿½but still she called, steeling herself against the pain. Because she had to succeed, because this needlessly killed butterfly deserved to live again. Because her mistress was waiting.

You aren't where you think you are, she cried then. This isn't the joy you want, butterfly! There is only calm in heaven. But there'sï¿½there's love waiting for you here!

Here, in my handï¿½

ï¿½love, from the ones you left behindï¿½

The crack grew wider, and in it, the butterfly soul cried. No one loves me! It grieved, dragging itself further. I was murdered because I was hated! Hated!

They don't hate you, butterfly. Your home, this garden, this worldï¿½it loves you more than that, more than you could think!

Clynine opened her mouth to replyï¿½but it was like something tearing her body in two. It was like a waterfall, rising up through her ribcage, forcing itself through her throat. But she breathed anyway, and she forgot everything else. In, out. In, out.

Butterfly, dear butterflyï¿½how can you say that? Too many in the world love you, need you. Without you, the flowers of Orbis cannot bloom. The city will die. Without you, dearestï¿½

And it fell into sweet silence, a silence that made Clynine feel sad.

Is thatï¿½true? Must I? Do they reallyï¿½love me?

And she felt the leaves and the light become one. One with the stones, the stars, the rain. Clynine began to weep because the butterfly was crying too, collapsing to the floor while the vast wings of light fell to the earth around her like the palest shroud in the worldï¿½

Breathe.

Her chest rose and fell once; her eyes opened, and she blinked. That was all she could do. Her mistress held her palm out, calm and motionless like the snows from which she had come.

In Lanorï¿½'s hand, the butterfly's powdery blue wings gave a small flutter. A second.

Then turning upon its side, it gave each wing a small shake and stood, fully-formed, as if it had just emerged from its cocoon, dazzled and astounded by this world all aroundï¿½

ï¿½him. It'sï¿½a male.

There was silence, and within it, the Cleric finally collapsed. Like a petal, the butterfly rose from Lanorï¿½'s hand into the wind. Clynine sighed wearily, watching his frolicking path past the vine leaves.

"Thank you. The lesson for today is finished." The Archmage turned in a flutter of blue robes. Without even thinkingto offer half-unconscious Clynine assistance, she strode away.

ketara: not knowing

The corridor lights were dim, especially since he had just left a well-lit hotel room. Therefore he was not anticipating anyone appearing so soon, so suddenly, as he emerged through the doorway.

"Ketara. Don't you dare hurt my sister."

Ketara leapt at the sudden command behind him, hand still rested on the doorknobï¿½until he turned to look.

"Oh, Turino! So glad to see you!" he answered, oblivious to the stone-cold stare that the dark-haired Mage's only visible eye now fixed him with.

"Don't hurt her," he snarled again, almost an enraged animal. Was this his old spirit, the one that had run rampant in the unforgiving deeps of the Dungeon? "She trusts you, alright? So don't abuse that!"

These words surprised Ketara, much as he knew them true. "Butï¿½Turino! You seem to love her so much, Turino! Why does she speak of you like you're a demon bent on hurting her? Youï¿½care so much, and yetï¿½"

"Yet what? She doesn't care about me? Well, I don't need her care, alright?"

Turino must have expected Ketara to back away at his impassioned rant. For when the warrior stood his ground and smiled, he wasn't prepared for it.

"What is it, you happy idiot? No one but an idiot could be so happyï¿½or someone who has never loved another enough before! Do you know, Ketara? Do you know how it feels to love another so much it hurts, only to have that love thrown back in your face and spit upon? If you knew, you wouldn't be smiling now!"

"Iï¿½"

But suddenly he, too, was silent.

He didn't know.

The closest he had ever come to real love had been Horned Tail, in a way deeper than could be explained. And though it had merely been for minutes, it had been the most painful time of his lifeï¿½more painful, even, than all the battles he had fought before and after that day.

"You're right, Turino," he murmured. "I don't know this pain. Butï¿½you're hurt, more than you should be, Turino. There's something I don't understand. Why does she hate you so, when you love her?"

The Mage turned away, clenching his fists as if he wanted to destroy something, something that had survived all his relentless assaults so far. "Because love means nothing," he answered, hands closing around imaginary prison bars. "No, not to her. Love, for her, is something to take and never to give in return."

Then he flung his gaze back with terrifying suddenness, glaring up at the Dragon Knight. "And that's why you should leave her alone!" he added. "You'll only hurt yourself, Ketara! Stop wasting your time on her!"

Ketara barely bit back his terrifyingly impassioned retort. "B-but she'sï¿½she's a great person!" he insisted.

"Well, that's because you're the cheerful Dragon Knight who could charm a snake into a knot! Sooner or later, she's going to start seeing through it, and start treating you for what she shallowly knows to be. Male."

He turned away upon hearing this revelation. Something ached in his heart. Will it be that way, Lida?

"Umï¿½Turino, could I ask what happened?"

"She hurt me, and that's all you need to know."

Silence was all that persisted, for all of five minutes. Ketara spent it pacing, and he wished, so wished, he could comprehend this. But all the while he knew that unless he found another to love this muchï¿½as much as this broken Mage before himï¿½he never would and never could empathise.

"Sometimes, I wish I were you," mumbled the Mage, an admission. "You're closer to her than anyone else isï¿½even me. Reallyï¿½you know how she made an oath never to fall in love? You'll make her regret it."

"Oh, Iï¿½no, she wouldn't, would she?"

The warrior's heart swelled withï¿½what? Hope? A dreg of belief, evenï¿½?

No, not that, I don't want it! She made me swear, and I will honour my word.

But there was this doubt in there somewhere, a doubt that made him feel as if there were an ocean beneath his feet. Did he really believe these words? Wasn't it true, that sometimes he looked at Telida and marvelled at how lucky he was to have met her?

He looked up, hoping to explain himself to Turinoï¿½but by then, somehow so soundlessly, the Fire Poison Mage had vanished.

akera: promise

Akera was meditating. Around her, the walls vanished graduallyï¿½the cushions, the curtains, the bed beneath her. Slowly the darkness peeled away, and she found herself enveloped in spiritual fire, pure fire that burnt her garments away and left her alone, bare, in a pool of molten light.

She breathed, once. The air around her was divinely hot, but something was strangely different this timeï¿½something perhaps triggered by her location, deep in the heart of Orbis. All too suddenly, she smelt the scent of incense and alcohol, and almost as fast her mind drew the association with the Clock Spirit.

And burnt petals, she thought, vaguely.

Sure enough, a face almost instantly surfaced from the pool beneath her, barely a grey shadow. "Akera," it whispered. But it wasn't the face of the Master of Fate that appearedï¿½it was the deity's daughter, Arelyn. "Akera, ask."

And she knew at once that the Clock Spirit had something to give herï¿½here, now, somehow. A promise that would be fulfilled in another time.

"Promise me," she whispered in reply. "Promise me that we will make it safely in and out of the Goddess' Tower." Ralinn hadn't told her of the last Spear part's location, but she had guessed it anyway. "Promise that the entire road will be safe."

Eyes closed beneath her. The light rippled gently, at shadow-Arelyn's returning breath.

"You have our word. Risk anything and everythingï¿½you will make it in and out, completely safe." And though her sceptical nature briefly led her to wonder if there were exploitable loopholes in these words, she found she could trust this voice that she knew was Arelyn's, a voice she had only ever heard speak wisdom before.

ralinn: malfunction

It was probably out of curiosity that Ralinn decided to abandon her responsibilities and search for the entrance to the Orbis Party Quest. Or maybe it was just the fact that she hadn't seen it, while the rest had experienced its wonders first-hand.

Jealousy, that's more like it. Jealousy. Like that know-it-all Akera who just can't keep any of her personal opinions the way they should beï¿½personal!

Stupid!

She gave a short scream, clutching at her shirt, forgetting for moments the passers-by who had turned to watch her. It was only when tears spilt from her eyelids that she realised how silly she was being.

Leave me alone, Akera, she brooded. If you really want someone to bully with that horrible scheming brain of yours, pick my brother. Not me, and not for a reason I cannot change!

Then, slightly sadly: What's happened to you? You were just a girl back when we met you, a girl who hadn't tangled herself up with the dangers of love and hate. You were so much stranger then, andï¿½so much more beautiful. Why do you fall to the same flaws as the rest of us?

Ralinn felt a breath of chilly wind on her face, suddenly. Without her notice, she had made it all the way to the wall at the edge of Orbis. Almost instantly she grew alert, glancing about for necromancersï¿½

Oh wait, I'm safe, the guild leader realised, letting out a breath of relief. Again, she thanked the Goddess for reminding her not to take her bow along. How amazingly unbinding it felt, not having to travel with her defences up every step of the way.

The glass gate appeared in Ralinn's vision soon after. As she reached out to push it open, it surprised her that it wouldn't budge. Then she saw a neat little notice plastered flimsily to the upper bars, corners fluttering in the Orbis wind.

The Orbis Party Quest has been closed down indefinitely due to unforeseen malfunction.

an ocean song

"Clynine!" roared the Archmage. The young Cleric snapped to attention.

"Y-yes, yes, Mistress," she whispered, gulping back tears.

Sweeping her hand upwards, the woman's shot a clean lightning bolt at the passing doves flockï¿½in a rain of thuds, they plummeted to the ground, feathers scattering across the pavements, staining themselves with dove blood. This isn't Lanorï¿½! The brilliance in Clynine's eyes cried, as the creatures descended from glory like tainted angels, crunching into the gravel at her feet. This isn't her! This is a monsterï¿½

"Mistress!" she pleaded.

"If you value my companionship, then Resurrect them!" Lanorï¿½ bellowed in mad reply.

"I can't!" she exclaimed vehemently, collapsing to the gravel in a tangle of rose gowns. "T-twenty-one is too many, Mistress! I'll die! I-I'llï¿½"

"You idiot girl!"

Next second, a face-full of bitter gravel. She tasted itï¿½bitter yet salty, salty with the redness of the deadened feathers. She felt the redness on her lips. And Lanorï¿½'s shadow fell over her, a merciless tyrant with eyes blazing. "All these years, Clynine!" she cried. The Cleric pulled away, shaking. "Didn't you promise to follow my every order? Must a HUMAN die before you learn to perform a simple, pathetic Resurrect, Clynine?"

And the way she spat the name outï¿½that was what broke her.

Suddenly, Clynine was rising to her full heightï¿½sobbing and shivering, clawing at her dirty dress with talon-like fingers. "Is this what you're like behind that veil of gentleness?"Already her mind knew that everything she was screaming was utterly wrong. But her heart was hurt, a splinter driven too deep inside.

"This is what you're like to your parents too, isn't it? Why else did you leave them to slog it out in their dingy little workshop at home, anyway? You thought they were SERVANTS! I'm not your assistantï¿½I'm your SERVANT! I never asked for this!"

Lanorï¿½'s silence could have been pleasing. But there was no silence.

"Who was the one who wasn't there when her parents got taken away? Who took for granted that they'd fend for themselves without their daughter's help? Who just abandoned them, like old shoes she no longer needed?"

And that hit everything home. Brought everything whirling down, down, down through the sky like doves struck by lightning and left to die. The Cleric screamed.

"You evil hag! You aren't a heroine, no legendary heroine of El Nath. You're just an evil, horrible witch!"

And screaming still, Clynine raced away, down the marble roads of Orbis. And she never once looked back, back at the dead doves on the pathway, and at the mistress who had chosen to destroy her assistant's heart.

I was right, wasn't I?

The Archmage gave a cry of sheer despair, like a lost animal. In her pocket she knew, she knew that the Neck was glinting with malicious laughter, for its laughter now danced through the hollows of her mind.

No, no, no! This is a trick! She does listen! She is my assistant, and she trusts meï¿½

Then what was that?

"Clynine, Clynine!" came a loud call from behind. With a snarl, she whirled around.

"Leave me alone!"

Behind her, Zethis reeled back. "Iï¿½I'm so sorryï¿½"

With a small gasp of realisation, Clynine wiped the tears from her cheeks and turned, running towards him. "No, no, I'm sorry," she replied, gripping his fingers suddenly. "I'm so, so sorry. Something just happenedï¿½"

"With Lanorï¿½?"

The girl gulped and nodded, and without asking, Zethis knew that she was struggling not to cry again. "Clynineï¿½why don't weï¿½er, talk?" the White Knight quickly said. Clynine nodded, and she spent about half a minute more sobbing, while Zethis desperately tried to decide on how to follow up his awkward invitation.

"Heyï¿½Clynine," he whispered, hoping she had heard him. "Are you okay tellingï¿½I meanï¿½can I askï¿½uhï¿½no, I was just wondering if you, y'know, you t-trusted me enough toï¿½"

The Cleric found the tiny strength to smile in reply, though her voice was shivery with tears. "It'sï¿½it's okay," she answered quickly. "Don't trouble yourselfï¿½What just happened isï¿½I had an argument with her, andï¿½I don'tï¿½don't get whyï¿½"

Zethis suddenly found that the sight his dear Cleric friend crying was enough to obliterate his nerves. "Clynine!" he gasped, hugging her. "Clynineï¿½Clynine, you're hurt, and I wish it'd leave youï¿½"

Without thought, without knowledgeï¿½he pulled her close and rested his head against hers, begging her to take courage. To realise that it didn't matter what Lanorï¿½ thought of herï¿½for there were a hundred, a thousand others who would feel more and love more than that one hostile who hated.

And to his utter surprise, she abruptly stopped crying altogether, and began to laugh.

"Ticklish!" was her initial response, lively and so sweet it made Zethis blush. "But yes, Zethisï¿½I believe you. I believe you more than I've ever believed anyone before."

"Ohï¿½thanks, Clynineï¿½ Can weï¿½go? You'reï¿½you're okay now, aren't youï¿½?"

"I probably never will be. But yes, let's go back. Back, to where Lanorï¿½ is. I can face her. Thanks."

"My pleasure," he answered softly, rising at her beckoning.

"Lanorï¿½," she spoke the name, hoping that no emotion showed through. The woman stood among the white bodies, stone-cold as everï¿½cold like the ice she had learnt to master.

But then, in a fleeting, fleeting second of doubt, Clynine thought she saw a new imprint in her auraï¿½darkness. Shadows, pulsing like a crazy halo about her head and her being, flitting in and out of her lips and eyes.

Then it was gone, just as quickly. The Cleric set her gaze stubbornly forward.

"I see you've changed your mind," murmured the Archmage, equally emotionless.

Clynine snarled like a dog. "I have changed my mind about nothing! But as Zethis has reminded me, learning my skill is not admitting subservience to youï¿½so I will show you! I can Resurrect the doves!"

And she did not allow her mistress to interrupt. Her fingers swept outwards with unnerving confidence, without the familiar staff in hand.

Clynine!

But she was already caught in her wheel of light, and Zethis could say no more to her, for she wouldn't hear. Good luck, Clynine, he felt himself whisper. And because he was close enough, he reached out to touch her fingersï¿½and her grip tightened slightly, before slipping away into the blazing light.

And as she began, she felt the garden turn into sky. To them she was only glowingï¿½but to her, she was soaring miles into the deeps of a world full of crystal blades, searching for a treasure she didn't know she would find.

Her arms dashed themselves upon the rocks. She cried out, and let her breath loose. Her wings finally left the abyss and bloomed into the seashore.

Come, come, come! She called after the birds as they departed, fifteen minutes away, perhaps too far. Her throat bled for each spirit, but her heart spiralled through the skies unfailing, falling in love, and out of it, and in again, into an ocean that rose and fell like yet another, every other.

Please don't stray too far; I fear to fly across the seaï¿½

And from fear, her flight hugged the shore of the ocean. She found them, suddenlyï¿½white souls, as pale and as pure as snowflakes melting in the summer winds. Flitting away from the cliff, on towards an expanse so broad they were nothing in comparison.

Come, spirits! You must return, for you were killed not by hate, but by jealousy!

Jealousyï¿½because you may always soar, but she will never.

Then she could feel it. Her seams were tearing, her spirit breaking like shards of a bowl clumsily mended together, ready to split apart at the bidding of a breeze. Stay together, she begged unto herself, but she was already perched on the precarious edge of destruction. She couldn't go on like this for long.

But we are together, flying togetherï¿½and we must goï¿½

Please! She begged, uselessly. You must returnï¿½your wings are a blessing to Orbisï¿½

A bit too late. Her spirit was ripping apart, and she was screaming. She was breaking, breaking into pieces that were caught and flung out in the relentless wind.

Then, suddenly, she was falling. Falling, falling, falling. Her grip on the sky was gone, and she was helpless, hopeless, her cause wastedï¿½

I'm leaving! She thought, hurtling mercilessly towards the ocean, towards the sharp rocks camouflaged beneath the silk water of the bay. It was time to end, time to forget how to live. I'm leaving now, and no one will be there to stop me! Goodbyeï¿½goodbyeï¿½

Desperate cries resounded in reply, suddenly. No, noï¿½don't go there, don't go there, Clynineï¿½

Helpless banshee screams, for the pain that had the Cleric's entire borderless being in tangles, for a heart drowning in the sky.

Flickers of souls, chasing her down, a thousand white arrows shooting after her as she screamed and plummetedï¿½

Yes! Screamed the Cleric. That cruel woman who sent me on this journeyï¿½she meant for me to die, die, dieï¿½

Then, she felt gentle feathers coming to enfold her, in the middle of the sky. She felt them brushing her shoulders and her face, and telling her that she would be alright.

We will come, child! Don't you cry! Don't you hurt yourself like this! We will come, Clynine, we will comeï¿½together with you, we will live againï¿½

She could hear a heartbeat around her suddenly, bearing her on like a drum whose rhythm would never die; was it hers? Or was it the doves'?

Then she realised that it was the beat of wings, wings all around herï¿½wings prouder than the sky, carrying her on and on, back to the shore.

The air shimmered around her like the surface of a lake, and the feathers painted trails in her gaze. Clynine breathed deeplyï¿½but her chest tightened and hurt when she did, and only her own breathlessness stopped her from screaming.

Light was drifting upwards all around her, in flecks and stars like pieces of a broken dream. They smiled at herï¿½and together, the twenty-one doves rose from the road, streaks of violent blood staining their pure feathers.

Welcome, and farewell, and welcome, and farewell again.

Their voices seemed to echo with the words, as they departed for the clouds. Lanorï¿½ and Zethis were silent side by side, feet in the grassï¿½one awestruck, the other incredulous. And Clynine, Clynine was just as blank as she had been in the last minutes, breathing deeply with eyes that wouldn't close, yet wouldn't open.

Goodbye, she moved her lips to say, soundless but sincere. They waved once more, and took to the firmament above.

Then she heard a set of footsteps proceeding through the gravel towards her. "Clynine, you did it!" The edges of her every thought were blurred. "Clynine!"

Lanorï¿½ said not a word. She might have acknowledged her achievement, a summoning of twenty-one souls after fifteen minutes of departure, but she didn't make it known. All the half-dead Cleric heard were fading footstepsï¿½and soft whispered words beside her ear.

You're amazing, Clynine. You're so very talented.

She felt her heart leap silently at the hidden brilliance of his soft voice, like gold waiting to be polished. It was a special feeling, one that only spared an infinitesimal instant of time to touch her heart.

And that told her all she needed to know.

A minute later, she could hear no longer. And there wouldn't be any words from her for a few hours. But someone stayed to listenï¿½just in case.

where everyone has gone

High in the sky, the last verses of autumn were melting quietly away. The vines were turning grey on the trellises, the leaves scattering like brittle wings. And here, oxymoronically underground in the sky, Ralinn had just discovered something she wondered why she hadn't discovered earlier. Burying her head deeper into the book, she felt the lump in her throat grow.

"The Spear accords the wielder power immeasurable, power so vast that almost no one in the world, save a talented few, has strength enough to contain its rage. Finding one with the ability to do so is as likely as flipping a coin and having it land on its edge."

And in those words, she finally came to realize that what she had just spent seven years doing might well come to naught. Without a hand to drive it, the Spear was useless. And who knew how she would find someone capable of withstanding Spear's power, at the rate that her informative book stated?

A person who as common as a coin landing between heads and tails?

The voice led me to the members, and it will lead me to a wielder, she tried to reassure herself, smoothing the ruffled pages and slipping the volume into her haversack.

"So, Shirion," murmured Turino, a little moodily, as they took their lonely seats in a corner of the lounge for lunch. The Crusader lowered his tray and sat, hunching over his sandwich.

"Hmm?"

"Where's everyone now? I know Ketara's out entertaining himself at some place he calls the King's Rear Endï¿½Raydan's there too, trying to 'make himself useful'ï¿½ But the rest?"

Shirion gave a thoughtful glance at the ceiling. "Why's Raydan making himself usefulï¿½at a bar? Odd, that." He took a bite of his sandwich, while his companion bit off a large corner of his plain beef slice. Chewing deliberate and slow, the ever-serious man turned again to the window next to them. There was nothing outside, except for blue sky and a flock of clouds.

"Clynine and Lanorï¿½ are training in a secret part of the gardens, and Akeraï¿½um, she'sï¿½in her room." The warrior self-consciously averted Turino's gaze.

"Still there?"

Shirion nodded. Turino drew back slightly, finishing his measly piece of beef and insisting that it was enough. The Crusader raised an eyebrow.

"I ate less than this in the Dungeon," the Mage insisted furiously. "Nothing weird about it."

"Well, good nutrition is an important part of battle efficiency," answered Shirion logically. He chewed on another mouthful of his sandwich, and swallowed. "You have no idea what wonders a balanced diet does when you're fighting."

"And that's why I'm not a warrior!" replied Turino rather defensively.

The Crusader laughed, shaking his head. "We'll make an entertainer out of you yet," he commented, a statement the Mage obviously didn't appreciate. But knowing it relatively pointless to attempt to convince him otherwise, he departed, realising all of a sudden that heï¿½understood.

I know why Akera loves him. He's a gentleman. Heï¿½cares about people. Not like me. Selfish, antisocial, uncouth. With less than half her vocabulary!

He buried his face in his hands at that thought. It was a losing warï¿½yet another, yet another. How many times had he lost it already? The tides of eternal solitude were already dragging him in.

First Mother and Father. Then Telida. And now Akera. Why must it be this way? Must every person I love eventually desert me forever?

"Work? A month? Sweet," was Raydan's immediate response to his newfound bar acquaintance. Around him, mugs clinked on tabletops, the speech merry and rowdy. For a work-day afternoon, there was a large clientele, and that was only testament to how outrageously famous the King's End was.

Funny that the king hasn't closed it down yet, the Sniper had thought upon entry. Then he had noticed the logo on the counter wall. King's property. Blargh. I should have guessed from the name. Here there was barely any fear for discovery, for it seemed any kind of activity was permittedï¿½as long as it met the approval of the necromancer guard at the dark corner. Her presence wasn't overbearing, but it was enough to keep everyone in check.

Again his new friend grinned up at him, placing a map in Raydan's hands. "Every house marked with an X; come back to the End to collect the bottles for each street," instructed the man simply. "You get your pay at the end of the month. Simple as that." Another toothy grin.

Raydan nodded eagerly, glad to finally be making money for himself. The man gave his new employee a pat on the shoulder, and then the deal was done.

And thus Raydan spent the days of his month delivering milk to Orbis citizens. He earned about three hundred mesos a day, and that wasn't a bad rate for a delivery job.

Ketara began to form a little social circle of his own, at the bar that no one could tear downï¿½already girls were asking him out on dates, and occasionally, so did the men. Telida somehow caught him every time someone tried to make an advance on himï¿½lurking in the shadows at the far end until she suspected something was about to happen. Then she would spring out, dagger flailing, leaving a few cuts here and there without actually starting a fight.

She had gained a fearsome reputation thereï¿½Ketara's "stalker", as the more jealous ones liked to put it. She never spent more than ten minutes with him, though, and still the Dragon Knight felt his heart ache whenever she left. Never before had he felt so wanted. Wanted by everyone, except the one he needed the most.

Ralinn spent her days and nights writing essays by window light, discursive essays on the various thoughts she had when she was racing from the gardens to the inn and back again. Thoughts about the king and the guards and why he had changed his ways, so suddenly. Shirion joined her often, and they talked for many hours a day, from breakfast to dinner. But somehow, they never talked of moving on to the last part of the Spear.

Clynine and Lanorï¿½ never got any better with each other. The woman no longer wanted anything to do with the girl, and eventually that aloofness came to encompass the rest of the guild. She spent all her evenings in the far ends of the gardens, freezing the trees and shrubs into ice sculpturesï¿½only her own cunning kept her trail from being picked up. The only ones concerned with this change were Zethis and Ralinnï¿½but the rest weren't at the inn often enough to notice.

Akera couldn't stop thinking. She was thinking, all the while, about how hard it would be to rally them for their final quest into the Goddess' Tower. But when the time came, she knew there would be a sign, and thus there would be a way. With the right planning, as she had learnt, anything was a possibility.

zethis: light of a dream, reprised

In his bed in the middle of the overbearing night, Zethis was tossing about beneath the sheets. In the dark, he could only long for lightï¿½and when he thought of light, he could only think of Clynine. Burying his face in his pillow, he sighed. What was this, this deep raging need to see her again?

What's wrong with me? What was this strange, feverish feeling that had him in its net?

In his brooding, there came a knock on the door. Flung violently from his thoughts, the young White Knight sprang from his bed in utter fright, pulling back against the backboard. His breaths were restless and loud, all he heard for the next two secondsï¿½

It came again. Swallowing, the young White Knight slipped out of the blankets, the cold coming almost instantly to grip his feet. Taking care to keep his feet upon the carpet, the youth crept as carefully as he could, blind in the night where only a sliver of moon filtered through the crack in the wall.

He reached out to where he knew his mace lay on the tabletop, picking it up and setting it aglow, feeling the metal grow warm with his Fire Charge.

Three more insistent knocksï¿½and in the silence of the night, they were suddenly ghostly. Zethis proceeded to the door. Biting his lower lip in case he cried out in fear, he reached out, swallowed, and pulled it openï¿½

"Zethis!" Clynine whispered from the doorway. She was in a pale nightgown, her eyes somehow so bright.

Zethis' first response was a cry of terror. "C-C-Clynine," he gasped, biting back his fear. "Why're youï¿½here?"

"Oh, I'm so sorry," she whispered, tilting her head. Her smile was strange, unnatural even. "I can't sleep."

The male youth slowly he let himself smile, shyly. She might have been blushing, the way she glanced briefly away. He turned abruptly away, heat raging in his face. It was far beyond midnight, and here he stood, alone the most beautiful girl in the worldï¿½

"Can weï¿½go somewhere?" whispered Clynine suddenly.

"Oh, where?" Needless to say, he was glad for the suggestion.

She giggled in the cold, defying the ice and their shared fears. She merely gestured for him to followï¿½and as she slipped away through the dimly torch-lit corridors, Zethis snatched up his fur jacket and gave chase, suddenly unafraid.

The late autumn night opened out above, and the night came to swallow them as they fled across the streetsï¿½safe from watching eyes, safe from the chase of duty and the scourge of obligationï¿½free, if only for this hallowed hour of the night. Above them the moon was broken in halfï¿½half black, half white, like a chip from a dragon's eggshell.

Zethis breathed deeply in the next gale, pulling the jacket on. The night air was glistening with starlight, and as he ran, he found his steps slowing, his eyes soaking in the wondrous brilliance of the world around him.

When the youth next looked up, Clynine had already left; she was already at the bottom of the fortress, a vast marble staircase winding precariously to the top of the wall. With barely a second, the Cleric swiftly took off up the flight. "Clynine!" called the White Knight, almost worried that she'd fall. He followed fast, rising after her, rising and rising till he was out of the shadows, thrust into the windswept sky at the top of the wall.

He was on a road beside a huge drop to El Nath. All over again. Memories swept the White Knight awayï¿½memories of a wild chase and of the taste of fear, of robes and shadows raging above, of a doorway, a gateway, where a lone Cleric was waitingï¿½

The Orbis PQ; it's gone, isn't it? The place we metï¿½

Then he blinked, and the memory was rendered no more than that. Somewhere ahead of him, the Cleric turned and smiled. "Zethis!" she called, voice high and clear. "Zethis, come! The view's amazing!"

Zethis felt his heart leapï¿½the way the moon shone in her back, it gave the illusion of angel wings. He recalled, for seconds, the moment when Dances with Balrog had taken his face to infuse him with the Page's powers. In his imagination, a brilliant presence had come to stand beside him, taking him in her wingsï¿½

Zethis arrived at Clynine's side as she came to lean against the balcony side and stretch her arms to the sky. "Never felt so good in my life!" she gasped into the wind. A few more clouds skirted away to uncover another section of the sky, and both turned, watching the tiny jewel points glitter in the blackness, still and suddenly afraid.

"I-it's strange." The sixteen-year-old Cleric's lonely words seemed to echo, as she glanced somewhere else. "You knowï¿½I couldn't sleep just now because I was thinkingï¿½about you. I kept thinking about what I'd say to you the next time I saw you. I was growing soï¿½so afraid to meet you, you know? Iï¿½just couldn't stop. Is this very strange?"

Zethis knew his face was red by now, and he was utterly glad that no one could see. Distracting himself deliberately, he glanced down into the snow. Something glinted, a little far awayï¿½it was the mirror of the Party Quest, drifting aimlessly around the circumference of the building, levitating somewhere near the next bend of the wall. Not lost after all. The warrior would have laughed at the absurdity of the imageï¿½but he was too afraid of breaking the magic of this moment to do so.

"You knowï¿½I couldn't sleep either. And becauseï¿½because I was thinking about you."

"Oh, then it's not strange at all, or else we're both weirdï¿½" Voice pausing momentarily, she drew her arms around herself. "Oh, I should have worn more than just thisï¿½"

Suddenly, Zethis realized that she was in nothing but her sleepwearï¿½and for a weak-bodied girl like her, the cold was probably twice as harsh. The youth gave a small exclamation of concern, but she shook her head with starlight-flooded eyes, sniffling and stepping a little closer.

"C-Clynine, it's not good for you," he managed to insist, feeling suddenly guilty for the thick fur jacket he wore over his sweater, over his shirt. He took the outermost layer off, panicking for her sake; the girl tried to refuse his offer, but he quickly draped his jacket over her shoulders anyway. The cold came rapidly upon him.

"You need it more than me," the White Knight protested when she tried to give it back.

"But Z-Zethis, thenï¿½you'll be cold." She sniffed again, and rubbed her nose.

"Better than you being cold," he replied earnestly, warmth rousing in the core of his soul, again. "I care about youï¿½more than I care about me, y'know?"

That kept her silent for seconds. In those moments, the warrior began to feel the true cold bite of the frosty wind. How much worse the girl must have feltï¿½

Two cold hands suddenly came to take his wrists. It was Clynineï¿½not that it could have been anyone elseï¿½and she was pulling his arms, gently and slowly, to encircle her shoulders. When he attempted to tug them away in embarrassment, she only laughed sweetly and nestled herself against his body, head against his shoulder.

Now Zethis could only hope she couldn't hear how fast his heart was throbbing. "Uï¿½uh, Clynineï¿½"

No. No, he wasn't ready to respond to this gesture. Not from a girl. Not like this. Not so close. Not Clynine!

ï¿½She's so warmï¿½

"Thanks for caring," the Cleric's murmur was slightly sleepy, slightly ecstatic, high and comfortable.

"Ohï¿½it's nothing," Zethis tried to respond, though his voice shook pitifully, almost pathetically mousy.

It was then that Clynine decided to spare him the trouble of carrying on with the conversation. Her movements grew more reserved, more tentative, and she seemed almost as if she were preparing to run away. "There'sï¿½a first for everything, you know," whispered the girl, voice quavering with more than the cold. "There's a first time for success, for failureï¿½a first time to lose all confidence in yourself."

While Zethis silently contemplated these words, Clynine turned her back a little, just enough for him to see her smile. "This is a first for me," she said, eyes closing. "You, Zethis. I've never quite met someone like youï¿½someone who doesn't force his presence upon everyone. Someone who will try carefully again and againï¿½not all at one go." She laughed. "You always were so nice, Zethis."

"Butï¿½so were you, Clynine! So ready toï¿½to agree with me, and make me feel likeï¿½like I was worth it."

"Oh, but you are worth it! More than that." She sighed, and now he could feel her every word and breath vibrating against his chest. Almost as if their hearts were beating in time. "This is a first for me, Zethisï¿½"

"Your first time waking up at midnight and running to the top of a city?"

Her laugh this time was even merrier, and as dear as dear could be. "I suppose, but only because it's with you, Zethis. This is myï¿½first time, falling in love."

And he knew should have gone faint with these words, his knees wanting to collapse or to take him running away. But half because of the cold and half because of shock, he wasn't doing anything. He couldn't think. He felt his head spin.

"Iï¿½Iï¿½Clynine!" he turned, flushing deeply. "Clynineï¿½is this reallyï¿½it? This thing that has chased me for two yearsï¿½is this love?"

Clynine sighed deeply as the next vast gale came to caress them. She reached up to grip his hands, and at her touch he feared he might wilt. "It can't beï¿½anything else, can it?"

Clynineï¿½? Do you, really?

Far out beyond the stone barrier, the stars winked at the pair that stood midway into their realm. Were they laughing? Zethis didn't really care anymore. Is this what makes Akera so mad? Is this why Linn doesn't fear Akera's madness? Is this how it feels, to love someone who didn't give you anything, anything besides a reason to believe the best of the worldï¿½?

Clynine sneezed, jerking far forward and leaving him suddenly cold. "D'you have tissue?" she muttered with a wobbly voice. "I forgotï¿½" She sneezed twice now, giving an unwholesome sniffle.

"I'm soï¿½sorry," answered Zethis apologetically. "Let's go backï¿½I'm sorryï¿½"

She smiled, wiping her nose in a very unbecoming way. "It wasï¿½my idea, wasn't it?"

Together they descended the grand staircase like falling stars into a canyonï¿½and if not for Clynine's constant sniffling, it would have been the most magical minute in the world. Once back within the warmth of the inn's lobby, the pair came to a stop beside the waiting bench, Clynine blinking sleepily.

"It'sï¿½soï¿½late," she whispered, eyes closing for moments. Zethis had wanted to stop her, but she sat exhaustedly down upon the bench a little too soon, sniffing a last time and leaning against the cushioned backrest.

Oh, not hereï¿½it's not safe hereï¿½

But she had already fallen asleep. And for fear of the strange things that could happen at night, he took the little empty space on the bench beside Clynine and fell into his own shallow sleep.

The pair was found the next morning by a group of other guestsï¿½but it was Ralinn who finally awakened them from their awkward position, squeezed together on the waiting bench of the inn.

"Uhï¿½ahï¿½argh!" Zethis' words were all but incoherent as he shifted first from drowsiness to confusion, then to acute embarrassment.

Ralinn stifled a laugh. "I won't ask," she answered, grinning widely still, while Clynine too began to remember and reddened almost as much as he did.

nightfall: high hopes and war songs

The HQ dining room was unfamiliar today. Every table had been pushed to the walls, making way for the high noise of the battlers as they readied their potion stocks and sharpened weapons, making final checks on their armour while they conversed about the coming mission.

Oh, how grand their hopes! They would change the world today. The air itself held its breath; the clouds were high and grey, as had reported Coelion from his short recon mission. But they wouldn't be breaking todayï¿½no, not today, upon the masters of the night.

The Chief Bandit's report had been taken far too lightly for an organized guild like theirsï¿½but Pelinor was in a good mood today. His eyes were bright, brighter than they had been for years, these years that were waning for him too fast.

Today, and then I can rest in peace, he had said. Merely thirty-five, but with enough scars to permanently cripple a lesser man. My times is coming, I know it isï¿½I've fled death too often. But now my name shall be written beside Thaemis' and Lanorï¿½'s, and future heroes will be glad to have theirs written beside mine!

Then Pelinor was at the front of the hall again. The Hero called, and everyone stood at attention. When the man spoke, he spoke with his heart and his history. Today, they would take his words, and keep them forever.

"My Nightfall, my dearest Nightfall, we stand here at the edge of the next era," he roared. The roar returned a hundredfoldï¿½and in its raging swell, he felt his heart soar like the eagle in the sun. "Here we stand, a hundred men and women who have not listened what the King decreed with those empty words. A hundred outcasts, destined for death, saved from shadow! We have learnt the art of the Goddess, of the Dragon, and it will be the death of the tyrant today!"

Vast applause. Rousing whoops of approval, as if the battle had been won. For the battle has been wonï¿½by spirit, by strength! He will never best us, that cold heart of hisï¿½Fate knows it too well; hate and evil never win!

With a wide grin, amidst the cheers that swelled higher and higher, Pelinor took up the regal roar of a king on his own, of one who would had been downed once, and would never be downed again. A phoenix, risen from the ashes.

"I was trained a Warrior, a Fighter, a Crusader. And now, I am called a Hero by profession. But until he earns it, a hero does not have a right to his title! Today we shall earn itï¿½not just I, but every man, every woman, every child in this hall. Today we will unhand the king's grip. He will release the chainï¿½and we will be heroes of Victoria!"

The walls shook like they never had. The forest boughs swayed in the gales, sheltering, shielding, from the king beyond, from ears that would never hear the warmth in these words.

"Forward, first army!" he commanded, raising a fist. The pages flung the gates open, gates to the rustling forest, to winds that whirled through the hall and echoed in the eaves like a war song, a sky song. "Forward, and do your job well!"

And then, the charge had begun.

Between the shadows of the bridges, Lanorï¿½ raised her gaze to the storm-cloudsï¿½it was as if the blue of the sky had fallen and become trapped in her eyes.

She could feel its weight in her pocket, growing heavier every time she took a step in any direction.

Somewhere along the line, she had forgotten why she still carried the accursed Neck with her wherever she went. Perhaps it was a false sense of need that the item was subtly slipping beneath her skin. Perhaps it was the constant, possibly false, memory of an order to hold it safe.

But she continued to carry it with her anyway, feeling her soul and life grow more and more inseparably tangled with its black roots at her every heartbeat.

akera: to the tune of fate

Akera gazed though the windows. What was that strange soaring feeling? It was like a bell chiming in the distance.

This is the day, it sang.

The month was almost at its end, and everyone was somewhere outside, living their dreams. The Mage herself had spent every day with a scarf over her head to hide her hair, reading the newspapers daily, spotting mentions everywhere of Lanorï¿½.

This was done in cafes while sipping latte, every Monday and Thursday when she wasn't out winning Omok tournaments. Over her month embraced by the warmth of the cafe and the whispers of conversation around her, Akera found herself mellowing. She could imagine, suddenly, that she was a different person. No Ralinn, no Shirion, no Orion's Belt. No need to hate myself, or to hate anyone else.

The drink between her warm palms often reminded her of the old colour of her hair, of all thingsï¿½and in its swirls, she found herself thinking of times long lost, times she knew she'd never recover.

Sunken into her old world she had been, a world with no embers and only blue bolts between her palms. And raindrops staining the window, beyond curtains from the sea. She had almost lost herself again, and learnt once more the truth of happiness.

But the newspapers had never ceased to remind her of reality, day in and day out. There were written stories of families being burned to death for having three children. Stories of men and women locked into the mines for defiance. Stories, over and over, of a new hostile in the gardens of Orbis that could only be Lanorï¿½.

This is the day! Come, Akera! Fate calls upon you!

The voice of Time? She had grown to love the stagnated peace so, walking the streets and peering into shop-house windows. Why should she listen? Why should she break open the windows of her calm remembered world, reenter that disgusting world of shadows above?

But decide as she may, duty was calling, too loudly to ignore. A duty to the world that had given her life. There was a reason, and a rhyme, and a call that reached only to her. Akera. The one who couldn't be turned away from duty by joy and by hate.

This is for me, she thought, rising from her seat, draining her cup of coffee. She returned the papers to the rack, gave her robes a sweepï¿½and with that she was out on the streets.

Down the roads she flew. The sky was heavy with the first storm of winter, and she knew that El Nath would suffer its worst, though Orbis would not be spared. Flowerless El Nath, frozen centuries ago. As she crossed the paths to the garden where the shop-houses led, she put together all she had learnt in the last thirty days.

The grand red shape of the King's End rose gradually into existence at the edge of the road. The cobblestones rippled past as Akera ran, focusing her gaze upon the shape of the door ahead. Now, now or never! The two windows are crossing and soon they will be one!

Fate calls. Fate, who already knows all the answers.

Then the door was right before her, and gripping her staff with madness, she got ready to pull the most amazing manoeuvre yet.

The first inkling of forebodingthat Ketara had was the slamming of the bar door into the wall. Almost simultaneously, every head within the bustling room turned to the source of the noise, mouths opening in synchronyï¿½

"Akera!"

Ketara turnedï¿½the exclamation had come from somewhere else. Telida, his mind pounded. Here in the bar, as always. Watching him, his dark angel. Oh, Telidaï¿½

But he didn't have the time to seek her out. Before him, something flashed red, brilliant ruby red. And everything collapsed inwards.

FIRE ARROW!

Streaks of flame, screaming between the tables, scattering customers, their drinks toppling and their feet scrabbling on the planks to flee their sure, sharp courses. A table was blown apart, and the drinkers dashed back in frenzy. The crazy girl at the door, she was at the door no longerï¿½suddenly amidst the havoc, skin glowing orange with an imminentï¿½

EXPLOSION!

Flickering white hair, burnt at the edges. The tables rippled like carpets in the wind, buckling in the heat and rearing up against wooden walls. Men and women kicked and shoved to flee the attackï¿½in one swoop the female Mage's attack had flattened them all to the floorboards.

Who was this crazy person?

Her ice-blue glare shot in Ketara's directionï¿½get over here now was written in the Fire Poison Mage's eyes. The Dragon Knight began to runï¿½

"Disorder is foul. Disorder must be righted."

Then the guardian woman had had enoughï¿½and she rose, her necromancer's cloak around her like black wings. Her voice wasn't a human's; it was that of a chained servant, tormented into corpse-likeness.

"Disorder is evil. Disorder must turn to uniformity."

Her staff gleamed violetï¿½then black.

Akera snarled at the two again, more urgentlyï¿½no more, for she was wreaking more havoc in the lowlight of the bar. Fire roared again, and tables collapsed in blackness, screams of horror exploding through the air like rockets.

Come! Her command was so frightening that Ketara instantly dashed across, raging his path through the throngs of flailing bodies around him. Telida was swifter, sparing them no mercy.

"You two kids could be more punctual!" Akera snapped as they arrived, glancing agitatedly about. "We need to get out of here without them noticing we're gone. Do you have your weapons?"

Telida flashed a star from the inner pocket of her dark leather jacket. "Left it with the keeper," answered Ketara as quietly as he could. Akera glanced about once more to see if anyone was watching. The entire bar was embroiled in a huge, violent mass of fist-fights, half-drunk customers taking their inebriated anger out on each other.

"Now if my intuition served me correctly," she murmured, "There will be a sign any moment nowï¿½"

At that very moment, two things happened. The first was that a bolt of necromancer lightning shot straight in their directionï¿½it would have knocked Telida's arm straight off her, had it come just an inch lower. Instead it grazed her shoulder, and that was enough to set them into motion.

And the second was a sudden familiar shout, just moments after they turned to run.

"Ooh, bar fight?"

Raydan had just finished the second street on his delivery round, and had come to the King's End to collect his next batch of milk. But almost immediately, he had realized that something was amissï¿½smoke was billowing through the windows. Interest mounting rapidly, the nosey Sniper had then hopped over to the door, peering insideï¿½

Only to find himself facing a far greater chaos than he could have been prepared for.

Flames blazed hungrily over fallen tables, broken people, devouring spilt puddles of beer like mad ghosts. And of course, his mind had come to the easiest conclusion.

"Ooh, bar fight?"

No sooner had he spoken those words, than the shouting rose again with voracity, swallowing whatever silence could have beenï¿½and from its midst, he thought he heard the two syllables of his nameï¿½

"Raydan!"

Akeraï¿½and she looked flaming mad. Mad with joy, if he could say so himselfï¿½but Raydan had no time to conclude, because suddenly he was being dragged back by a pair of handsï¿½one Ketara's, the other Telida's.

"Lida!" he gasped, a wide smile spreading across his bewildered face.

"Quick!" Akera whispered harshly in response, rapping him on the head before speeding urgently off. On they raced, towards the storage keeper deep in the marketplace. Ketara sprang to the counter, exchanging his tag for his stored weapon. With nothing but a short thank-you, they were off again, Akera leading them through the bustling market streets towards an unknown destination. Faces around them were turning to stare rather often now, more often than Raydan found comfortable.

"At this rate, the necromancers will be upon us in no time," sputtered the Sniper.

"That's what the bar was for," was the Mage's hasty answer. "To stall them so they're slower to find usï¿½and when they do find us, in a smaller force. Now, the gardensï¿½"

But something had distracted the entire group. Ketara had come to a sudden stop, and now he was shouting and waving frantically across the street.

"Zethis! Clynine!" he yelled, arms flailing madly as the other three came to a halt, and the pair on the opposite sidewalk turned with surprise all over their faces.

Instantly, Raydan was upon them. "I see you've finally gotten together!" he exclaimed with a wide grin. Clynine was the first to snap out, waving excitedly back and racing across the street. Zethis quickly followed.

"I suppose shopping will have to come later," sighed the Cleric.

Akera looked slightly heartened by their arrival. "Shopping will probably have to come after we defeat the king," she replied. "After the Shard, it'llï¿½"

"Shard?" answered all five at the same time.

"It's the fourth part, the source of energy, the frozen vial of the Goddess' blood," the white-haired Mage's explanation was swift as they resumed progress. "We won't be having Shirion and Ralinn with us todayï¿½or Turino for that matter. But we need Lanorï¿½. So, do you have your weapons?" Akera seemed almost expectant when Zethis and Clynine revealed the mace and staff, both commenting on how they had decided to take the weapons along today just in case.

"Alrightï¿½you might not be ready for what we're about to doï¿½but this will go right, I can promise it to you."

Ketara looked the most thrilled at this piece of news. Raydan couldn't help but feel the lurch in his stomach that told him, this involves pulling some crazy stunt and surviving it somehow. But then again, he was used to it.

The gardens of Orbis were some of the finest in Ossyria, second only to Mu Lung's in many books. This beauty, however, had just begun to be ravaged by the very woman for whom they were now searchingï¿½and whatever remained of it presently went completely unnoticed.

The presence of Lanorï¿½ wasn't found; it was felt. Even in the cascading white snow, the air grew yet colder. And the strange formations around them on the flowerbedsï¿½the perennial flowers of Orbis were jagged stalagmites of glassy ice, all the way along the pathway from here to the arch at the endï¿½they told them that the woman was close at hand.

She was under the archï¿½beside the bridge, where the walls were low enough to make anyone else feel terrified.

"Lanorï¿½!" Akera exclaimed with a smile, forcing herself forward in a final burst even though she was panting, breaths almost visible in the sluggish winter air. "Lanorï¿½, we're going nowï¿½"

She turned as they approached, and there was some sort of calm to her. "You, Clynine," she leered softly. "Have you seen what's become of the flowers?" Everyone turned to the Cleric. She clenched her teeth as her face began to redden, fists curling into ballsï¿½

Rustle.

It was then that the blackness began to rise. Everywhere. In the bridge swaying far ahead, so innocentlyï¿½in the ice statues that lined the roadsï¿½in the shadows behind the stones.

The invisible snare had been sprung again. A snare made for the Archmage.

With Akera's first cry of despair, the sky began to wilt around them like a spoilt painting. Telida shrieked in furyï¿½snatching Ketara's arm for security. Clynine and Zethis backed away. Raydan cursed.

And Lanorï¿½

The woman was walking calmly forwards. One step, one stepï¿½arms wide as she discarded her Blade Staff at her side. The Lithium staves rose in a robotic, synchronized motion around her. Still Lanorï¿½ walked.

"Lanorï¿½! Stop that! Come back!" Akera's voice was high, desperate. She knew she was in a deadlock. Her eyes were upon Lanorï¿½'s staff, and she was aware of everything, of every move that was about to be made. If she dipped to snatch the staff, they would fire. If she shouted, they would fire too, and where could they go to avoid itï¿½?

Then, she saw the location of the only opening.

In front of them, the Archmage gave a high cackle. "Come, necromancers! Give me all you have!"

Lanorï¿½she won't follow orders! Not in this stateï¿½

Desperate times, desperate measures.

A great crackling suddenly flooded the air in a hot surge, linking one cloaked creature to another. Akera knew how long it took to charge and fire a lethal magic attack. Five seconds. Five secondsï¿½and that was all the time she had to form all the options, to choose the right one, to calculate all the angles, to ready her heart and mind for what was about to happen.

She was done by the first second.

This is the only way we'll survive. Who cares about the risk?

If they waited, only death would come. If they took the shot, then there was a chance they would survive. But that was only if Fate didn't choose this time to play a prank on themï¿½which it well might.

And yet it was the only way they could go now. And despite all her misgivings for how narrow the probabilities were, how absurdly dangerous an act she was about to commitï¿½she let her heart take control. Her eyes narrowed on the distance, focusing, and her voice screamed the command:

"TWO O'CLOCKï¿½JUMP!"

And the black-red lightning bloomed.

Her heartbeat pushed her forward. She fell to a squat to snatch the weaponï¿½sprang with her every drop of strength in a straight diagonal trajectory towards Lanorï¿½a path that would inevitably pass between two necromancers, past them, towards the edge of Orbisï¿½

The blaze swelled, timing the milliseconds.

Cries beyond her, of her friends shooting past. But she was blind, and she didn't know what they were doing. She was flying on the strength of her legs, screaming as she smashed into Lanorï¿½, arms outstretched. And together they continued to soar, on the path she had plannedï¿½passing between the cloaks of the necromancers, barely scraping past the blaze of the heatï¿½

And her inertia was enough to carry them both. To the edge of the garden. Across it.

This is the gamble.

"Akera!" shrieked Lanorï¿½, as the wall vanished beneath them, and all that remained below was half a mile of sky. "Akera, put me down! Put me down!"

You're going crazy, Lanorï¿½. Maybe you're past your prime.

And sky rose to engulf them, lightning closing in overhead like a furnace.

Falling, straight, out of safety and into utter helplessness. The sky raced past. For seconds, Akera thought she had been ultimately wrong, that at last her guesses had failed, and her doom had arrived.

I knew it'd happen eventuallyï¿½

Then, she saw it beneath themï¿½just a glimmer. A piece of reflected sky.

"Risk anything and everythingï¿½you will make it in and out, completely safe."

It was the mirror.

Akera finally understood. This was why the mirror of the Party Quest was behaving erratically. Through Arelyn's promise, their safety had been irrefutably guaranteed. Time had known all along that she would make this move. Time had positioned all the variables perfectly for the eventï¿½her guild mates, the necromancers, the mirrorï¿½

By the Clock Spiritï¿½the promise had already been fulfilled, even before she had asked.

They tumbled through clouds together, reaching terminal velocity and feeling their skin burn. The mirror was larger than they had thought, they realised as they plummeted steadily towards the great object. And suddenly it was everywhere around them, wider than an ocean, inviting them inside and swallowing them up in the coldness of glass.

hyrien: rainfall

All around Henesys, the winds were roaring. The castle roads were raging with weapons, singing above the howl of the sky. As long as their comrades battled well, there would be no guards to meet their assault from the remote dump site. The gate would be open for them, and completely to their disposal.

The last of the trees finally passed behind them, and they were out on dirt road. Ahead of him, the White Knight's comrades were surging down the road to the dump gates. Even here, he could smell the stench of the king's trashï¿½rotting fruit rinds and discarded meat, meat that could have gone to better use on another's table.

Deserted. Perfect. And they dashed down the dust path to the end, weapons drawn, the gates creaking open, arch rising around them like a great skeletal mouth. Beyond it, stacks of rubbish spread all the way across the barren quarter-acre expanseï¿½

And that was when they realised that everythingï¿½wasï¿½wrong.

Behind the gates at the far end of the dump, there waited a force. An entire force of guards, faceless armour visors peering through the shadows like ghosts.

Clang.

The inner gate was flung open, and a flood of crashing metal, bound by the bars no longer, roared forward like a river over a broken dam. Not like the guards in the deeps of Perion or in the perimeter of the Ellinia Station. The king's very best force, trained since birth to protect their master's grand lair.

"This is the test that will prove us worthy!" Suddenly came Pelinor's call, unsheathing his sword in the grey light. As one, they drew their weapons. "To the gates!"

And at once, the battle for the gates had begun. There was an ocean of armour everywhere, not belonging to any one man but to all of them at the same timeï¿½within their shells they were identical. But Nightfall could not be intimidated by mere metal. The guards fought with swords and spears and bayonets, fashioned to knife-sharpness by the captured talents within the darkest factories of the world. But so what? They didn't have the passion and love with which real humans fought.

Hyrien hadn't the time to thinkï¿½spears were suddenly crashing against his flailing golden mace, a storm of battlers ringing beyond the flickering heads around him. All he could do was take up his part with all his strengthï¿½parry every blow, return twofold, smash where he could and part the throngs of armoured guards.

And all the while, he was beginning to feel it againï¿½a gripping, slithering coldness, like a snake in the pits of his stomach.

They knew we were coming, all along. They knew we'd tryï¿½and they were ready for us.

Pelinor's cry. A flash of his broadsword, and a guard's helmet flying, rattling into the dust. All around him, he heard a roar of approval, a roar of fear, a surge of thunder. Hyrien felt the fury tug at his blood too.

But though he knew he should have charged, he could now only stare at the man who had lost his helmet, the crest of the guard captain embossed in his armour. Esharo, the one who had betrayed his side half a year ago.

And what if he will help us againï¿½?

It's worth the try. With that singular thought, the White Knight barrelled through a row of guards, shoulder connecting with armour, sending the guard collapsing into a rubbish heap. "Esharo!" the warrior shouted and forced his way through a last row of guards with his impregnable mace, slipping across the last mound of rubbish. "Esharo, tell them to stop! This can be settled!"

With a swing of the spear, Esharo whirled around, sending the point flashing through Hyrien's vision for secondsï¿½before he straightened, suddenly. "Hyrienï¿½" the guard gasped, withdrawing rapidly. "But how? How can this end with neither of us losing? I am the guard captain, Hyrien, and your escape is my failure!"

"You owe me, Esharo!" shouted the warrior suddenly. "The deal, Esharo. I let you off last time. Now it's your turn."

"Butï¿½but this involves my life, Hyrien! This time I can't lie, about defeating youï¿½"

It was during this moment of their arbitration that in the corner of his vision, Hyrien suddenly caught sight of Pelinor's advance from behind. On Esharo. Grinning, almost madly, as he slipped, slipped soft across the barren earth, drew his sword overï¿½hisï¿½headï¿½

Instinct gripped Hyrien there and then, in a descending whirlpool of flickers. Esharo is a good man. Esharo is a friend. Esharo will help us one day.

And instinct commanded him to save the guard.

"Behind you!"

Esharo whirled out of the way, moments before Pelinor's broadsword shot pastï¿½it would have caught his neck and sent his head flying if he had stayed. For seconds, the guard stood panting with horror, his face twisted with the mortifying fear.

And Pelinorï¿½he was fuming suddenly, his body slowing to a stop. "Hyrien! I don't believe you!" the Guild Master roared, almost drunk. Yet beneath those layers of fury, there was something elseï¿½a speechless terror, at what he had just seen. "You justï¿½saved a guard, Hyrien. You justï¿½saved him."

Suddenly, the guilt was burning in Hyrien's throat, his fists clenching. Pelinor was right. I betrayed his trustï¿½didn't I? It whirled in his ears, louder than the sounds of battle. He wanted to apologiseï¿½but what was the use when he didn't feel his words? What could he say nowï¿½

If only he had not been thinking so hard.

"Filthy scum of the lower people!" Esharo's voice was suddenly a bear's bellow, his eyes narrowed, his lance glinting. In his stance was hatred of yearsï¿½years chasing this delinquent named Pelinor, years of allowing him to breed discord among the people. "You've run too long, Pelinor. You've created enough problems. You willï¿½endï¿½today!"

And while the Crusader's eyes were fixed upon Hyrien, while Hyrien was only staring in numb horror, Esharo primed his weapon, grip tighteningï¿½

And he thrust the point of the spear straight, straight, slipping between the plates of Pelinor's adamantium armour, through skin and sinew, into the wall of his abdomen.

The guard wanted more. With a fury and brashness so unlike him, Esharo wrenched the weapon upwards with all his weight. The spear ripped up through the Crusader, rode into his ribcage, tore his lungs open.

In the dark sky, the battle must have frozen.

It was everywhere, everywhereï¿½Pelinor's voice thundered and thundered and fell from the sky in scatters of blood.

"Hyrien!" That was the great Crusader's last sanguine, dying moan. So disbelieving it was almost murderous. "HYï¿½"

His cry gurgled away into blood. Lifeblood shot in streams from where the spear disappeared into his skin, staining his armour plates in red. Flames leapt in his eyes, and then he sank, sank, sank, a candle doused by rainï¿½

Rain.

The sky finally broke to pieces. Suddenly, the greyness was flooding from heaven in streams of tears, upon the windows and sidewalks of Henesys, staining them black.

"PELINOR!" Hyrien could only feel himself gasp, as his hair began to plaster itself to the sides of his face in the downpouring wetness. His breath wheezed onceï¿½he knew he wanted to cry, but he had forgotten how; he could only let his sword to fall into the slushy puddles at his feet, eyes burning empty. Esharo was staring at the bloodied pile he had madeï¿½the huge man who had survived five stabs near his heart, forty broken bones, and at least a hundred arrows.

The rain soaked through his hair and rolled down his motionless face, making a messy pool of blood among the rinds and peels of the king's unwanted food. His time had come, at last. But it wasn't the hero's ending he had always believed to be his fate.

Filthy, ruined, without glory.

Esharo turned around, a little sorrow in his gaze. Brown rain-sodden hair fell over his cloud-grey eyes, and all too soon he glanced away. "Your price is paid," he murmured. "Go away now. Please." A pause. The battle had been abandoned, for the three most high-ranked had stalled. "Return, guards. And Hyrien, go away!"

Hyrien took the cue this time. Somehow, his head was spinning too much, perhaps with the rain or with exhaustion, for any of the truths to actually register. He glanced at his soaked guild mates, trudging away from the muddied field as a group, eyes downcast, hefting their old Guild Master's body amongst themselves. As he approached, they smiled sadly.

They didn't know what he had done. They thought Pelinor had died a martyr's deathï¿½but in fact he had died because of a White Knight's stupidity!

The same one that was about to claim the guild as his own.

"Looks like we're yours now," smiled Window sadly, patting the warrior's back with a wet gloved handï¿½not that Hyrien could feel it; his armour made him numb and his unshed tears made him number.

All his life, he had lived in a lie. He had lied about Esharo, he had lied about his feelings towards his impending leadership. Now he would lie about Pelinor, for as long as the lie would last.

But I cannot tell them, can I? I can only finish Pelinor's task, just as every heir must do for his predecessor. Nightfall can recover, and Nightfall can certainly rise again, better than before.

But can Iï¿½?

It wasn't so strange a feeling anymore, falling through the glass and finding themselves in another world. What was strange was that instead of inverting on its head as before, the world simply stood still as the seven landed on what appeared to be a featureless stone balcony.

"Oh, myï¿½" murmured Ketara, first to rise. He walked to the edge of the balconyï¿½then rapidly backed away when he realised what was there. "Oh, Dragon of Lifeï¿½how far down is the ground?"

Silently, Clynine crawled over to the side to lookï¿½and she jerked backwards, shaking violently. Where was the groundï¿½

"Here by accident?"

All seven jerked to attention, glancing about in shock. The source of the shout was found all too soonï¿½she drifted in midair atop a majestically black horse, rider and mount both so graceful it was almost godly.

But why was her weapon pointed in their direction, and why did she look so angry?

"This place is inhabited; I thought as much," murmured Akera. The woman swooped low on horseback, her long shocking-violet hair glimmering in the light from below.

"Since Time Itself began," answered the woman stiffly. "I am the guardian. You are intruders."

"Mirrors can only be turned into doorways by the four great deities, isn't that so?" Akera mused in response. "Are you Her daughter or Her minion?"

Completely missing the point, though.

"I am none."

Though her posture was all hostility, the woman's voice was strangely charming. Her suit of black armour followed her figure closelyï¿½revealing not much, but enough to impress some people in the guild.

"Heh, you're cute," murmured Raydan with a lecherous smile. "Looks like Lida isn't the only oneï¿½" He was silenced by a slap from Telida. Clynine almost giggled. Same old Raydan, even in another world, even threatened by an armoured guard on a black dragon horse.

Akera was no different from her normal self either. Regardless of the aim of the woman's halberd, regardless of the hauntingly hostile glare in her brilliant blue eyes, she asked her questions. "'None'? Who are you? Why were you placed here?" Close to Akera, Lanorï¿½ was murmuring to herself about the foolishness of youths. Zethis had crawled to Clynine's side, and in the silence, he reached out to grip her hand. "We'll be okay," he whispered over to her. She smiled back, thankful.

All of a sudden, the pair realised that the woman was staring oddly at them and lowering her weapon. "I am Deina, guardian of Mirror-Orbis Tower," she told Akera. "We weren't placed here; we were locked here until the end of time. When this world crumbles away, we will be freeï¿½but won't we crumble together with it?" Then she paused, turning back to Clynine and Zethis. "And you two, you are an adorable couple."

Akera watched as the deity's horse flew closer, and the "adorable couple" grew very red in the face, trying to take attention away from themselves. The Mage went on, dead on task. "You must know why we are here then," she said simply.

Deina looked a little sad as she drew backwards. "Then you will play your part, and I will play mine," the woman sighed, rising a little higher, taking her halberdï¿½

Bzzzing. A purple flash. Without any realisation that anything was about to happenï¿½Akera felt something hot catch her in the waist, blasting her backwards so she staggered, a burning sensation coming to twine itself around her abdomen.

Where did that magic come from? A polearmï¿½as a staff?

"But can my friends fight?" she asked, snatching her staff just as quickly, to fire a counter-attack.

"What do you think I have spent ten millennia doing?" answered Deina gloriously, flying a circle so Akera's flaming shot flew uselessly wide, landing on the balcony so she divided them from their only path into the tower. "Fight if you please! So much time, so little to doï¿½ I've learnt every secret already!"

Something of a cruel grin came to her features. A furious spiral, and suddenly another bolt caught Akera's shoulderï¿½while Deina was gone she gripped her staff and made a dash for the windowï¿½but the woman was between them again, far too fast.

"Oh, what's this? I was hoping fate would send me a worthier opponent!"

Staggering within exhaustion, Akera began to hear footsteps from behind. First, she was aware of Clynine, sending walls of green into the sky, banishing her woundsï¿½then Telida with her stars, black blades spinning through the wind and snipping off sections of Deina's hair. In ten seconds, everyone else was thereï¿½even Lanorï¿½ with her half-addled mind, firing away with all the talent of the legendary Archmage she was.

Deina was merely a fallible being. But for a battle against fallible being, this was going horribly wrong. Somehow too fast, too agile, too ready. Why weren't there any more than a few patches of soot on her armour? Why wasn't she faltering at all? Why were they suddenly so slow?

Then she knew. It was her flight. She was enchanting them, distracting them, making them dizzy. She was flying in circles, drawing pictures to take their attention away.

Enchantment by illusion is foolish. We have to be ruthless! Akera caught glimpses of her friends, half-there, half-watching, like children at a show. The Mage snapped her eyelids shut.

No, no questions. She's trying to make us forget to fight. No mercy. No mercy.

The next spell rose suddenly along the length of her staffï¿½a spark on a dynamite fuse, threading itself like a golden bead from her fingers up to the tip of the weapon, spitting sparks into the air. She thrust the weapon upwardsï¿½and a pattern of fire erupted from its point, flowering overhead.

Everyone was still for involuntary seconds, watching. Spirals of flame, like the paths of the vultures, like the circlets of the Goddess. The battlers were caught like fish in a net of stars, and now she knew it was time to shatter the spellï¿½

EXPLOSIONï¿½

And she had thought victory hers.

But an instant before the spell peaked, Veriun shot upwards, a hopelessly daring move the Mage had thoughtï¿½before thundering currents of wind exploded from the horse's wings, roaring around Akera in an intangible dome so the flames could only curl inwards upon their creator. Her eyes flew open a split second early, barely in time for her to gasp, no, throw up her arms, and defend herself from her own attack.

The sky cracked, opened right out, her flames tearing the air. When they dwindled, and as the blaze dissipated, she glanced about in momentary reliefï¿½and shrieked.

A streak of metal, shooting through the fading smoke. A blade-point like a lightning bolt, far too fastï¿½a straight, sharp jab of pain in her left shoulderï¿½

Before her next thought hit her, curtains of green light were suddenly dancing up around her, the wound closing. She gasped from the vigour suddenly returningï¿½and at once her lucidity struck her like a slap. "It'd be great if the rest of you could help too!" she exclaimed. "You'll cover the holes that I can't. Interlock your vision with everyone else's, fight in a space where you know someone else is blindï¿½"

Deina had swooped up in their moments of distracted learning, circling beneath the balcony and rising in a steep swerve from behind, halberd outstretched and crackling.

But they were ready now. Telida was the one who caught her, vision ambient, reflexes lightning. The instant she noticed the guardian's approach from behind, she sprang and somersaulted fiercely, dodging the bolt and firing five stars backwards in the seconds she was upside-downï¿½

All six turned. Four stars spun away with terrifying swiftness, striking her armour, ricocheting uselessly with bright pings.

But the fifth, the fifth made a miraculous arc that slotted the projectile straight through a gap in the woman's neck armour. Half a second later, a deep cut had been slit, and a rapid gush of glowing silver blood came flooding through the newly-opened wound.

Deina gasped. Ahead of her Telida landed, back facing the minor deity, her boots not sliding an inch as she turned smartly around and appraised her work.

This is the chance! came the realisation. Akera quickly nodded to the rest, aware that the battle had hardly ended. Zethis was the one to make the leap this time, surprises of surprises. Despite her wound, Deina grinned at the sight of the golden Judgment. They played the game for a while. But soon she had had enough, and she swooped in a dizzying spiral, descending with ease like a falcon on its prey, weapon flung out in the same deadly attack that had caught Akera in the shoulderï¿½

Then arrived the return.

Raydan shouted in triumph, moments before two blazing Soul Arrows twanged from his crossbow and found marks in Veriun's neck. "Gotcha!" he yelled. With a siren-like whinny, the horse reared in midair and began to spiral through the air, crunching hard into the white stones, and Deina with her.

And at the sight of the fallen bodies, Akera sprang into attack by instinct, and all around her the rest were doing the sameï¿½Telida with her pocket daggers, Zethis' mace flashing in the sun, Ketara twisting the winds with his spearï¿½with a speed that gave Deina no chance to respond.

Somehow it hurt Clynine to know that the woman had no time to tend to her mount. But she knew that Orion's Belt's success also hinged on Deina's defeat, and they could offer no mercy in exchange for their world's redemption.

No mercy.

The woman was into the fight again, too strong despite her mortal wound. Her polearm crashed against mace and spear, such a valiant fight for someone so small, so defenceless, so handicapped.

Clynine couldn't bring herself to move forward. She watched as Lanorï¿½ tore down the woman's defences with rapid ease, lightning jerking her to a standstill every five seconds for the melee attackers to make their strikes. Veriun raised her head to cry, and let it fall again, tail flicking in helpless despair.

The Cleric closed her eyes to its plight. There was no time to let mercy delude her.

Butï¿½this isn't mercilessness. It's injustice. The horse never did any wrong. Deina never did anything wrong. They're just doing their job, the job they were locked here to perform, forever.

"Clynine! You irresponsible idiot! Come here and heal us!" gasped Lanorï¿½ furiously, eyes wide as the halberd caught the corner of her chin.

The battle had proceeded to the edge of the balcony. At once Clynine felt a vast dizziness engulf herï¿½then a voice called again: Zethis moaning within the next clamour of metal. Horrified, the Cleric squeezed her eyes shut and ran. Heal! she called silently, and watched as green lights gathered around the rest.

Morale boosted by a row of sudden fortunes, the battle grew more violent, the guardian falling back, further, further, further. The edge was coming so close, the steep drop to nowhere, the drop that Veriun couldn't save her mistress from any longerï¿½

But she was spared that fate. "Genesis!" Clynine screamed.

Deina, undefeatable Deina, gave a cry as she was flung to the ground by a blast of angelic light, her weapon ringing on the stones as she moaned in the flame. With a gasp of guilt, Clynine ran forward, dragging the others away from the edge. Amidst them lay the guardianï¿½body crumpled, lips pale. She struggled and rose slightly on her elbow, reaching out for them, a hand that was ignored.

"Come, let's go," was Akera's command, and they raced away, as the guardian cried in dismay and watched them disappear through the window.

The shadows parted, and they breathed in surprise. A broken chandelier lay on the floor as they entered.

Come, came a whisper down the airways. Bring Darkness to me.

The doorway was at the top of the wall, but accessing it would be no problemï¿½Deina had carved her own footholds in the walls. One after another they climbed towards the doorway, ascending the overturned staircases towards the roar of the upside-down ocean above.

Come, Light called.

At last, they emerged from the last flight of stairs and set foot in the top roomï¿½and fell into reverent silence. Through the windows shone a sunlit ocean, an ocean that flooded through the doorway to lap at the ceiling and the stone benches, spraying against the walls.

A ray of light caught Zethis' eye. He turnedï¿½a blinding beam of sunlight streamed from the far corner of the room, where a diamond-shaped hole had been cut, filtering through the dust to touch the facing wall.

And at their feet, the ground was all waterï¿½all except for a narrow ledge around the edges. In the centre of the pool was a lit chandelier, faceted diamonds sparkling in the brilliance of its candles. This one was special. It hadn't fallen; it floated vertically upwards from within the pool, as if gravity were still pulling from above.

"Well, so you see it," came a sudden whisper from the doorway above. "If you want the Shard, the ray must touch the chandelier, then the chandelier must be extinguished."

Everyone turnedï¿½in the doorway stood a panting Deina, now climbing down the wall in awkward bumps and drops. She was haggard from the battle, hair tangled and stained silver, Veriun leaping down through the doorway after her. But she could smile.

"What you've managed is marvellous, but now you must test Time and Fate. On the day when the Shard is meant to be taken, the sun will align itself so the ray will touch the chandelier. But to take it, you cannot touch the water. It is merciless to sinner and sin, and I learnt that the painful wayï¿½"

"Sinner?" murmured Akera suddenly, before turning with suspicion in her eyes. Zethis thought he might melt, the way her light of her blue eyes slashed through him, then shifted to the next. Somehow, he feared he knew what she was thinkingï¿½and almost too quickly, he was proven right.

"This has to be why our guild members were chosen this way!" she concluded, walking towards them, fixing her gaze irremovably upon Clynine. "Clynine, it has to be youï¿½Grendel called you 'pure' once. You are the one meant to retrieve the last piece. You must go across the water, to the chandelier."

From the back of the group, Clynine gasped. "But it can't be!" was her defence. "When I joined, I was never supposed to be anything more thanï¿½" She froze, painfully long.

"ï¿½more thanï¿½Lanorï¿½'s servant, wasn't I?"

Zethis turned, and saw the terror in those wide brown eyesï¿½and at once, he knew he could not leave her to take this alone. He walked quickly over, took hold of her hand between his palms, and closed his eyes. "Clynine, don't feel forced to do this," he whispered. "But if you canï¿½it's the only way we will win."

Clynine's eyes softened, and she smiled a little. "It's always you," she murmured. "You're always the one saving me. Like a knight and his princess, almostï¿½" Withdrawing her hand, she turned around and nodded to Akera, taking her staff.

And on the Cleric went, step after confident step, on towards the pure pool at the heart of the room.

clynine: the cathedral bell

As Clynine approached the stone bank of the water pool, she touched a foot to its surface, and leapt away when all she felt was an icy sheet, like glass.

Am I sinless then? This cannot beï¿½

She could feel seven gazes trained upon her. Swallowing from nerves, Clynine took her first step into the water, allowing her full weight to rest on it; she cried out as her feet shook slightly, breeze stirring the waterï¿½but soon it returned to stillness, and the only sound was the tide overhead.

Braver now, the young Cleric continued to walk. She held her breath, hoping that there were no surprises waiting. Her footsteps grew gentle, and she shivered from the coldï¿½

Now, something did happen.

It didn't surprise her at first. The water beneath her feet began to glow from under the surface, but it failed to perturb the Cleric. On she walked, continuing to be unsurprised, though the waves were rising and her footing slipped a little, the waves growing a little waxy in textureï¿½

Then she wasn't ready for the next thing that happened.

Plinggg.

The water shattered, and she screamed. From the hold of the disintegrating surface broke a golden beak, a spire-like beak that caught fireï¿½swelling, swelling into the vast shape of a firebird exploding from its eggshell of iceï¿½its blazing wings bloomed, and with a fling it threw Clynine to her knees, shrieking from pain.

"Help!" she screamed, thrashing as the flames began to circle and rear, struggling to her feet only to be thrown down again and again. "Save me!"

Deina was suddenly beginning to panic, her breathless cries echoing across the water. "No! Lyssa, get down! Don't hurt her!" screamed the woman, running, running, stretching a futile hand.

Lyssa was only heedless, her beak-jaws parting to speak. As her Voice came forth, flames erupted from her serrated beak, roaring straight over the Cleric's head in a violent crackle that made her scream again.

SINLESS?

YOU?

Clynine pulled hands over her head, shivering, curling up. "Yes!" she pleaded. She had to believe, believe or burn away. "I am sinless! I am!"

But the bird goddess was not convinced. With a snarl, her feathers began to lengthen into tendrilsï¿½growing, extending, coming to circle herï¿½tighten around herï¿½seep into her skin. Probes.

And in the fire, Clynine thought she was dying. She felt her muscles losing their strength, her Petal Staff falling to the water with a great tinkling splashï¿½sinking away into the water, her fingers paralysed and powerless to snatch for it. She squirmed as much as her paralysis would allowï¿½but she could not move, could not scream. Fire shifted through her, caustic and ticklish and nauseatingï¿½testing every inch of her body and soul, searching, searching, searchingï¿½

A pause too long.

The flame festered in her ribcage.

In that very second, Clynine knew that she had failed.

LIAR!

Jaws parting, melting, solidifying into the echoes of hell. The bird roared into her face, eyes flaring, hot breaths singing her skin.

HOW DARE YOU LIE TO A GODDESS?

YOU HAVE SINNED! YOU LIED THAT YOU HADN'T, BUT YOU HAVE!

Suddenly, its grip swelled a hundredfoldï¿½the pain tore Clynine's skull apart; she could only scream again. It crept through her head, crept, crept, spinning and twisting, wrenching memories from the bed of her dreamsï¿½burning them into her eyes.

Images of a tall woman with blonde hair and sapphire eyes, blinking sadly. Images of a smile lost forever.

And the Cleric's eyes could only go wider and wider as her soul began to break down, and her heart began to sink into listless reminiscence.

She couldn't deny it, not any longer. She couldn't deny this burning pain in the back of her throat, every time she thought of the way she had cursed the woman who had saved her life.

YOU HAVE, HAVEN'T YOU?

The Cleric shivered. The words were expanding all around her like coiling snakes, drowning every other sound outï¿½strangling her. She pulled her hands over her ears to block them out, but the words slipped inwards anyway. They continued to echo. Darker than bloodstains.

This is what you're like to your parents too, isn't it? Why else did you leave them to slog it out in their dingy little workshop at home, anyway?

Down she went, clawing at her face so her fingers grew warm and wet. With what? Blood? Tears?

"I'm sorryï¿½" she tried to cry. "Iï¿½Iï¿½didn't meanï¿½"

You thought they were SERVANTS! I'm not your assistantï¿½I'm your SERVANT! I never asked for this!

"Lanorï¿½!" she shrieked breathlessly, burying her face in open palmsï¿½but even now she knew crying was useless! "Please forgive meï¿½I never meant itï¿½"

No time to listen to apologies. No time for pointless mercy.

LIAR! LIAR! LIAR!

In her constant screams, Clynine felt the water crumble beneath her. She felt her robes being soaked and dragged into the iciness, into shadows and lights and flickering ribbons, solid no more. She felt water rising around her like a wave, water closing over her head like a dome.

Then she the flames, swelling and shearing the water away, somewhere high above. A beak of burning knives stabbed itself into the waves and plummeted after her, vaporising the water, plunging through the light, a raptor for its prey. She heard screams, but Clynine couldn't careï¿½the inferno was drawing closer to snatch her up, ready to rip her heart from her chest and relish it.

And in this spiralling chaos that left her thoughts no room, her mind could only hold one simple sentence:

I'm sorry, Lanorï¿½.

And then, the thunder flooded the Cleric's ears.

Until then, her body had been expecting to be ripped open by infernal saws and razor wings. Even now, she thought these spasms were from the pain of burning beneath the murderer's knife, of being slashed into pieces, again, and again, and again.

But it was only lightning.

Lightning, like a blade in the firebird's heart.

In skeins of ripping screams, the blazing creature descended towards the pool, smoking, whirling, plummeting in a death spiral. Water broke beneath its impact, thrown like handfuls of diamonds to the walls. The monster shrieked brokenly, erratically in the pool of its own shame, feathers melting.

In the dizzying lights that flashed across her vision, the Cleric gasped and splashedï¿½dragging herself to the surface, towards the bank, kicking with deep watery breaths though her robes were tangled around her legsï¿½kicking and swimming furiously, coughing the freezing water up.

"Clynine!"

Through the fog of exhaustion, a woman's cry resounded softly into her ears.

"This doesn't have to be, Clynine!"

She was silent, gasping. Lanorï¿½, the name struck instantly. Lanorï¿½. Lanorï¿½. A chant.

Her eyes began to water painfully, with more than just the sea-spray. She kicked blindly forward again, every movement a little stronger than the one before, heart bursting with need.

Lanorï¿½, I'm sorry. I'm sorry you had to save me again.

Faintly she felt the rocky ledge beneath her fingers. Almost immediately, strong hands came to catch her by the arms, hauling her out of the waterï¿½and Clynine found her vision filled with the smiling countenance of her mistress, brilliant eyes that somehow hadn't died despite the sadness there.

"M-mistressï¿½Iï¿½"

In her shock, she couldn't find the right words to sayï¿½but the woman was faster, faster as always.

"Clynine, it doesn't have to be like this," answered the Archmage desperately, silvery smile waning. "I didn't realise, Clynine, I didn't knowï¿½"

Clynine would hear none of it. She wouldn't hear Lanorï¿½ apologise.

Crying out something unintelligible, she launched herself forward to embrace her mistress. "I'm sorry, Lanorï¿½! I'm sorry about everything!"

"But there's no need to be sorry!" The woman answered, taking Clynine's shoulders as their eyes met for the first time in a month. "You never did any wrong. I did all the wrong. I thought the Neck was trying to destroy me. But in fact, it was only awakening my buried fears." She turned, away. "I was afraid, Clynine."

Lanorï¿½ suddenly looked so fragile, her face all tense and struggling like that. "I was afraid you'd leave me. I was afraid you'd stop needing me! Becauseï¿½no one's made me feel this necessary before. Even my parents. I thought they didn't need me, so I left them behind." She actually sobbed this time, but that was that. "Tossed asideï¿½by the girl they protected all their lives."

Her eyes closed, and her words became a whisper, like dewdrops in the morning, wishing off the edges of the grass. "I was afraid to lose you, Clynine, the way my parents lost me."

But I won't leave you, thought the Cleric, sinking into Lanorï¿½'s arms again, her eyes clouding up with pain. You're the one who's made me feel needed. I used to feel completely useless, sitting around and waiting to be married off. You made me feel like I could actually do something! You gave me a direction to go, a path to walk!

I didn't want to be trapped forever. You released me, Lanorï¿½...

Both were aware of the flames stirring behind them, and in the next second, they had partedï¿½fire was beginning to roar again, rising from the pit. Lanorï¿½ held her staff high, turning swiftly to her assistant. "This doesn't have to be your fight alone, Clynine," she said, earnestly, fiercely. "We can finish it the way we always meant to. Just you and I, and a world to conquer."

They turned together, and Clynine felt her hands tingle with the magic she had learnt to master without her staff. And in her mistress' presence, she knew she could do anything.

The great shape of the firebird loomed again, blazing and crackling like a vast monster. Lyssa roared and expanded, expanded till her wingtips touched the water and set it fizzling with heat, steam billowing outwards.

"Remember that day with Zakum and the fire?" called Lanorï¿½ now, as her staff rose, and blue sparks began to travel up its length, gathering at the tip.

"Yes I remember," called Clynine in response, her palms held out, circles of light swooping inwards from the ambience and gathering into a concentrated source before her hands. "We nearly diedï¿½but you saved my life that day, didn't you?"

Lanorï¿½'s ice was heavenly bright. But her smile was even brighter.

"No, you saved me."

Then they gave cries of their own, glorious heralding cries, of Blizzard and of Shining Rayï¿½and in their shared confidence, light and ice began to rage mercilessly down in a storm upon the bird. The bird, which soared in a distressed circle and rippled hopelessly through the spells, struggling forward, struggling stillï¿½

Lanorï¿½ cried out louder. Her Blizzard became an entire river of shards, shooting like missiles into the gaps between its thin guard feathers, lodging themselves into its skeletonï¿½

It screeched, wheeling and crying, bursts of fire exploding everywhere. Fading, fading, fading. And as it began to wane in the onslaught, a halo bloomed around it, an aura of golden flame that solidified into five rectangles of light, rectangles that forced the creature inwards, a star collapsing upon itselfï¿½

In that instant, everything reversed direction. Attacking projectiles were frozen in midair. There was the twanging hum of impactï¿½and suddenly everything was soaring in the opposite direction. A supernova, from within the chaosï¿½nowhere, everywhere, shards of fire and waves of water exploding outwards through the room and breaking its stones in shock waves like the birth of a sun, or perhaps the death of a star.

Clynine threw up her light defences in split-second reflexï¿½a hundred magic shields that healed her ten thousand times a second while fire was shooting in burning lines everywhere, windows blooming to the sky...

It was surreal, feeling the flames bombard her from everywhereï¿½each individual fragment burning a patch her skin away before her magic rushed to the wound and sealed it up a second later. The continuous sensation, of rushes of new wounds, opening, closing, all over her skin, was utterly horrible. It seemed forever, longer than forever. The Cleric thought she might die waiting, thought the shield might suddenly buckle beneath the impacts and collapse, and leave her open to the endless assault of burning bullets. But every second, she squeezed just a little more mana from her reserves; every second, she told herself that she had to cling to her life with whatever she hadï¿½

And at last, it ended.

Sudden as the rise of Lyssa, the flames subsided into the dark. Clynine couldn't stop shaking as she crawled to kneel, glancing wearily about to see the broken walls. Then, she felt exhaustion catch hold with a grip of lead, sinking her back to the ground.

Where had the flames gone? Their imprints were still vivid in her eyes, blinding her. The silence was unnerving, except for the moans of her friends in the corner. There could have been full serenity...

Then, a shot of panic.

Lanorï¿½. Where's Lanorï¿½?

She whirled around and panted.

Lanorï¿½!

Her eyes skimmed messily across the ruins until they came to a tangled figure beside the wall. Clynine thought she might faint. Lanorï¿½, lying between the fallen rocks, mouth open and face raw from the heat.

The explosion had gone in a particular direction. At Lanorï¿½, unsuspecting Lanorï¿½ who hadn't had enough time to switch from attack to defenceï¿½

"Lanorï¿½!" screamed Clynine, dragging herself through splinters of sooty rock. She didn't care for the cuts or blood any longer. The woman wasn't breathing. Screeching her despair, the Cleric slapped her, hit her, again and againï¿½to no merciful avail. "Lanorï¿½, Lanorï¿½...wake up! Please, Lanorï¿½" Suddenly, in the face of death, she was only a girl who didn't know what to do. Tears were streaming down her cheeks, to her lips, her chin, into her robes. "Lanorï¿½! Mistress Lanorï¿½!"

Then, almost as fast, reality caught up to her. She wiped the tears quickly away, trying not to sob. She had learnt how to do it, how to defy death.

Must a human die before you learn to perform a simple, pathetic Resurrect, Clynine?

Clynine found herself smiling sadly, at the anger with which those words had been shouted. The irony was chilling. Maybe so, she thought, gazing down at those dead eyes. Maybe this is how I'll learn.

I can't let you go this easily, Lanorï¿½.

Glancing about for a minute, she caught sight of a glint beneath the rocksï¿½it was her Petal Staff. Slipping quickly over to snatch it, Clynine felt its warmth in her hand, before turning urgently back to Lanorï¿½. As her staff extended, her fingers began to grow warm with the half-power that remained within her. She felt the syllables rise to her lips, simple and clear. She let herself pronounce them.

"Resurrect."

Sky, sky once more. The ocean was churning half a mile down, the waves white and arcing like doorways to heaven, the sands sparkling like a vast crescent of ivory.

Lanorï¿½'s soul was nowhere to be found. The harbour was empty; the corridors had been deserted and the beach was pale.

She had gone on. She was heading to the far shore, just like all the other souls.

Turning to the ocean with a shiver, Clynine saw that she was atop a cliff. For seconds, gazing down the height at the waves below made her head spinï¿½it was high, so highï¿½would she fall off if she took a wayward step?

But to catch Lanorï¿½ and bring her back, she had to take that step. She had to cross the ocean. The fear made her feel all hollow insideï¿½nothing to hold onto, no hand to grip, no friend to hug.

I'm afraid, Lanorï¿½. I'm afraid of being alone, afraid to cross the sea.

Then, silently, she remembered another time when she had stood at the edge of the sky, just as she did now. She remembered so vividly; she remembered being afraid of the drop to the bottom. But she hadn't been aloneï¿½Zethis had been beside her, facing the icy wind with her ï¿½

If she didn't have any hand to hold, she could hold on to this memory. Bravely, Clynine breathed, in, out. In, out. Just like Lanorï¿½ taught me. To still my fears.

Then, with a blind leap and spread arms, Clynine rose on the wind, the wind that was eternal, and soared away with the shadows of the sky.

Every second of the flight was a horror. All around her she could only feel the freewheeling winds buffeting her, taking her left and right with invisible, violent currents. There were spikes beneath the water beneath, spikes of ocean that she feared she might impale herself uponï¿½if she fell too close and was claimed by the tides, if she flew too far and melted in the flame of the sun. The listless flight had lasted minutes, hoursï¿½and Clynine was beginning to fear that all was lost.

Thenï¿½there came a call, a call from far awayï¿½the soft and secretive chime of a cathedral bell in the middle of the sea, a voice sunken in the waves by seagulls that didn't understand.

Dong.

Each note was poignant and clanging, far away but true. The toll of death, or maybe the toll of hopelessness. But whichever it was, every sheer note made the girl think of her mistress.

Lanorï¿½.

Clynine found a grip on her courage. She flew closer and closer, until the bell's resonance was all around her, engulfing her in its shivery embrace, ringing in the sea-spray that splashed her face.

This is where I dive, and never look back.

She dove.

Waves, blue and vivid, came to swallow herï¿½cold and glassy, seeping to her bones and gripping her from all around. She gasped out and splashed a little, body forcing her instinctually to the surfaceï¿½it took all her will to hold onto the sound like a strand of rope, and plunge forth regardless.

Then, she found that she could still breathe, her lungs filling up with a fresh breath, not water, when she tried. Bubbles raced from her lips to the surface. Beneath her, the girl could see the silhouette of a grand building with a tapering steepleï¿½a cathedral, vast and still in the currents of the ever-changing sea.

Down Clynine swam, to where the bell was swinging, landing on the parapet of the belltower and gazing inside. To her surprise, there was brightness in the room beneathï¿½a figure shimmering with an elusive light, tugging hypnotically at the bell rope.

Dong, dong, dong. It was like the call of a whale.

Lanorï¿½! Clynine calledï¿½and stopped mid-breath because she felt like her chest was being ripped apart, blood blossoming from her lips into the waves. The call became a scream; she collapsed to her knees on the granite ledge. Lanorï¿½come back with meï¿½

Across the wall she clambered, leaping inside to land by her mistress. The walls were close to the pair, and there wasn't a sound besides that grand ringing.

Lanorï¿½!

The woman turned, face pale, half-illusory. I can't go either way, she whispered. I want to stay here forever, in liminality between death and life. I don't want to go back home, or go to heaven.

In those words, Clynine was suddenly growing furious. Downright furious at her mistress, this mistress who wouldn't let go of a stupid sea for her assistant. Furious at Lanorï¿½ for leaving. Leaving her in the lurch. Leaving her to be lonely until she died.

Lanorï¿½! She shrieked, angry tears rising. Why, Lanorï¿½? You can't do this!

But she was unmoved. Because sometimes, you have to learn to let go. Sometimes, it's hard to stay alive when no one wants you or needs you. I abandoned the people I loved, and so I will be abandoned likewiseï¿½and I'm glad I died, but I don't need heaven.

The girl found her anger falling, falling into a quiet sort of understanding.

The Archmage hadn't been forgiven in the heart. Did ghosts forget so fast? Lanorï¿½ hadn't been forgiven, somehowï¿½the guilt was still there, deep as ever. And no, she couldn't let the woman go on thinking this way. It wasn't right. It wasn't true. And most of all, Clynine needed her back, more than anything else.

Lanorï¿½, Lanorï¿½ Before she could flee, the girl reached out to grip her mistress' hand. Lanorï¿½, didn't I say it's okayï¿½?

Lanorï¿½ let go of the bell rope for a momentï¿½and this moment was all the Cleric needed. Without another second, she kicked off the stone floor of the belltower with all her strength, and her mistress gasped as they soared off together, up through the sparkling ocean tides, up towards that heavenly circle of brilliance above.

Where are you taking me, Clynine?

Lanorï¿½, don't drown in this ocean! It's made of sorrow and memory. It lies to you. There's more above! Have you never tried looking at the world above, breathing its air, tasting how wonderful it is?

Clynine made a final pull, wings uninhibited by water. They emerged, and Lanorï¿½'s eyes widened at the sight of the sky, her gaze so enraptured it made Clynine's heart leap.

Then, slowly, she pulled away from the cerulean above, looked down at the waves around her.

I like this place, the dead Archmage murmured. Why can't you just leave me? Does anyone really need me? Why let me live, if I'm just a useless woman who doesn't know...how to love? Her voice was growing wispier, fading like mist as she drew away. Clynine snatched angrily at her hand, but Lanorï¿½ continued to pull back.

Why can't you leave me?

Clynine's heart sank at those words. No! Something rang defiant in her mind. Didn't I promise to bring her back? I have to try againï¿½try, if only so that the effort counts! Try!

She clenched her fists, closed her eyesï¿½then opened them again.

Becauseï¿½you aren't where you think you are, answered the girl, floating forward, little by little, reaching out. This is only a shadow of the truth. This isn't the joy you want! This world is wonderful, but it can't offer you the most wondrous thing in the worldï¿½

Love. There's love waiting for you here, Lanorï¿½ Mistress Lanorï¿½. Here in my handï¿½love, from the ones you left behind.

Then a jab of pain came as the realisation struck.

You left me behind, Lanorï¿½. Just like you left your parents.

And Clynine must have said those words aloudï¿½for suddenly, Lanorï¿½ was blinking, drifting closer with eyes full of frightï¿½and then she was crying, crying like the child she had never been. Or perhaps had been once, and would never be again.

She turned away, to the sky, fingers outstretched so they were silhouettes. Her sobs hadn't really died, but her figure was steely, stubborn. Clynineï¿½ She murmured, voice gaining colour, wracked with fear. Are you sure? Don't theyï¿½hate me? Don't they?

No! We don't hate you, Lanorï¿½! We love you. Need you. Without you, the flowers of El Nath cannot bloom. The city will die. El Nath was frozen centuries agoï¿½but can't you can be the one to unlock it from the ice?

Lanorï¿½'s eyes were closed. Her face found a little more colour, her hair some of its former goldï¿½maybe it was the sound of her sad laughter, maybe the way she was smiling, tears glittering in her eyes. Their hands were in each other's; the woman's in the girl's, grips so tight, both certain that they would never, never let go again.

"Clynine," Lanorï¿½ saidï¿½with a real voice, a voice that reminded her of snow and sunlight and roses from the world above. "Clynine, you saved me."

The sky came to an end. The firmament began to disintegrate at the edges, like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle, falling into Clynine's eyesï¿½and she was descending, descending into fond, distant dreaming, somewhere deep in the ocean she had left behind.

"How is she?"

"Breathing."

"Um, anything else?"

"I don't think so; not for now."

All was no longer silence, in the tower of light. Lanorï¿½ stood groggily, blinking, rising carefully to her feet with tipsy steps. Four of the eight were gathered around Clynine's petite figure, asleep on the floor. She could have been dead, the way she was tangled around the stone shards and pools of water, arms spread like a bird'sï¿½but her chest was rising, falling, a breath that somehow couldn't lose its beat.

The other four were elsewhere, gazing at the pool of water, snowflakes descending through the broken wall to land on the surface.

Overhead, the firebird's glowing rectangles had turned into mirrors. Five mirrors, floating in midair. They had arranged themselves in such a way that the stream of light, frail but undefeatable, now twisted and spiralled around the room, bouncing against them, dancing through the motes of ocean dust until it finally came to shine upon the uppermost arms of the chandelier.

Something was forming on the ocean surface aboveï¿½a reflection of their brilliance, a formless brightness.

Akera's eyes were upon the chandelier again, on its reflection in the sea above, her gaze taking in its every divine drop. She took a tentative step onto the waterï¿½found that it accepted her weight, like any other floor.

Lanorï¿½ closed her eyes, for suddenly, she could hear its voice again.

Take me to Light, the Neck whispered, weak and tame and yearning now. Dark and Light, we must be together. Take me to Light...take me to him...

Akera had arrived at the chandelier, her fingers almost glowing in its light. Gently, she reached in between its branchesï¿½and sprang back again in surprise as the lights suddenly began to extinguish themselves, like flowers closing.

When all the candles had gone out and all the gold subsided into misted greys, a glimmer of light made everyone looked up. They gasped, smiledï¿½for the reflection of the chandelier lights, glowing in the water on the ceiling, hadn't vanished. It seemed almost real, almost thereï¿½

"Isn't it amusing, how illusion makes fools of everyone?" From behind, Deina's voice suddenly came again as she strode to the centre, where Akera stood. "These images of light are such beauty: because what light can form, light can certainly falsify. And isn't it strange, that we believe so unwaveringly in everything light presents to us? Seeing is believing, isn't that so?"

She turned around at the rest, smiling to herself, as with a joke only she understood. "As far as you are concerned, everything inside a mirror, a reflection, is just an imageï¿½formed when light traces an object that doesn't really exist, and tells you it is there. But if a reflection is false, if you know it's false, then what is this world? Where are you now? You fell into a mirror to come hereï¿½are you walking in an image right now?"

Her smile began to fade. "That's the strange thing about magic, the strange thing about the power of the Goddess of Light. The moment She bestowed it upon us, She made it possible to turn falsity into reality."

The millennia-old guardian suddenly seemed so sad. "And this is what I've waited for all my life. The day when someone would extinguish the lights and turn these pictures into real magic. It's come. Lyssa has offered her treasureï¿½my treasureï¿½to you."

And taking a last silent glance into the chandelier's reflection, Deina flung her halberd upwards. It slipped into the ocean, passing through until it shattered the image-chandelier to pieces and sent a tiny glass piece rippling through the water, falling into her hand with a light pling.

Simply, the woman gestured for Lanorï¿½ to comeï¿½Lanorï¿½, who now cradled Clynine's sleeping body in her arms. The guardian held the Shard out for the Archmage as she approached. The Shard of the Goddess' blood, in all its glory.

Take me to Darkness.

Lanorï¿½ smiled as her fingers closed around the glowing glass shard. And with a strange regret, she pried it gently from Deina's gripï¿½

All at once, a guttural rumbling began in the rock beneath their feet. The floor began to buckle and everyone staggered in fright, as white stone began to rain from the ceiling, like snow.

"By the Goddess! What's happening?" cried Raydan, hugging Ketara for his dear life; the Dragon Knight returned it, equally frightened. The six visitors were staring at each other in panic, Lanorï¿½ included. The Shard had been taken. The tower was collapsing. And all logic told them that if they stayed any longer, they would fall away with itï¿½

Deina glanced about at the walls, but there was fearlessness in her gaze. Calling Veriun with a small cry, she limped over to meet the beast in the middle of the breaking floor. She hugged the horse's neck, rubbing her cheek against her muzzleï¿½and with the last of her gracefulness, mounted her.

But why was she mounting? Veriun's wings were broken. Veriun couldn't fly.

The floor at the horse's hooves suddenly began to crack and crumble, segments beginning to drop away into the endless sky beneath. Veriun reared and bucked, clattering back from the rift in fright. "You'll be fine!" cried Deina across the growing gap as wind began to buffet up through the cracks of the floor and whip through their hair. "Everything keeping this world real is fading! Remember, once the source is gone, this reality returns to illusionï¿½and you cannot exist within an illusion!"

Already, a vast slice of sky was showing, dividing them from flightless Deina forever. "Deina!" screamed Telida, despairing. The woman was already beginning to fall, the black winged horse instinctually scrabbling at the rocks with screaming whinnies for a nonexistent foothold, for another chance to live.

"You'll be fine, and so will I!" was her unfailingly faithful answer, as she descended away.

But faith is the flimsiest foundation for truth, thought Akera.

And then came the great wave. A vast, white wave of collapsing snow, the foundation of the world and every whisper upon which this illusion had been built. Down it all came, crashing through the storeys of the tower, shoving everyone apart in an explosion of utter unreal cold and shimmering, shattering glassï¿½

And everything built on faith eventually crumbles, thought Akera again, eyes closing as the wall of snow came to collide with her.

White. Pale. Endless light.

Nothing.

Through the vast rumble of the stones and silence, through the ethereal thunder of ice, there came a strain of hopeful song.

I may dream and weave and sing

And then you might know everythingï¿½

the fire never dies

Clynine's eyelids urged her to blink. She did.

And suddenly, she found herself awake on pale sheets, facing a ceiling that seemed shockingly familiar. The taste of her long sleep was still sluggishly sweet on her tongue, and for seconds she began to wonder. What had she been doing before this?

Then she turned her head, and heard an exclamation of joy, felt someone's warmth draw closer to hersï¿½the cloudy vagueness of his figure slowly clarifying, solidifying into Zethis, with his blonde hair and gentle smile. "W...where..." Clynine's mouth opened, but the words were hard to shape. Sighing, she abandoned the effort and let herself sink back into half-consciousness. "How long?"

"Four days," answered Zethis. "Lanorï¿½ said your healing is keeping you well, but youï¿½"

Lanorï¿½! All at once the memory of her mistress came pounding through her veinsï¿½the fight, the flames, the light and the oceanï¿½ "Zethis, how'd I get here?"

"Deina gave the Shard to Lanorï¿½, then the tower began to collapseï¿½and next moment, we were standing on the top level of real Orbis Tower, as if nothing had happened, with a pile of broken glass before us..."

Clynine nodded slowly, mind resistant to her attempts at sense-making, eyes no longer able to stay open. "And oh, yes," she whispered. "Whose room am I in?"

"Mï¿½ine," answered the White Knight, embarrassed suddenly. "We-we-we just didn't want toï¿½to take your keyï¿½and I had to answer Linn's questionsï¿½a-andï¿½I didn't have t-timeï¿½"

"It's alright. Thanks." A soft smile lit her lips. The job is done. And Zethis is here. This thought was like hot chocolate, and it soothed her into another deep sleep.

Akera was taking a weary strollï¿½after all the tension in the mirror Orbis Tower, she had to ease her twanged nerves.

As her eyes rose to the evening horizon ahead, the Mage paused. The silhouette of someoneï¿½two someones, approaching. Two familiar someones.

And it froze her rigid.

Ralinn and Shirion. They were walking towards her, hands intertwined, walk a little tipsy, arms touching, as close as touching allowed. Outright mush.

But it wasn't the mush that made something twist in the wrong direction in Akera's heart. It was the expression on Shirion's face. An expression he'd never show her. An expression he had reserved for his darling little Ralinn.

Something vile and sly had taken root black in her heart. Jealousy. Jealousy, that was it. Jealousy, because of what she would never have.

And twist her it did, this unending tug, tug, tug of anger and frustration and hate that went on in binding circlesï¿½twist her, like a rope that had already been twisted to its maximum strainï¿½

Someday, it was going to snap.

Something was bubbling in her throat already, the same poisonous anger she always felt when she saw those two together. But today was differentï¿½today, she was edgy from weariness. Today, the sight of them had opened a door.

Even as she waited, she could feel her body shaking with deeply-swallowed rageï¿½rage that had to come out someday. Heedlessly, they smiled at each other and walked on. And she craned her neck, as the pair passed, to hear snatches of their conversation: I thinkï¿½I know the answer now, Shirion. Yesï¿½I'll marry youï¿½

Marry him?

A scream ripped itself from Akera's throat, to slice their conversation in two. The pair stumbled to a stop and turned to spy the white-haired youthï¿½rapidly letting go of each other.

"Oh, Akeraï¿½"

But she was deaf with pain.

"RALINN!"

From the shadows she stumbled, breathing raggedly and deep, fists curling with fire. Her heart might have been bleeding; it felt like it was, as if a dagger had been plunged deep inside by those two pairs of eyesï¿½

"No, Akera, don't be rash here, we understandï¿½"

No. Noï¿½no, no, no! Nothing you say is important! Stupid woman!

She screamed again. The two began to look perturbed, Ralinn stepping forward a little angrily, tongue ready to deliver a firm scolding to her underling. Beneath that amber gaze, Akera felt as if she were being clawed to deathï¿½she knew she would shrivel up and die, if it went in this way.

She the superior, she the queen, she the authority. Always the authority, the one with every right in the world.

And the Mage suddenly felt needles of poison sprouting, slowly, slowly, from her fingers. Growing, until they were long and lethal. She felt her fingers grip them tightly as they formedï¿½such a warm, molten comfort.

Ralinn's eyes went on mercilessly. The Mage's fingers began to blaze with pain as she tensed them behind her back with all the spinning hurt and fury of half a decade. Of chasing love and letting it be stolen. Of hoping, hoping, only to have it quashed out of her by someone apparently more worthy.

Hah, more worthy?

And her lips twisted into a demon's smile, teeth bared, eyes flashing with fireï¿½with a surge of madness, she brought the needles up into light, panting through her teeth, watching as their points gleamed between their faces.

Suddenly, Ralinn no longer looked angry. She was starting to look afraid, mortally afraid. Stepping backwards with deep, desperate breaths. But that only made the Fire Poison Mage's heart pound with even more greedy relish, with impulse and anger and bloodlustï¿½

"No, Akera, we can talk about thisï¿½I know you're intelligent enough toï¿½"

"NO! No, you EVIL WITCH! You took him away from me!"

With a thundering roar, she swung forward, and dug the poisoned needles deep into Ralinn's neck.

Deep as they would go.

The third scream wasn't hers.

Ralinn fell down to her knees, hands shaking as she struggled to hold her balance. Her eyes were rolling as her screams gurgled away, lips frothing and quiveringas she collapsed backwards to the pavement, lips white.

With a cry like a firebird, Akera grinned hungrily. "Have a taste of my pain, Ralinn!" she sneered through tightly-clenched teeth, forcing the needles yet deeper. Ralinn's screams came in short, small bursts, wrangled and wasted and thin, but helplessï¿½helplessï¿½

"Linn!" Shirion had fallen to her side, panting. "Ralinn, no! Please, no!"

No!

Noï¿½

And slowly, things were starting to make little fragments of sense to the Mage. Slowly, she realised the meaning of the images that had just passed her by.

And she was shaking, shaking so hard she thought she would shatter in the wind.

Naturallyï¿½naturally for someone who had lost all hope and who was watching his lover dieï¿½Shirion stood up, drunk and swaying with wrath and fear. Snarling, he turned to the only other person aroundï¿½the one who had perpetrated it all. And his brown eyes were so dark, so stormy-dark, that Akera suddenly began to feel real fear for the very first time in her life.

"AKERA!" he roared, a roar that could have broken her bones. A lion at the scent of the kill. Sparing her no gentlenessï¿½but why should he?ï¿½he gripped her by the shoulders and throttled her with all the rage within him, until her shoulders were bruised and her entire being was shivering with unshed tears.

"Akera, if you want me to leave Ralinn and love you, THIS ISN'T THE WAY TO DO IT!"

Akera was too dizzy to comprehend. "No, I didn'tï¿½I didn't do thisï¿½"

There was nothing left for her to do but lie. Lie and deny. Maybe if she denied forever, it disappear. Her eyes stung, as she screamed it a third time: "I DIDN'T DO THIS!"

Shirion slapped her. Not hard, but hard enough to fill her vision with watery stars and send her collapsing to the floor with blood on her teeth. Whatever anger she might have felt for his deed, she felt not. She felt nothing. She had grown so numb.

"Ralinn, Ralinn, say something. Please, Ralinn."

Finally, Akera's sanity had returnedï¿½cold, broken sanity that cut her like shards of a broken mirror. Above the roar of her tears, she could hear her dearestfriend whispering his hopeless assuranceï¿½you'll be fine, my dear, I swear you'll be fine. With a held-back sob, he turned and took off across the cobblestone roads with a determination that he would never, ever show for her again.

Now they were alone. The Ranger lay on a bed of white snow, face just as pale as the ice, neck pinpricked with congealed spots of blood, where Shirion had extracted the needles. "Spiteful creature," hissed the woman at Akera, with a hate and poison that might rival her own.

But Akera couldn't take it. No more. No more.

If she heard any more, if she saw any more, she would crumble to dust.

While Ralinn spat another curse at her and the wind became a tomb of glass, Akera pulled her hands over her ears, sewed her eyes shutï¿½and screaming, screaming, she ran away, tears plummeting through the shadows to melt the snow.

She locked herself into her room for the rest of her day, crying her heart out onto white sheets that would be washed clean by tomorrow. Even the news that Ralinn was alive and asleep under the caretaking of Clynine, slipped under her door on the back of a business card in Turino's spiky handwriting, wasn't enough to lure her out.

If Shirion could show me forgiveness, I'd pay for it with my blood. But he won't.

Her body twined deeper into the sheets, a cocoonï¿½she wouldn't leave this white, safe, warm world ever again. She would never have to make another mistake. She should just die here. Let herself bleed out onto these sheets and vanish into them.

And even his forgiveness won't be enough!

What have I done with my life? I murdered my parents! I ran away instead of burying them! Almost killed Turino, almost killed Ralinn, almost destroyed Shirion's lifeï¿½

ï¿½and all because I was angry.

Tomorrow we will leave for Victoria, and when we pass by the Station, it will only serve to remind him of the years he spent, pandering to the whims of a girl who would betray him. Entrusting his life to someone who would later try to kill his lover.

All because she wanted to be his lover herself.

She had scarred her image to the eyes of her friends. She would be an outcast foreverï¿½cursed by her very guild mates for her unthinkable deed.

And she had scarred her soul to the eyes of the Goddess. The Lady of Light who sat on her throne of woven goldï¿½She would eternally gaze down upon Akera and her wretched soul, shaking Her head to see the Mage's sorry state. Seeing not her talent, her great deeds, her victoriesï¿½seeing only a sinner who just couldn't learn.

In Time and Light and Darkness, there is no room for mercy. End is end, and when the blade is lowered, nothing more can be said or done.

The blade had been lowered upon herï¿½upon the half-finished songs she had tried to write, but had lost, and were now fading into meaningless dissonances. The blade had been lowered, and everything in Akera's life had effectively dwindled to nothing.

Because here, in the cold white arena of the deities' council, there was no room for mercy.

No justice, no mercy.

fall

Just as the rumble of rock began, just as the ancient snowflakes began to unravel the tower, Deina finally came to terms with her fate.

This is the second I anticipated, those seven millennia ago, she thought, wind whirling through the castles of her mind. My world is vanishing, and I with it. But at last I'll be free, and at last I'll see the things I've always dreamt of seeing!

And to do that, I must fall.

"Come, Veriunï¿½shush, be quiet. This is the last part of our lives together. But after this, you'll be free, Veriun! All we need to do is jump. And we'll see the world. We'll see what lies on the other side of the sky."

The horse clopped gently to the edge of the falling ledge, led there by her mistress' hand, gazing down at the sky. But Veriun was afraid to jumpï¿½she didn't want it, the feeling of falling helplessly. She was a beast of flight.

"We'll be alright, I promise." The guardian hugged the horse's neck and smiling sadly. "We'll be together, and we'll finish this ride with laughter on our wings."

Even if death waits at the end. Even if, seconds after we see the world, we'll vanish forever.

Submitted, subdued, the woman climbed onto Veriun's crippled form, just the way she always had. "This is it, Veriun. The world's about to end. It's the only way homeï¿½don't fear!"

The hole in the floor had grown wide. Veriun reared backwards in fear, and Deina had to stroke the beast's neck to pacify her. "You'll be fine!" called the woman to the six on the other side. "Everything keeping this world real is fading! Remember, once the source is gone, this reality returns to illusionï¿½and you cannot exist within an illusion!"

"Deina!" answered Telida from the far bank, eyes flooded with despair. Deina smiled at the young woman and her beautiful voice.

And knowing it the truth, knowing it was the best piece of advice she could give, she shouted, "You'll be fine, and so will I."

For the first time in her life, Deina was certain about something. All her life, she had lived in a white towerï¿½every floor the same as every other, every wall identical to the one above and the one below. All her life, she had lived in an illusion. A lie.

But now she had met them. They had released her from the lie. They had made her realise that this was the amazing truth! And now she would release them, from this world, and from the fear that bound them here.

You can't be afraid to take the leap, because sometimes that's where the answer lies.

It had taken mere seconds. Suddenly, the ground beneath them was gone, and for a nanosecond they were hovering in midair, shadows drifting further and further, snow blooming overhead as the stones gradually cracked apart.

There were no more voicesï¿½the seven warriors had vanished from her world behind a curtain of snow. I suppose it's just you and me now, Veriun. In that same nanosecond, Deina began to remember.

A mirror opening beneath me. Veriun taking me safely inside. And the Goddess, the Goddess smiling at me from above as we vanish through the glass, pulling away from the world outside, forever. Certain that this is what we want.

Eyes shut, soul braced, arms locked around her horse's powerful neck, she got ready to unravel that memory back to its start, and finish her story.

She let go.

And suddenly, every fantasy in the world was roaring upwards past their ears. They were plummeting like stones into a pool. Deina let her eyes openï¿½and she couldn't stop seeing after that. The edges of their universe were beginning to crumble, and windows into the other universes were beginning to open in the sky. In those windows, she saw amazing things, horrific thingsï¿½birds with twenty wings, violet skyscrapers, endless spirals of numeric digits and stars exploding into their rainbows of supernovae. And at every second, she left another world behind, losing each chance to the sky as the windows gradually drew closer and closer together, and melded into a vast well of light at the bottom, far below.

The other side of the sky.

Deina was starry-eyed, her bones and muscles no longer connected because the dimensions were meeting here, and she was disintegrating into the current of zero. Beneath her, Veriun was invisible tooï¿½but just like herself, she had not vanished. Something strange that defied the degeneration of the dimensions was still there, unable to be torn apart.

Life. Life, and love. The heartbeat that couldn't fade, though Time and Light and Darkness tried.

I might dream and weave and sing

And then you might know everything

With a deep breath and an exulting cry, Deina threw up her arms with a final strain of song, with every cell in her body, an offering to the worldï¿½to the life that could have been, to the life that never was. A farewell, to the world of Life, and the world of Love.

I know this song because I'm a part of Life. The Dragon's song. The song that was imprisoned into every living heart, at the start of His creation.

Someday, I'll be walking in the Dragon's gardenï¿½and I will finally have the joy I've been waiting for.

Beneath her, Veriun was whinnying wildly. Somehow, though she had never learnt the language, Deina knew that it was a cry not for fear, but for utter and irreplaceable joy. She felt the same joy spiralling within her like a carousel of colours, and she laughed for this very sensation, the feeling of living the last second of your life in absolute, unbounded freedom.

Then, letting their last fears go, they watched as the universe they had lived in together finally slipped away. Away like a shadow she would never see againï¿½into the endless flickering of a candle, and an explosion of scintillating glass.

So Deina does her job with unwavering faith. But what does she receive? Punishment in isolation. Then death.

Is this not injustice?

But no obligation exists, so why bother? When she's dead and locked in Ayris' sky, the sky of the forgotten, what more can she do but drift around with no will to defend her case?

Disposal is always the best solution to a problem, the deity of questions-and-answers always says. If your question implodes and dies, then there'll be no need to answer it, would there?

And if everyone else agrees to the disposal, then why listen to the one being disposed of?

No justiceï¿½of course, no justice. And yet no mercy. In heaven, peace and smooth running are unanimously valued over upkeep of these hindering virtues.

Such as fairness. And forgiveness.

What is the point, indeed? Heaven wasn't made to uphold human happiness. It was made for itself.

Let the tyrant stand. Let them murder each other. It isn't our problem. Let them solve it themselves.

No justice, and yet no mercy.

This is how the world always ends.

Chapter 11: Year of the Rabbit/ Turning

spirals

Everything was changing, changing. Like impermanent, repeating seasons that turned on the edge of a vast wheel, like petals and leaves sailing a breeze towards a horizon they would never reach. The ocean was a shattering mirror, blue and pink and vermilion. It captured the cold sky like a mirror, peaceful in spite of the minute stormy agitations across its vast skin.

Its permanence was not eternal stasis, but eternal change. Never for any two days in the history of the world had the ocean been the very same one. It had been a billion different oceans before: change had taken through all those countless shades and phases.

The world is changing. Everything is changing with it. The old will die for the new, and the new will have their time eventually.

Lit by the evening, a lone boat stood, stalled from its original course by its captain. He stood hunched over the controlsï¿½curled, really, for fear, the way a hedgehog would curl at the threat of death, or the way a baby pulled its body close in the depths of its mother's womb. He was no baby, but he was young, and fledgling, and knew less of the world than he ought or needed to have.

"What was that?" he muttered, alert as a child awakened by a noise in the night.

"Turbulence, you dimwit," growled the stony-faced mentor behind him.

Carefully, he relinquished his clench on the rudder lever.

Merely a week ago had the boat changed hands. Clearly enough from his steering, the man at the wheel was not a professional. He had come to the door of the company a few months ago, stacks of hope in his eyes, all ready to be squandered in a go at that doorway. But there had been no qualifications beneath him, that could have granted him a better chanceï¿½only unfounded words, of two years at the helm of a small whaling boat.

Sceptical about his aptitude, the managing committee of the service had made plans to keep him off the service as long as they could. No use putting a rookie up at the helm; that'd kill some passengersï¿½and the companyï¿½sooner than the king's necromancers would.

But fate had its demands, and it lowered its hand as it always did, and the captain began to ail too soon for anyone's reckoning. His joints started acting up, something to do with his strenuous work and the stress it posed. And all too soon, he was too frail to handle three flights a night. As such, Onnex, current captain and owner of the service, had taken up this last task of training the young man for the job.

Captain Norda Onnex, one of the most visionary men in the grand scene of the revolution. Defiant for ten years and counting.

They wheeled through the wind, the golden sky whizzing by the windows of the navigation room, gleaming in the dials and levers. The young man swung wildly and yelped his tenth cry of the minute, hanging madly onto the grip poles. Captain Onnex, finally exasperated, kicked the leg of the map table to make his anger known.

"Pay attention! There are deadlines to keep!"

Nodding his fervent agreement, the youth reached for the thrust lever and yanked it. The boat listed suddenly as it picked up speed, throwing both against the right wall.

"The rudder, boy! Get the rudder! Don't you know how to multitaskï¿½"

A siren call from the far bank broke his sentence in two.

Like sunlight fading at the start of an eclipse, the fury suddenly drained out of Captain Onnex. He glanced up, eyes growing greyer.

Ellinia had come into sightï¿½Ellinia, and shadows, those shadows, shifting in the branches, gleaming here and there with flashes of flaming-carmine.

Captain Onnex knew what those red lights were.

They had been anticipating him. And here in the bare black sky, he had nowhere to hide.

They were waiting, burning staves lit, and huge black cylindrical objects with their barrels pointed their wayï¿½

Boom.

A flower of brilliant, sparkling red-and-black flashed from across the mile. A black metal mass was bulleting towards them, red flame glittering and spiralling on its tail, expanding as it whistled closerï¿½a paper-thin sound that grew higher, higher, into a screamï¿½

The tiny vessel began to swerve. The young captain was panicking. Sweat adorned on his brow while he tugged at every lever within his shaking reach.

As it turned out, the young navigator didn't know how to multitask. The rudder went unchecked again. To the mercy of the winds it was cast, and the ship began to spiral and bank deliriously, wind tearing through the windows while the passengers in the cabin screamed and clutched at the windows, banging on the walls and begging to be let outï¿½

Boom!

No one could do anything this time. The projectile rammed straight into the nose of the ship, shattering the window, caving the entire wooden bow inwards, spitting its flames onto the wooden walls so the sparks began to creep up the dry wood, expand into an inferno, consuming the bow with dark wrath.

The two captains were the first to go. The cannonball connected with the younger's forehead, sending him barrelling into the wall behind, skull caved in like the front of the ship, blood raging down his shattered lip. The older was then instantly engulfed by the flame, and in its dark embrace he burnt alive, while the pyre surged hungrily on to devour the rest of the boat.

Leaving their passengers trapped. To burn to death, or to scramble through the windows and leap into the frigid winter ocean that would be their doom anyway.

The king had grown tired, so tired of this game. Things had been running downhill for his campaign ever since the first mention of this mysterious guild. They had come into being somewhere in the depths of Ossyria, and since then had blazed their little trail across the regions, reputation growing with each passing month.

The real disaster had come upon the woodcutters in Leafre. In a day, the entire force had been massacred, all their equipment destroyed. Only their young spokeswoman had been spared.

And suddenly, every curse and every sort of bad news seemed to be pouring in onto his desk.

Your Highness,

Xelion Narias, Captain Necromancer Guard of the Dead Mines, was found dead and locked into the Mines with his own blade at his heart. He failed in his duty, and allowed all 325 of your Mines prisoners loose. That is no doubt the cause of his suicide.

Forty members of the company posted to El Nath perished alongside. The Mines and El Nath regions are unchecked and vulnerable.

Ilden Shore

Captain Necromancer Guard of Orbis

The day had been the coldest of the winter so far. Aismeth had been in a bad mood, and along with having to deal with the death of one of his most gifted servants, Caleix had had to appease her with promises.

On that day, that day of slippery frost and bone-biting cold weather, he remembered clearly the feeling of that measly piece of paper crumpling in his hand. Till now, he recalled the mental note he had made, to promote a member of Shore's platoon to Captain Necromancer Guard of the Dead Mines.

But a month downï¿½a new message had come that changed everything. All over again.

Your Highness,

Captain Shore just let the reported guild slip through his fingers, yesterday morning around noon. He claims that they leapt off the edge of the city, and that he could do nothing about it.

I don't believe his tale. I believe this calls for demotion.

Leta Alcan

Leader of Orbis Squad II

That was the thing about his guards, necromancer and non-necromancer alike. Clumsily cobbled together from the mass of recruits that had defected to the castle's side. The members of each unit were constantly ready to stab each other in the back, ready to rise and to take out the ones above them.

Caleix threw himself against the backing of his cushioned study room chair, all his breath slipping through his lips. Again. Escaped again. From the most cruel of my servants. A great dread came to his eyes, and he glanced across the room at the housekeeper woman now preening herself in her hand mirror.

If only it were as hard for you.

Things had been plummeting for a while after that note. But now, as he swept wearily through his letters, he unearthed a neat envelope. Its neatness heartened him. Only good news came in such heartfelt packaging.

Your Highness,

Operation Moonlight has been successful. The illegal boat service belonging to Mr. Norda Onnex has been neutralised, and the aforementioned owner executed.

Regards,

Esharo Hesprel

For this note alone, the tired king found he could allow himself to slacken his jaw and unclench his fist. Norda Onnex and his despicable boat service. Enemy of more than a decade.

The grey lines on his hand unfolded, and the afternoon light shone across his palm.

Neutralised, at last.

This would have been cause enough to celebrateï¿½two years, five years back. But times had changed beyond reckoning. What had been victory then was only necessity now. He couldn't rest in his laurels. Every moment, they were gaining on him, worming through the minute holes in his shield that had not been seen till now. This little band of infidels with far too much talent to be quelled.

Suddenly, where his monarchic and military power had once been all-encompassing, undisputable, he was being shown for all his errors. Shown to the people as flawed. Fallible. Fragile.

He felt it, that sense of a force beyond his graspï¿½of change coming upon him, a great tide he was only helpless to turn. He was no longer at the top of things, no longer the commander of his life. Ironic, considering the power he held over those beneath him.

Caleix knew he had to step up his gameï¿½a game that had grown so tiring, so horrible, so endless. Everything was spinning, spiralling, out of his grip. If he lost this game, he would die. He had to win, or he would disappear. A game for his life.

And for that victory to come safely within his grasp, a few things had to be done.

Ilden Shore,

You are spared of your folly, this one time. Also, beware Leta Alcan; she holds you in ill regard. I do not doubt she isn't alone.

The guild seems to have fled, but there is a chance they are still on Orbis. This is my next order: step up your defence around the stations. Station all as many guards at the loading bay as you can afford. This guild is not returning to Victoria, and neither is the Spear.

Caleix

And a final crucial task, before he could rest (but did rest exist for him anymore?)ï¿½a little task that had been conceived in this very study a month and a half ago.

Well done, Mr. Hesprel. I am proud to have named you my new Guard Captain.

Do you remember what I instructed, a month ago, when we sat in my study and discussed these first inklings of an uprising? That uprising is stirring right now, and you must hamper its fruition as best you can. Do what I suggestedï¿½find them at all costs. The funds are at your disposal.

They are a potential rallying forceï¿½and the people shall not have that opportunity to rise.

Caleix

Folding the letter in two and leaving it no more ornamented, no less plain, he passed it to his ever-present housekeeper Aismeth, who took it and called a messenger on his behalf.

So King Caleix reclined in his cushy study-chair, breathing deeply and observing the elaborate carvings in the doorway's arch. This was all a king ever did, wasn't it? Sit in his ornate chamber high above the dust. Wait for his people to complete his commands, or to fail. Demote the ones who failed. Enjoy life.

Enjoy life had long disappeared off the list. Maintaining his position as the tyrant who gives nothing back to his country was a wearying jobï¿½people were always out to harm him, to kill him, to put him out of existence. The vast guild Nightfall had come the furthest so farï¿½and here, now, there had appeared another guild that might come even further.

A full revolution was on its brink. It was the rule of the world, after all. Nothing was permanent as long as it was not perfect, and change would come by itselfï¿½change, which purged the world of the old and unwanted, so that the new could take root, and perhaps create something better.

And yet, here, he was struggling to defy this current. Tightening his iron grip. Suppressing the masses with military force and terrorism.

It's really no wonder they hate me.

But why do I not do anything to change it?

His forehead wrinkled with a small frown. He couldn't allow anything else from the room of his mind show through.

Because I can't.

deities' council

"A wonderful job, Arelyn, Ayris, Kalia," murmured the Goddess. She raised her glowing gaze to the sky as they bowed their acknowledgement. "And so it comes to me. It is my turn to assist Orion's Belt."

lanorï¿½: whales

"Did you know that whales like songs?" murmured Lanorï¿½ sadly, to the girl in the bed beside which she kneltï¿½clothed in pink, on the brink of another long sleep. She swept a hand across the Cleric's forehead, pushing her brown hair from her face. "I met them on the journey. They live in the halls at the bottom of the sea, singing questions to the world on the other side. And when the tides carry the voices far away, their friends in the wide ocean will sing their replies."

Clynine's lips curved slightly. "Was it fun down there?" she whispered vaguely. "It hurt so muchï¿½for meï¿½"

"Oh, fun? Yes, it was fun," answered the legendary Archmage, pulling the soft white blankets of the inn over the girl's chin. "You remember how it was like, years ago? That day when we fell into the ocean from a burning ship, and a whale saved us. He's dead now, you know? It's sad, how the kindness we once knew can vanish without us feeling a thingï¿½"

But her eyes were shut, and she whispered not a word in answer. Maybe she was dreaming of whale songs now. Lanorï¿½ wished the girl a quick recovery, and left the room.

ralinn: indomitable

Again and again, her eyes drowned in the text on that plain yellowing leaf.

The Spear accords the wielder power immeasurable, power so vast that almost no one in the world, save a talented few, has strength enough to contain its rage. Finding one with the ability to do so is as likely as flipping a coin and having it land on its edge.

There might be no one to wield the Spear of Heaven. No one to master its strength.

All this while, she had believed that the Spear was the key. Get the Spear, and use it to kill the king.

But now she knew the Spear might not murder King Caleix.

The Spear might murder the one who raised it against him.

orion's belt: the interim

So the ancient weapon's parts were reunited, after millennia of being scattered across Ossyria. On the evening after their small victory, Ralinn had gathered everyone in her room to witness the event. In their presence, she had joined the parts togetherï¿½Spearhead to Neck, Neck to Shaft, Shaft to Shardï¿½in what should have been the most triumphant moment of Orion's Belt's existence since its completion.

For moments, they had gazed upon that single, blinding, graceful piece of weaponry, and stared in soundless awe. The weapon that every Dragon Knight's spear had been fashioned in the image of. The one that had scattered the Darkness and incapacitated the Goddess.

But when Ralinn had succumbed to its power, suddenly, and collapsed with burnt fingers and drawn-out screamsï¿½off to Clynine's room it had been again. For an hour it had lain untouched on Ralinn's floor, burning black marks into the parquet, before finally being broken apart with Zethis' Judgment tied to the end of Ketara's Omega Spear.

Even now, though the room had been cleared and the parquet hurriedly repaired by the maintenance team, the Spear parts had continued to sing. Light, Darkness, Time, Life. Everyone could hear their songs twining into one, winding across the floor of Ralinn's room, under the gap of the door and into the corridors.

Ralinn's terrified understanding had been reiterated. "Almost no one in the world, save a talented few, has strength enough to contain its rage," she whispered, repeatedly, as she fell into deep dreaming.

The leader of Orion's Belt took two days to recover from her combined ills. Clynine was the heroine of the week. No one ignored her any more, and the ones who already knew her well showered her with praise. From the day Ralinn was discharged, the Mu Lung girl slept for five hours every afternoon. She never went outside, her frail body not ready for the coldï¿½but her friends stayed in to keep her company.

At long last, Raydan found himself beside the towering door of the Orbis potion shop, sweating and pantingï¿½but satisfied nonetheless. He could barely conceal the triumph from his features, as he kicked the front door open and strode insideï¿½it had taken ten minutes of confident walking, and twenty minutes of getting lost.

The Sniper's gaze shot across the room, from left to right and back again. It quickly became apparent that this wasn't a normal potion shop: the shelves were infinitely neater than those of the earthy shops in Victoria Island, unruly from the countless times the guards had come to ruin the wares, the thousands of times the shopkeepers had had to rebuild their collections from scratch.

The shopkeeper, though, was the most special thing about it.

The Sniper slipped eagerly to the counter front, digging in his pockets for the fee but all the while maintaining his attention upon her. His gaze was trained upwards, for above the counterï¿½yes, aboveï¿½floated the heavenly shopkeeper Edel upon white wings. She was tending to the upper shelves at present with a feather duster that looked like it had been bought before the Sniper had been born.

The youth attempted to keep his eyes to himself, failing miserably. The fairy dusted like a dream, her figure shockingly pleasing to his eyes. He leant forward. She floated in midair, almost high enough such that he could see under herï¿½

Edel whirled around in a flurry of dress cloth and red pigtails, and shrieked. "Oh, oh! Sorry!" exclaimed the fairy with wide eyes, fluttering down.

"They don't call you fair folk for nothing," Raydan promptly answered, leaning in with a smooth smile. "Soï¿½are youï¿½taken?"

She reddened. "Uh, Iï¿½" her answer began, then she shook her head and got straight back on task. "Anything I could get for you?"

"ï¿½Ah, right," he murmured dejectedly, abandoning his attempt. "Tickets? Ten tickets, please?"

Edel was quiet, her eyes glassy for seconds.

Thinking he had not understood, Raydan repeated his request. "Ten tickets for the boat service?"

"The service has been discontinued," came her answer, in a cold whisper. Raydan felt his heart sink like a stone in a pond. "There will be no more trips. Our founder went down with our last boat. The company has been forced to disband."

"D-discontinued? Disband? What?" At this point, he totally forgot to be pleasant. Perhaps the only reason he was flustered was that he had just failed his first important mission since the yeti-reining. But at the same time, Raydan knew precisely what all this implied. Their journey home had just become ten times more tedious.

By now, Edel had already resumed her dusting, sparing him no more attention. What an impression I must have made. The Sniper sighed a thank you and turned to leave.

ralinn: all's fair in love and war

Ralinn was scribbling out an essay. Today she had a clear mind from sleep, and was well into her third paragraph, her old pen starting to get scratchyï¿½when a knock made her leap from the bed. Brushing her essays quickly aside, she raced to the door to welcome her visitorï¿½

"Oh, you certainly are early today," exclaimed the young woman when she found herself face-to-face with Shirion. "We aren't meeting till two-thirty!"

He smiled gently back and touched her wrist. "It's good manners to be punctual," he whispered with a small smile. "Are you feeling alright now?"

"Iï¿½think so. I owe Clynine so much." Her gaze grew dark, suddenly. "And I owe Akera a good arrowing."

Shirion seemed surprised. "It wasï¿½done in anger," he tried, but the Ranger was unmoved. "She wasï¿½she doesn't hate you, Ralinnï¿½"

But now was not a time for thoughts like these, and Ralinn saw the invitation to drop the subject in his eyes. He hesitated for moments, and the woman smiled, beginning to feel a strange pressure in his fingersï¿½

It was then that the Crusader attempted to kiss his guild leader. It was an attempt doomed to fail from the startï¿½even as the warrior leant through the doorway, Ralinn's reflexes caught hold of her entire stunned self, and swung her quickly aside.

The shock took mere seconds to dissipate. "Seriously!" exclaimed the woman as Shirion gave a yell of alarm and tried to steady himself. She began to giggle. "You really think you'll catch me?"

"I wonder why I allow you to bully me like this," muttered Shirion. "I said 'please' alreadyï¿½"

"And I said 'no thank you'." She grinned, savouring the despair on his face. "My mother always said it's safest to avoid commitment until you're absolutely certain."

"And you're notï¿½certain?" he answered, hurt. "I meanï¿½I'm certainï¿½I meanï¿½"

She went still, eyes widening as the words began to make sense. "Youï¿½are?"

And here he was, being bold again. The Crusader reached out to brush her cheek, smiling in a way that must have been involuntaryï¿½for the sensible, lucid Shirion wouldn't allow himself to display such an expression.

"Linnï¿½I love you, and though I cannot prove it to you, I can tell you it is soï¿½" His fingers slipped to her shoulder, and slowly the touch turned into an embraceï¿½the Ranger, bewildered till then, returned it with surprising willingness.

"So what after this?" he asked as he drew mournfully away, and something of a gentle regret flooded his eyes.

"After what?"

"After all this ends. Don't say it won't, Ralinn," he said. "When it ends, and we free the world, and everyone has what is rightfully theirs, us included, what will youï¿½?"

"We," the guild leader interjected, closing a hand around his. "What will we do? And I know the answer to that, Shirion, if only you'd let meï¿½" She paused. Her gaze drifted to the ceiling, and she let herself laugh. "When all this ends, and we're free again, I will marry you. And we will live together, in a quiet suburb on the outskirts of Henesys."

She turned away when the Crusader's eyes widened. "But it won't really happen that way, will it?" she went on, growing almost as sad as her companion. "Real stories don't end that way. Those endings are only found inside books."

But he heard it not, only took her shoulders and placed a kiss on her forehead. "We can still dream," he answered. "Because that's all we have for now. Until it endsï¿½"

Three hard raps on the door chose this moment to interrupt. Both quickly sprang out of their reverie, hearts pounding from disappointment.

"I'm sorry," Shirion whispered suddenly, somewhat angry at himself. Ralinn shook her head with a smile as he let go, proceeding to the door. She was surprised to find Clynine waiting outside with bright eyes.

"Two thirty!" exclaimed the woman with a sigh, welcoming the Mu Lung girl into the room. "Is it customary to be half an hour early for a meeting?"

orion's belt: the last outpost

"It's gone!"

"What do you mean, gone? It can't be goneï¿½"

"It closed down! It's not my fault!"

So the meeting was begun by Raydan's disappointing news. And no one took it wellï¿½Ralinn the least of all. What to do now? The boat's failure to exist had thrown practically the entire schedule off, and his sister made no effort to conceal her despair.

What a way to begin, she must have been thinking. It was plastered all over her face and burning in her eyes.

"Right. Alright," muttered the guild leader as she straightened her thoughts. Trying to look like she knew what to do, even if she didn't. "The plan was supposed to be like this: we take the boat, get across the sea in secret, find ourselves a place to prepare for our infiltration. But wellï¿½we're having problems with stage one."

Raydan rose to his feet on the bed. "I propose we swim there!" he exclaimed. This was met, rather suitably, by a chorus of groans. Even Zethis groaned. "What? That's the best idea so far!"

"How about stowing away again?" said Akera, cutting the Sniper off before he could make more bad suggestions. She caught Ralinn's gaze with her own, deliberately and poisonously. "This turn of events has made us so desperate that I wouldn't put stowing away beyond us."

Guild members glanced at each other. As far as they were concerned, this idea was just as bad as Raydan's, and just as likely to succeed. Who could ignore the surge in guard numbers at Orbis Station over the five days they had waited? It had something to do with the guild's little stunt at the tower top. Orion's Belt may have escaped at the garden, but they wouldn't be escaping the city. There was no way they would be slipping through the gates, past the checkpoint, into a potato crate and onto the ship completely undetected.

For an immeasurable time, the room was cold. Turino and Telida stared at Ralinn. Raydan, Zethis and Ketara stared at Akera the genius. Lanorï¿½ and Clynine glanced at each other. The despair that pervaded the spaces between everyone was impassable.

Finally, a thoughtful, solitary voice smashed through the glassy quiet.

"Iï¿½might actually have a way."

They turned in unison to Lanorï¿½'s offering of hope, eyes glittering in anticipation. "Yes?" said Ralinn. "Please do share; if you don't have a solution, then no one does."

Akera seethed openly at this commentï¿½but Ralinn didn't acknowledge it. To her, Akera didn't exist anymore.

"Please?"

Lanorï¿½'s idea raised a discussion. That discussion lasted two hours. Suggestions and ideas were thrown to the floor by everyoneï¿½from Zethis to Raydan, from Ralinn to Lanorï¿½ herself. Ideas were picked; others were rejected. The guild leader rounded up with a summary. By the end, everyone knew what they were about to do.

Orion's Belt soon finished packing the contents of their inn rooms into their carriersï¿½clothes and papers into sling-bags, haversacks, money bags, weapons strapped to belts, rooms swept for loose mesos and fountain pens. All too soon, they were returning their keys outside the inn, the counter girl managing to extort another smile from her sweetheart Ketaraï¿½Telida's deadly glare forced her to suffer her heartbroken triumph alone.

As they trooped up the marble stairs, they took up their default groupings. Ralinn led the pack; Ketara and Raydan chattered right behind her, trying to drag the twins into their conversation; Zethis and Clynine fell into step side by side next, attempting not to shift too close to each other, Lanorï¿½ nudging the girl subtly towards the boy. And dithering far behind was lonely Akera.

No one noticed that her eyes had lost their blaze, that her gait was lifeless. Her pale robes trailed on the stairs, her footsteps dragging.

No, no one cared. Perhaps they saw nothing but a stunt for attention. After all, when hadn't Akera tried to draw eyes to herself? It was the reason for her explosive anger, wasn't it? The reason she screamed, and when she wasn't screaming, the reason she tried to impress her intellectual superiority upon everyone.

These ideas had been spread by none other than the guild leader herself. But what guilt was there in taking them up, in maligning Akera? Shehad tried to murder Ralinn. The proof was there for everyone to seeï¿½those puncture marks spotting her neck, healing pink and livid, malevolent wounds that Clynine's magic couldn't conceal.

But there was another story, the story that Akera could never tell anyone, without contempt. And she couldn't do anything about it, but hold her own. Stand her ground. Pretend it didn't matter. No one would understand that it hurt her just as much as it did Ralinn, after allï¿½she was unwounded. Her facade was delusive pristine. No one would ever see her soul, flayed into deformity, scorched black.

This scar of sin, that would never be erased.

No one knew that she had cried even more than Ralinn had. A heart of fire beating in a chamber of ice. Even more vulnerable, even readier to shatter, than that of the woman who was an unwavering huntress at heart.

cetina

The bottom of the rain-soaked abyss was flooded with echoes.

A stray shaft of light sifted, sifted through the depths, down from the world above, down past the stony overhangs and the swaying coral.

From the bed, Cetina glanced up.

Something in this light was lovely, drawing her in. She wanted to reach out and cradle it. She danced in a slow circle around the blue patch of light glowing on the rocky seabedï¿½but it asked for more.

Come up, it whispered, like the sprites of the rivers, but more melodious and more distant. Come up, where the people play. Come!

orion's belt: the tower to the sea

Up outside, the city of Orbis was frightfully empty. The pale streets glimmered for their eyes, deserted. Had news spread? Had all the guards left to blockade the ferry terminal?

Because that was what they were banking on. Their belief that the ferry was the only way to Victoria Island.

"Our chance is temporary. Soon, they'll start searching for us. And then we'll have every single guard in Orbis on our tail."

But as they raced down the streets, they found only emptiness awaiting them; even the citizens had grown afraid of the swell in guard numbers, and had locked themselves indoors. The familiar Tower of Orbis rose into view, stark and tall and quite glorious. Paces quickened, the path still clear. The single door grew nearer, nearer, almost shivering with the suspense, innocuously grey in the white wallï¿½

At this juncture, an uneasy calm swept over Orion's Belt. Their route had been miraculously clear so far, and there was something discomforting about walking in the open in one of the king's most heavily-guarded cities, fully armed and conspicuous, without being caught. And when you weren't immediately attacked in a location that made you vulnerable to attack, something far worse had to be on its way.

Disregarding this fear, for she knew there was no choice, Ralinn's fingers touched the door handle.

The rest nodded, full faith in their eyes. "Here goes," murmured the guild leader.

With a click, the metal door swung open, and the entrance was theirs for the taking.

The curtains of shadow fell away, dim sunlight flushed in, setting their eyes alight with that nervous anxiety of a something about to begin. The silence met their earsï¿½and instantaneously, everyone frozeï¿½their senses engulfed, swarmed by the malice.

Ralinn gasped at a telltale flashï¿½Orion's Belt only had a few moments to register everythingï¿½

"That's Orion's Belt. Our target."

Suddenly, the stairs were alive with the knocking of metal, the throaty breathing of men ready for murderï¿½and everyone saw, the soldiers lining up behind the stairs, ready to chargeï¿½

Ralinn found her feet locked.

"Oh, Goddess," she mutteredï¿½and one thing struck her, above all else: she couldn't let them contact the main force. Her gaze darted back. "Someone, lock the door and melt the lock. Quick."

Silence.

"Lock the door! Do it!"

A kick from Telida now sent the door banging shutï¿½she twisted the rusty key in its hole; a thin blast of flame from her brother's staff saw the lock dripping molten.

The stones now shivered under their feet, as the boots of guards gathered paceï¿½and Ralinn gave a short glance at everyone else, waiting for a commandï¿½when it suddenly struck her that she was the leader, that she had to give a call for attackï¿½but her throat was dry, her lips were numbï¿½

It was Shirion who took the jump. As the wave of guards began to break, heï¿½ever the brave one, the commander, the lion with mahogany hairï¿½raised his sword, bared his teeth, bellowed:

"Forward!"

The guild rallied behind her, behind himï¿½and together they charged down the stairs to meet their adversaries: this very last fight for their homeward journey.

Everything came in stunted bursts, thenï¿½so many shadows. Ralinn's eyes swivelled left and rightï¿½from below, armoured bodies thundered up the stairs, and the three warriors flew down it to meet the onslaught. She found that it was so difficult to pierce the darkness; all too soon, though her heart was not ready for battle, she felt her bow's leather grip in her fingers. And that was all she hadï¿½the arrows were flickering, hard to aim in the shadows but lethal like bullets. She could not shoot blindly, or she would wound a friend.

Cutting metal twanged at her fingers, time after time after time. The clamour was oppressiveï¿½swords and maces smashing into metal somewhere below, lightning crackling. Then there were stars, slicing bowstrings. Her own arrows shattering against armour. Sharp rainbow flashes far below her. Close by, the three warriors advanced, striking and flicking helmets off heads, or were those heads off shoulders? The four mages stood behind the wall that the warriors formed, sending deafening explosions outwards.

All too suddenly, Ralinn found her brother and his sturdy crossbow beside her. With a grin she called over, panting and stumbling down the first steps with another four arrows in hand. He received her arrival with a short bout of teasing, though he never fell off task. "Faster, Linn!" he exclaimed at the sound of sister's voice. "Faster! Lazy slug!"

Together they dashed down the next third of the stairs, side by side, and every few seconds they whirled in synchrony to take another guard down with burning projectiles.

"Not bad, but I'd say your aim's getting worse!" Raydan grimaced playfully. The Ranger shot him a stare of disparagement. A guard presently came crashing up the stairs towards them, ending their conversation prematurelyï¿½both whirled to face the threat with no seconds to spare.

"This guy's mine!" cried the Ranger, and before Raydan could reach for another bolt, she had taken aim with her quartet of arrows, cried, "Arrow Rain!",and let the glowing shafts soar. The guard took three in the face, and with blood spurting from therein and a wave of guilt on Ralinn's part, he rolled down the stairs to be claimed by the cacophony of weapons.

The Ranger took a sweeping glance across the field of guards to survey their situation, realising with a surge that there were no necromancers.

"Let's go, Dan, we're the furthest from all theï¿½hey! Wait!"

Her brave little brother had already gone down the last third of the stairs. Some way beyond, the mages burned through the mass of soldiers, Clynine's green healing light flashing every now and then. Ralinn took a head-spinning breath when she realised she had not been healed by Clynine yet. It was because she hadn't been wounded.

Who knew how many wounds the people at the forefront had already taken? Lanorï¿½, Clynine, Shirionï¿½

She traced Raydan, and the arrows were in her fingers before she knew it, sweaty fingers that wouldn't relinquish their grips just yet. Her gaze stayed faithfully upon her brother's backï¿½keep following, don't let him out of your sightï¿½and she followed him, bow held high, in guardianship of the blonde youth who was only a boy in her eyes.

The front advanced, in unceremonious flashes of light. Zethis was the first to arrive at the door at the bottom, and he flung it open, panting deeply for life again. "Go, go!" cried Ralinn, ushering the rest through the door, shoving some through, before following herself. They continued to descend, the wind in their feet, the remaining thirty-odd guards chasing and flinging spears at them, spears that shot by their heads and splintered with blinding force against the white marble.

Their fight ceased, and the chase began. Fighting was needless. The guards were just as wounded as Ralinn's guild members, but they didn't have a Cleric on their sideï¿½

"Clynine!" cried Lanorï¿½, catching the girl as she stumbled, abruptlyï¿½fell back against her mistress, who had been running just moments ago. Pale and shivering, beads of sweat rising to her forehead, she murmured something soft. The woman answered, equally quietlyï¿½and struggled to bring her to stand. But the efforts were in vain. Clynine was losing grip.

A Resurrection, two days of constant Dispellingï¿½and now all this Healing in the thick of battle. She had done the most she could. Far more than she need have. But for now, she was out for the count. And the fact was that the most crucial member in the team had just become a load.

"Alright, guysï¿½can we make it without her?" Akera's quick response cameï¿½heartless, but always the one with the contingency plan. "Is anyone still wounded?"

No one responded initially. Then: "Myï¿½shoulder," said Ketara simply, gesturing at an arrow that had lodged itself deep into the joint, at the wet waterfall of blood trailing from the wound down his armour and shirt, staining his side to his waist.

Everyone seemed stunned. Enough blood loss, and that wound would kill him.

Akera looked exasperated. "I don't believe you!" she gasped. "Why didn't you get thathealed first?"

"Well, it's too late now, isn't it?" snapped Ralinn in response, coming between her and the Dragon Knight. "Ketara, don't pull that arrow out, whatever you do. Thank goodness it's on your left shoulder. I want you to fight as little as you can, alright?"

"Whatï¿½butï¿½"

"That's a bad wound," Ralinn went on forcefully. "If you move it too much, you're going to lose enough blood to die. And Clynine's not around to help you. You only have this much blood to spend before she wakes up."

The protest came to the warrior's eyes almost instantly. "B-but! I can stillï¿½"

"Listen to her!" screamed Telida suddenly, appearing to the Dragon Knight's right, gripping his uninjured arm, staring fierily into his eyes with her own teary ones. "Listen, alright?"

For Telida, there was nothing to fear in their flight from the guards. All her fear was here. It was apparent in her eyesï¿½those obsidian-dark eyes that wouldn't reveal any form of tenderness, but whose blade-like hardness had their own way of showing care. She fixed that gaze, now, upon the black-haired Dragon Knightï¿½a gaze so fierce it would have ripped flowers apart. "I'm not letting you die just because you didn't listen to her!"

"Ohï¿½alrightï¿½" He turned away. "Anything for you." Telida pretended not to hear anything.

The world spiralled about them, the stairs turning. Even Ralinn couldn't think anymore. How much she wished they could stop, just for a second. Stop to take stock of everythingï¿½bandage Ketara's wound, treat it with some potion, form a strategy, regroup, send a nasty gift backwards at their pursuersï¿½

But there was no time for that, because getting to the coast was everything now. Every second they spent here gave the guards a little more time to contact the main force, and for the main force to arrive at the bottom of the tower.

And this time, there would be necromancers.

Level fifteen. The wind had grown so full of taste, the taste of the snow and the rainï¿½and everyone was already beginning to stumble. But they were saved the need to think, for there was only a single continuous motion, a single direction.

Level fourteen. Stars were bursting in their vision. The doors repeated, and melded into a single impression in the mindï¿½they were echoes of each other, familiar from their upside-down counterparts in Deina's old world.

Deina, who is dead by now. Dead in a shattered mirror.

Xelion who must have died already. Despite his brilliance. Who was he, before the Darkness claimed him?

Horned Tail, who is dead as well, but with their father.

How many doors we open, how many doors we close. Or are they still open, waiting for us to return?

ï¿½

Everything is changing. Changing like the seasons of time.

No return for us. Just forward, forward forever.

Level ten. A moan echoed down the marble stairs, and then, an expired gasp, too easily-recognisableï¿½Ketara. The Dragon Knight could proceed no further; he was almost as white as the stones beneath, his eyes shut though they could see he was trying to smile.

His hand slipped around the arrow in his shoulder: his fingers came away red.

Before he could collapse, Telida had snatched him and pulled him upright. But he could not hold outï¿½and then she had him in her arms, her voice caming in tight shrieksï¿½begging him to stand, to get up, to not dieï¿½so desperate and terrified that Ralinn felt her eyes cloud up with pain. The thiefï¿½ever faithful to her friendï¿½knew that the battle was lost. She heaved his body over her shoulder as far as she could, snatching his Omega Spear away.

"Ketara!" the Hermit screamed again, tears racing unwanted down her cheeks, grip winding tighter around his arm even though she was already so deathly weary. "You'reï¿½not going toï¿½die on me!"

The Dragon Knight's head turned. "I'mï¿½so weak," he murmured from over the girl's shoulder. "Should I be embarrassed?"

"Shut up!" answered Telida.

He obeyed. After a brief battle against exhaustion, Ketara's eyes slipped helplessly shut. His blood was seeping down Telida's jacket, onto her shirt. She did her best not to look.

Come up, where the people play. They wait with blood and flowers.

Cetina fell into a slow dance, carefully peeling away from the meadow of coral, like a snowflake falling towards the sky, as the tiny tuna and puffer fish shifted away around her.

When the evening falls. When the sky has melted and flowed off the edges of the world.

We'll play together, and I'll say goodbye.

But you must go on, go where I seldom go.

Ten minutes later, the first inklings of a soft, low grumble began to resound from somewhere beneath them, a soft roar that echoed up the walls, swishing around the last staircase down which they now raced. Paces quickened, worn feet flying desirously across worn rocks. It drew them on, downwardsï¿½the sound of the ocean that turned the cold air balmy and tinged it with the scent of salt.

"Can you hear it?" Lanorï¿½ was all encouragement, as they descended like doves into the final level. She pressed her head to the door at the bottom of the stairs, her face unwrinkling with comfort, meditative somehow. Ralinn nodded. She smiled. Her hand reached to open it.

With a vast roar that exploded through the doorway, the sound of the sea rushed in Orion's Belt's faces. The waves were crashing and pounding all around them, flooding the empty stairwell. A breeze of warmth spread against their facesï¿½sea breeze.

Beneath the ledge at the edge of the stairs, the entire marble floor of level one was flooded, as if the sea had seeped through the door and claimed the level as a part of itself. The sight of the clear pooling saltwater brought everyone a wave of familiarity. Deina. Lyssa. The final chandelier glowed defiantly above themï¿½the last one in the tower, still clinging to its light. Like a letter from the Goddess.

They waded through the waves, one by one, feet sucked in occasionally by the current. Waves splashed against marble walls. Friends dragged each other forward. As they passed through the doorway, the sky bloomed like a forget-me-not above them, one of those flowers from the quaint gardens far awayï¿½blue from end to end, top to bottom. Beneath it, the ocean unrolled from their wet shoes to the rippling horizon.

Distantly, Ralinn listened. The sound of the guard platoon was still vibrating in the stones of the wall, but the gap had expanded. Enough.

"Alright. Stay until the signal," said Lanorï¿½ urgently, taking a surveying glance and lowering Clynine into Ralinn's arms. The finality, the fragility. Bending to remove her shoes, she pulled them off and pushed them deep into her bag, checking the zip. Then she took her first step into the water.

Splash.

The rest watched as the sea came to circle her ankles. Mouth thinly closed, eyes calm, she waded further, sea foam swirling around her bare feet, rising to take hold of her legs, her waist.

Twenty yards into the open, waist-deep, and she paused. A moment later, she plunged head-first into the water. Amidst a chorus of worried cries from the bank, Lanorï¿½'s face bobbed in the water, blonde hair plastered wet across her face and neck, blue robes blooming visibly beneath the current.

"Come!" she called distantly, voice constricted from the seawater and the cold.

"Hurry!" exclaimed Akera, wading out until she was almost as far out as Lanorï¿½ herself. The Fire Poison Mage plunged in, and her silver hair vanished into the icy green-blue of the sea.

Ralinn was seized with frightï¿½but her leadership compelled her to act first. She began her wade next, gripping Clynine's body closer, feet clamped with watery coldness. Her eyes fixed themselves on her two guild mates, far out in the sea, surrounded by the blue.

We need to do this, she thought. Now or never. Terror, or death.

She clenched her teeth, willing herself not to cry. Then the Ranger turned to face her guild mates, and jumped backwards, Clynine's brown hair fluttering out before her.

The freezing water came to grip her body. Splashing hopelessly in the cold for moments, her kicks gained purpose, and out she propelled herself, arms still embracing Clynine. Then the second jolt of sensation came, and her entire body went rigid in the icy current.

The other seven plunged in and followed, Shirion with his unconscious warrior friend slung over his shoulder, splashes and undulation of water signalling their arrivals. "Everyone here?" called Lanorï¿½, counting. With a nod, she gave a ruthless command to swim, and together they pushed forward along the current, kicking against the waves. Beneath them, the security of the shallows was gone. The shore slowly, slowly, slowly moved away. There was only water now.

Minutes of swimming brought them a mile from seaï¿½there Lanorï¿½ stopped. "This is far enough," she said, eyes never leaving the far shore. "We sing now."

As if searching for confirmation, the rest stared back at her.

"Sing. As loud as you can."

The Archmage herself closed her eyes, and began to sing. Something strangely familiar.

It was Deina's song, a song that everyone realised they had learnt before, long, long agoï¿½though exactly when, they couldn't remember. One by one, they joined Lanorï¿½ in their defiant battle against the howling wind.

"I might dream and weave and sing

And then you might know everythingï¿½"

Nothing was happening, absolutely nothing. In desperation, some gazes travelled back to the shore: where the coast beneath the white tower had once been deserted, it was now thronged, swarming with guards.

"Sing!" growled Lanorï¿½ again through gnashed teeth. She continued, in deep tonesï¿½some coughed, fighting the sea away.

"When cradles rise from shattered bones

And raise you up into the springï¿½"

Hmmmmï¿½ ï¿½ ï¿½

Gasps escaped from all members of the circle of drifters. Everyone could feel it, vibrating in their bones.

Suddenly, a vast shadow was beneath themï¿½and with it, another song, echoing monstrously through the dark waters.

"It's here," murmured Lanorï¿½, astonished somewhat, voice rising above the sound of their pounding hearts as the shadow rose from below. Gladly, she hummed a short calling melody. It hummed in response, slower, more melodiously. "Yes, this is the creature we're looking for."

Something bumped against her bare feetï¿½and Ralinn shrieked full-out. But in the sound of Lanorï¿½'s soothing voice, her terror ebbed, and slowly she entrusted her weight to the creature beneath her, feet slipped across the slimy surface.

It elevated her slowly, like a platform, its motion almost dizzying. "Lanorï¿½!" Ralinn's voice was a desperate rasp, her lips so salty it was almost revolting. "This is a whale?"

"Indeed. Whales, the creatures reputed to have saved countless lives, in the sea between Ellinia and El Nath. We met them first on our journey to Victoria, you know?" She smiled pleasantly. "They are wonderful, intelligent creatures. And quite sweet, too."

As if in response, a vast splash of water erupted from a blowhole in the black floorï¿½the whale's cry rose, like the horn of a ship about to begin its voyage. Lanorï¿½'s smile became a grin

Far away, the guards were running offï¿½no doubt searching for a vessel of their own, to begin a chase through the snowy waters.

dark lord: an open door

The sky was crackling with a storm, a storm that spread from the war-ravaged foothills of the Perion mountains to the rims of hollow Ellinia. Within the four clay walls that formed the cavernous abode of the warriors, the Dark Lord was nestled somewhere in the dust, between Dances with Balrog's old shelves.

"Never will you see neater shelves than mineï¿½my old secretary Ketara really knew how to work!"

The man flipped the thin blade a few times in his hands. The Perion Chief loved to mention his more outstanding warriors in conversation, but this boy the most. He noted now that there were scrolls scattered about his feet, a scattering of old pipe-weed making acquaintance with the precious texts.

Neater shelves than yours? The slender man chuckled inwardly, pulling his left sleeve back. His hand curled a little further around the blade, enough for it to bite into his fingers and leave pale scratches. This knife, it was thin as a tailor's thread-cutter, and barely as long as the palm of his hand. Not the kind of weapon you'd imagine to be utilised in murder.

He twisted it around once more, just to watch the firelight glance off its edge.

In the right hands, the most mediocre tool could steal the life of a man. And these weren't ordinary hands.

Beneath his black sleeve, his arm was pale, but his battle scars showed starkly through his pallor, white patches that couldn't be erased with the most potent chemicals. He sighed and glanced down at his wrist, down at the muscled arm beyond it.

Momentarily, the man fell into thought. This is the eye of the storm. The calm won't last. It's ending.

He tilted the tip of the slender knife, so it was at an inclination to his arm, searching with its point for a region where the blood vessels did not gather as thickly. Swabbed with spirits and heated over the fire, it wasn't clean enough. The blade could be lethal, laced with the poison of carelessness.

Because there was something years of injury had taught him. The lifeblood flowed everywhere. No part of the body was free of veins and arteries.

Nowhere is safe.

I must be careful. I must be ready.

He bit his lip, anticipating.

The burst of cold metal crossing a threshold was raging, excruciating; he struggled with the grip of his teeth to hold the cry between them.

dances with balrog: run

Across the months on this empty mountaintop, Dances with Balrog's caution had gradually dwindled to nothing. What had once been swift pre-dawn hunts had become thrice-daily gallivants. The stringent checks on the mountainside had turned into half-hearted glances. No guards today, so why should there be tomorrow? Why should there be in five months' time?

They behaved as if the entirety of Perion belonged to them, and they were the kings, spared by the scourge with a new world to rebuild. Such folly, knowing that the war had not even begun. But they were heedless; some of the warriors had even begun replanting their family gardens, and no doubt that the presence of green shoots in empty autumn land would give away the existence of civilisation instantly.

Deep in the shadows of the monolithic Warrior Sanctuary, the eleven thieves of Jet had decided to maintain a low profile. Living up to your reputation, I see, the chief of the ex-tribe thought. In your hearts somewhere, you're dying to go out into the open world again.

The chief, however, was not a person of care or caution. What was caution in an abandoned city, after all? What was caution to a warrior, one who swung axes and roared commands? Outside, ashes sailed by like old leaves. The guards believed that Perion was empty. They would not come.

And so it was by this flippancy that this day came.

The first drops of the storm had been pattering down upon the broken streets, and Dances with Balrog had called to his underlings, deciding from the colour of the sky that the rain would be hindering.

He had chosen unconsciously to enter the Sanctuary before his other warriors, because for one thing, he knew they weren't on very good terms with the thieves down in the basement, and for another, he sort-of remembered what Jet had said he would do while they were away. Something not so pretty.

So that was what Dances with Balrog was expecting to see when he came to the door, ajar, and pushed it.

He had about a moment to realise that he had forgotten to close the door. Which meant that the Warrior's Sanctuary would had been in full visibility to the guards for those two long hours, here at the crown of the tallest mountain in the Perion range.

And then there were hoarse bellows, and chains everywhere.

His instincts struck before his mind. He gave only one cry to the warriors outsideï¿½runï¿½and then he found himself wrestling hopelessly with ten men in clanging armour and a pair of black-charmed manacles, men jabbing him repeatedly in the shoulders with blades.

He saw his own blood explode, and watched the ground hurtle towards him and ram into his face, bare knees and shins scraping against the familiar earthy floor of his once-hidden home.

Someone moaned from ahead of him, amidst the glow of lava beneath the floor, as the guards dragged a dark struggling load from the corner and kicked it into their midst. Chains rattled against stone. There was no protest.

Dances with Balrog raised his gaze, clenched jaw shaking against his teeth. He was staring straight into the black eyes of the Dark Lordï¿½downed like a blackbird by an arrow, arms chained to his back, mouth bound shut by cloth.

ralinn: circle

The ocean was cold and flat, like a slate, the far horizon blurred black by storm. That storm, Ralinn figured, would destroy the guards' attempts to tail Orion's Belt. But just as likely, it would destroy them was the reason no one ever sailed between Ellinia and El Nath, after all.

With no more than a little wailing song, the whale had begun its voyage towards the other side of the sea.

"Keep us safe," she whispered, brushing the hide of the creature beneath her with a hand that shuddered numb in the cold. She could still feel the texture, senseless and throbbing as her fingers had becomeï¿½skin that was slimy with years of being drenched in the ocean, years of nurturing algae.

The leader of the guild watched as the world passed by and her precious guild mates began to huddle together in the middle of the whale's back. Akera and Turino held their staves together, tips lit aflame, the rest drawing close with hopeful eyes, as close as they could without getting burnt. Closing into a circle. Ralinn shifted as well and joined the circle, a little reluctant to depend upon the white-haired Mage, but too cold to argue against her need.

The warmth burst against her face as she slipped herself quietly into the circle, to the left of Turino. In the crackling orange heat she felt her clothes cease their clinging, her fingers gradually regaining sense. Others found their voices again, and the familiar sound of chatter against the alien roar of the sea was laden with comfort.

The Ranger glanced about, realising that to her left was Shirion. Shirion. Her stomach somersaulted. Her fingers wandered leftward to find the Crusader's handï¿½and when she did, they locked themselves with his.

Her eyes shifted to watch him. He looked so much gentler without his armour, in only a pale shirt, illusory blue in the deep evening. His hair flowed over his shoulders in brown waves she had never noticed were so beautiful. Warm brown, though the colours were thinned in the evening light. Its vividness wasn't hard to imagine. Brown like forests and El Nath cabins.

Shirion turnedï¿½and their eyes met most unexpectedly. Ralinn's breath escaped. He smiled back. His grip tightened.

Raydan decided to distract the rest with his laughter before Akera could notice. "We're alive!" he gasped into the sky, where lights were sparkling to life at eastern edge. "On a whale in the middle of the seaï¿½but alive!"

"Well, one of us won't be alive very soon!" Telida, desperately searching her bag till now, leered her answer before the rest could respond. Her jacket no longer lay across her shoulders. Wearing but a plain black shirt and close-fitting Hermit's leggings, ocean-damped olive hair tumbling over her shoulder, it was harder than ever to doubt her beauty. The Ranger smiled in memory. She had been scraggy and thin, back when they had found her, her snowy face so gaunt and ghostly that she had scared everyone in the incomplete guild. And devoid of any scrap of love.

Ralinn watched, a little guiltily entertained. Ketara would be alright, if only barely. It was Telida who would hurt more for it. Telida was searching for her potions, arranging them around her, picking the caps off the bottles, recklessly slopping their contents across the injured warrior's wound.

There were sighs from the circle around her. Three years ago, the thief had cared about no one and nothing. She had been a killer. The only person she had had a chance to love, the twin brother with the burning staff who sat forlorn beside the guild leader, had been no closer to her than the animals in the forest. Just another enemy.

Maybe she had been waiting for someone else. Someone she could love. But she had already voided her chances with that oath, hadn't she? She would never love anyone male again, and there were no females who could give her the sort of love she needed.

Why is everyone here so sad? It's like Dan and I have the happiest lives of all.

"Wake up, you idiot!" screamed the thief. Again it didn't wake him. The rest fell very silent. Zethis hugged his bundle-of-clothes closer. Lanorï¿½ had temporarily ceased watch over Clynine.

"Stupid guy! Stupid! Don't even think I'm going to start crying over you just because you're pretending to be dead!"

But everyone could see that she was crying. The tears sparkled across her cheeks, and the desperation in her eyes was palpable.

From the other side of the circle, Ralinn felt Turino tense up beside her and pull his knees a little closer. "Do you think she loves him?" whispered the Ranger. Turino's staff fire sank a little.

"Ketara! Don't be a jerk!" A little distant. "Stop doing this!"

The Fire Poison Mage didn't turn, staring out at the dimming ocean. "She doesn't have a choice, does she? She can't love him, or the Clock Spirit will kill her." He pulled his chin a little deeper into his lap.

"That's tough," was the only answer she found within herself.

Telida slapped Ketara repeatedly, as if it wouldn't bruise him no matter how hard she hit, as if it wouldn't hurt when he woke. Her ragged yells of idiot and wake up, accompanied with the snaps of her palm against his face, made it hard for the rest to focus on their food-scrounging.

Lanorï¿½ sat cross-legged beside her, chewing on a stick of seal jerky. "Give him a rest," murmured the Archmage, lowering the meat slice. "It's obvious he's out; you aren't doing him any favours by hitting him."

The woman's calm murmur was met by a caustic glare from Telida. The beginnings of a snarl rose in the Hermit's throat, and at the same time everyone braced themselvesï¿½ready for a barrage of retorts.

Yet that was not what followed. All it took was a glance at the slumped figure of the poor little Dragon Knight, limbs sprawled haphazardly over the whale's shimmering back. Telida was as silent as midnight. Then with a sigh that could have been a sob, she nodded once, and hugged her knees against the cold, refusing to look at Ketara any longer. Maybe she was angry; maybe it hurt too much.

Everyone was quiet for now, clawing for the remains of sodden old food from their bags without a word.

Ralinn's gaze wandered, half-consciously. Raydan was beside Lanorï¿½, who nursed Clynine quietly in her lap. Zethis leant over in concern; to his left sat Turino, carrying the torch. Telida was on Shirion's other side; she wasn't done with Ketara, it seemed. Then the last at the circle, between the unconscious Dragon Knight and Raydan, was Akera. Raydan and Lanorï¿½ were in a hushed conversation. Zethis had crawled closer to Clynine.

And the expression in Akera's flame-drowned eyes said nothing.

"Food?" inquired Shirion briefly, extending a hand that held a small packet of peanuts. Ralinn's gaze lingered upon the white-haired girl at the other side of the circle. She was watching themï¿½but the anger that should have been did not surface.

For a moment it was unfamiliar, and the Ranger wondered if she had truly done her horrible deed in blind insanity. But the memory of her needles drained these doubts away.

She took a peanut from the packet, remembering to smile imperiously at Akera.

akera: fire eyes

The cold of midnight spiralled in around them, and by then half the guild was curled in uncomfortable sleep. Peaceful as the night grew, with the whisper of a faraway storm, there was much tossing and turning there.

Lanorï¿½ stayed a little longer to find something warm and dry in which to wrap Clynine, certain she would fall very sick if she went unprotected. But the woman, too, eventually turned in before the twelfth hour.

At last, only two people were left awake. Akera found herself holding the staff to the night wind, defying it with determination. The flame crackled almost devilishly from the tip, strong enough despite her sorry state to warm everyone. Kept alive with the last emotion she felt: guilt.

Her head was swimming with ideas. Of ways she could run away when everything ended. Ways she could kill herself. Ways she could atone for her sins: somehow they all ended in death anyway.

When had she doomed herself like this?

"The cold will be too much without fire, won't it?" Turino's voice murmured across to the girl. She raised her gaze at the sound, suddenly alerted again to the mage's presence. It was uncommon to hear him speak, and his voice caught her fascination now. "Would just oneof us be enough to keep them warm?"

Akera frowned with disdain. "Are you asking me to stay up all night?"she answered, snappiness dulled by exhaustion.

Surprised, the male Mage glanced away into the sea, and the female couldn't help but notice the way his hair matched the night sky, blended straight into it. He had changed, somehow. Not as combative as before. A strange echo of herself. Was the weight of the past growing too heavy for him, just as it was for her?

"No, I meant you rest. I'll stay up."

Expectations shockingly unmet, she inspected his face, turned away in unnecessary self-consciousness. There and then, she realised vaguely: hadn't he always been there? Every single time Shirion had looked the other way, hadn't he been there, ready to give to her what the Crusader had not been kind enough to offer?

The one dark as night. The one who hid in the shadow, the one who waited quietly.

ï¿½I've tried so hard, so long, to cast him away. But he's the single person in the world who would forgive me. Why do I try to turn him away?

"I don't mind, in case you're worried about that."

Proper words failed the white-haired girl. "I'm sorry," she murmured, and suddenly her throat clogged up.

He didn't seem to notice. "You're still trapped, aren't you? By that thing you told me about last year, in the forest."

Akera instantly recalled what she had said to him then. Real pain, she had claimed in tears, is when you have no chances left, to erase what wrong you've done. She had felt those words fully last time, but only now did she understand their full weight.

Look at yourself now. You're better than that! Why can't you control yourself? Because you've submitted yourself to the certainty that you'll never redeem yourself? Because you're sure doing a little more wrong won't make things any worse?

Then, yet again, Turino did what no one else could. He held her gaze with those eyes the colour of nightï¿½and matched her in stubbornness.

"Forget about it." He sounded gravely tired. Their flames were descending; the cold was beginning to creep in. "You're always so hung up about things you can't change, always worrying. I frankly thought better of you."

"Well, that's unfair," snapped the Mage rapidly. "Things don't seem to be getting any better between you and your sister!"

"Things don't seem to be getting any better between you and the world."

There was an indignant silence for a little while, and a few wintry gusts through the ocean, which they fought by raising the fire a little higher. In it, strangely lonely at the sight of her quietly-sleeping guild mates, Akera realised that he might be her only friend left.

"I didn't mean to be harsh," he answered very quietly, the wind quickly coming to swallow his words.

Sudden and brief as a spark, Turino's gaze met hers. For a second, Akera felt as if she had been nailed to the spot, her eyes affixed to hisï¿½as if she were watching the night sky erupt with fireworks. There was something in his expression that was so fresh. So unlike her old sweetheart Shirion, who had always been perfect in her eyes, perfectly good.

It was disrespect. Dangerous disrespect. There was none of the politeness that characterised Shirion so well. He was wilder. Someone who dwelled outside the fence, while everyone else so obediently abided by it. Almostï¿½an escape.

Shirion didn't seem so wonderful anymore, did he?

Akera managed a smile, one that made the male Mage turn away. His staff flame was suddenly dazzling, throwing orange streams of light across the water for many feet in all directions.

"Go sleep," she whispered over her shoulder, and the tenderness in her voice came naturally.

Turino didn't budge. "I'm not sleeping before you," came his stubborn answer. Stubborn as the never-lifting shadows over the Dungeon.

"Yes, you are," she insisted, just as stubborn. Like the white rocks of Lith Harbour on the west coast of Victoria Island. Here they engaged in an unspoken battle of glares, but then his black gaze grew too fierce and eventually she gave in, lowering her staff slowly as her flame wisped into nonexistence.

"If you want to suffer the entire night, so be it."

As Akera lowered herself to the cold back of the whale, she caught a glimpse of her fellow Fire Mage's tired but victorious smile. And to her surprise, it didn't make her sore to know she had conceded defeat.

celel

Celel Adara lowered her papers and brushed the mess on her tabletop aside. The corridor outside her office door was suddenly full of echoes, clumsy footsteps on wood and cries of someone she didn't know.

Whoï¿½the hellï¿½? No one said anything about a visitorï¿½how rudeï¿½

It almost surprised her, then, when one of Captain Shore's messengers burst through her door onto her gleaming parquet floor, red from breathlessness. She couldn't forget that hexagonal badge: a hexagon, a snowflake.

"Where are your manners?" she snapped.

The messenger briefly bowed. "The message is urgent," he muttered. Before she had a chance to reprimand him, he had already begun delivering his message. "Orion's Beltï¿½the guild last sighted in Orbisï¿½departed for Ellinia five days agoï¿½on a whale! They could be here any timeï¿½and you must preventï¿½"

"Whale? Who, the band of rebels? Those ten kids?"

Three rapid nods.

She stood abruptly. "What happened to Ilden's stepped-up defence? They got away on a whale?"

She didn't wait for an answer. Celel's mind had been kicked into high-gear; she was already busy formulating a follow-up plan in her mind. This was a test, and her response to the guild's arrival would be crucial to the king's assessment of her skill. I cannot fail. I cannot let them through. I must guard my coast like a dragon guards her pearlï¿½

But something about this guild made her nervous, very nervous. They had driven Xelion Narias to suicide. The greatest necromancer of all.

No, no matter. He was unlucky, and unprepared. We have more to our disposal. More resources, and more time.

Celel dismissed the messenger before her with but a single, forceful gesture. "Go back to Ilden, and tell him I won't fail the way he did," called the captain after him. He vanished, with bowed head and squared shoulders. "Alio, I have a job for you."

At his desk, her olive-haired spokesperson snapped to attention. Captain Adara fixed her eyes upon his.

"Find that guard who calls himself a whale hunter. Tell him we need his help. If he accepts, take him here, to my office, immediately."

ethiel: endless as the night

The prison cart and its dark horses vanished, at last, into the jaws of the next valley. There they stood, quiet as midnightï¿½eleven thieves with nothing left in the world for them except the friendships of over a decade.

Their Haste-lightened footsteps grew clumsy and fell out of rhythm, decelerating rapidly into silence.

"I mean it. It's a lost cause," gasped Lawrence, faltering to a stop.

Pan was the fastest to protest. "But we can't justï¿½"

Erin's eyelids snapped shut against the winter cold. Images flashed by. The Dark Lordï¿½leaping from a secret rafter just as the heist was turning sour. The Dark Lord, dashing the windows open so he could perform his magic. Throwing off the air duct cover, his multi-bladed dagger flashing. Always there.

As he spoke, she could see how Pan Ixora Ethiel's eyes dimmed. This race was doomed to kill them. They would either run until they had saved himï¿½or until they could run no longer.

"I never once imagined I'd even consider itï¿½abandoning our Dark Lord." Erin heard Claire mutter to Jonathan behind her.

"Well, we won't." The man's sturdiness was perhaps what she needed most. As his gaze departed from her, his voice rose to address everyone. "We won't give him up, will we, Ethiel? We lived by his power and survived by his compassion! He gave this much to us, and now we must give it back! Will weï¿½?"

Then, he blinked. And his eyes said it allï¿½a plan.

"Look, I have an idea." He gestured the rest closer, eyes passionate suddenly. "We can gain on them if we take a shortcut."

Dalran craned his head forward in incredulity. "Like what, hop down and take a bypass road around the next mountain? Look, they'll be out of these valleys before we've even passed half of them."

"No, you see, I'm talking about a bigger shortcut here!" Jonathan's words came rapidly. Claire shifted closer, eyes hopeful. "They're riding a cart. They have to take the highwayï¿½through the range, south through Ellinia, west to Henesys. A whole round trip on the border of the island."

Jon's idea had begun to dawn on the others, and there were sudden knowing gasps from all around. But Dalran was slow on the uptake.

"You get it now? We'll go southwest. Cut through the Greater Forest," he exclaimed with agitated excitement, gesturing at the dark forest that occupied the entire space between the mountains and the fields in the south. "Take the hypotenuse to their right-angle. We won't go as far into the forest as the Dungeon, but deep enough to make our journey many miles shorter than theirs."

"And then?" questioned Erin, the drive that had been guttering in her heart suddenly rekindled.

"We intercept the cart. Or if the cart has already arrived in the prison, we go into temporary hiding in Henesys, find someone to help us, and free him. The sooner, the better. While he still believes in a chance that he'll escape."

Patricia found the urge to object at this point. "Andï¿½who? Who will help? How do we know if Henesys is even willing to rebel? Last I heard, more than half of the citizens have become mindless goons of the king."

"Noï¿½" murmured Lawrence now. "I do know some people who could help. Many people. Some friends whom I made a few years agoï¿½"

Jonathan clapped his hands once. "Then we are ready," concluded the Chief Bandit, turning off the main road and racing towards where the incline of the mountain began.

"Come, guys!" yelled Erin backwards, sure-footed enough that she didn't have to watch her step as she scaled down the mountainside. "Jet will be proud of us. We'll make him proud of us!"

dark lord: capture

Jet felt every bump of the road deep in his gut as it passed underneath the wheels. He shivered a little, but the windowless wooden cart gave enough insulation that the Perion winter air didn't plague him too harshly. Not bad, thought the man, with whatever capacity for idle musing he still had. Recruiting the countrymen for the factories has done much good for your castle and your regime, has it not?

Too bad it'll never be your country, those people never your countrymen.

The last thought made his mouth flood with bile and fury.

Jet closed his eyes. The wood beneath him was top-quality, but provided no more comfort than would some crudely-sawed softwood planks. He ached everywhere, on the surface and deep within, most of all from where the blade had cut him.

I might prove myself an idiot yet, for doing something so reckless.

But for now it served no purpose to regret, he was reminded, over and over, with every leap of the cart from the path. From nearby, the bundle of cloth and blood that was his companion Dances with Balrog groaned. Even if he was conscious, he was too exhausted to offer conversation.

Together. They would be thrown into prison together. You and I again. I thought our adventures had ended. How many trials more will we face together?

And will there be escape for us? Once I am locked up, is there any reason to try to leave confinement?

Maybe a while ago, he'd still be considering escape at this juncture. But that will for freedom, that desire to contribute to the uprising, had died in him.

Because he was no longer necessary.

You think you have quelled the rebellion by capturing me, don't you?

He had outlived his usefulness. His own freedom and happiness was inconsequential.

It was his people who had made him afraid to die. His importance as a symbol of the uprising. The power he had to rally his people.

But recently Jet had heard fragments of news on the wind somewhere, between traders in the Kerning marketplace: new people, rising to lead the countryï¿½new people with such fire in their veins it made the king's guards tremble.

He retired to the cobwebbed corner of the cart, resting against the grimy wood. Vaguely, he heard some sort of conversation up at the front of the cart. A raptor screeched, and a beating of wings followed, coming through the thin gaps between the wall planks.

"Check the hawk," came the faint voice of one of the men outside.

A rustle of paper; another hawk's screech. "Ah, some update," answered another in a sigh. "The other two were captured long ago, and are already on the castle grounds. We are the last to arrive."

The other sounded like he was spitting at the ground. "Well, let them gloat all they want! We'll show them when we arrive with two!"

Somewhere inside the belly of the cart that rattled as the road rose and fell, Dark Lord sneered at the black wall, his last show of defiance. Then he breathed out hollowly, resting his dizzy head against the dirty wood behind him, and submitted at last to the fate he had evaded for a decade.

perion: as the hawk flies

The cry of the hawk echoed deep into the snowy night on the peaks of Perion.

Beneath the moon, thin as it was yet brilliant enough to set the snow glowing, eight figures stood like bastions on the mountainsideï¿½the eight warriors whom Dances with Balrog had chosen to protect, at the expense of his freedom.

Run!

The word, that last word of their master and chief, their father and their servant, still echoed in them and across the dark spaces between them, whenever they stood in silence and gazed at one another, lost and weary but never hopeless.

If ever we do return to the rocky slopes of Perion, I will rebuild our home right where it once stood.

Do not believe it too soon, Crouching Bear. Life will show you that optimism is often misplaced.

From the stony crevice in the rock, they lowered their firelight-brilliant gazes at the Deep Valley, where the boars ran rampant.

Perhaps this would be their last sight of home before they mounted their only living horses and rode the lonely path down into the ruins of Kerning City. They didn't intend to rest after this, not until they had found their way to Dances with Balrog. In Kerning, they would scavenge through the exploded ruins for provisions, and call into the night sky beyond its fantastical spires, hoping to catch the ear of any possible survivor still residing there, refusing to give up on life.

When they were ready, they would turn towards Henesys, where they reasoned every captive would eventually be delivered. Maybe Dances with Balrog among them.

And they would either fight for him, or fight the ones who had taken him away.

Maybe he would be locked in a vault that would never open till he was dead. It didn't matter; they would follow their chief still. Life into death.

Aismeth's knock of return came a mere minute after she had departed, and from the rhythm of the tapping of her fist against his door, he knew she had good news to bring.

"Messages from Mr. Hesprel," she murmured as she slipped between doors and sailed soundlessly across his carpet, tall velvet curtains swaying so the arched window behind revealed the early morning on his barren grounds, and shadows danced across her pale countenance and in her red-brown eyes.

He shifted forward, hand outstretched. Good news from Esharo. Good news from his guards. It could only meanï¿½

Your Highness,

Three of my four capture teams have reported back with good news. The Perion team had themselves the luck of a double catch. Two of four teams have arrived in the castle with their bounty; the other two are currently on their return routes. I await your next orders.

Esharo

And then there was a grin pulling his lips wide, before he could even begin to realise every ramification of that note. A grin that gave him the appearance of a madman, he saw from his reflection in the angled glass of his cabinets.

A madman, yes. A mad genius.

"Your reply?" murmured Aismeth from behind the monarch's desk, presenting him his most well-used quill with outstretched hand and slack fingers. He took it, a little more brutally than he intended, and with a sweeping gesture set himself down on his great armchair, searching with age-slowed but excited hands for a blank sheet on which to begin his returning note.

Excellent news! Now do not slacken just yet; they will no doubt be formulating at every moment a plan for escape. Very importantly, do not allow them any contact with each other, not even visual contact. Keep them at the four corners of the prison, and ensure that patrols are in excess.

Caleix

turino: into the storm

"It's a downhill journey from hereï¿½or would that be uphill? Downhill in the sense that it gets worse; uphill in the sense that it gets exponentially harder."

That was Lanorï¿½'s highly encouraging preparatory speech, as the border of the storm approached in the thick grey sky above, and the whale beneath them gave a moan of warning.

"Was that supposed to help our spirits?" demanded Akera. "What's wrong with you?"

Others took her outburst as a good sign. In the past nine days sailing on the whale's back, they had not heard a word from the Fire Poison Mageï¿½and some had begun to worry that perhaps she was starting to ail.

She's losing it, Turino found himself thinking, watching silently from a side as she curled her hands into fists and stared down at her lap, face just as pale as it had always been. She's lost hope in the world.

Somewhere close by, the Mage heard, superimposed against a rumbling roll of thunder, the sound of Ketara's sleepy sigh. Days after his injury, his situation was improving. His left arm still hung limp from his shoulder, and he needed help standing sometimes.

Telida glanced back at the sound of his awakening, lowering her breakfast. "You sleep like a baby," she muttered, to which the Dragon Knight offered a regretful grin. "Did you hear what Lanorï¿½ just said?"

"Yeahï¿½uh, what did she say?"

Turino's gaze wandered back to his hands, pale and tinged most delicately blue from the coldness. He was struck by fear, fear at what he was becoming.

Why do you still care? snapped the ghost of his vengeful past-self, suddenly, from somewhere behind the bars of his mind. She'll never be yours! She'll never see you! Why have you not learnt that loving someone so much is futile? Why haven't you learnt to stop caring? Why does your heart still hurt for her?

"Heads up, everyone!" cried Lanorï¿½ from somewhere beyond his mind. Her silhouette stood tall near the blowhole of the whale, her staff glowing almost as blue as his fingers. The air whooshed around them as the whale cried in terror, an unevenly-shaped shield blooming in front of the Archmage and expanding into a glass-like chamber around them, sealing itself onto the wet back of the cetacean beneath.

With a smile that radiated satisfaction, Lanorï¿½ gave a small bow and lowered herself to her place in the circle once more, sweeping scattered pieces of ice off her seating place.

"That has got to hurt, at least a little," whispered Clynine nearby.

"Well, we must do what we must," she answered. "The elements know no mercy."

These words were without warmth. Turino found them a little cruel, strangely.

the hunt

"A promotion?" Garth's eyes glittered. Somehow, he could not simply take these words as they were. It wasn't possible, because since when did Captain Adara offer promotions so freely? "For a whaling job? That's all? Seriously?"

The Captain herself had first come to his part of the camp that morning, speaking his name to all his companions. When the news had arrived, he had found himself suddenly breaking out in cold sweat. He had expected to be receiving the sentence that would end his life.

But then, he discovered: he wasn't going to be killedï¿½he was being asked to kill another.

"The whale will have human riders," the woman answered to his query, perhaps worried that he would quail at the thought of homicide. She stood almost a head shorter than he, he couldn't help noticingï¿½but her deep black eyes commanded a fearsome power that, even then, merely belied her true skill.

"I'm not unfamiliar with murder." His voice rumbled heartily, even though the most terrifying necromancer in Ellinia was staring up at him. "Soï¿½let me get this right. I will be promoted in exchange for a small whaling job. Did I hear wrong?"

"Correct," answered Captain Adara, and in those words, his mind reeled. "Kill the whale, and you will be made a squad leader."

Promotion. For doing the thing that I'm best at.

"Yes, ma'am. I will do as you command. When do I hunt this whale?"

For a few days, the storm thickened black beyond the glassy ice. Within the confines of the dome, they bowed away from the light, fearing that the storm would shatter Lanorï¿½'s shield of ice. But as the shadows thinned with the sound of the rain, Lanorï¿½ stopped rebuilding the dome. It melted naturally, running off the whale's edge to join the oceanï¿½and for the first time in six days, the morning shone blue through the shield.

"Well, that's quite a change!" exclaimed Ketara, his gaze caught in the wondrously blue sky. "No more storm."

"Stop staring at the sky; go talk to your Telida," answered Raydan with a grin, shoving his protesting self onto his side.

Their days were spent in the darkness of fear, the conversations hours-long, and full of tears. Finally, the pressure had grown too much; the tension was cracking through their stubborn shieldsï¿½the ache of the world on their shoulders, too heavy now to bear.

How long more were they to run? How many more would they murder? When would it finally end, this chase across the world that had lasted seven years?

They cried together, for anger at what the world was becomingï¿½for the change that was coming over this world, too fast for their reckoning.

What's waiting for us there, there beyond the western horizon? What has Victoria Island become? Will we find whom we seek?

And in this fear, they grew closer to each otherï¿½learning to share their misgivings and pains, learning to find hope in each other's eyes. In the sunset, they sat in communionï¿½a circle, as always. A circle, for the turning of time. Lanorï¿½ had learnt to catch fish with ice, and Turino was a surprisingly adept cook. Occasionally, with the fish, there would be shrimp and cuttlefish; they lived on these things alone. It's the best we can do.

In the night, Clynine would sometimes be found with tears in her eyes, staring up at the stars and praying for hope upon them. She looked at Orion sometimes, wondering if the hunter of the sky would grant them blessings.

"It won't be too long now," murmured Ralinn, coming to lay beside her, her arm about the shoulders of the weakening Clericï¿½the one to whom she owed her life. Twice over. "It won't be long. Don't be afraid." Zethis joined them sometimes; he wasn't much of a conversationalist, but his presence was enough to make the girl weakly smile.

By the time Ellinia came into distant view, their supplies had run dangerously low; even Raydan with his old stash of chips and candy had gone dry.

"I'm hungryï¿½" moaned the Sniper as he licked his fingers, hunched over his big, empty paper bag. Everyone had made a habit of ignoring him by concentrating on better companions. Abandoning his laments, the neglected archer looked about, a big pout on his face.

And that was when, far out beyond the sea, he caught sight of something that no one else had seen before thisï¿½a line of uneven grey, a layer on the horizon.

Trees. Bare trees.

Ellinia.

"Guys!" With a rousing whoop of joy, the Sniper stood. "Ellinia is coming! We're almost there! We're arriving!"

They turned in unison, and saw the branches that swayed above the sea. A cheer went up around him. "Finally!" cried Ralinnï¿½she pounced upon her brother with wide arms, and they stood hugging and laughing for an entire minute.

Akera, however, was not convinced. "They know," she murmured darkly, staring at her lap. Beside her, Telida sighed, and Ketara listened. "We gave them a week. They know we're coming. They'll be ready for us."

Though they wished it wouldn't eventually happen, wished it weren't true, everyone knew she was right.

The enemies. The enemies. They had been sighted in the bay, two miles away. The whisper swept rapidly through the ranks, until they arrived in the ears of the hunter at the docks.

It is time. He pulled on his gloves, bared his teeth in pleasure, crossed the gangplank.

"Do your work well." Captain Adara's last words to the Garth, before he performed his momentous task, were simple. "We will be behind."

Then the boat was chugging through the grey ocean sky. He stood tall at the hull, his lips drawn tight, his eyes narrowed cold against the rush of waves. His countenance was set like stone, not from graveness but from a madman's wilfulnessï¿½and hunger, hunger at the prospect of his reward.

I will become a squad leader today. I earned the right from Captain Adara herself!

But celebration quickly gave way to alertness, for he could not rest until his success was secured. He knew too well; too many times had he lost his prey out of complacency. Garth's eyes snapped to a spot in the distance, his uncertain gaping mouth transforming into a hungry, wolfish grin. A familiar black shape was rising into viewï¿½right on time.

"This is it, Orvin!" announced the hunter, eye never leaving the black patch in the waves. His right hand man grunted in acknowledgement. "This will be our greatest kill yet. Prepare the harpoon."

And they won't even know what hit them.

The hunter raised his face to the air, breathing the smell of the thunder, the end. "Ah, I love the taste of the wind before the kill!"

He gave them a few seconds moreï¿½a few seconds to draw into his trap. And perhaps they understood; some were staring, yelling to each other in alarm. He shook his headï¿½for a moment, he had almost pitied them! But they were doomed. They could not speak to the whale, and the whale could not understand. It probably thought that the ship hull it saw approaching was just another friend.

That's what you get for trusting and loving humanity, animal. Your compassion is your downfall, and your sacrifice will be forgotten.

With a grip firm with ruthless pleasure, Garth took his weapon from Orvin, eyes narrowed.

"ï¿½Oh Goddess, no. Noï¿½"

Clynine slid behind her mistress, gripping her shoulders tight, sheltering her face behind her. Sheï¿½everyoneï¿½knew what was to come.

It all happened so suddenly. Their eyes hardly caught it. It flashed, fragmenting the secondï¿½the bellow, the twist of his body, the trajectory of the spearï¿½

The Cleric began to scream before she could realiseï¿½scream, and scream, because something irreversible was about to happen.

A thud, of metal in flesh, skin giving way, blood vessels breaking.

The creature beneath her flailed, moaningï¿½as it lurched, Ralinn screeched, slid, scrambled for a nonexistent handhold, tumbled, fell through the ocean-spray windï¿½and then, engulfing her, a majestic explosion of silver-green and white.

Splashes threw her about. Raydan was yelling in fright through the spray; that horrifying sound stabbed her through the heart. "Raydan!" screamed the Ranger, fighting towards her brother. The whale shrilled again, thrashing in its own blood, blood blossoming on the ocean surface, washing the crests black.

"Another spear!"

They watched, wide-eyed, as a rain of blood erupted like the red spray of a blowhole. The whale cried; its moan of agony was almost, painfully, human.

But there would be no one to save it.

"The boat!" roared Lanorï¿½ to her underlings, pushing madly through the current, her staff lit blue in her fingers. "Take the hunter's boat! That's our way back! Capture it!" She aimed her spells as best she could, though the waves tossed her about, and her eyes were blurred by the sea. "Clynine, forget the whale! We need to saveï¿½"

Thud. Another wound burst. The water frothed pink. Clynine's body was pressed close against the great animal's hide; she felt the jerk of the spear entering.

"We can't let it die; it saved usï¿½"

"Let it go, Clynine! People die; creatures dieï¿½there's nothing we can do about it! All we can do is move forward!"

In those words, the healer began to weep.

The whale seemed to hear Clynine's sorrow, and it struggled to comfort her, dying as it was. A few long, fading notes rose around them. The whale's throat was full of half-dreamt desire. It thrashed once more, bleeding a waterfall whose warmth faded into the winter-cold, of icebergs it used to visit.

"Please, not yet!" cried Clynine, regardless of everything her mistress had so furiously told her. Her fingers clung to the whale, her whale, as if that alone would keep it from dying. "You can't leave, not for usï¿½not for usï¿½"

But, then, it was quiet, like someone waiting for a journey to end. It seemed to know that that was the best way to comfort the girl.

"Blizzard!" thundered Lanorï¿½, her staff letting loose a blast of blue light. The hunter yelled in horror, stumbling across the deck, blinded momentarily. In the background, working efficiently and invisibly as always, the two archers swam to grab the sides of the vessel, Zethis searching for the escape ladder.

The whaler was not incapacitated for long; he knew the cold of the snow too well, and braved it like an unmovable rock. Exploding through Lanorï¿½'s Blizzard ice, he gasped, ghost-faced, hand still gripping a fourth spear as if it were his rope to heaven. But this all managed the misdirection perfectlyï¿½behind him, at Akera's command, Orion's Belt members were scrambling on board unseen.

Blood had swallowed everything, red water swirling around the hull. The man raised the spear, shivering, mad to see death. "You will die at my hand!"he bellowed, eyes wide. If the whale had not died yet, he swore it wouldï¿½it was the reason he stood, the reason he lived, here in the storm of the minutes. It was the reason he was here! He aimed his last spear, waiting for his chance, waiting for his window to attackï¿½

And he would have murdered the whale at last. Until Clynine's next scream set everything in motion. Shirion could bear it no longer, watching the girl suffer like thisï¿½already on deck, behind the manï¿½close enough, just close enoughï¿½he was suddenly pushed past breaking point, past all reason. Yelling for rage with a swing of his arm, the Crusader flung his sword, spinning, at the hunter. With a clash like thunder, it knocked him to the ground, throwing his body back a few feet and sending out a scattering of bloody drops.

"Get on, the rest of you!" commanded Lanorï¿½ fiercely; their time was running, running out. The rest clambered up the ladders at her command; she imprisoned the staring, grotesque body in ice, before recalling instantly that her assistant was still in the sea. Her composure was lost; she whirled to face her, face rife with some strange madness. "Clynine! Get back here!"

She was shaking; her wet brown eyes would not leave the creature before her. The great whale, which had been generous enough to take them home, and die for their sake.

With life comes death.

With life comes sacrifice.

She let go, let everything go. The black fin slipped between her arms, slowly, sinking to the depths where it had once hidden, vanishing into the underwater caverns, into the shadow that swallowed everything.

As she swam towards the boat, something had died in her eyes, along with the sea beast. She crawled, dripping, onboard, struggling to stand on wobbling legs. Zethis was waiting for her; she sank against him, coughing and sobbing all at the same time, and he held her close. The sea was red; it dyed her pale clothes crimson and engulfed their world in the smell of iron. The wind stank of iron, and death. Light gleamed on the water, and the sun turned red for the creatures beneath.

"It's always like that," murmured Ketara. "They die for us, why?"

The engine groaned, roared, started up again. The Archmage had eliminated all the crewmembers, and Akera had taken the helm of the guard boat. She steered with the easy determination of someone made mad by the approach of their destination. Sickened, some collapsed into a corner, withdrawn and shiveringï¿½either hugging each other, or curled up to retain their body heat.

Lanorï¿½ straightened suddenly, eyes narrowing. "Guards," she muttered. Her gaze wouldn't leave the horizon, and soon everyone knew why.

In the time they had spent claiming the boat, they had come to swarm the entire bay. Guard boats, similar to their own, cluttered the horizon, a floating wall all the way along this section of the coast, for quarter a mile on either side. Every deck was thronged with guards.

In an almost simultaneous movement from end to end of the coast, the arc of staves flared, red beacons in the distance.

"Akera!" shrieked Telida, clinging like a raptor to the rails of the deck. "Akera, faster!"

Spurred by panic, the Mage slammed at all the unlabelled levers, hammered every button, futilelyï¿½she threw her arms up. "Damn it!" she exclaimed backwards, eyes wild. "Come steer it for me, won't you? Won't you?"

Even as she went temporarily berserk, the first wave of necromancer magic exploded in the water before the hullï¿½and the rocking of the boat sent its passengers sliding, falling across the deck. Raydan clung to Shirion for support. Ketara hung onto the rail, gripping Telida's wrist so she wouldn't fallï¿½the exchange of gazes between them was almost heartbreakingly passionate.

"Come on, we're almost there," Lanorï¿½ said. "A little further."

Her words had irked them beforeï¿½but now they spurred everyone into action. They might desire with all their hearts to rest, or to drop deadï¿½but that was only selfish. And irresponsible. And impossible. Now, with an entire nation's fate lying with them. Lanorï¿½'s voice reminded them of that. Their duty. Their destination.

The danger was real and close, close as the sea spray that swished up the hull like white serpents, close as that scent of black lightning. Close enough to strike the fear deep. The guard vessels had moved in.

Close enough.

"We're doing this. Victoria Island needs us to do this. We have to make it."

The plan had been etched into their minds, one week ago: everyone remembered it now, more lucidly than ever.

There was just this wall of boats now, barricading their final passage onto the Ellinian coastï¿½and all the guards in between, intent on destroying them.

"Spare no one!" they heard the yells of the female captain beyond the spraying waves. "They're not reaching the shore, you hear? They're not returning! Stavesï¿½ready!"

We are returning, home.

At that very second, Akera abandoned the wheel. She flew to the bow of the boat, staff bursting spontaneously into flame.

"Akeraï¿½" gasped Lanorï¿½but the Archmage understood immediately, and went to take the steering wheel.

"Go on. Do your magic."

The red glow grew dangerously bright on the fortress of boats, a colossal arc spread across the entire Ellinian coast, carrying a thousand dark magicians. A thousand against ten. Their lone rebel vessel drifted in the centre, divided from the attackers by a narrowing margin of water; around them the crackle was stunningï¿½hundreds of staves, all focused on the same single point. Akera.

"Aim!"

The Mage screamed, staff whisking the skyï¿½exploding with an arc of fireï¿½the most horrifying spell anyone there had ever seen emerge from its tip before. It was a circle, like the corona of the sunï¿½sweeping across the sea, rumbling with heat on the currents.

They had hardly seen her face so contorted, her eyes blink so bright with fury. Her eyes, deep brilliant sky blue mirrors. In them, everything could be seen: the boats bursting into flame, men leaping, screaming, into the oceanï¿½driven to madness by the fire they had never had to fear.

A cry of jubilation rose from Orion's Belt, for Akera had won them the chance they would never have had otherwise: the vast line of patrol boats had been shattered. And everyone saw the chance, as clear as a sunbeam piercing the wind in a straight line, between the boats, their thundering motors, their chaotic crews. A space, a space that they could exploit.

"Akera, that was awesome!" Raydan yelled, scrambling to the front of the boat while Lanorï¿½ sent the boat on full speed. "Do it again!"

Ellinia drew closer, its winter-barren treetops swaying. The water swallowed everything, the cacophony of commands and pleas and dismembered exclamationsï¿½under the veil of the ocean's roar, their small vessel endeavoured, madly, for that narrow space, in the half-light of the evening that had begun upon Ellinia without warning.

The tension was at its maximum. The eyes of the guild followed the boats, fists clenched around the rails. On each deck, the necromancers were recovering, and the fires Akera had ignited had died in whirls of smoke. Again they readied themselves at the bows, angrier than everï¿½their captain angriest of all.

"We're entering the frontline," announced Lanorï¿½. "Brace yourselves, guys. Bows, stay back. You'll waste your arrows. Clynine, with Akera at the front. Ready something. Anything. Be ready to retaliate."

"Stavesï¿½ready!" The necromancers were up once more, and the captain's command swept across the barricade like a gust of wind. Crackles rose, like the first lines of a symphony. The dark red glow ascended like sunrise. Staves hummed with sheer black magic.

The chants of necromancers and guards became close, so close, they could almost smell the sweat and feel the voices vibrating in the deck.

"Aim!"

"Good luck, good luck to all of us!" Ketara yelledï¿½

"Fire!"

ï¿½and they plunged into the space between two boats, the hulls crashing against each other.

There might have been thunder overhead. He had heard Akera's cry, and now he smelt the purity of her fire purging the air. As the light flooded in, he caught sight, beyond the rails, of another circle of fire rippling outwards, one that would have sent the necromancers back into complete havoc.

Except they had learnt and they were readyï¿½and he heard, against the pounding of water on hull, the clanging of bronze shields awakening alongside the horrified, gleeful yells of men high on adrenalineï¿½a clamour that made his blood burn, suddenly, with the heat of battle.

So much closer now. The voices of the enemy thundered close in his earsï¿½necromancer voices that seemed human yet spoke in cruel, toneless bellows. He felt the bumping and grinding of the vessel against hulls as it fought, fought like a warrior, for a path to the shoreï¿½their boat rearing, over and over, and Turino breathing as deep as he could.

Clynine shrieked with the crash of the two boats. "Retaliate! Attack when they think you won't!" called Lanorï¿½, a recapitulation of an old lesson. The Cleric learnt fast; she cried something like Genesis, and there was a glow overhead, a godly humï¿½yells of tormentï¿½the thud of enemies falling to the ground.

She's gotten so good, thought Turino. He remembered a time before, a day before the ball. How she had smiled up at him with sparkling eyes, how she had swooned at his smile.

How much she had changed; how much she had grown.

He glanced about and sawï¿½the feet of Ralinn and Raydan racing across the unsteady deck, sheltering behind steadfast Lanorï¿½, Ketara snatching spears from the unconscious hunter's inventory, turning to fling each one at the boats.

How much everyone had changed. And how much he had changed too. How much this war against the king had changed them all, changed the faces of the countries, changed the voices of their inner hearts.

Or would the change have come, without this cruel king to incite it?

Change was the only constant. Change never changes. Turino would never know how things would have gone, had the world been in peaceï¿½had Caleix never risen. But change reigned, and the world marched on.

Akera was barely keeping balance; the boat was being thrown back and forth by the other vessels continuously ramming into its side. She heard dangerous cracks from everywhere, but none had managed to break a hole in the hull yet.

You would damage one of your own ships just to get at us, she mused for seconds as they barrelled a little way further through the gapï¿½inch by inch, foot by footï¿½hulls grumbling ominously against each other. That's just how little it matters to you anymore. You lose a machine; you replace it. You lose a man, you replace him.

Lanorï¿½ was doing a fine job with the steering, but steering was not enough to best a mobile barricade.

And I thought those blasts of fire would be enough to stop them. Akera glared into the wind, as another wave of red erupted glowing to life around her. If only the Archmage herself were here, battling with themï¿½

Then she caught herself. Placing limits upon herself again. No. I sure as hell don't need her here. She entrusted frontal defence to me, and I'm going to do it right.

Her eyes narrowed, assessing their situation, mind working rapidlyï¿½like a strategist's. I don't just want to attack them. I want to throw them back. Push them off. Widen the pathway.

These boats run on liquid fuel, don't theyï¿½?

Her mind snapped. "Raydan! Anyone! Down to the stores! Get me some oil!"

She had no time to loseï¿½the necromancers were about to fire a fourth blast. She panted and glanced about. Had no one heard herï¿½?

"What, like cooking oil?" Raydan's disembodied voice appeared at her shoulder. She was about to replyï¿½then caught sight of a fatal blur and shrieked, flinging him asideï¿½moments before a spear came hurtling between them and thudding into the floorboard. Her vision nailed itself to the Sniper again.

"Gasoline, you idiot," she answered, snappy with anxiety. "Get me whatever you can find. Just go down there, down thereï¿½" she gesticulated at the trapdoor "ï¿½and bring up any containers of liquid you find. Go! Go!" He did not dispute, slipping as fast as he could across the floor.

Boom. At last, the deck of the stolen patrol boatï¿½which had escaped impregnation till nowï¿½was puncturedï¿½by a multitude of beams, no less, and Akera could only leap away in fright to duck under the cover of the hull. It was partially shattered, moments later. She rolled across the floor, sleeves singed.

The Fire Poison Mage spit out the taste of lightning, rising. Then it was rapid fire after thatï¿½behind the rail, she screamed, throwing balls and arrows of flame outwards that pummelled ship hulls everywhere and set them on fire, crying out with the effort of each. Clynine attacked from the opposite side of the deck, breaking her fair share of bows and hulls and helms apart. The rest had been lowered to shielding dutyï¿½dodging about the deck, racing from corner to corner, hoping to live for a few minutes more.

Akera's mind spun: this sort of fighting could not last. It would get them killed. And to worsen things, the ship was tilting dangerously, bow downï¿½it was only a matter of time before the water broke into the cabins underneathï¿½and then their cause would be absolutely, irrevocably lost. Wasted and sweating profusely, she turnedï¿½just in time for a bolt of lightning zip by behind her, just in time for a few more bolts crumble away a little more of their vessel.

She heard a yell from behindï¿½in its sound, her eyes widened in thankfulness. Raydan had returned just in time, Ketara tagging alongï¿½both hefted metal tanks of what could only be gasoline. Waving them frantically over, the Mage leapt up to the bow, leading them with a sweep of her hand. "In the space there!" she commanded, almost as fiery as the enemy fleet's leader. "Where the boats part; there's a small space between themï¿½quick!"

"As you wish, milady," called Ketara. Raydan saluted.

Splashï¿½the tanks plunged into the water, bobbing innocuously on the tides. They were almost like children's toy blocks in appearance, now.

The guards on neighbouring boats were just beginning to chatter worriedly amongst themselves. Throwing tanks in the water. Suspicious. What could she be doing?

Gasoline?

"Lanorï¿½!" screamed Akeraï¿½the Archmage was with them at the bow within seconds. "Lanorï¿½, guard us! Shirion, Ralinn, anyoneï¿½throw in the anchor!"

With that and no more, the Mage whirled around to face the onslaught, praying that everyone had done as commanded. No time to check now. Her staff was lit. Lanorï¿½'s tooï¿½she was tense, ominously, almost as if bracing herself for a massive impact. Suddenly, the necromancers were gasping, panicking; they seemed to know what she was about to do, and they seemed to understand.

Like birds fluttering frantically in a black cage. No escape.

And with a scream of Meteor Shower, Akerainvoked the fourth job skill for the very first time.

For the milliseconds before, they watched, watched multiple bolts of fire shoot from her staff tip, punching holes in the tanks in the water with an ease that was almost beautiful. Everyone stared with wide eyes, allies and enemies allï¿½sparks bloomed, and water rippled shining white.

Then the light cameï¿½and no one, save the two most powerful mages on board, was ready for it.

The boom vibrated, deep in everyone's throats and bonesï¿½accompanied by heat that felt almost hot enough to melt skin. It was all the more monstrous, there at the heart, the epicentreï¿½the fire bloomed like a dandelion clock, or like a ravenous monster with flaming jaws that swallowed all that came in its path. Like a supernova. It swept the vessels that had crushed the hull aside, until they were engulfed in the lightï¿½leapt upon the vessels beyond, setting every ship rearing like helpless horsesï¿½the sailors lost control. Akera heard her friends dropping to the ground in horror; she imagined they were burying their heads beneath useless arms, screaming or sobbingï¿½there was too much noise in her ears to know.

The heat burnt against her too, but it only twisted her grin so it was fiercer.

This is the fire you will learn to fear.

The blazing multicoloured brilliance cleared, gradually, to reveal the bow of their boat. Blackened beyond recognition, only Lanorï¿½'s Blizzard had saved it from annihilation. The boats in their circumference were in far worse state: if their hulls hadn't been smashed to pieces, then they had been capsized, or flung far off across the water: haphazard and motionless, crew members disorientedï¿½or dead.

"Great job, Akera," gasped Ralinn, conceding at last that Akera had performed them an invaluable favour. She didn't have the time to care. Glancing at the blonde archer, Akera smiled briefly, then lost her mirth in the wake of the biting wind. There is time for this later.

While the short exchange took place on deck, Lanorï¿½ returned immediately to the steering controls, calling for everyone to be on standby. With a thrust, she shuttled them on, like a meteor, onwards to the shore of Ellinia.

"Turn back! All sectors, turn back!"

Every last functional boat in the bay made a full turn backwards as the enemy boat plunged through the widening gap in the indomitable wall, under the panicky urges of the necromancer captain who knew she was losing her grip on the situation. She was screaming of something like condemnation and demotion, but none of the words actually formed in their ears.

The race was on. Their boat was cutting the water like a blade through skin; steering at their helm was a woman who had just learnt to sail, ten minutes ago. The shore hurtled into view, the towering trees that were grand and secretive in the summer, all laid bare in the winter cold.

"The instant we've stopped, I want you guys to get off, okay?" announced Lanorï¿½, with as much steadiness as their harrowing situation could allow. Then she beached the boat as far up as they could, where it bumped its way up the shallows, and ground to a stop. Guild members glanced at each other, for hope and help.

"Get moving now!" screeched Akera. With nimbleness accorded by fear, Orion's Belt began leaping from the escape ladders into the shallow sea, taking off through the water with clumsy wading steps.

The patrol boats were barely a few hundred feet from the shore, still so numerous despite the explosion, and not deterred in the least. The sight of those hulking metal shadows in the evening dark only spurred them forth, forward, screaming and yelling, into the deep darkness of the Lesser Forest.

"Run! Run!" shouted Ralinn in the wake of the approaching enginesï¿½they crossed from sand onto barren earth, guild leader rounding up the back of the group with panicky shoves and sweeps of her arms.

Malevolent red flashes appeared among the trunks up ahead. The Mage at the head of the group cursedï¿½yet more necromancers were waiting for them, spells on the tips of their stavesï¿½

"There's less than ten!" In these last minutes, encouragement was the only thing between success and failure. Instinct had led Ralinn to give this call, to snatch her bow from her belt and load it with an arrow. In her fingers, she could feel a battle waiting to begin.

Her cries were not futile. Orion's Belt drew close, close enough, their breaths irregular amongst themselves.

Everyone could hear the fear and the future in everyone else's silent voicesï¿½the safety that might never come, the death that approached like a cold blade. Rivalries melted for those moments, in the union of their shared terror, under the blazing shadow of a story too vast for themï¿½surely it was not for them to write? Nevertheless. They were no longer the fragmented band they had been at the beginning of Spring of the Year of the Rabbit. They had once been separate individuals, with disparate agendas, with unique insecurities. But the past years and their trials together had turned those differences into reasons to feel the same. And with their shared fear had come a shared strength.

Everyone seemed to have felt the same jolt of instinct as Ralinn had, for suddenly weapons were gleaming in the hands of all ten, purple-blue in the light of an evening about to end.

"Into danger without hesitation, that's what we do best," proclaimed Raydan proudly. Ralinn rolled her eyes and shoved his head forward playfully. Zethis glanced up briefly for a breath of the cold air: the trees were bare and the stars shone through from the indigo sky, a sky that was changing so fast.

Changing so fast.

The world was shifting around them, like the wind whistling in the twigs. Here in this wintry twilight when the snow had not yet begun, the magnitude of the change suddenly became clear.

And Time moves forward, and the ones who stagnate are left behind.

From beyond the tall pillars of the forest, the rustle of activity awakenedï¿½they ran, reckless, into the blinding terror of the dark. "Staves!" muttered one of the necromancers suddenly. The same red lights lit up around them, like eyes deep in the forest.

Ketara, who had wandered on beyond the rest, leapt in fright. His visage tensed, his fingers wrapping themselves tighter around his spearï¿½

"Aim!"

He whirled to face the voice. "Dragon Roar!" gasped the Dragon Knight by reflex, leaping blindly into the forest and landing among the dead leaves, spear shining purple in his trembling handsï¿½

All of a sudden, Telida had sprung to his side, throwing him down to the ground with her, as the bolts fired past and flew clean of bothï¿½but his spear spun out of his grip, still burning violet, and the attack exploded from it. It sent out a thundering boom that shook the barren trees with purple fire and sent the dark magicians sprawling.

Ketara stood up, gasping with shock; with a leap, the Hermit was on her feet beside him, rapidly fingering stars from her hidden pockets, almost too many for her to hold in both hands. But she was deft, and her hands swept them up one after another, charging them brilliant goldï¿½she cried "Avenger!", flicking every last one between the trees in a barrage, so they blazed fierce curving trails of gold. Her aim was true, as always, and thuds from beyond signalled the falls of the other necromancers.

Dead, just like that. She was an Assassin once, after all.

"Come!" Telida called backwards, as if her murders had been nothing at allï¿½dashing through the dark though her eyes never left her warrior companion. "And you!" She glared at Ketara, eyes darkening. "What the hell was that for, stupidï¿½jumping into the line of attack?"

"It's quite cute how much you care about him." Shirion's voice appeared as the rest caught up and they wound through the tangle of roots and trunks, deeper into the vast forest that cradled a million secret spaces.

Ketara turned in question to Telida, who seemed, from the look on her face, to be grappling with the idea of slapping Shirion.

"Shut up and hurry," growled Akera. Already the sounds of searching necromancers had grown into a background murmur, confident footsteps following the trail of their voices.

And then they were confronted with a stark realityï¿½they were, for all their past deeds, just a band of fugitives, running from the law.

"It's grown so dark," whispered Clynine, her voice soft and fragile like a petal. She retained within her a little of that childish fear of the dark.

They slipped between trees, and Lanorï¿½, mighty and brilliant as she was, took hold of the sixteen-year-old's hand just like a mother would her child's. "Yes, it's dark," answered the woman. "But who is to say it's such a bad thing? In the dark it's easy to tell secrets. To tell the truth. Clynine, can you see my face?"

"Yes, mistress, a little."

Lanorï¿½ smiled briefly, a smile that warmed the Cleric to the tips of her fingers. She acknowledged with one of her own. "Light gives us sight," said the Archmage softly, eyeing the girl meaningfully. "And dark as it might grow, there's always a little, from the moon or the stars, to see by. It's enough for you to see my smileï¿½isn't that right?"

Clynine nodded, unsure if she understood.

A clearing spread itself before them, where echoes grew soft and the bare branches arced like the shadow of a corridor. This place was a sanctuary. The peace here was sacred, wild, alive. Shadows danced in circles around them; Clynine pulled closer to her mistress.

They had barely minutes more. Minutes to escape.

"Ketara," murmured Lanorï¿½, reaching out to touch the Dragon Knight's shoulder. He nodded, and stepped carefully out of the group, so he stood vulnerable in the middle of the clearing, amongst uneven patches of moonlight, the forest whooshing, rustling all around him, the black leaves spiralling.

"We need you," called out the warrior, tentatively, voice struggling to fit itself into the rising song around him. "Help us again! Althlixa! Krhil! Do you remember me, from two years ago? I'm here, here to return your gift!" He glanced down at his belt pouch, digging for a treasure that had lain hidden since the day it had been received. The Dragon Knight held up a glittering object to the branches, eyes wide with apprehension. "Do you remember? We were friends once. Are we still?"

Then, where there had been a darkness more unforgiving than black, there was a flickerï¿½and golden eyes were suddenly blinking all around, like great bulbs through the shadows. Now as they looked around, they saw the dragonsï¿½black dragons, adorning every branch of the clearing.

Ketara gasped, stepping back.

"Yes, I remember! How could I forget? We met three years ago, child of the Ancient One. We thought you forgotï¿½you see, humans' memories are almost as short as their livesï¿½"

"And how could I? You flew halfway across the island for us!" He paused then, self-consciously. "Would you do itï¿½again?"

He could hear his guild shifting into the clearing after him. He alone heard their voices, the words they spokeï¿½to the rest, it sounded like the shrieking of the entire forest as one. Akera gazed on in fascination, hair fluttering out behind her like a white veil. Ralinn stood transfixed in the darkness. Lanorï¿½ smiled, and Clynine gazed up at the stars.

"Help?" murmured one through the branches. "What sort of help?"

"Do you know a white building, and a guild called Nightfall? There are people there who could keep usï¿½led a man named Pelinorï¿½oh, and another, named Hyrienï¿½"

"Speak no more!" cried a new, unfamiliar dragon suddenly. "Nightfall! The ones who walk by the springï¿½he speaks of the Warming Stone, and the people who live inside it! Hyrien! Yes, the man in the armour!"

Ketara's face brightened. "Great!" he exclaimed, but there was no pause. He raised a simple piece of paper before the dragons' eyesï¿½a note, a note of request. "Now, we need a huge favour from you. We need to get to the headquarters of Nightfall as soon as we can, or we'll be killed by the mages with red and black lightning. We need to be taken there. But we can't come without warning, or they won't let us in. Will you send your quickest dragon ahead of you with this note?"

Akera glanced briefly backwards. A red flare burst not far away, and the shouting of necromancers swelled, disrupting the rhythmic singing of the breezes. "Quick," she urged Ketara, tapping him on the shoulder.

"Yes, always, Child of the Ancient One," sang Althlixa from above, the first dragon friend he had ever made. "Child who travelled the world to the forest of the Ancient One, child who freed Horned Tail. We will do this favour for you."

Even as they spoke, dragons were coming to land in the clearing and encircle him, lowering themselves to the ground like subordinates before a master. One of the younger dragons snatched the sheet of paper between his lips, a smart glint in his eye.

"Guys!" exclaimed Ketara. "They agreed! They'll take us to Nightfall!"

Then the sounds of the necromancers began, slowly, to close in from everywhere. Red torches streaked through the dark, searching for their quarry. Mounting would have been slower in any other circumstanceï¿½but the danger was oppressive, polarising, compellingï¿½and the ten rebels scrambled rapidly up onto the creatures, hearts pounding everywhere in their ears.

There was a black flutter at the corner of his eye: the young dragon had taken off, safe and south, the note tight in its scaly jaws.

A red flame suddenly bloomed violently at the corners of their eyes. "There they are!" rumbled a voice, the whisper of cloaks followingï¿½Clynine shrieked. Akera yelled for speed. But even then, the air was ominously fullï¿½

ï¿½the banks broke, and suddenly the necromancers came flooding in in throngs, everywhere, cloaked figures crossing the forest floor with staves that hummed, ready to fireï¿½

"Leave!" cried Lanorï¿½, breaths growing fast and shallow. "Fly!"

"Fly!" echoed Ketara with a desperation born of fear.

Lightning struck. The wings beat the earth like thunder before rain. Powerful legs thrust those black bodies into the air. The wind was like a hurricane. The first beams fired, distorted by the dragons' wind to strike the dead leavesï¿½a second too slow. They were twisting through the branches already, agile as their fluid forms suggested.

Then they met the sky, the bare blue sky and its open stars. By the map of the flaring constellations that would be the same in a millennium's time, they followed the preordained pathï¿½the row of three stars that pointed their way to Henesys.

hyrien: the night is falling

The Guild Master of Nightfall raised his head as three urgent knocks resounded on their double doors. This round of poker had been going well, and Hyrien had extorted quite a number of crackers from his four opponents alreadyï¿½it would have been no mean feat in any other case to turn him from this profitable game.

But when the knocking came, sharp, unheralded by any prior announcement, Hyrien straightened with attention.

Unexpected visitors. Not just a letter in the bootleg or by canary. Personal visitors.

Either the king had finally located their hideout, ten miles off the walled border of Henesysï¿½or someone needed them. Desperately.

Voices of the guild fell into cautious whispers. "Anyone has any idea who that might be?" inquired the White Knight, glancing at the three gigantic brass locks securing three arm-length crossbars. No one answered.

Yunira and her girl friends had been having dinner over a stack of interesting magazinesï¿½at present, she ascended from her seat, lowering her to the tabletop.

"I'll get the door!" she exclaimed, shooting off across the worn marble floor before anyone could stop her, detouring to the cabinet with the keys then taking herself back to the door with bounding strides. She pressed an ear against the wood at the gap, eyes widening slowly.

"There's more than five of them," she announced. She straightened, and her fingers quickly pushed the key into the first lock, twisting it till it clicked open.

Then, all three locks were off. The Spearwoman fell quiet with caution now, eyes wide, her hands slowly gripping the handles. "Alright?" she whispered. And she pulled the great, creaking door open.

Instantly, the winter wind swept inï¿½the radiators in the walls responded, humming louder. Everyone dropped their current preoccupationsï¿½no one spoke, except for the talkative few.

Black clad, all. There was an air of distant travel about the visitors at their doorstepï¿½their dishevelled hair, the sweat gleaming on their brows despite the winter cold, the way they supported each other by the shoulders.

There were a few daring whispers now. Black, all blackï¿½they dressed like necromancers, cloaks a little shorter, eyes a little hungrier, more yearning for warmth.

But who was to know if they were in league with the king or not?

That question was dispelled but a moment later.

The man in front stepped forward. "Good evening, Nightfall," he greeted the guild formally, steely eyes surveying the crowd.

His voice suddenly brought torrents of recollection, as memories were relit. Ethiel, they whispered to each other. Ethiel, the Dark Lord's people.

One of them had come to visit years ago, calling on them for help in the destroyed city of Kerning. No one had forgotten that name ever since.

Ethiel. Rebels, just like us.

The man seemed to see their mounting eagerness. So there wasn't any hesitance in his voice, now, as he briefly explained the cause of their visit:

"We need your help."

"Good evening, good sirs and madamsï¿½alright, please sit downï¿½sit down, and introduce yourselves."

"Can we save ourselves the formalities?" asked their spokesperson. Long pale-locked with weariness in his steel-grey eyes, he stood almost as tall as the White Knight himself. "The minutes are valuable. My name is Lawrence Ethiel, and that is all you need to know." Both sat, while the rest gathered in a tight circle around the table.

"Alright, alright. I am Hyrien, and I am pleased to meet you," answered the Guild Master. "I don't quite understand; could you explain the cause of your visit in further detail?"

"We are sorry for the short notice," the thief began, "but I suppose you already know about the capture of the four job masters. You see, we did have the intention of rescuing Dark Lord ourselves, but it doesn't take a genius to know we'd never succeed."

He understood immediately. "Andï¿½I suppose you are here to ask if we can assist you," murmured Hyrien thoughtfully. "If we canï¿½help you free him. Or all four of them. Wellï¿½that idea actually began amongst us the instant we heard the news."

"Why has it not proceeded?" inquired the senior thief a little more demandingly, leaning in out of interest, or maybe out of fearï¿½fear that their one and only avenue of hope was about to close its gates. The other ten drew in closer, sharing in the tension. "Is it not within your means? Or your skill?"

Suddenly calculating uneasilyï¿½afraid to fail their volatile hopes, yet afraid to promise something he could never giveï¿½the White Knight shot glances across the room. No, he had no reservations about the power of his guild. There wasn't any doubt that they were capable of performing any task accorded them, as long as they were told how. But that was precisely the problemï¿½there was no one to instruct them. Hyrien was simply afraid of failing againï¿½what if they miscalculated the king's intelligence, like before? What if it was impossible?

And this was the prison they were talking about. He had limited information on its interior, and it was likely to be just as secure as the castle, if not more so.

The Guild Master of Nightfall, afraid to make a move. It would shame Pelinor so. Hyrien buried his face in his hands and exhaled, a guilty pang coming, like knives in his chest.

"Iï¿½I hate to disappoint youï¿½but even we would be hard-pressed to form a strategy that could best the prison's defence. Even we'd require helpï¿½skilled helpï¿½if we were to execute a plan so frightfully difficult. I cannot imagine who could. I'mï¿½direly sorry forï¿½"

A sound stripped through the hall, from outsideï¿½a ghostly, alien shriek, one so strange that it cut all conversation short.

Hyrien's last words left his lips in a sharp dwindle.

The sound was hauntingï¿½three-toned, shrieking, notes shaped like foreign syllables. Dragon, was Hyrien's immediate and only thought. He stood abruptly, eyes irremovable from the door. Why? We have not disturbed themï¿½what is happening?

Another cry came, echoing across the sky outside, drawing closer, closer, closer. The beat of wings was clear, like a steady drumbeat, a steady heartbeat, leading the creature surely towards the abode of Nightfallï¿½

"Kiherhlahoxp?" gasped Yunira, everyone else in the room suddenly quiet again. "Is that you, Kiherhlahoxp?ï¿½"

With a stately beat that was as frightening as it was thunderous, a dark flash crossed the open door, landing so everyone could see it for what it was. It spread its leathery wings across the doorstep, giving a muffled cry, for it refused to open its mouth.

"Kiherhlahoxpï¿½"

Then, both Hyrien and Yunira realised simultaneously that there was a slip of paper clipped between its teeth, too precious to be releasedï¿½

A note.

Yunira raced to the doorway, heart pounding. "You're here! And at the strangest of times, too," she whispered, petting Kiherhlahoxp's snout and pulling the note gently from the crack of its mouth. It nudged her arm, and taking the cue, she rapidly unfolded the message.

"Read it," the young dragon hissed back. "Quickly. From friends. Friends who need help."

She understood, and began with the task, curiosity mounting. Noting then that the message was addressed to her guild and not to an individual, the girl raised her voice and began to read the words out loud for the restï¿½like a herald announcing his messageï¿½and the rest of Nightfall looked up to listen.

"Greetings, leaders and members of Nightfall.

"We have not met before, but I know we have felst each other's presence for many years. We always knew it would come to this, now in the last hour as winter claims the world, and Caleix begins to fear us for real.

"We make this request of you: we come, scarred in battle, exhausted, in search of refugeï¿½and we hope you will welcome us. There is no time for bargains; we both know the consequences if we are found. Every minute here makes that fate more likely.

"We thank you in advance, and may the Goddess and the Dragon smile upon you and your guild."

She paused before the sign-off. Her eyes were very wide, like pools of water, and her mouth seemed to want to practise shaping the syllables silently before she finally announced them.

But she did, at lastï¿½and no one dared to speak after that. With those words, strange plans and high-flying fantasies immediately began to bloom in many minds.

"Orion's Belt," read the Spearwoman, with a tone of finalityï¿½and she raised her gaze from the sheet. "Orion's Belt is coming to seek refuge with us."

They shot between the trees, the wild wind in their ears, the stars and branches turning into streaks around them. Raydan was yelling to the wind in exhilaration. The dragons were crying in jubilation, and Ketara made sure to thank them profusely.

The hours were stripped off one by one, and their arrival came too soon, much to the dismay of the ones who were enjoying the ride. The small white patch appeared in the distance, and the dragons began to chatter madly amongst themselves, shooting forth with renewed energy.

Then suddenly, the white patch had grown into a complete building, and it was just like the Sniper remembered itï¿½enclosed in a tangle of roots and branches that held it erect, the doorway facing the wild night as before, a well-trodden path winding out from before itï¿½except that Nightfall had renovated, and its new double doors stood proud, wide open.

"Awesome!" exclaimed the hyperactive Sniper. "Oh, I can't wait to get something to eatï¿½my stomach's been complaining all day!"

A fed-up Akera called him to be quiet, but conversation started up immediately around them.

"Yeah, I need a shower." "How do a hundred people fit inside that thing?" "I hope they have games!"

And so, like this, the journey was at end. Safety was close at last, the impregnable safety they missed so dearly. The white stone buildingï¿½their refuge until their task was completedï¿½came to fill their vision, and the dragons descended from the bald branches, one by one, circling around the open doorway.

In the midst of their flustered preparationï¿½the splash and chink of utensils as they were washed, the thump of tables being shifted across the hall floor ï¿½the first signs of their visitors' arrival began to come.

The thunder of the arriving chorus of wingbeats began as a low, distant rumble. But slowly and surely, it rose and swelled to drown everything else out, even close conversation, sending everyone into stillnessï¿½and the power of those beats shook the walls.

A battalion of dragons came to surround the openingï¿½all fierce and primed for battle, it appeared, the way their eyes gleamed, hissing and twitching as if waiting for the appearance of a hidden enemy. There were mutters of shock, of fright, of mistrust.

"I see they've upgraded their dingy entrance-hole into a real door!" a voice exclaimed from outside. "About time they did so!"

From behind dragon wings, they finally emerged, and revealed themselves.

Breaths were held.

They looked almost exactly as everyone had picturedï¿½ruffled, scarred, stained by the blood of battles pastï¿½but still so beautiful. Beautiful, with the ornament of legend and lore. These faces and personagesï¿½only fiction to them, familiar from the Wanted posters and the magazines, familiar from the tabloids that reported preposterous stories about them that could not be real.

Yunira stood, unsure of what to do. Her facial expression transformed rapidlyï¿½from incredulity, to horror, to euphoriaï¿½and the storm of feelings, of pasts reawakening, of stories that could finally be continued, seemed suddenly too much for her to contain within her.

"Raydan!" squealed the Spearwoman, breaking her momentary catatonia. Letting all propriety go, she flew at the befuddled archer with outstretched arms, leapt upon him with an insurmountable hug. He hadn't expected it, yelling out, but the elated recognition quickly rose to his eyes. "Your sister's guild! Orion's Belt! You never told me! Ohï¿½but you did say that name once, didn't you? That was the name! You said it! Oh my goshï¿½it was Orion's Belt all along!"

Yunira was gushing fluently nowï¿½she had never been one to contain her thoughts to her inner mind. Her rapid, bubbly speech had an immediate effect on the people around her. Chatter ascended from the masses. Some came forth to observe the visitors like utterly fascinating museum artefacts. Others cleared the tables, begging the celebrities from afar to come and sit with them.

Hyrien's heart was pounding as he began to pick out faces from the crowdï¿½not knowing why it was so wondrously bewildering, so satisfying, to finally draw the links he hadn't made before.

He recognised Zethis, the boy from the Henesys Hunting Grounds, all those seven years ago. Zethis, whom Hyrien could never forget for being the first and only child he had ever had the honour to help. So tall now, so changed in stature by the world he had seen.

And Raydan, the visitor from four years back, the one who had nearly died hanging from a branch in the Henesys Square. He remembered that day: the sand of the roads, the itchy branches encircling him, the leaping ambush from the treetops. As his eyes met those amber-orange ones, the years condensed into hours.

Oh, it feels like yesterday! He had the same eyes as his sister, the infamous guild leaderï¿½how could he never have noticed? Both in Orion's Belt!

He wasn't the only one reeling with the excitement. The speeches of admiration that had been waiting to be made finally poured from the dreamers' lips. Hyrien could hear the voices around and behind him: discussing how passionately they adored Ralinn for being so brave, so steadfast, so fierceï¿½how positively ingenious Lanorï¿½'s defeat of Xelion had been, how grand the entire story they were spinning for themselves had become. Orion's Belt, heroes of the world beneath the king's shadow!

The eleven thieves who had come earlier had not forgotten their agenda, though the air about them no longer seemed so darkly tense, a little of their charm shining through. They accepted the drinks offered, and began to take interest in the cards on the table.

"I suppose your problem is solved, then," murmured the thief named Jonathan, across the table. "This is the 'help' you hoped for, isn't it?"

Hyrien understood then, and nodded. It was true. Orion's Belt, victors at Minar Forest and in the Dead Minesï¿½they were the single best possible group that could have appeared at this time.

"This is a miracle!" cried Yunira, almost sobbing for joy as she dragged a still-speechless Raydan by the hand into the hall, the rest stepping through the doorway with a dignity that made the people of Nightfall bow. "Guys, remember Raydan?" she exclaimed when they had all come into the cosy main hall of Nightfall, suddenly so much smaller in their presence. "This is the guild that his sister started, six years ago. Orion's Belt!"

Yunira was over the moon. Never before had anything left her so ecstatic it turned all else into a blur. In these recent times of turmoil, she had found herself thinking about that distant friend, Raydan, more often than before. And suddenly, here he was, in the very same hall, four years down the path of Time!

Hyrien strode over to the door. "Greetings, Orion's Belt," he announced. "It is truly our highest honour to have you visit. It's wonderful that you have arrived at this hour."

"Oh no, it is our pleasure," answered Ralinn automatically from outside, straight and tall with her hair matted into clumps of deep brownï¿½was that blood? Oh, Ralinn, the brave huntress from all the tales. "We'd be dead nowï¿½or deeply inconveniencedï¿½if Raydan hadn't told us of Nightfall."

Hyrien quickly busied himself with commanding guild members about. He called for a dining table and a full dinner to be prepared. "Set twelve chairs at the table; I'll join them once I'm done, as will Yunira," he announced to the workers, who quickly scurried to their duties. Starry-eyed with surprise, Yunira accepted her inclusion, far too eagerly.

The entrance hall had sprung into activity. The main dining table was cleared, their best tablecloth laid over it. "Come right this way," called Yunira, the pounding of her heart dizzying as she led Orion's Belt towards the grand main table, high on the granite dais at the front of the room.

In no time at all, a throng of fanatics had gathered behind her, boisterously chattering and even attempting to reach out to touch the guests. "Shoo!" she snapped. "Get on with your own dinners!" She swatted them away, shoving a few off to get her point across. This is my opportunity! You're not stealing it! There was a little scuffle for seats around the table, and a considerable amount of seat-switchingï¿½but they settled fast enough. Yunira drifted about the table, grinning with pride.

For the first time that night, Raydan turned to eye the Spearwoman, and a smile coming to him almost naturally. "Yunira! You've become soï¿½pretty," he murmured, with surprising smoothness. "How long has it been since we last met?"

Yunira, taken aback as she was, tried not to express her disbelief. "Whoa, Raydanï¿½what got into you while you were gone?" she inquired, amused nevertheless.

"I discovered that I have a natural way with girls," answered Raydan. "You can probably sense my attractive aura by now."

"Oh, please!" she exclaimed very amusedly, having overcome her surprise. "All I sense is a guy without a good pickup line."

With a slight pout of disappointment, the Crossbowman set himself down in the chair beside Ralinn. "You'll change your mind soon enough, Miss Yunira," he expressed determinedly. With a giggle and a shrug, Yunira turned to see who else there was.

Akera sat to Raydan's right. She pausedï¿½everything the warrior had heard about that young woman told her that she should be frightened of her. She was the new Number One on the king's Most Wanted list, after all. Whether she knew it or not was another matter. Akera carried herself exactly like the aloof, cold-hearted murderess that the stories described her to beï¿½sitting apart from the rest, eyes the same colour as ice reflecting the sky, her famed silver hair marking her out even in the midst of this outstanding group. She sat like a queen, right leg crossed over left, hands folded on her lapï¿½impatient for her dinner.

"Good evening Aï¿½"

Yunira was stopped short by the Mage's blue gaze as it turned to the new voice. It crossed the redhead for a few seconds, like a metal rake passing through leaves; she shivered once as if the winter were coming upon her, and said no more.

"Hello," murmured Akera. By then, Yunira had paid her respects and moved off.

Lanorï¿½ was a rather stark contrast from the white-haired lady. Her very presenceï¿½her very smileï¿½excited her suddenly to hysteria, dispelling all worries about Akera from before. Oh my gosh, Lanorï¿½! Here! Right beside me! My goodness, I'mï¿½I'm going to talk to Lanorï¿½! Quickly she composed herself, before approaching the woman.

The Archmage seemed to have a way of appearing satisfied, because feel it or not, there was none of the irritation that Akera had displayed. Where Akera was pale and almost sickly in physique, the Archmage was golden-haired, warm-voiced and quite beautiful. She had a calm smile despite the exhaustion that her posture exuded, and was in conversation with a petite, rather adorable girl beside her.

The Spearwoman presently approached the two. She wasn't one to grow nervous, excited as she was. "Good evening, ma'ams!" she announced brightly, stopping behind them with her hands on the backs of their chairs.

Both glanced back from the empty table in unison, eyes immediately alight with surprise. "And what might your name be?" asked Lanorï¿½ with a blink of her ocean-blue eyes, reaching a hand out to shake hers. Yunira gasped within herself, and took it, gingerly, almost afraid to feel the touch of someone so greatï¿½almost afraid, even, of being turned to ice by her hand.

Her grip was firm, and surprisingly warm. "Yunira here, pleased to meet you, welcome to the Nightfall HQ!" she answered chirpily. Inside her, she felt as if she would overheat and explode.

Beside the woman, Clynine leant out to observe the newcomer. "Good evening, Miss Yunira," she murmured in a small, almost tender voice.

"You all look exhausted!" cried the Spearwoman in response, taking a quick glance about. "Where in the world have you been?"

Lanorï¿½ beamed back. "Everywhere," she answered earnestly, with a gaze cast far beyond the ceiling of the Nightfall HQ.

Yunira tapped her chin. "Ah, you lucky people! I've never been further than Ellinia, and never anywhere in the west!" she answered, twirling once behind their chairs. Clynine giggled, rather entertained. The Spearwoman spun to a stop and spared another glance at the Cleric.

"Awwï¿½you're so cute!" She reached and indulgently poked the girl's cheek; she blushed and glanced away. Yunira's eyes followed hersï¿½and only then did she notice that a blonde male youth was watching the two girls with wide eyes. "Ah? Who's that?"

The blonde youth's gaze immediately snapped away. He seemed so terrified at having been found out, and too shy to concede another glimpse of his face. Yunira stared at the straw-blonde of his hair, nevertheless, finding it rather nice a colour. Like the morning light that glowed through the cracks of the HQ walls when she woke up early to have hot pancakes for breakfast, and Kaida the greatest cook in the world wouldn't wait for latecomers. She liked watching the cracks when dawn shone through. His locks were that colour.

"That's Zethis," explained Clynine simply, and Yunira assumed he was one of the less famous guild members. She took on a sweet smile. "He's ï¿½not a very outspoken person."

"I can tell," she answered, beaming. "And he's kinda cute."

Lanorï¿½ smiled neatly. "You might not want to call him 'cute' in front of my assistant," whispered the Archmage, leaning in close. "He belongs to Clynine."

Yunira made a valiant attempt not to laugh. "Ah, right, who's that?" She finally decided to turn her attention to someone else, asking her question over Lanorï¿½'s shoulder while she pointed at a dark-haired male who had eyes only for the wall.

"Turino?" Lanorï¿½ pronounced the young man's rather rustic-sounding name. "Oh, try and spot his sister. It's a pity that they don't ever sit side by side."

The Spearwoman's eyes had already sought out that black-haired sister of his. So these are the twins the rumours always talk about? Indeed, she had heard of them before. Orion's Belt had been an occasional conversation topic amongst the Nightfall members.

"Who else is in the guild?" she had asked once, a while ago.

"Besides the Silver Fang, Akera and their leader? I think Ralinn has a brother. And I hear there's a pair of twins ï¿½"

The twins, they were always the ones mentioned in passing, with only one opinion expressed of them: They are creepy. There were theories going around, that this pair of twins was the very same one that had once inhabited the Dungeon, murdering lost travelers for life.

Yunira shuddered, because it wasn't hard to imagine it now, gazing upon those pale faces. They were dressed ordinarily, but glowed red with bloodï¿½and was there a tinge of blood on their lips?

They don't like each other; that was the other thing she had heard about the two. They'd kill each other if society did not disallow it.

Why? I wish I had a brother!

But Yunira gave that thought no more attention, for her eyes had somehow wandered absently to the person separating the two, a young man who seemed busy with observing the others as well. His eyes were warm brown, his long hair dark and unruly. He was so hotï¿½

The instant he noticed her gaze, the young man blinked and glanced up at her, in question. She stepped back. "Ah, Lanorï¿½who's that, eh, rather cute guy between them?"

"Ketara," said the Archmage without even having to look. "Really, I wonder why everyone seems to share that opinion of him," and now she lowered her voice, "I personally find Zethis cuterï¿½"

"Maybe," sighed the silly girl, absently. In her peripheral vision, she had noted the presence of the last personï¿½a man just as bedraggled as everyone at the table, with long brown hair falling messily over his shoulders. "That last guy is Shirion, I suppose?"

"Absolutely right." Lanorï¿½ watched him, but neither the Crusader nor the Ranger noticed, for the two were too deep in conversation to see anything but each other. "No one else can put that look on his face ï¿½"

Yunira wasn't paying attention, though. Waving tentatively at Ketara, the girl tried to smileï¿½and to her absolutely delighted surprise, he smiled back, welcomingly, lifting his hand from the tabletop to return the gesture. Yunira felt heat creep into her cheeks, suddenlyï¿½no, don't blush!ï¿½before she could calm herself down.

Oh, goshï¿½he noticed me! Shall I go talk to him? Shall I? Should I?

Never mind what her mind told herï¿½she would be going. With nervous bounds, the girl circled the table, brisker and more eager than even her usual self. But what do I say? What if he gets annoyed? What about that girl beside himï¿½?

Arriving behind them, she felt her knees wobble. "Hï¿½hello!" she gasped, cautiously leaning out over the back of Ketara's chair. Be natural! Be natural; act like you've always known him! "I couldn't help but notice you! ï¿½What might your name be?"

The youth angled his head slightly, tilting backwards so that he could see Yunira in full. Beside him, black-haired Telida growled softly, but said nothing in objection.

"I'm Ketara; nice to meet you," came his answer then, accompanied by a curious smile. Yunira tried her very best not to stare. "I've heard that your name is Yuniraï¿½is that right?"

"Uh, yes! That's my name!" she squealed with restraint, wishing he wouldn't look up at her that way! "And nice to meet youï¿½"

"Oho, getting close to Orion's Belt already, aren't you!" Hyrien's voice exclaimed suddenly from behind her, to her shockï¿½he had somehow materialized behind her, soundlessly. Both Ketara and Telida turned from her to him.

"Iï¿½yes, just part of making them feel welcome," replied the Spearwoman promptly, standing straight and smiling as widely as she could, trying her best to cover her true agenda in approaching Ketara.

The Guild Master seemed pleased to hear that, and departed. And she was about leap back into her conversation with the charming young manï¿½but the Guild Master's voice called across the table at that point, insisting that she take her place right this instant, so that dinner could begin. She looked up. The White Knight gestured at the empty seat between Ralinn and Raydan.

The Spearwoman groanedï¿½so close! "Talk to you later," she called out to Ketara, who answered with a nod, while she trudged back to her seat, pouting.

Hyrien turned to Yunira, tilting his head to a side. "You seem quite taken in by that guy," murmured the man as she pulled the chair. "Well, of course I understandï¿½no need to be embarrassedï¿½but don't freak him out!" Much to her horror, Yunira found herself blushing againï¿½and she did her best to hide it, by turning to inspect Raydan's food.

The Crossbowman seemed to interpret this as an offer for conversation, and goodness, did he take it voraciously fast. "So, what's been going on?" inquired the blonde youth.

"Huh?"

"I mean, what's happened since I left?"

With a slow turn of the head, Yunira raised her gaze to inspect her old friend. He looked like exactly the same guyï¿½except, perhaps, his hair was longer and a bigger mess, and he had taken to wearing a headband. Whatever for? Some weird fashion statement?

"It's been four years, Raydanï¿½and that's quiteï¿½enough time for many things to have happened, don't you think?" answered Yunira, finally. The dishes were being laid down. The girl fidgeted in her seat.

Somehow or other, Raydan's interest seemed to have been roused by this response. "Well, tell me! Tell me what's been going on with your life!" he pressed on eagerly. "Hm, let's start withï¿½your love life!"

"It doesn't exist!" It alarmed her that he was raising this topic at this pointï¿½so soon after a particular guy had caught her interestï¿½wait, what? Am I seriously already crushing on someone I've only known for a few minutes? Then to alleviate the unease of the sort-of-lie, she said, "I have been interested in one or two thoughï¿½"

The blonde archer smiled widely. "Oh, that's cute," he sighed ï¿½and that was when she began to find his behavior strange.

"Right, thank you," murmured the girl, averting his gaze purposefully and dishing herself some of the vegetables. My goshï¿½he's become soï¿½weird!

Thankfully, Ralinn intervened before things could get any more awkward. "Stop creeping her out," commented the leader of Orion's Belt from her left. Raydan finally seemed to realize the full effect what he had just saidï¿½and quickly shut up, allowing a silence to commence between them at the worst possible time.

Hyrien noticed the discomfort. From his place to Raydan's immediate right, he asked merrily: "So, Orion's Belt, the greatest rebels in the worldï¿½how does it feel to have returned to Victoria Island at last?"

Yunira observed as the conversation caught on. Ralinn was quickest to answer, being the leader and feeling the need to be the one taking the questions, it seemed. "It has been quite an experience," she summarized. "I don't think I can say I'm the same person after everything that's happened."

"It's been awesome!" Raydan put in enthusiastically, raising a fork.

"No, it's been terrible," countered Akera, succinctly as usual.

"But all those places! The creatures we met, the monsters we battled! Wasn't it just mindblowingly awesome?"

And suddenly, the tale was being unfolded around the table, by the ones who had written itï¿½starting from their most recent adventure, of crossing the sea on the back of a whale. Yunira's eyes went wide, as she heard the stories of their every last escapadeï¿½as they went backwards, chronologicallyï¿½or perhaps not chronologically, through everything that had happened since the completion of the guild. So many eager stories were concurrently being put forward by everyone, so many versions of the same event, so many parallel plots.

By the Goddess, she felt as if she were listening to a complete epic from between the covers of a novel! Even the events and the twists seemed to have been calculated on by the deities; the passionate segments brought tears to her eyes; the evil that they sometimes spoke of made her shiver, as if dark claws were being raked down her spine.

And most of allï¿½she found her admiration for Orion's Belt grow, and grow, with every word that was shared.

"And there's this other group that came just before you," added Hyrien, gaze shifting to the band of thieves who occupied the two tables nearby. They hadn't been forgotten, though by the looks of it, they would probably have liked to be.

All these people, traveling far and wide just to find shelter with us, to find help with us. This is a sure sign that the balance is shifting.

As his visitors plowed through high-piled desserts, the Guild Master's subordinate arrived to inform him that the rooms were ready. Hyrien thanked him; he would much have liked to inform Orion's Belt, but they were busy enjoying Kaida's cakes and puddings. Instead, he sent Ethiel off first, making a short trip to their tables to inform Lawrence that the rooms were ready. Their acting spokesperson nodded curtly, standing to leaveï¿½the rest followed, no verbal exchange necessary. Their black cloaks rustled as they slipped into the darkness.

Due in great part to the sizes of their desserts, the guild took about twenty minutes more to finish everything. "Ralinn," called Hyrien then, as the rest of Orion's Belt began to grow rowdy, having nothing to busy their mouths with. "Rooms are ready. Yunira will show you to them."

He watched as the woman rose from her seat and rounded up her underlings, silencing them with a few shouts for quietï¿½Raydan was the last to shut upï¿½ before instructing Yunira to lead the way. Distractedly though, the girl cast a glance about the small crowd as they gathered, as if searching for someoneï¿½Ralinn's gentle tap on her shoulder rapidly brought her back on task. She was too terrified of the womanï¿½the greatest, most-wanted leader on the island at presentï¿½to dilly-dally.

"Follow me!" exclaimed the girl, taking off towards the stairs that she knew so well. Hyrien watched her go with some measure of fondnessï¿½the Spearwoman, eight years younger than himself, had always been such an eager soul, bad past or not. She had had a sister named Shamira, and a pair of loving parentsï¿½how much happier would she be, if they were still around?

Walking near the end of the line, Akera, the Silver Fang and her assistant were in conversationï¿½he watched them pass, but he suddenly recalled Ethiel's request, and realized that now would be the best time to ask about it.

But how will they respond? Surely I am too lowly to request such a favour of themï¿½

Placing faith his rank and hisï¿½hopefully existentï¿½reputation to save him from any humiliation, the White Knight stopped them anyway.

"Good evening," he said cordially, business-like. Clynine paused in mid-sentence and glanced up at him, and the other two followed suit. Their walk stopped almost instantly, and Hyrien suddenly felt sorry for holding them back from their well-needed rest. "How has your stay been so far?"

"Oh, good evening, Sir," answered Lanorï¿½ politely, with a smile that was almost unnervingly steady. "Thank you for your accommodation, in advance. And thank you for that delightful dinner. It is our honour to be here." Clynine murmured a wholehearted agreement. Akera nodded ever so slightly, though her eyes lingered still on what was probably the opening to the staircase.

He bowed his head deeply. "The honour is, and always will be, mine," came his response, as naturally as breathing. "Although I hate to break your restful moodï¿½I have a small request of you. If you would listen, that is."

At this point, the white-haired lady in bloodstained blue seemed ready to dismiss the man and leave. Akera, always the impulsive, self-serving one, Hyrien had heard from many a friend. But he wouldn't judge yet. The Mage seemed about to stride awayï¿½but with a glare, she must have decided it would be rude to leave, and Lanorï¿½'s grip on her shoulder made it all the harder to do so.

"Yes, don't mind Akeraï¿½would you tell us what this is about?" inquired Lanorï¿½ as their walk slowly resumed, Hyrien following at a cautious distance.

"You noticed that band of thieves just now, at the table adjacent to yours? They are Ethiel."

"The Dark Lord's thieves," answered Akera.

"Yes, the Dark Lord's closest friends," affirmed the Guild Master of Nightfall, calling to mind the image of their black cloaks vanishing down the staircase. "You might know, also, that the Job Masters of Victoria Island have been captured by the king."

"What?" The response was in unison. Hyrien left them a moment to absorb the news, which he had, till then, believed was common knowledge. The King has the lines cut. It seems news doesn't travel across the ocean anymore.

The three magicians glanced at each other, whispering about Grendel, about the future. "Why didn't they kill them immediately?" asked Akera at one point. A legitimate curiosity.

"Torture," answered Lanorï¿½. "It's a mentality that many take when they finally capture their archenemies. Why let them just die, when you could repay them first for all the frustration they caused?"

Clynine shivered. "I hope they aren't doing anything particularly bad to Grendel," she sighed, folding her hands together. Soon enough, their attention returnedï¿½the trio had taken the news much more calmly than anyone else he had seen had.

"And, well, I wanted to ask something of you," he said simply, their gazes all upon him. He began to grow nervous then. "You can probably guess."

"Yes, I think I can guess," answered Lanorï¿½. She wore a knowing smile, and again that intrusive ocean-blue gaze shot like arrows through him. "But go ahead and say it anyway."

"Do you think you can break them out of prisonï¿½"

"And there we go," concluded the tall blonde woman with satisfaction, blue eyes seeming more vivid now. She turned purposefully towards her two companions. "Prison break, for a second time. You up to it?"

Akera folded her arms. "Let's do it," she said, deliberately, like a judge dealing the verdict. "But after some sleep."

"Ketara! What was with that girl just now?"

"Oh, Yunira?" He grinned lightly, glancing up at the ceiling. "She's kind of a nice girl, isn't she?"

Telida pouted. "Nice girl? And you're going to trust her just like that?"

Ketara must have laughed. Yes, that was a laughï¿½it certainly felt like one.

"Why are you being so possessive?" he asked straightforwardly.

"Iï¿½Iï¿½just think you're too gullible for your own good," she finally growled, after some embarrassed hesitation, turning deliberately away. "You'reï¿½right. I'mï¿½being too possessive."

Those words made the Dragon Knight feel dizzy with despair, suddenly. Oh, Telidaï¿½I wishï¿½I just wishï¿½ He threw up his head, gasping slightly for desperation.

"I made an oath never to love a man. We can't ever be more than friends, understand?"

Telida strolled in between the brilliant lights, coming to stop only at the very last door. "I've always liked corridor ends," she commented as she slid it open. Turning around, she beamed, reaching out suddenly to ruffle his hair. Thenï¿½perhaps noticing the way he sighed hollowlyï¿½she withdrew her smile, blinking a few times, some sort of guilt overcoming her. With not a word, not even goodbye, she vanished through the door and shut it with a gentle click.

The warrior stood at the door for an entire minute more. He tried to move, but her presence drew his soul in, held him fast. He brushed the hardwood with his fingertips, staring on into its lines, as if there were a world hidden within those markings.

I'm sorry, Telida.

Lanorï¿½ came strolling down the corridor a short while later. She had been searching for the bathroomï¿½but his presence quickly distracted her, and there she waited, watching him curiously.

It took the young man a minute to realize that she was there; he leapt in startlement when the woman's shadow crossed him, and turned to its caster.

"What's the issue?" the Archmage inquired simply.

He lowered his gaze, glancing about at the floor slabs.

"Iï¿½I should have realized long ago," he answered, troubled by his own voice. "I didn't realizeï¿½butï¿½I've alwaysï¿½loved her."

"And?" The woman waited expectantly, eyes rife with concern.

With a sigh that was closer to a sob, Ketara closed his eyes, clasping his hands togetherï¿½wishing, just wishing, this were all only a dream, a lie that he could erase simply by blinking his eyes open.

"I love Telida. And she can't love me back."

Half of Orion's Belt had bad dreams that night; in the dark, it was so easy to remember it allï¿½the scorch of lightning in the middle of the sea, the thunder beyond that thin wall of ice, the pursuit of fifty armoured men. In their dreams, they fell down fifteen flights of stairs, vanished into the ravenous ocean, burned to death chained to a tree.

But the safety of the sturdy HQ walls, and the equally reassuring reputation the building had, soothed the edges of their nightmares.

In the grey hours of dawn, the sounds of waking began to fill the airï¿½the stumbling footsteps of the sleep-befuddled searching for the bathroom, the clanging of pots and pans as breakfast was prepared, the swooshing of shower water, somewhere nearby.

The Guild Master soon found his opportunity to approach Akera and Lanorï¿½, as everyone was settling into their morning preoccupations, and the pair sat down in the main hall sofas for a short read. As soon as he called their names, Hyrien began regretting having interrupted their rest again. But while the white-haired lady was mighty indignant, the more accommodating blonde Archmage took immediate interest in his topic.

The progress of the conversation saw Akera slowly warming up to Hyrien's presence, no thanks to the topic, which seemed to draw her in as a flower would a butterfly. He presented them the notes he had taken, highlighting to them the sections about the prison. Nervously, he presented the points that he and his friends had already brainstormed. The pair listened casually, but Hyrien could almost see, in their eyes, the cogs of thought clicking away.

"How will you do it?" the White Knight asked innocently, not knowing how they would respond to this questionï¿½or rather, not knowing just how much detail their responses would encompass.

A discussion began, and it went on for almost two hours: the sheer complexity of their thinking was simply beautifulï¿½the clash of the two minds that somehow picked out each other's flaws in reasoning even faster than they did their own. Their gazes waged violent war against each other sometimesï¿½ocean blue on one side, sky blue on the otherï¿½they knew each other well enough to offend one another comfortably.

These two are amazing, the White Knight found himself thinking occasionally, though maybe his attention lingered on the Silver Fang of El Nath a little longer each time.

In two hours and a half, they had cobbled together a wonderful plan, upon whichï¿½suddenlyï¿½Hyrien believed the impossible was possible. It was suddenly possible to free the four best-guarded prisoners from the King's grasp! He was still reeling as they wrapped up, agreeing to meet again over the task.

"So that's it," concluded Lanorï¿½, and she began to depart alongside her companionï¿½but not before the man could suddenly, impulsively, proclaim his amazement. Akera dismissed his praise with a silent bow of her head, her sharp ice eyes shining with an elusive hint of pleasure. But the Archmage was more liberal with her acknowledgment.

"I do not see why someone of your standing should be praising us to such an extent," she murmured, her voice laced with amusement. "This is only a favour, from one friend to another."

"I am in no position to accept your designation of myself as your friend!" answered the man quicklyï¿½

Hyrien gasped sharply as he felt a hand grip his forehead and force him back upright. He found himself inexorably staring into the frightening blue eyes of the Silver Fang of El Nathï¿½suffering under her burning gaze while she removed her hand and went on. "We are friends. Doesn't that sound so much better than 'heroine and worshipper'?"

"Yï¿½yes, milady."

"And none of these pompous terms on me," she was genuinely mirthful now, and as Akera began her departure, she let out a small, lively laugh. "I'm Lanorï¿½. Nice to meet you, O Great Leader of the Mighty Guild Nightfall!"

Hyrien would probably have laughed in response, had he not been slightly embarrassed that the legendary woman was calling himï¿½a man of such low statusï¿½that monstrosity of a title.

"And I am Hyrien," he answered, shaking her outstretched hand.

"I always knew our paths would cross," murmured Raydan to Yunira. "Orion's Belt and Nightfall."

Friendships were made where there had been none; it was quite amazing how fast lonely souls caught on with each other. Raydan sometimes came to sit with Yunira. She welcomed his presence, but her gaze always lingered on the Dragon Knight from Orion's Belt, longer and more intensely every day.

As the second day of Orion's Belt's stay began, Hyrien obliged to take them on a tour around their forest. The air was cold, reminding everyone that the year was plunging steadily into winter. Over the next half hour, they learnt of the entire series of facilities that Nightfall had constructed in the forest. He showed them the wood benches and tables arranged around the creek, the treehouse not far away. Nearer to the Headquarters, Nightfall had built itself a training ground with whatever nature had provided; that was also put on showcase during the short tour.

Last but not least, he showed them the spring that fed the creek. It appeared to be but a small pool in the ground, clear water springing from the depths of the earth to fill it, burbling with laughter. It was almost quarter a mile south, the furthest of Nightfall's frequented spots.

"You can come here to drink on your own," concluded Hyrien, before taking his leave and allowing Orion's Belt to enjoy its ambience. The cold winter danced around themï¿½there wasn't any snow yet, but then again, it rarely snowed in the south. The creek bubbled on, unfrozen for a season yet.

Telida paused at the top of the stairs. She had caught a flash at the corner of her eye, and now turned, only to seeï¿½to her delightï¿½her Dragon Knight friend passing by the bottom.

"Ketara!" She leant over the staircase rails, nervously drawing his attention with a call of his name, waiting expectantly for his attention to turn.

But then her readiness wavered. Would he ignore her, again? Would he simply spare her a glance, then walk away, withdrawn and cold? Just likeï¿½always?

Ketara had changed, ever since they had arrived. He wouldn't talk to her, when she most wanted conversation; he wouldn't even look her in the eye. He was constantly seeking excuses to leave, to be somewhere else, to not be in her presenceï¿½

ï¿½almost as if he suddenly hates me.

The girl felt herself tear up suddenly at the ideaï¿½though she begged herself desperately not to feel this way, not to be so emotional. But then, her tears had always been beyond her control.

What did I do, Ketara? What did I do?

Still she waited, and at last he did look to meet her gaze. There was some sort of resonance between them, and immediately she felt a wave of desperate, clingy joy overcome herï¿½

A smile came to the Dragon Knight's lips, despite himself. Involuntarily, the girl glanced away.

"Are youï¿½free right now?"

Why do I sound so shy? What happened to you, Telida?

"Iï¿½guess I am," he answered, arriving at the bottom of the stairs. "Anything you want?"

"Could you come with me to the spring?"

Pulling on sweaters and scarves and praying that the night wasn't too cold, the pair slipped out through the door and down the front steps of granite. Around them, the whispering trees seemed to bend in welcome, and the ventured out into the wintry blue night, breaths deep and regular.

Ketara's heart was racingï¿½and it must have been for joy, because for seconds in the dark, he felt as if he were flying. But the worries caught up, unable to leave him a moment of peace, and he shivered.

Something told him that Telida had taken him along for a reason. Her controlled gait, her gimlet eyes, her tense shouldersï¿½the darkness all around. She wanted to have a conversation with him, somewhere where no one could hear.

ï¿½does she know?

With a sigh, the warrior's walk slowed to a trudge, and he fell behind. When had he realized that he felt this way? No, it hadn't come to him in a flashï¿½no angels and light and dancing flowers, no lightning-struck blindness and brilliant explosions. It had been a gradual knowledge. Something that had come, slowly, to him, over the course of the lengthening monthsï¿½as he had matured, enough, to see his feelings for what they really were.

Where had the line between friendship and love lain? Heï¿½had never felt it passing.

The musical bubbling of spring water grew to envelope them, almost unnoticeably, as they shifted through the tree trunks. Soon the spring came into view, and they approached, pausing at last when they arrived, both gazing at whatever remained of their featureless reflections. Even in the cold dark, the thin moonlight revealed a few glowing white stones deep in the pool.

The warrior heard a breath beside him, slightly nervous, ominous, piercing. He turned.

"Ketara," whispered his companion, gaze stubbornly trained on the water below. The breeze came to catch her words, making them almost impossible to hear. "Something's wrong, isn't it? You've been acting strange. You've beenï¿½colder. You can't evenï¿½look me in the eye anymore."

The warrior felt a gush of coldness down his back, as she said this. She knows. She's going to askï¿½

"Why? What is it?" Suddenly turning to take hold of his gaze, her eyes grew bright. "What did I do, Ketara? Did you finally grow sick of my friendship? Did I offend you? What?"

"Noï¿½you didn't do anythingï¿½"

She snatched his shoulders suddenly, forcing his gaze violently against hers. "What did I do?" her hiss was murderous, her nails digging into his shouldersï¿½into his healing wound, setting it alight with pain. "I can't just go on as if nothing happened! What is wrong?"

Ketara gasped, head spinning suddenly. Her eyes burnt into his, sparkling like the streamï¿½and yet his heart would give no answersï¿½no answers at all.

Why?

Tell her the truth!

Tell her and be done with it!

Hide it from her!

Keep lying!

Three years they had spent, braving the world together, nurturing their friendship. And now, it had to come to this, this sorry situationï¿½one desperately searching for answers, the other desperately hiding them. How much would the past destroy now? How much would it ruin, that day long ago when she had told her of her oath, and he had made a promise never to fall in love with her?

"Iï¿½Lidaï¿½"

His breath was stolen, the way she stared down into his own eyesï¿½hoping, hoping with those black depths, that he would not betray their years together. Lay everything bare. Leave no secrets in the dark.

But could he? Could he say anything, and keep this friendship alive? Could anything be the same, once the foundation of their relationshipï¿½the promise that it would always be devoid of loveï¿½had crumbled?

Suddenly, suddenly, Ketara was helpless to circumstance. The entire world spun past him, taunting him for his foolishness, for his choices, for his state now. Who ever told you to do what you did? The years and the seconds, the seasons, turning, turning. Everything that had taught him to love before.

Was this meant to happen, from the start?

Was our friendship meant to be ruined?

He suddenly found himself thrown out of that worldï¿½thrust into anotherï¿½and he was gazing deep down into the river of timeï¿½at that single day, six long years ago, the day he had first felt her strong fingers tug his mesos from his belt.

He imagined her shout as it echoed from somewhere among the trees, a hungry savage who lived only to stay alive, and perhaps to hate. He remembered her sparkling eyes. He remembered how cold his palms had been, how frightful the darkness, how wildly-beating his heart.

And he began to journey through the days thereafter, days that linked into months, and months into the years that had carried them here. The slopes of the mountains, where they had lost themselves in fear. The stairs of the tower, where she had caught him in her arms.

He remembered her hands, her fingers, interlocked with his own.

He remembered the tears they had cried together, before.

I always did. I always needed you. I never could have lived, without you there for me.

And then, all around him, the world was dissolving into starsï¿½so many stars, the very stars among which the Dragon had been imprisoned, here at the beginning of time. The world was all a dream, a dream that was beginningï¿½and he heard, in the distance, the Dragon's anger, flooding the heavens:

I give you happiness, for happiness is what you will seek, the engine of your living. I give you pain, for pain will teach you, to fear the things that will hurt you. And I give you love. For love is when another's happiness is more important than your own.

Then the Dragon cried, for sadness, for joy, for both unendingï¿½and His eyes slowly disintegrated into a fine glittery powder, the wild world birthed beneath, unfolding across the barren land, rising from where the dust touched the soilï¿½every petal in the vast panorama, every insect and bird and speck of algae.

At last, when the world was complete and all was calm, the Dragon stood, gazing lovingly down at the world He had brought to lifeï¿½ shedding a last golden tear of happiness.

Exceptï¿½He wasn't gazing, for He had no eyes.

The Dragon is blind, the warrior suddenly realized, chills running up his spine.

The Dragon gave His eyes to create the world.

And that is why His symbol is the rainbow.

Because He will never see its colours.

And at the end of those five, endless seconds, Ketara finally found his voice.

He knew what to tell her now. He knew how to end this allï¿½for better, for worse.

"Telida."

The wind itself held its breath.

"Yes?"

This is it. I'm not turning back now.

"Telidaï¿½I justï¿½want you to knowï¿½things can change. Things aren't always going to be this way. Things don't always have to be this way. Nature can changeï¿½the deities can change. We can change things. We wereï¿½given the power to do so."

As Telida heard him speak these words, her eyes suddenly flooded to the brim with unbridled confusion.

"Because then, we will not stagnateï¿½and we will not always be trapped here. In the chains of a past we made when we were foolish. Chains that were locked, before we even knew we wanted to be free."

In the silence, as the carcasses of the leaves twisted by, Telida slowly began to understand. She saw the direction of the conversation now, and her eyes began to brighten with tears. Ruled suddenly by concern, Ketara stepped a little closerï¿½but she withdrew quickly, terrified, pulling her arms around herselfï¿½

"What is it, Ketara?"

He breathed in deeply, close to tears himself.

"Lidaï¿½do you love me?"

She froze, feet deep in the fragmented leaves, toes close to the roots.

Her eyes could have held every star in the sky, the way they sparkledï¿½somewhere between angry, and disbelieving.

Ketara knew, that he had just said something that could never be retracted, never be erased.

It took her three long seconds, to fully take the blow of those words. She stood frozen, head shaking slowly, eyes ignited by incredulousness and the pain of betrayal. Her mouth opened, a gasp of horror, breaths shallow, rapid.

She seemed to search for the words, her lips moving almost in spasmsï¿½but no sound came. Not for those seconds.

With a gasp, then, she finally screamed.

"Noï¿½no, no, no! I don't love you!" Squeezing her eyelids tight, she clawed him away, voice flooding the treetopsï¿½like a sky beyond the branches, the colour of bloodï¿½blood, blood pouring from her heart, blood spilling all over the earth to turn the roots red. "Ketaraï¿½you promisedï¿½we would never be more than friends! You acceptedï¿½and that's why I let you come this close! I thought you'd honour that! This is how it has to be; this is how it must always beï¿½we can'tï¿½can't waver from that! Do you want me to die? Do you?"

She wailed suddenly, whirling around with deadly speed, landing a slap against his cheek. It stung sharply. But the small throb of pain was nothing, nothing next to the empty well of coldness that was slowly, slowly drowning him.

"You feel that way, don't you? You've started to love me! You have, haven't you? Haven't you? I knew you could never be trusted! All men, all the same, all filthy liarsï¿½"

The young woman's voice stopped short. She seemed more confused than ever, by the words that had suddenly poured from her lips, eyes darting about in her disorientation, searching for a pathway out of this abyss.

Iï¿½I'm sorry.

Ketara smiled sadly. He felt as if he were bleeding inside, a thousand swords run through him, over and over again. The horror of her rejection. She pantedï¿½every breath made his heart curl up in agony. But he knew how to hold his tears in, better than the thief girl did.

And he reached out to touch her shoulder in gentle comfort, to tell her that it didn't matter, that he was alright.

To his surprise, instead of whirling away, or flinging his hand offï¿½she accepted his touch.

Silently, quietly as the fading of the sun, Telida's eyes went dimï¿½the way eyes do, when a human crosses the threshold from life into death. Her eyelids were full of tears now; she could do nothing to rein their flow, to stop them from streaming down her face.

Her lips parted.

"Yesï¿½Iï¿½do."

She barely managed these words, as if shaping them were the most unendurable torture in the world. Her eyes caught his suddenly, for no more than a secondï¿½in that single glance, a world of stories passed between themï¿½of happiness and sadness, of need and regret, of days that had flown by between them, before either one had noticed.

She paused, sobbing. Then her next sentence left her lips, and her doom was sealed:

"Iï¿½doï¿½love you."

While Ketara stood, wide-eyed and numbï¿½there was a dark flurry of movement beyond him.

The sound of a scream. Her screamï¿½all around him, dancing like ravens in a sky of blood, tearing away at his ears and his heart.

Telida flew past him, with no more than a brush of her arm against hisï¿½and took off into the night.

He saw only one thing: the flash of a blade.

Telidaï¿½Telidaï¿½where are you going? What are you doing?

It all registered in an explosion of sensationï¿½horror, panic, ecstasy, hate, relief, fury, pain, doom. Everything, so inebriatingï¿½so dizzyingï¿½

"Telida!" he gaspedï¿½she vanished from sight, and he was thrown out of his catatoniaï¿½

In a jerk of panic, he sprang into motion, heart crying. And only one thing rang out in his mind. He could not lose this race.

Together. Together, they flew through the night, as one, a pair of wingsï¿½the world on fire, all the dragons of the past watching from their graves with silent hearts.

"Lida! Please! Come back!"

Telida, don't do this to yourself! We can change things. I swear we can. I will change them!

Through worlds they voyagedï¿½through these worlds he chased her, that elusive shadow who had somehow, somehow, always been beyond himï¿½shot out into the clearing that led towards the HQ door like a twisted boulevard, calling her name in bursts of panicï¿½as she slipped, yet again, out of his reach.

The moon pierced the forest, and everything was laid out bare before him: there he saw Telida, trapped in the shadows beneath the trees by the path, eyes shut tight, sweat running down her face, sweat and tears, he couldn't tell whichï¿½her blade gleaming, maliciouslyï¿½

Ketara felt his own heart seize up completely, each heartbeatï¿½each struggling heartbeatï¿½

A scream erupted from the Hermit's throat.

Her hair spiraled, as black as the darkness behind her.

He yelled in denial, dashing across the clearing, fatuous.

Her hand twitchedï¿½he began to cryï¿½the blade soared, soared across that five-inch gap, a million miles acrossï¿½

"Lida! Please! Please!"

Don't do this to yourself!

Tears scattered from his cheeks, splashing across the brittle leaves below.

He was there, with a cry and a leapï¿½he was there, all around her, slashing the dagger out of her hand with every last drop of fury he had ever known how to feel, pinning her furiously to the tree before she could try to murder herself again.

Telida screamed at his touch, as if his skin burned. "Let me! Let me do it!" she cried, struggling against his fury and strength, twisting to bite his armï¿½he flinched, but never let his grip waver, for he knew that his grip was all that was keeping her from dying. "It's too lateï¿½too lateï¿½too late for meï¿½I'm goneï¿½better for me to die at my own hands than at the hands of the Clock Spirit!"

"No! Don't say that! Shut up!"

"Let me go! I HATE YOU! I hate you for doing this to me! All men are the sameï¿½all of them, they hate us, hate us allï¿½pretend to love youï¿½only to turn on you, hurt you, destroy youï¿½and you are no different, Ketara! You, you always meant to do thisï¿½you always meant toï¿½"

"Quiet, Telida!"

Ketara felt all the years spiral and twist until they were a secondï¿½and eternity shone still in his heart, brighter than the spangling of stars. He was a child, standing at the head of a mountain, wondering how far he could travel if he walked one step at a time. But here, now, that world didn't matter, for his entire world was here, here within her eyes. Impulse reigned over him; he was all impulse: her screams must have awakened something blazing in himï¿½and he sank, slowlyï¿½slowlyï¿½to be claimed by her gazeï¿½

"LET GO OF ME! LETï¿½GOï¿½"

Sudden as her screams had come, there was only haunting tranquillity.

It was a few seconds later that Telida stopped breathing. Her eyes went very wide, catching the glittery trails of the fireflies, as they sifted through the branches. Tears still flowed from their corners, streaming down her face, falling into the earth, on the leaves, upon their shoes.

And the regular falling of teardrops only grew more rapid when the numbness left her, and she felt his kiss on her lips.

It was barely a second long. Ketara drew back suddenly, breaths shivering, frightened that he had done something unforgivable. Long after the cold had come between them, his face felt warm. His grip on the young woman grew slack, and he watched, half expecting her to start screaming at him again.

But noï¿½Telida only stared on, silent as the winter skyï¿½breathing, breathing, gasping for air. Her eyes seemed to ask, over and over: Why are you doing this?

She gave a soft cry of despairï¿½gripped him by the shoulders, found his lips with hers, fell against him and yielded completely to him. Together, they stumbled out onto the pathwayï¿½both too blind to see where they were going.

He was the one who pulled back again, gasping now, eyes blurred. "Lidaï¿½Lida, I'm sorry!" he exclaimedï¿½she ignored him and pulled his head close with a flash of anger in her eyes, pressing a third kiss against his lips.

Their heartbeats timed themselves against each other's. He spiraled like a bird in her endless eyes, breathless, fadingï¿½her hands slipping to his shoulders, as if he was her soul and her lifeï¿½as if she would die if they left each other's embrace. He let his fear of the dark go, let his eyes close as well. She was all that mattered. Her lips spoke of need, without even shaping a word. Her grip, across his shoulders, was a world of regret.

They kissed, until the tears pouring from her eyes became too overwhelming, and she had to pull away to cry them all away.

"I'mï¿½sorry," said Ketaraï¿½she slipped out of his arms, but his heart cried out for her warmth to return. "I neverï¿½meant for things to turn out like this. I never meant for you toï¿½"

"It was never your fault," answered the Hermit, glancing down and wringing her hands. Her anxiety was somehow endearing; it was something he would neverhave imagined seeing in the face of that cruel, dark-eyed forest girl, three years ago. "There's nothing to be done now."

He touched her wrist. Those same black eyes rose to gaze at him, engulfing him in irreparable sorrow. His touch remained.

"I love you, Telida."

Her stern shield crumbled at last; she began to cry for desolationï¿½sobbing first into her arm, before breaking out into true weeping. She swayed, and he caught her by the shoulders, pulling her gently into an embrace, her body still wracked by her sobs.

"I'mï¿½I'mï¿½trapped. I'veï¿½sealed myself in."

"And I will break you free," he answered, with all the sturdiness he could muster. Even though he knew there was nothing he could do.

The dark of midnight was worse tonight than it had been for the years before. To the children who couldn't sleep, it spoke of unseen monsters. But the night was all-encompassing, and they were children too.

"I'm afraid," Telida whispered, refusing to enter her room. "Come, pleaseï¿½"

Instinctively, he snatched for her hands, and clasped them tightly. Smiling, he entered after her, closing the door behind him, to keep the black spirits at bay. They took off their outdoor wear and let the warmth of the wall radiators infuse them, and she tossed him her pillow, knowing he needed it more than she did. The Dragon Knight placed it beside her bed and let himself lie on the cold ground.

The Hermit collapsed onto the mattress, sighing into her mattress for more than just exhaustion. She turned over, shut off the lights. Together, they lay still in the darkness.

"We'll wake up, won't we?" murmured the girl suddenly. "We'll wake upï¿½together?"

Ketara blinked his eyes open. Beside him, her left arm swung down over the mattress edge to reach for his hand, a plea for safety; he took hold of it, and they fell asleep with their fingers interlocked.

Sleep came. The winter vanished behind them, and the darkness drew them in, into a shadowï¿½a whispering, grey world that held no darkness, and yet no light.

Sweat and fear came to drown him. There was nothing but swirling fog around themï¿½all of time seemed to become one, an eddy of trivial things about their feet. If anything remained of the world they had once known, it was lost in a nondescript fog that swirled all around themï¿½parting where he stepped, closing again behind him when he passed through.

But was there really nothing here?

Somewhere deep, deep in the shrouds of the fog, he heard something.

A beat.

It wasn't imaginary; it vibrated in resonance with his throatï¿½an omnipresent throb, timing the world as it spun about its axis.

These were the measures of the centuries. One a second. A heartbeat.

Throb.

He glanced tentatively right, where he felt the most warmth, and saw a faint ghost just beyond his outstretched handï¿½and at once he knew that it was Telida.

Telida! His thoughts were suddenly shouting her name, and he struggled to push through the fog, to see if she was really thereï¿½

Before he could reach her, the circling wind swelled sharply into a hurricane. He was wrenched from the ground, swept into the sky, the cry of fear coming involuntarilyï¿½

Then from somewhere all around him, echoing a thousand times overï¿½he heard Telida scream.

"Lida!" he yelled backï¿½his thoughts, his impulses, his desires, all slipping out of his grip in the wake of that mortifying sound, the sound of her in pain. "Lida, are you alright? Lida! Answer me!"

"Give me your hand."

Ketara went rigid, silent with shock. The voice was slow, toneless, barely humanï¿½and louder, far louder, than the scream. The silence that followed was like a coldness that ate rapidly away at his heart, the fog swirling to strangle him, that clock beat still chanting, chanting, taunting.

He understood, suddenlyï¿½the greyness, the swirling of time, the vanishing of everything, the regular beat somewhere. The Clock Spirit, the Clock Spirit is in our midstï¿½

"No!" screamed Telida again.

"You broke an oath you made in my name."

"I was foolish! I didn't know the weight of my words! Why can't you forgive me?"

"Forgiveness? Forgiveness is the true foolishness here. You have to learn, that my name is not to be taken in vainï¿½not for your unholy, tainted vows."

From the corner of this world, the warrior listened, helplessly. He hated itï¿½hated listening to his best friend have every last chance stripped from her. But what could he do?

What could he do?

Fuelled by desperation, the warrior tore free of the chains of his fear, and the fog bent at his will, suddenly, relinquishing him. With cries of rage, he fought through the shadows, beat the malicious tentacles awayï¿½clawed his slow, steady path towards her.

"No! Please! Don't hurt her!"

Ketara finally found Telidaï¿½lying curled up in fear like a provoked animal, barely a shadow, but distinguishable from the fog around her. With another cry, he descended on her, enwrapped her with his armsï¿½encircling her, guarding her, protecting her from that malicious, horrible voice. "Don't hurt her, please!"

A pair of vast eyes appeared, flashing out from the mists; they were round like glass globules, many times larger than him, gleaming with countless images of his face, its pupils endless black holes that led into nothing.

Ketara shook with terror, pinned to the spot by the deity's cruel gaze. Here, he heard his own heart throbbing, out of rhythm with that grander beat outside.

He knew that an argument with the Spirit was futile. He knew he would not defer the punishment, nor earn the deity's partiality.

But the warmth that he gathered in his armsï¿½this shivering, sobbing girl, who deserved her life more than he did hisï¿½made him braver than he was.

"Letï¿½let me take the punishment for her," he finally gasped these words, words that made those glowing eyes flash, and his heart convulse in fright. "Let me be the one who suffers, let me die, let me be in eternal pain! Just d-don'tï¿½" The stinging tears finally freed themselves from his eyelids. "ï¿½don't hurt Telida."

The eyes seemed to consider his proposal. They dimmed ever so slightly, clock hands whirling like compass needles in an alien land. By then, Telida's body had slipped out of his grip, vanished completely, and Ketara had fallen to his knees, eyes shut in fearï¿½all he could do was gasp Telida's name, thirstily, desperately, as if her name alone would keep him aliveï¿½blood gushing warmly from the arrow-wound in his shoulder.

Through the wisps of darkness, the solemn voice returned, with a bargain to make. It whispered two sentences, offered up his last whisper of hope:

"In exchange for her freedom, you must make a contract with me. In exchange for her life, you must give up something of your own."

Before his wide, wet eyes, the pale vapour began to gather and thicken, morphing slowly until there was, recognizably, a paper sheet and a quill lain before him.

"Sign it with your blood."

Piercingly lucid for these moments in suspended time, Ketara drew in closer, lifting the ghostly-thin sliver of paper from its place, eyes growing wide.

There was only a single, portentous sentence in the document:

I give up my life of battle and freedom.

As his eyes crossed that one short sentence, over and over again, he clenched his jaw, so tightly it ached. A cry of devastation escaped him, for the years that would crumble to nothing, when he signed. Years he had just watched fly by, dreamingï¿½of proving that cruel bowman wrongï¿½of growing strongerï¿½of playing a part in the revolutionï¿½of rising to become a legendï¿½

Of defending the people he loved.

But then in the seconds that followedï¿½he heard another echo of Telida's anguished screamingï¿½

And only then did he realize how minuscule a price it was.

To give up his days of fighting, to save Telida's life.

It wasn't a choice. There was only one answer to this. It was simple.

Like when the Dragon gave up His power, to unshackle the world from Darkness. Like when Horned Tail gave up its life and kingship, just so it could join its father.

Some sacrifices had to be made.

Sometimes, only one could be happy. When faced with such a choice, it was always easy to take the more selfish optionï¿½snatch at the chance to be free, to be happy. Let the other suffer.

But when love was involved, the choice would always be, necessarily, painful. Love, the gift that made life different from the cold deities and spirits.

Love, when someone else's happiness is more important than your own.

It was all very easy. As long as there ran, in his veins, this love for the person whose life he held in his hands, there was only one thing Ketara could choose. But it would hurt, all the same, to only choose oneï¿½her life, or his freedom.

I might dream and weave and singï¿½

And then you might know everythingï¿½

Where cradles rise from shattered bonesï¿½

To raise you up into the springï¿½

He heard the sound of a sad voice somewhere. Singing to him, about the Dragon and the world, and the things He gave up so that His creation would know happiness.

And as he lay, the clock of absolute time ticking around him, Ketara heard the entire history of humanity shift by his ears. He felt every hot, blooming drop of blood, as it was shed in warï¿½blood of the martyrs, shed for the motherland, shed for the greater overarching dream, the individual but a vessel of his country's breathing soulï¿½staining the fields of time the rusty colour of sunset. He felt the tears of every mother who had ever died in the throes of her childbirth, falling like rain on his shouldersï¿½shed in the abyssal, final agony of her labour, for the child that she had loved, but would never hold in her arms.

For the Clock Spirit, there is only justice and injustice. He believes this a punishment.

But for me, this is a gift.

It was his turn to make this choice.

Glaring defiantly, gloriously, into the deep dark fog, Ketara stood up. With a deliberate slash of his arm, the warrior snatched the quill and jabbed it into his bleeding shoulder. Let it take up the blood, his blood.

All the while, he could feel his tears growing warm, streaming fierily down his face, blinding himï¿½

Seeds might fall from dreamtime skiesï¿½

And bloom like teardrops in my eyesï¿½

I watch you, smiling silentlyï¿½

Regretting not this sacrificeï¿½

And he saw the Dragon, with pale blind eyes, smiling down at him within an aura of rainbows.

The warrior drew breath between tightly-clenched teeth. It didn't matter that he would never again know the joy, of battling in the wind, a spirit of life and blood. It didn't matter if that happiness would always be locked away in old memories, of days that couldn't return.

Because she would live.

He twisted the quill in his fingers.

His name bloomed, brilliant red on the bottom of the page.

Then the ticking, the ticking of time was everywhere, closing in on him. His head was seized, by a pain beyond measure, pain that was like the entire world clamping, twisting, without mercy, on his skullï¿½

ï¿½with a cry he let the contract fall, collapsing into the cloudsï¿½through the cloudsï¿½Telida's wailing voice chasing him, like an angel through a hundred towers, from heaven to the surface of the world.

"Ketara?"

Dawn. A single voice came through the haze of his sleep, rousing himï¿½weak, faint, hoarse with sorrow.

Ketara lay quietly, shifting a few times with groans of tirednessï¿½before realizing that the source of his discomfort was the material of the floor: cold, hard granite slabs that offered little insulation.

Blinking, the warrior struggled onto his front, and raised himself from the floor. Or at least triedto. As he placed an ounce of pressure on his wrists, something split open within them, and they gave wayï¿½he cried for pain, collapsing back to the ground, everything flashingï¿½joints struck repeatedly by electric pangs, as if the tendons had been torn by knives.

"Ketara!" cried the girl on the bed. "What's wrong?" From above, Telida's eyes came to fill his vision. The thief slid over, reaching her arm out over the bed. He saw nowï¿½her eyes were rimmed with redness, as if she had just been crying.

"Nothingï¿½are you okay?" Ketara inquired with a tinge of concern, stretching feebly, wrist hanging limp. She reached, but then he shoutedï¿½"no, no, not the wrist!ï¿½so instead she gripped his forearm, and her strength was enough to lift him.

It was only then that the Dragon Knight felt the very same blinding pain rip through his right ankleï¿½he collapsed forward on his knees, gasping for the excruciation.

This is it, then. A ruined ankle and two useless wrists.

He took this revelation surprisingly calmly. Such deceptively simple wounds: as long as they never healed, he would never run through forests againï¿½never climb, never write, never eat without someone to spoon-feed him. Let alone stand in battle.

"I'mï¿½fine," whispered the girl, eyes wide with worry. "But I don't think you are."

Turning to appraise her, Ketara grinned simply so she would not be sadï¿½despite himself, despite everything. "I'm alright," he answered, tilting his head, "as long as you are."

Tears had formed at the corners of Telida's eyes. "I don't know what I did to deserve you," she murmured, voice quavering gently. "Was it really worth it? Giving up all you've worked for in the last ten years?"

"Eight years. And yes. Completely."

His smile, beautiful as ever, must have been enough to ease the pain from her mindï¿½for that moment, at least. With whatever strength he possessed, he tilted in and kissed her softly on the cheek. Their lives were linked. And everything would change, from today onwards.

The clouds broke to pieces, and the shards fell to the earth of Victoria Island, as snow. At last, the weather had plunged into veritable midwinterï¿½the tilt of the world away from the sun, on its pilgrimage, winding through eternity.

All around the island, the air on the tallest peaks of Perion dipped to subzero, and the last terns flew away across the sea. At the same time too, the political situation was falling, slowly but surely, to its deepest and dankest since the ascension of King Caleix.

Was this all not familiar? The treachery of Ergoth when he destroyed the Sharenian civilization? The balrogs that had been created to plague the people, thriving in the dark heart of the island?

Wasn't everything just a cycleï¿½pain to joy, joy to painï¿½always changing, yet not changing at all?

Here, now, the last of the seasons descended upon Victoria Island, an eagle with wide wings. With it came frostbite and hail, death and scarcity, the relentlessly cold season that tested even the sturdiest.

Everyone knew winter; it had fallen upon this world a thousand times over. Just as ancient texts spoke of the snow as it descended through the levels of the sky, the people of the present witnessed the same phenomenon, exactly the way it was described.

Everyone knew revolution. Turning. Revolution, the old falling to the flames of uprising, the new coming to take their thrones and their crownsï¿½time and time again.

Somewhere in Ellinia, Garth awakened from his unconscious stupor, only to be slapped with a death sentence by the necromancers surrounding his door.

In Henesys, another note appeared on King Caleix's tabletop. Captain Celel Adara has failed. The guild has escaped. They are headed for Henesys. Raise all defences.

All around within the Nightfall Headquarters, everyone was awake, expectant. Because something was about to happen; the change was stark in the air.

"It's snowing!" cried Yunira, figure silhouetted in Nightfall's door. All around her, her fiery voice awakened the entire building from sleepï¿½the drowsy men in the couches, the thieves of Ethiel who stayed in the dark corners, Kaida at the stove with a pan of sizzling eggs.

Some of the children raced to join the red-haired girl at the door. They stood together, framed by the cold blue morning, oo-ing and aa-ing, pointing excitedly at the crystals of white as they waltzed through the bare treetops.

"Let's go play outside!" suggested one of the more adventurous children.

"Not too near the main road!" warned Yunira, restraining the herd with tugs at their collars before they could flood out the door.

At the stove, Ralinn was collecting her breakfast. As she waited for the resident cook to be done with her scrambled eggs, she turned to inspect the goings-on of the main hallï¿½the cliques gathering for breakfast, the children enjoying the snowfall, the sofas full of people reading the news.

Sitting cosily at one of the tables, breakfast toasty before her, Lanorï¿½ gazed comfortably on. Opposite her, Akera didn't seem half as agreeable with the cold weatherï¿½she was huddled in a fur jacket, sipping cautiously from her cup of strong coffee.

With a simple sigh on Lanorï¿½'s part, they rose from their break and decided to commence their planning proper, as the sweet aroma of breakfast wafted through the air to embrace them. The senior gave the junior a lookï¿½with a grudging sigh, Akera produced a coin from her pocket, tossing to see who would start first.

The coin sparkled in midairï¿½spinning, falling. It landed resonantly on the wooden tabletop.

Instantly a clamour went up. "Whatï¿½in the Goddess' name," murmured the Archmage. The white haired girl opposite her sucked in a breath of shock, and held it. Her companion bent to scrutinize the place where the coin had landed.

There it stood, the most curious oddity. A one-meso coin, standing on its very narrow edge, glinting in the morning lightï¿½twisting ever so slightly when the young woman's breath touched it.

"Now, imagine that," answered Akera. "The probability of a coin toss ending in a drawï¿½minuscule, at bestï¿½"

A group of warriors at a neighbouring table looked in turn, each gasping in turn as they caught sight of her magnificent feat. Ralinn turned too, when she heard the rising mumble of discussion. Seeming taken aback, she squinted, shifted closerï¿½and finally left the stoves, walking straight up to the offending coin that stood in the mages' midst.

The incredulity in her eyes seemed more than it should have been.

And the meaning of what she said thereafter eluded both mages:

"Noï¿½it can't be. This isï¿½the sign."

Chapter 12: Year of the Dragon

We dance into a trap of our own making.

We are our own redemption.

We are the demons who engender the dark; we are the gods with the blade to its end.

We are the fire of the stars.

stars and fate

And one day in the history of the universe, so distant that the only record remains in the stars themselves and the waning memories of the ancient beingsï¿½when Time and the primordial sea were but indistinguishable from one anotherï¿½the Dragon began to sing to the world. A song that burned, a song of hope, a funeral-song, for the things that He would destroy, and the things that would begin in their place.

Lights glowed into being wherever His harmonies touched the grains of earth: each was a heart, incomplete in the forge, each shone its own shadeï¿½mauve, maroon, goldï¿½every temperament that was to exist, and every possibility for every other.

I grant you free willï¿½He whispered from aboveï¿½to choose, between darkness and light, between selfishness and altruism, between justice and injustice.

Free willï¿½to choose evil. To be the destroyer where we seek to create. To demolish that which centuries built.

His eyes closed, and for seconds that decided all of eternity, the world was dark.

It isthe best gift I can give you.

His eyes melted into tears that fell through the sky as He shed them. He saw the glowing hearts unfold across the world beneath him, breathing gently, as the heavens began to buckle and a crack in the sky let burning rain through.

Listening to the thunder of the world beginning, the Dragon knew that they were flawedï¿½yet in them, He saw no less than perfection.

ralinn: of fate

"This is the sign," she whispered, the words that wrote the next spiral of fate.

caleix: midwinter falling

"I want guard patrols tripled the instant you are out of this room. Quadrupled! No one will so much asï¿½pass a junction without being searched, understood?"

His shout was softened by the carpets and tapestriesï¿½all older than he was, but younger still than the ancient walls around them. Walls that would never break till the kingship came to end. The winter was warm within them, but the warmth stopped where his heart began.

"I...understand."

"I want Nightfall found! I want every square foot of the town scoured, every road, every street, every shelter in a ten mile radius of Henesys. I don't care how long they're at it. They will not rest till every traitor is executed! We can't let themï¿½I can't let themï¿½"

The king fell silent. He breathed hard, as if he had just run a mile, and besides that unsettling sound, only the low mutter of a radiator from somewhere remained.

A chill crept through him.

Paranoia, this paranoia...

Caleix bowed and massaged his temples. He was the same man, a little more wrinkled than before. But how much, how impossibly much, time had changed him on the inside.

What had he known in his youth? What had he seen of the world? It had been a time of light-blinded eyes, a time of thoughtless, foolish love. Love, which had tempered the horrors that were his birthright; love, which had made him believe in the best of things.

Kingship had scrubbed that glamour from his eyes, and suddenly the world seemed deep, and so grey, from end to end. Fifteen years at this seat, locked in a sobering granite castle without love to fool him. Fifteen years fighting an endless battle.

Only the witless could believe in love after seeing what he had. Fifteen years of rage and terror and watching people backstab each other.

How had that pale, summery world vanished? How, and when, had the warmth drawn its hem away?

The old cherry garden in the crumbling courtyard downtown.Falling petals.

Tears...tears meant nothing to this towering golden throne. Why shed them for a past he'd never return to?

Maybe...I no longer have any tears. Maybe they were all taken from me that night, fifteen years ago. Before my reign changed. The night I cried a river to the stars.

With a weary eye towards his ceiling, he thought briefly upon the constellations. He thought of the unfathomable distances separating the stars from the mortal worldï¿½distances meant never to be crossed, distances further than Time itself.

He remembered how the stars had streaked by his window those three special nights, rioting flame singing the hymn of new life. He remembered it all. The magic of the wait, the sound of a newborn's first breath, a shock of wind in a hollow world.

"It will be done to the best of my ability, Your Majesty." At last, the guard dared interrupt, and he did so grimly.

Caleix inspected his person momentarily. He remembered the day they'd first looked eye to eye: a face in the ranks, wild-eyed, too young for the violence that his suit of armour represented.

"I am pleased to hear that, Mr. Hesprel."

Caleix also remembered seeing Esharo smile. Once. The day the New Year fireworks had sparkled and shone far off, over rebellious Kerning, long-dead Kerning. But it was hard to imagine they were the very same person, for the sorrow was beginning to etch lines in his face.

This war is aging us beyond our time, isn't it? You and I both. It's not the sort of war humans were made to fight.

It was rarely that one found a servant of his calibre. From his very first days of service, Esharo Hesprel had laboured without fuss. He hadn't always succeeded, but it wasn't success that made him valuable; it was virtue, it was the righteousness he raised like a beacon above the snarling, treacherous blood fest that surrounded him.

In a decade and a half of knowing this man, of seeing in him more humanity than he did in his other subordinates, Caleix had allowed himself a concession that no monarch should. He had begun to believe he trusted someone.

The guard captain looked across the table at his king, both studying each other, gazes heavy with a sort of pain that only a long battle over a meaningless cause could engender in oneï¿½pain as deep as the midwinter cold.

A gully full of fallen petals. An imprint of an old summer day.

In this moment, the top curtains fluttered wide. Both pairs of eyes turned as sunlight streamed briefly through the grills, setting aglow a rectangle of the ceiling mural.

Then it was gone, and the room dimmed to a gloom even the lamps struggled to break through. A cold breeze twirled through the uppermost windows, carrying the fearsome tang of coming midwinter. Caleix hunched lower, to keep the chill from touching him.

Blossoms. Love.

The cold could have been the portent for an ending world. Everything about the wind and the impending freeze seemed an omen: the blight of the cold as it fell upon the land, a shadow of Caleix's own descent.

"And I want you to eradicate Nightfall." This decision had waited long upon him. "Take five hundred men with you, if you need, enough to outnumber them fourfold. Nightfall is the easier target nowï¿½and I don't want them to come close to entering the castle again. Ensure that anyone leaving Henesys eastward is well-followedï¿½any of them could be a messenger for the guild. And..." He hesitated, fearing death, fearing all sorts of things. "...if any member of Orion's Belt is sighted, handle him or her ruthlessly."

While Esharo nodded, Caleix uncovered a sealed envelope beneath the letter he was writing, and pressed it into Esharo's palm. "They will not be put in prison. By my new decreeï¿½which you presently holdï¿½all Most Wanted criminals are not to be imprisoned. They will be publicly executed, immediately. The citizens will watch the deaths of their heroes."

Esharo bowed. "I will start today," he said, eyes hardening. His fingers touched his left forearm, where Caleix saw the white of an old scar.

If there were any questions to be asked, none were voiced that day. "Thank you very much, Mr. Hesprel, and good day to you." Both knew the second clause was only a civility.

ralinn: jealousy

"This isï¿½the sign."

Lanorï¿½ leant in closer, eyes glittering. Akera merely stared. But she refused to gape, and held her lips together in a fierce thin line instead.

"This is it!"

"The sign for what!" Akera exclaimed, a bang accompanying her last syllable as she thrust herself from her seat. "It is quite a feat to have made such a coin toss, yesï¿½but if you will not enlighten me as to its significance, then that is all it is in my eyesï¿½quite a feat!"

Instead of giving Akera the attention her gaze demanded, Ralinn continued to stare at the coin, her entire mind a whirl of questions. Akera's shouts hummed meaninglessly around her.

Was this it?

All these years. Seven years from the second when the first dream-song had begun, seven years since the words of prophecyï¿½journeyï¿½dutyï¿½had begun to etch themselves onto her life.

All this time. And here, at last, stood the answer to this riddle.

Akera the Mage would take the Spear of Heaven. Akera the murderess would murder the king. Akera of Lith Harbour would free Victoria Island.

Here it was! Now victory was so close it could almost be felt, humming in the air. They they only had to complete preparations now, and attack.

But she refused. Ralinn refused to believe it. It wasn't right.

The still coin glinted, straight as a soldier in bronze, the embossed maple leaf outlined by the blue light.

"Well? Ralinn?"

Ralinn turned to her belt, pulling the mouth of her drawstring wallet open and reaching inside. What she produced on the tabletop was a strip of paper, barely the size of her palm, folded and creased by seven years of journeying, wrinkled by the sea.

Ralinn saw a change in Akera's face.

"What is it? A prophecy?" she asked.

"That's what it is. 'In the end, three stars will banish the darkness, and a soul of fire will end its reign forever.'"

"It's about Akera," said Lanorï¿½.

"I don't know what the 'three stars' might refer to, but I'm sure that the 'soul of fire' is Akera," the Ranger said. "And thatï¿½" she gestured at the coin on the tabletop, "ï¿½confirms it. Two months ago, I read that finding someone powerful enough to wield the Spear is as likely as having a coin land on its edge. I never expected it to be a literal prophecyï¿½but well, here we are."

All eyes shifted to Akera. But she was not the picture of confidence they expected. Something had been lost in herï¿½and now she could only gape.

"Soï¿½I will kill Caleix?" the Mage said. "Me?"

You. Always you. "Iï¿½noï¿½I mean, yeah." She fought to stay noncommittal. "How can you wield the Spear of Heaven? I mean, it's a spear..."

"Deina used a halberd as a staff," Lanorï¿½ said. "Akera could use the Spear in much the same way. Besides, it probably won't have much of a problem directing magic, seeing that it's already imbued with so much powerï¿½"

Staring at the Archmage's face, Ralinn bit her lower lip.

No, no, noï¿½not like this.

"Well...no one in the guild would take on the task otherwise," added Akera, perturbation showing through her sternness. "Someone must do it."

I...I was the one who began it. I was the one who worked seven years.

She watched as Lanorï¿½ and Akera exchanged a few wordsï¿½saw their mouths move and their expressions shift slightly with the wordsï¿½but the rush of blood in her ears blotted it out.

I found them. I brought them together.But I will not be the heroine of this tale.

Akera will.

These thoughts solidified, and drove a spear of guilt through her heart.

Noï¿½I am notï¿½that is what Akera isï¿½jealous, always jealousï¿½

"No," the word threw itself from her lips. The two lifted their gazes to her. "No. The Spearï¿½is dangerousï¿½it might kill her. You saw what it did to me. Noï¿½we'll find another way to kill the king. There must be a simpler way."

With a kick the Ranger threw her chair back and, without a word more, marched off towards the staircase.

"Thenï¿½Ralinnï¿½what do we do?"

esharo: the damned

"Let me! Let me live!" Garth's ragged cries rang across the square. It had taken three men to restrain and bind him; Esharo knew Garth did not intend disobedienceï¿½"intend" in the most technical sense of the wordï¿½but fear was a potent thing; fear made murderers of men.

And he did not stop struggling, his voice alternating between roar and whimperï¿½not even as he stumbled up the stepladder, not even when the dangling loop was lowered before his eyes. His head swung about like a rabid creature's, and his face flushed with his bellowing; Esharo had to catch him by the nape and thrust his head through the noose. Though his hands were secured by chains, the guard captain began to fear those trembling fists.

Now Garth would pay for his despicable crimes through the godless punishment device that arched over his bowed back.

For failing the hunt. For missing the mark. For allowing Orion's Belt to land safe at shore.

Executioner Ralstor tautened the rope with a sharp jerk that made the sobbing man choke. A grin contorted his lips as he bound it to the post; it was all Esharo could see beneath that hood.

Esharo stared at Garth's ragged boots, realising with a blinding stab of horror that this was the first guard, the first comrade he'd ever been signed to execute. Criminals, defectors, he'd handled beforeï¿½but not one ally, not one from the same ranks as he, condemned for a mistake. He breathed deep to steady himself. Garth Orden; he was a guard tooï¿½a guard like himself, a guard who'd pledged his soul to the king.

There and then, the Henesys Guard Captainï¿½favoured by the King of Victoria Islandï¿½was seized by a fear he'd never known. A fear that it would someday be him dangling from the gallows.

Butï¿½why? His eyes narrowed. He was not Garth. Garth had failed the king's trust. He, Esharo Hesprel, was a faithful servant.

And Garth was a faithful servant too, a good clean manï¿½till he made his first mistake. One mistake.

Horror struck like a dull stone. He shut his eyes to the man's weeping.

Not one soul was exempt of Caleix's cruel justice, not even he.

When Guard Captain Esharo cast his eyes upon the harpooner again, it was no longer a glare. It was a plea for mercy, from a child to an effigy.

Closing his eyes, he wrenched the stepladder from under screaming Garth's feet.

It had been a week since the first and only fall of snow. The new precipitation had gotten the children excited, but not enough of the white flakes had fallen such that they could play games outside.

Mark my words, Lanorï¿½ had said, the snow will return with a vengeance.

Out beyond the walls, the wolves were killing rabbits, murdering them in cold bloodï¿½scant nourishment that would, with luck, keep their scrawny selves alive until the winter's reprieve. But they ought to have felt lucky; they were not held by the chains of the kingdom. They were not plagued by the even-deeper cold of a tyrant king's reign.

During grocery duty today, their dear little thief Orsa had snagged a copy of the Most Wanted off a pillar in Henesys Square; it was the source of much commotion that day as the kids and some of the adults gathered to see how the rankings had changed.

In their hands, the grim list became a game of some sort; apparently Akera with her price of twenty billion mesosï¿½known to the defence forces as "The White-Haired Murderess"ï¿½hadn't yet yielded her top spot, though Lanorï¿½ ("The Silver Fang of El Nath") vied for it at Number Two with fifteen billion. Hyrien hung on beneath at third spot, and Ralinn right after; apparently having actually made an attack on the castle made one a greater threat. Which meant that originally fourth-ranked Cirid Celadon had gone down to fifth; they said she was a rebel leader who'd gathered every surviving soul of Kerning in the sewers, but the Ethiels weren't much open to conversation, and the ones who were only mentioned knowing the name from childhood.

"Some girl with a more illustrious career in thievery than most," said Pan with a shrug, legs crossed in one of the sofas. They glanced past the two unknown names that followedï¿½Pala Beridan, Celel Adaraï¿½crimes listed as "murder of guards" and "high treason" respectively.

At the bottom of it all was signed the name Esharo, and while most people sneered at the writing of that filthy king's dog, it made Hyrien blink sadly, and no one quite knew why.

you are my story

It was hard to watch, and to know how much everyone had transformedï¿½so much that this world was no longer recognisable for what it had been seven years ago. When Ketara remembered he had only been a child racing down mountainsides, hoping to find a home in a place he loved, among people who had grown so dear. Did he still? Did they still live, for that matter, or had they all died in the attack?

Wars would always be destructive. They began as little murmurs on the edges of hearing, and grew into worldwide revolutionsï¿½stripping kingdoms bare, leaf, twig and stoneï¿½repainting the landscape with blood and fire. Fire, always fireï¿½fire to hold back the midwinter.

It was no surprise, how alien the landscape of Victoria Island seemed now. The days of that long summer seven years ago blurred in a fog of memory, meant never to be remembered because they would never return.

But that's must happen, right? We want the world to return to how it was thenï¿½that world, from a child's dream, almost. That world where the king knew how to love.

"Lida? Need some help here."

From the sofa, Ketara held the thief girl's gaze. "Dining table," he explained simply. He did his best to make it seem like a tiny request, and even smiled for herï¿½but it was impossible not to notice how Telida's eyes clouded up.

Her zeal was all gone, washed out by some unknown darkness. Her cheeks used to flush red with rage, or with embarrassment, those midnight eyes flashing like blades, poisonous and whole.

Gently Telida took Ketara's hand, and tried to glare, but those eyes would not display the fury they could not feel.

His throat ached; he remembered the girl from the trees. Cruel, heartless girl with a dagger made of hate and eyes without mercy. She remembered that cryï¿½the red stars shooting through dark, smelling of singed metal, hungry for the flesh of their assaulter.

The Dragon Knight beamed up at his companion as he rose. The story of Ketara and Telida had spread around, but Yunira hadn't turned any less clingy or moonstruckï¿½she still followed close behind, doting on her idol and spending hours talking whenever she could, though she knew she could never put herself between him and Telida again.

Ketara was much better at hiding than Telida. He smiled as much as he had before, showing no sadness where it should have been. Sometimes, he dreamt of flying through the night in forests full of rain and springï¿½some remnant of those old days in Leafre, close to the heart of the Dragon's kingdom.

Several minutes after Ketara and Telida settled at one of the tables, Akera came to join them. "May I sit here?" she asked. She took the space without hesitation when they nodded, but was quiet for the longest time, staring from one to the other.

"I'm tired," said the thief suddenly, in the manner of complaintï¿½but both knew what she meant. They felt it too, grinding away at their hearts.

Akera breathed out. "We all are," she whispered in reply.

A silence followed, as Telida picked at her nails and Ketara finished a mug of hot chocolate. He blinkedï¿½and tears came, when scarcely anyone had seen him cry before. The girl beside him noticedï¿½she gripped his shoulder, and he lifted his head to return the gesture, the way he could, touching her handï¿½

ï¿½it's alright nowï¿½

ï¿½I'm sorry for crying; I don't regret it one bitï¿½

ï¿½no, don't be sorry! You don't have to be happy all the timeï¿½

ï¿½I really am happyï¿½I'm gladï¿½

The white-haired girl pulled back. "It makes me envious," she murmured. And for a moment she lost herself, and let herself admit everything. "To see what you've done for each other. It makes me wish...I could be loved for once."

"My brother loves you," the Hermit answered simply.

"Butï¿½but that's differentï¿½that's something else altogether. I want to return it, but I can't, becauseï¿½"

Because? Because what, Akera? Because of Shirion?

Do you still love him?

He hates me now. And he will always hate me, now that I've done what I did. I sealed that hate.

I sealed that hate, thought Telida, eyes burning suddenly with a sting so new that it shocked her. He hates me. My brother hates me. And he will always hate me, now that I've done what I did.

"But Akera," Ketara answered suddenly, in his voice the mellowness of the sun in the autumn. "Shirion did! I meanï¿½he used to talk about you as much as he did about Ralinnï¿½so much it got confusing. He told us all about the cool things you didï¿½about you climbing masts to fix sails, long ago, and how you stole food in the winter when the guards took his awayï¿½and how you helped him escape one night! I know that's called love, justï¿½not the same sort."

They stared across the space, that two yard space that seemed, suddenly, more than a mile.

Telida felt her heart pounding, and each pound was like that of a hammer on a chisel, wedged in a crack in her stony soul.

Am I happy, now? Am I happy because I had my way, or was I always mistaken? All this blood, the same bloodï¿½all these years of hatred, and neither of us has won, isn't that so?

All those childish games, killing Dungeon monsters to outdo each other. Trying to make each other bleed. Bleed the same blood.

All this time. Now we're all broken. And what have we gained?

Akera felt that dark gaze pierce halfway through her, but it might as well have been a dagger, long enough to reach from one end of the world to the other. She had the same eyes as him. Eyes of shadow, so confused, so hateful, so afraid.

The Mage considered again, more calmly than expected; when did I grow numb to the wounds? Shirion was different from Turino. He was steadfastnessï¿½a pillar of safetyï¿½someone whom, from the day they had spoken their first words to each other, she had always believed would be her protector. And she had never shed it, that looking-up. Shirion would always be her safety, from the storms in the night that swayed the highest branches of Ellinia, from the shadows shifting while she tiptoed along the mast and unfurled the sails.

Her heart felt like melted ice; she felt so warm when she thought of Shirionï¿½but Telida's eyes, Turino's eyes, made her feel guilty.

Telida watched those sparkling sky eyes, and her heart pounded, harder than waves on the shore. She wished Akera would know that she'd give anything to make Turino love her half as much.

With that, an immensely productive meeting was adjourned. Its weight continued to sit in Hyrien's throat like a glacier as he rose from his seat to depart.

"So it's really happening, hm?" murmured Clynine from a side, peering over her mistress' shoulder. Hyrien stared. They stared right back. It was a few seconds after that he realized that they were waiting for him to address Nightfall.

There he went, making a fool of himself before the Silver Fang of El Nath. couldn't go around looking incompetent in front of her...

But when Hyrien turned again to the bustling hall, a coldness began to grip him from inside. Pelinor was watching.

Pelinor hadn't left. Pelinor hadn't faded. Pelinor was everywhere. When Hyrien took that seat in the study, and touched the old pen that still bore the scratches he had leftï¿½there Pelinor sat, writing with fervour. When he rose, shoes clicking on the dais, Pelinor held his breath. Pelinor watched. Pelinor wove between the tables, mingling with his people, asking after their thoughts and insecurities.

He'd have been the next king.

Hyrien hated to remember. Pelinor had been a great man, but he had made a singular mistake. Ad that mistake had been his choice of junior master.

"Hyrienï¿½it's not about charisma or eloquence," he had said."Many could recite poems on the dais. But you know what's best for your people. You will make the right choices, regardless of what others tell you. And a guild needs the right choices to be made for itï¿½sometimes against logicï¿½if it is to survive."

No. I don't make the right choices. I once let a guard go against your orders. That very same guardï¿½has become the Henesys Guard Captain. One of the king's greatest assets. The one whoï¿½killed you.

I let you dieï¿½you see now? You realize how wrong you were?

I chose to let you dieï¿½so I could save an enemyï¿½

With clouded eyes, he looked out again at the guild of a hundred, passed into his keeping by the very man who had formed it.

In the shadows of morning, the children lazed in the chairs, some hugging felt-and-cotton replicas of the monsters around Henesys. The rest were either in search of breakfast, or patiently awaiting their turns, flipping tabloid pages at the sofas.

The White Knight crossed the room with conscious, nervous steps, hand outstretched for the rope of the bell hanging on the wall behind the empty dais.

At the wall, he stopped and closed his eyes.

The bell's clanging raised gazes of all kinds. Hyrien ascended to the dais, and watched as every eye in the room trained itself on him.

"Nightfall," he beganï¿½struggling to replicate Pelinor's tone, to imitate that shadow. But the struggle must have shown in his voice. Their eyes did not light up the way they always had for Pelinor.

He imagined Pelinor's beckoning voice, and he knew he could never say it the way his mentor hadï¿½

People, my people! I stand here, on the behalf of all of Nightfall, on the behalf of Orion's Belt's leader, Ralinnï¿½having just left a conversation that has change so much. Here I come, bearing the news of a momentous changeï¿½

"Nightfall. I have important news."

All at once, the halfhearted attentions of the main hall denizens were sparked anew. He breathed deeply, searching for strength in the stone at his feet.

We were ready this day long before it came to be. Long ago, when each first heard the other's names, and felt, in the distance, a comrade in our cause. Seventeen years of gruesome battleï¿½but seven years of knowing we were not aloneï¿½

Pelinor's voice filled the hallways. His voice would never be heard again. There's no time to dream of being another man.

"Nightfall and Orion's Belt have the same aimï¿½to rid Victoria Island of King Caleix's rule. It is clear, to us at least, that a union would not only be favourable, but also preferable.

"Ralinn and I have discussed this in detail, and we came to such a conclusion. And so, I would hereby like to officiate the merger of Nightfall and Orion's Belt." He paused to gauge their response: they were enraptured. "From today until our shared mission is completeï¿½until King Caleix is dead or imprisoned, and the country purged of his holdï¿½Orion's Belt and Nightfall will exist as a single guild."

For the seconds after the sentence was complete, silence took hold. The news scattered slowly through his audience, by means of whispers and murmurs. The chatter began like the breaking of waves, loudening as conversations crossed and spread, surprise setting their voices aglow.

A small cheer went up. Everywhere he looked, Hyrien saw smiles and wide eyes, and his heart pounded.

"We have yet to name our alliance," he added, his worry giving way suddenly, like timbers falling through. "We would have named it Nightfall-Orion's Belt, but I am certain someone here has better ideas."

"Orionfall," sniggered someone in front. "Night Belt."

"How about the Night Hunters!" yelled a high voice from the back of the group. "You know, since Orion is the Hunter and all."

Taking the suggestion with a nod, he glanced about. "Night Hunters? Does that sound right to you?" he called.

"I second that!" shouted Yunira, leaping from her seat. A chorus of assent swept the crowd, following the girl's exclamation.

"The Night Hunters. Are there any objections?"

"I like that name," put in a voice from close byï¿½a woman of thirty named Calade. "Very aptï¿½working in hiding, racing from outpost to outpost into the heart of the dark. Hunting down the servants of the king!"

"Then our new guild shall be named the Night Hunters," announced the guild master after a nod. "The preparations for our very first mission will begin by the end of the week. By then, hopefully, we will have the four Job Masters with us." An anticipatory murmur swept the crowd. "Akera has finished drafting the plan, and there is left to do is to recruit members to the task force. We will first seek the help of those we have handpicked, but being refused, we will then welcome volunteers."

The crowd was stoked. Jibes were tossed between the warriors, laughter came from some of the mages, nervous tittering flittered between the children.

"And finally: here is the most important piece of news. Winter is at its deepest, and the end of the year is drawing near. Once that date passesï¿½by the deities' prophecyï¿½there will be no other chance to bring King Caleix's tyranny to an end. Before then, we must make our final move. We must overthrow himï¿½or submit to his rule for the rest of our lives. I want you all to train now, as hard as you can, to your utmost abilityï¿½every single one of youï¿½in preparation of that day. I thank you for your effort in advance. That is all I have to say. Thank you for your attention."

The peace that came thereafter was like a bucket of cold water over his head. The people before him were the sameï¿½yet now he saw something else in their eyes: light.

It began from the cornerï¿½a soft pattering of palms against each other, from somewhere there, where those children sat huddled among the cushions, their toys at their feet. He saw them shift and bustle, their hands moving, eyes for him only.

It swelled steadily to consume the room. A thundering roar like the rain: the sound of applause. Hyrien felt it wash over him, sparks twinkling all over his vision, his pulse beating like a drum in his temples. Was that enough? He had not been poetic, nor rousing. Still they clapped, veiled in light.

Hyrien let himself sink into the warmth of the sound.

It was strange, how time was so malleable; one moment a race, and at another glacially sluggish. The days were a flurry, of people wearing themselves away at the training grounds. Amongst the treetops from the bare doorway, one could see the flashes of weapons catching the sunlight in the air. Small fires went up sometimes, and the entire woods would smell faintly of smoke; all the better to keep the trainees warm. There was always a voice in the hallï¿½barking orders across the marble room, yelling for an incomplete favour to be finished, bellowing for another drink. Friendly fistfights were common.

Then with every night, there was a lull: children found themselves around the fireplace, hiding in the labyrinth of sofas and armchairs that was steadily falling out of line. Some turned in early, eager for the precious time of tomorrow. Every tiny difference was the greatest difference in the world. More drinks were served, over some casual poker. The Ethiel thieves played bridge.

Some men, with great black brushes, took to painting the wall behind the dais. But it was not a mural that they left in place of the emptiness; it was a message, a reminder, a shout in the dark. "THE EVE OF THE DRAGON." The day they would reclaim the worldï¿½or die.

"Hyrien," Akera snapped, eyes all demand. "Your guild. There must be someone who knows the prisons."

His brow furrowed. "Elode," he answered. "Abandoned guardianship when he was moved into the interrogation division; apparently his role in uncovering the whereabouts of Athena Pierce changed his mind about the job. He feigned death during the destruction of Kerning."

"I will arrange a conversation with him later," the Mage clipped straight forth. "What job?"

"Ice Lightning Wizard."

"Wonderful. What does Ethiel have?"

"Not much," said Patricia, matching Akera's glare. "We have thief skills, a teleport rock and a desire to see our Dark Lord again; is any of that of use?"

The Mage's eyes seemed to light up, even now cobbling together another version of her preexisting plan. "All of that, actually," she replied, nodding to her once. "What else?"

"We need a diversion," Hyrien put in. "But we don't have the resources necessary for one. An attack on the castle? Fire in Henesys? We need an effective diversion that's easy on our manpower and resources."

"But of course," answered Akera, "Nothing creates a diversion better than the criminal at the top of their Most Wanted list."

shirion: falling

"Ralinn, are you inside?" He knocked thrice, the way he always knocked, and paused, listening to the echoes of his knocks race down the circular hallway.

Ralinn had not seemed the same ever since the week they'd arrived in the Nightfall Headquarters. One would have considered their arrival a cause to drop all burdensï¿½but for Ralinn it seemed a reason for all sorts of new burdens to appear. Shirion had thought it his imagination, but one evening in a corner of their living room, Clynine had come to him with concerns of the same.

And them having committed almost two years ago to a serious relationship, the Crusader had known it his burden, more than anyone else's, to help Ralinn.

If help is required, he added in his mind, gaze tracing the patterns upon her door again. Goddess, I've seen her through near-murder, twice. She never broke nor buckled. Goddess, there isn't anything wrong.

Ralinn answered his knocks with no less than a minute of waiting on his part. When she appeared, his guild leader smiled, and it wasn't a false one. But it wasn't full either. She let him in and locked the door behind them, still smiling that waning-moon smile even then. "Are you here for something?" she asked, teasingï¿½and again it surprised him, just like it always did, when he slackened his shoulders, slipped the band off his hair, and dared reach out to take her about her waist and kiss her hair.

She sat at the edge of the bed, and because he felt obliged by dutyï¿½and more than just dutyï¿½he sat down beside her and took her about the shoulders. The winter was cold and they were warmer together than alone.

Memory stirred in the depth of her heart. Memory of cold winter up in the bare battered branches, where there wasn't a warm corner spared by the high wind battering the ocean bluffs. A small fire on the branches. A shivering figure up there beside him, right where Ralinn was now, safe and curled in his half-embraceï¿½except it hadn't been Ralinn then.

Akeraï¿½

The memory was swept away by another. All of a sudden, he felt the young mage's shoulders againï¿½only his hands were curled around them, digging into her skin, and her eyes were bright, and she was limp for her shoulders had been bruised by the force of his wrathful shakingï¿½her cheek swelling, blood upon her teeth. Well, she had tried to murder Ralinn! Ralinnï¿½Ralinn lay bleeding, poisoned in the snow, cursing like a witch...

ï¿½but that white-haired girl from Ellinia Station, he had hurt her like this.

Suddenly it was too painful to continue holding her. He flung himself away, and he swallowed against the sting creeping to his eyes.

Ralinn picked up on his unease immediately; her grip about his arm tightened. "What's wrong?" she asked, leaning closer. "Why did you come here?"

Shirion blinked down at his lap, and was glad to feel no tears welling up. "Ohï¿½ahï¿½Linn," he answered, turning. "I feel as if...something's the matter. Are you alright?"

Ralinn tilted her head, shook it. "It's not as if I've ever done much for the guild," she murmured with a roll of her eyes. "It was always you, and the mages."

"Oh, yesï¿½I heardï¿½about Akera and the Spear, and the job she was supposed to performï¿½"

"Who told you about that?" the Ranger snapped suddenly, then withdrew, brow furrowing. "And what does it matter to you, anyway? I meanï¿½I want my guild as safe as it can be; haven't you seen what that Spear can do?"

"Your guild?" Shirion asked, corners of his lips lifting the slightest bit. "I have always been honoured to serveï¿½but we aren't truly your guild anymore."

She shrugged. "You're still taking orders from me," she answered, "by habit or otherwiseï¿½and I am still doing for Orion's Belt what a leader would. Don't get me wrong, I think Hyrien is very capable."

"It just wouldn't be the same if we didn't," agreed the warrior. "Even thenï¿½we're all mere pieces now, aren't we? Lanorï¿½ and Akera are with Hyrien; they're the strategists." He was the boy on the branch again, and that frail girl beside him was loving him without his knowledge. That girl was his commander now. Akera, the strange things we've become. "It's odd; I never imagined her becoming a leader of any sort."

Discomfort made Ralinn's eyes narrow. "Why do you keep talking about her?" she asked.

Inhaling, Shirion apologised by resting a hand on hers. "The night in Orbis haunts me," he admitted. "I know she may not be my best friend any longer, but I justï¿½cannot believe Iï¿½injured her."

Pursing her lips, she nodded up at him with wide amber eyes. Many things were running through her gaze. "You were angry," she answered. "She was angry too. People are irrational in the hold of anger."

Irrational enough to murder? He wondered, without accusation, and knew that Ralinn hadn't forgiven Akera yet. That there were things Ralinn imagined doing to Akera that would equal her own deeds in horrendousness. But it wasn't for him to judge.

"In any case," he murmured, "promise not toï¿½be prejudiced against her for that, okay?"

His guild leader rolled her eyes. "I can't do anything to her, or anyone," she answered. "There's no need to worry." Her eyes stopped blazing and she managed a smile. Still half-empty. He'd been about to leave, but a strong hand to his arm kept him on bed's edge. "As your ex-guild leader, I order you to stay right where you are."

"Yes, Your Majesty," he drawled, but stayed as she took him about the shoulders and started to kiss him of her own accord, when she never had before.

Scarcely two days ago had the two guilds entered their momentous merger. Already, though, the Night Hunters fought as if they were on fire. Ethiel was growing restless; they spent their nights in the treetops staring at stars.

Amid the crowd in the living room, Akera wove between sofas, seeking men and women who had been enlisted for the job. They would not be hard to convince. Not when she was the one asking.

At a corner table, the first inklings of the Final Plan were already taking shape in Lanorï¿½'s mind. Brilliance, she believed, was a useful tool to haveï¿½but not enough, nowhere near enough, if there weren't the right people to execute her plans. Clynine was on the edge of her seat, biting her lower lip, feet bouncing on the ground. "We have friends, remember? And we have Ketara." The Archmage quirked an eyebrow, and reclining in the facing chair, Hyrien understood.

While the blonde woman was at work with her assistant and their new leader, Akera brought her chosen to the benches outside the HQ, urgency in her step that everyone could read.

"It's very simple," she began once they'd found a good spot. "We're here to save the Job Masters, and the plan's not elaborateï¿½just the bare necessities. ï¿½Well, there is a bit on the side, yes, but not much."

Showmanship, Akera! What's victory if you cannot savour the guards' defeat? You don't want it to be over without them noticing. Just as they want their victory to be seen, we want them privy ours. No, we want to force them to watch. Make sure they can't take their eyes off us as we snatch victory from right under their noses.

I don't even know why I listen to Lanorï¿½.

Lanorï¿½ folded her arms, eyes pinning the Guild Master to his seat. "I would like for us to be in the best condition when we arrive," she answered. "I want to eliminate as many hindrances as possible, I want the path to be clear. When the time comes, we will be thankful for it. Besides, I don't imagine any other method being more foolproof."

Out beneath the forest branches, the ice did nothing to cool the fires Akera had lit in their eyes. "As usual, I will be doing the most dangerous tasksï¿½not least because I'm the only one who could possibly perform them," she said. "We're counting on one thing. Whatever happens, follow through. Whatever happens, even if one of us is snagged by the guards, or dies, the rest are going on with their parts of the plan. Ethiel needs us to do that. Understood?" She waited for a response, which came fast. "Bandits, how's your training going? How far away can you manage?"

Propping his chin up on the dining table, Hyrien pursed his lips in thought. "Alright, go ahead with it," he said.

"Please, Hyrienï¿½we can take any objections up in discussion," Lanorï¿½ sighed. the White Knight read a sliver of impatience in her eyes. He frowned.

"I don't understand why you ten can't simply come with us in the main force."

Branches drooped with caked snow. The bandits froze up as Akera's eyes crossed them, too mortified to give a solid valueï¿½how far?

What if she deemed their training insufficient? What if she began to apprehend themï¿½this murderess who could well kill them all before they even had a chance to realize they were about to die? What if she decided they were unfit, after all that time trainingï¿½

"Thirty yards," answered Coelion, voice slicing air. Akera narrowed her eyes so they all held their breaths, then nodded.

"More work will make your task increasingly simpler, but for now I suppose a thirty yards is a very good distance to work at. Everything is set. We will go in three days' time on the twenty-fifth night of Aquarius at eight o'clock. Please be gathered at the door by then."

"Yes, we will do our best, ma'am," the bandit answered, accompanied by a chorus of nervous, determined affirmations. They all knew what was to happen already. They were bristling with the fright of an impending mission.

Smoothing a sheet of paper out on the polished wood, Lanorï¿½ scribbled a little more in the corner of the draft, already cluttered with so much information it could barely yield any space for more. "There we go," she said.

Kaida made the call for lunchtime just then. "Will there be more to add?" Hyrien stroked his chin, trying not to let his attention wander to food. "To the plan, I mean."

"More? Yes, of course, there will be more," answered Lanorï¿½ with a smile that was more teasing than joy and a gaze that made him feel like a bundle of mistakes. "In fact, we'll probably keep finding new edits to make every day until the plan is actually executed. Which is good, of courseï¿½seeing that we'll be up against the entire guard force this time. That is likely not an exaggerationï¿½Caleix has probably worked out that with our arrival in Henesys, the final attack is nigh."

"Probably," answered Clynine.

Hyrien swallowed; he hated to admit that the thought frightened him. All sorts of thoughts throttled his mind, of dead bodies, black cloaks, blood on stones. His friends' blood.

How will we ever win?

With a pang he remembered Pelinor. Pelinor and his plan and how horribly it had gone wrong.

He glanced at his superior Lanorï¿½ for hope, and clung tight to what he could find in that enigmatic smile. Orion's Belt is with us. Ethiel is with us. Soon, the job masters will be here too.

"And how can we hope to equal their numbers?" he asked, bowing when he detected the doubtful waver in her eyes.

The Archmage shifted her attention so it rested upon the door. "It's not an issue," she said. "Allies. We will send out the dragons in the cover of night. Then the rest hinges on strategy: we have the advantage of first move. At least, we hope so."

"We'd better work fast then, before some spy gets wind of our plan," commented the guild master, averting the woman's returning gaze to look at the sheet in her hands. "My junior masters tell me that the training grounds are thronged every day."

The door swung open, and light streamed into the hall, briefly, before dying again. The chatter rose. Meanwhile Lanorï¿½ laughed at Hyrien's comment. "They'd better settle down, lest the guards begin noticing the smoke over the forest," she murmured, rising suddenly from her seat. "Welcome back, Akera! How are things?"

From nowhere it seemed, Akera came into their midst. Her glare was pronounced and resolute beneath her snowy white fringe. As the White Knight had come to realise, when Akera appeared angry, it was impossible to know how she truly felt. All one could surmise was that she wasn't in peaceï¿½she could be worried, horrified, disapproving, determined, or indeedï¿½angry.

The white-haired girl gave no sign of acknowledging the welcome. "Well enough for us to begin in three days," she answered.

"Hold it higher! Higher! Yeahï¿½yeah, that's about it!"

"Enough?"

After scrabbling a little way further up and finding a good foothold on the bark, Erin Eaglevane Ethiel now sat straddling a bare branch somewhere in the Lesser Forest, the same that extended southward from Elliniaï¿½ridiculously high up, and ridiculously far away from her ambitious companion Pan. From here, all she could see of him was a face white in the moonlight, and all he could see of her was the glinting coin in her hand.

She shivered a little; the winter was already dipping near zero degrees, and the wind threw that coldness at her, rendering her jacket and scarf barely enough to defend her from its frigid fangs. But she could not possibly climb down now just to put on something warmer; her effort would be wasted and Pan would force her to climb again.

"Great!" called her companion back with a thumbs-up, though she was, in all likelihood, too far away to see his gesture. "Now wait for it."

With that, his voice dropped and the air pulled itself tight. An intense silence crystallized through the night, a low whirl of winter wind that chased even the bravest animals into the recesses of the earth.

The bandit on the ground shut his eyes, leaves crunching under his boots. He began to focus his mana right in the centre of his chest, like a point of light, the way the Dark Lord had once taught him.

When his eyes flew open, a little yellow explosion shivered in the branches high aboveï¿½then came a squeal of fright from the girl amongst themï¿½and a yell of jubilation on his part.

"Sixty yards!" he exclaimed, punching the air. But Erin did not answerï¿½and upon hearing a violent rustle of leaves and a softer cry, he took off with a little jolt of worry.

His gasps echoed softly in the hollows between the trunks, as softly as the brittle leaves made themï¿½and for there was scarcely any light to see by, he could only forge his blind path through the trees and hope he was headed in roughly the right direction.

A confirmatory sound soon cameï¿½a sudden, rather vehement exclamation of "you jerk!", which made his heart leap into high gear.

As it turned out, Erin was in quite a predicament. It made for quite a sightï¿½she was dangling from a branch by the crooks of her knees twenty yards above his head, struggling to swing herself back onto the branch. While seeming rather eager to get off, she had obviously realised that an overestimation would throw her clean off the branch, so her swinging stayed was cautious.

"It's alright, I'm here," called Pan up towards her, unable to help a laugh; she was a mess, leaves and twigs in her hair and pockets. "How's the weather up there? Any colder?"

Her pretty face was seized by a snarlï¿½with a cringe he hopped away. "Get me off!" she cried, rather more shrilly than usual. "The sooner the betterï¿½there's dragons out here, remember?"

Pan's laughter continued unbroken. "So that's what it's about!" he cried. "You're scared of dragons!"

"I amï¿½notï¿½ Well shut up, you beat Coelion's record with my help so stop teasing and help me get off!" she finally growled.

"Sixty yards! Now that's something, isn't it? Double the distance of the best bandit in Nightfall!" The youth folded his arms. "Come on, be glad you had a part in it." After a short pause in which the girl made it clear she didn't agree, her companion glanced about and scratched his chin. "So...how do I get you off?"

Silence was Erin's answer. He tilted his head to a side; apparently she hadn't considered that problem either.

"Um...you could climb up onto my branch and give me a hand."

"What? I'm not doing that!"

The dangling thief fired him a death glareï¿½even upside-down, the expression had the same effect. "Or you could, of course, be my landing cushion."

Pan stared. How am I supposed to climb all the way up? In the dead of night? Without anything to ascertain my safety if I fall off?

Well, Erin had climbed twice as high.

"Er, right, coming!"He gritted his teeth.

With that thought fading into the dark, and in the coldness that rustled the bare twigs scratching at the stars, Pan leapt at the trunk with his arms outstretched to grip it, hoping to catch a foothold on the bark before he tumbled back all the way.

It took him three more jumps before anything of that sort happened. Erin laughed gratuitously and without any regret as he struggled inch by inch up the height of the tree.

Pan's face finally came level with the tips of her hair in ten minutes' time. "Not liking it, are you?" she asked. His raw palms throbbed. "And you dare complain I was going too slow."

"Yeah, yeah, I get it," he muttered.

"But hurry. I don't want to chance a meeting with those dragons."

He smirked. "See? You're scared."

The female thief pursed her lips indignantly. He gave a small snort of amusement, that was all that was necessaryï¿½Erin shot her companion an upside-down glare. At that point, though, Pan had dragged himself up the last foot.

Then he froze at the sound of screeching, the rustle of faraway trees.

"What was thatï¿½what was that?" he shrieked.

His friend's breath quickened. "Dragon?" she mouthed the word, and he squeaked, crouching lower on the branch and thrusting a hand out towards his companion. Erin hadn't even the time to tease him. She swung up on her legs and snatched it, then with a great tug he heaved her up onto the branch. Or at least he thought he would.

Instead, the bark popped beneath her and she slipped clean off the branch.

A scream lit the night at the same time his vision began to spin and sparkle with fear. "Erin!" Pan yelled, gasping for breath. Spinning backwards in the scant room the branch left him, he lunged for her, for the ground twenty yards belowï¿½and felt the shift of his weight, the cracking of bark beneath his shoes.

The branch vanished from view and darkness burst into his eyes like an endless lake, wind beginning to whoosh by his ears. Erin had barely caught hold of the next branch three feet down; her arms were hooked around it. But that same branch lay in the path of his fall. And the male Bandit swung his limbs helplessly about, but he knew what had become inevitable...

With a crack, he felt his shoulder collide with Erin's branch. The pain was like a crack of lightning, followed by the thunder of woody sinews snapping, thousands of leaves roaring in the night, Erin biting back screams as she joined him, plunging.

He thought he heard a new sound, like whipping or whooshing, and the empty trees were coughing and creaking in the dark about him. He must have been bleeding; he had been scratched by so many twigs in the canopyï¿½oh, his body would be bleeding alright, when he crashed and broke on the groundï¿½

ï¿½Then his side collided with coldness. Pan felt the breath burst out of him as pain rippled down his ribs.

But first he focused on breathing. He sucked in a lungful of air. His ribs stung and his chest was flooded with winter.

Only then did he notice that the surface beneath him was moving. Bouncingï¿½rockingï¿½undulating. He twisted about, fighting not to slipp again, arms reaching, hugging the thing he'd fallen on.

A cry answered.

His eyes widened. But he was too winded to scream. Weakly, he spread his fingers beneath him: more coldness. Rhythmically-undulating stone, steel-coldness.

It was about a second later that Pan's eyes came into focus upon the wing, and his breath caught. A single black wing swung up and down, close enough for the gleam of scales to be visible, its great breadth extending from the surface on which he lay.

Come to think of itï¿½perhaps it wasn't stone beneath him.

His fingers met the surface again, and he found cold bumps and depressions. It must be metal. But the wing wasn't a hallucination. Still breathless, he flipped himself carefully over, struggling not to leave his current position.

Understanding finally dawned on him as he was doing so.

Not metal. Scales. Reptilian scales that glittered in the little moonlight that filtered through the bare winter canopy above. With a gasp that restored him, Pan scrambled to his knees, wincing as his muscles protested. The surface swayed. He tipped a little and lost balance for seconds before finding it again, hands planted firmly on the cold surface.

Out in the night, between branches, he thought he saw gold eyes glinting between leaves. Beside him. Behind him. The night was thick with the flutter of dark wings.

Not metal. They were dragons.

The night was deepening. The steps to the side door were white with frost, and at their feet the earth glittered with crystals.

Ketara traced a shape in the black leaves with his good foot, a circle or a spiral that he supposed didn't mean much. Telida stared on absently at his little piece of art from where she stood, some way from the trampled pathway.

"Where do you think he went?" asked the warrior on the doorstep. "The creek?"

"Maybe. He likes to stare at water when he's sad. Or liked to, when I knew him." She glanced off into the forest, at the place where the cathedral of trunks finally lost the light of that single electric lamp, and vanished into the night.

Have you changed so much that even that is no longer true?

Changed. Her younger selfï¿½the one that had joined Orion's Belt one fateful day in the forestï¿½would hate what she'd become. She was who she'd sworn never to be. She had given herself up to a man.

No, her heart answered. You didn't give yourself up. The Clock Spirit saw and knows. He was the one who gave himself up.

"Lida," said Ketara. She turned, and could almost see the sunset in his eyes. "I worry for you sometimes. For all of us, but I worry about you the mostï¿½"

"Well, there's no need to talk as if I can't guard myself!" she snapped, and was faintly aware of the drip-drop of her tears off her chin, melting snow. "Look, I'm fine as I am. There's no need to worry."

"ï¿½because you need someone better," he said. His hair was summery brown when the sun blazed through it, but in this winter where no sun glowed, it was blackï¿½black as anguish. Black as her own. "I think I'mï¿½being a weight on you. Aren't I? I don't want to be that, Lida."

Her throat throbbed. She didn't want that either. But then she did. She loved him.

"Don't be an idiot, now. If not me, then who?"

They watched each other across the space between them, as his eyes grew as teary as her own, but neither could turn away, not even when the sorrow began to burn and she realised in the blur that this was the way it'd always be.

"It's fineï¿½"

"ï¿½I hope I'm not interrupting."

Both looked up; Ketara blinked and attempted a smile. Telida bowed away. She'd have recognised it as her brother's anywhere. But when he did walk into their midst, feet dragging through the decay, she wasn't sure she recognised him.

He didn't walk like the angry, adamant Fire Poison Mage she'd once known. He walked like someone who'd lost a long war.

"Oh, were you out there crying?" muttered the Hermit.

"I don't think I was the one crying," he snapped straight back. "What is it, are you telling Ketara all about your tragic history?"

"It's nothing to do with you," she leered. "Stay out of this. Go away. I don't need you here!"

"I know you don't."

He raised his chin and strode up the front steps, vanishing through the door.

"I don't understand." said Ketara once the door had clicked. "He cares for you. I meanï¿½he has told me to take care of you many times." A sad smile crossed him. "Not that I can."

She sniffed, folding her arms. "Because that's all there is to me. Just some little treasure to be guarded," she answered. "Why should I let him think that?"

"Isn't that a good thing? He thinks you're a treasure."

"No! Because what are treasures good for? He thinks I'm his to protect! Why, because I'm a girl? Because he's ten minutes older than me?"

Ketara crossed his arms. "Is it the same when I say I want to keep you safe?"

"No, it isn't."

His head rose. "What's the difference?" he asked.

"I don't love him," she answered, cold as the night.

The Night Hunters were a parody of the royal courtï¿½kings and queens and jesters, all over the place, their castle a mess. Where there should have been a throne there was a dais with a bell that anyone could useï¿½Gemin had gone up before and rung to announce that Orsa had been a big bully and taken his pancakes without permission. Here inside this ancient Sharenian relic, they took turns being the monarchs.

Tonight the monarch was Akera. She wasn't of the tallest stature, but on the dais she rose higher than the rest of the guild, and even that was not necessary. Her fearsomeness towered over everyone else.

"Good evening!" she announced. The lack of a response was remedied by a jet of fire into the airï¿½everyone was eager to listen thereafter. "Good evening," she began again. "I am here to inform you that because of the excellent work of the people involved, our infiltration of the prison will be brought forward a day. We start in two days' time."

A murmur started up, a smattering of applause that never caught on with the crowd. She glared at her audience for their quiet.

"I would also like to introduce the men and women involved," she went on. "The quest won't necessarily succeed, and you would give them your thanks if you understood any fraction of the risks they are willingly undertaking for us. From among Ethiel I have chosen all four bandits: Lawrence, Erin, Pan and Patricia." Small whoops went up from the crowd, no doubt from Ethiel themselves. "From the old Nightfall I have recruited Elode, whom, I am sure you are aware, was in the prison for a period, and the bandits Coelion and Aradel. And from the old Orion's Belt, there is myself." She let them clap for her, and did not pretend modesty, nor did she raise her chin like a queen. "While we are gone, please continue to lay low; please do not attempt to join or assist us. All people involved, please meet me here now. That is all."

Ralinn listened with a knot in her stomach. As she had just proven, Akera was a brilliant commander. An unsympathetic one, perhaps, but one who got things done.

Another arrow of panic struck her. Was she better than the Mage? Could she ever be? Everyone in Orion's Belt hated Akera. Yet Ralinn could feel them slipping from her grip. Everything she'd ever loved for her own. Her brother's respect. Shirion's care. The guild's subservience. The burden of gloryï¿½

"You selfish creature!" rasped a voice in her ear.

She shrieked and turnedï¿½to find Raydan leaning over the back of her sofa, grinning. Her eyes narrowed.

"Dan..."

"How dare you hog that seat?" he answered. "No one's being nice today, not even Yunira!" He gestured with his chin at the row in front of hers. The girl, pretty and red-haired, was chattering amongst a bunch of friends.

"What, do you expect her to be nice?" answered Ralinn.

"She is nice," he answered. "But of course she was too busy chatting to notice I was there." He breathed a happy sigh. "I think I like her."

"I thought she had a crush on Ketara," murmured the Ranger. "I can't blame her for that. Too bad for her, though. And too bad for you."

Raydan grinned back. " I'd say I have a shot!" he answered. "I mean, she's got to get over Ketara now. Right? Lida will make sure of it."

Ralinn smiled for her brother. "Good luck," she answered, watching as people began to leave the sofasï¿½but not Yunira with her head of red hair, this girl who'd suddenly become a part of her brother's life. Things could change so much when they weren't moving like dust on wind. She'd almost forgotten.

Things could change so much. She bowed, and thought of Shirion's hand about hers. She thought of his voice, but the only thing she could hear him saying was Akera.

"Akeraï¿½"

She hadn't expected the voice, not this early in the morning. Near to no one ever woke earlier than seven. This was the reason Akera chose this time to work and think. And work and think were the things she most needed to do right now.

At this time, the main hall with its scattered couches was deserted. It echoed her breaths with uncanny loudness. The fireplace hadn't yet been lit.

Akera laid the book on her grey-gowned lap. "Yes?" she answered, raising her gaze though she'd already identified the owner of the voice. He wasn't often out in the morning. He was one for the night; he stayed up long beyond midnight sometimes, and she'd seen him leave for the forest on occasion and not return till morning had come.

Turino blinked back, losing all his words at once. "Goodï¿½morning," he answered, bowing his head as if to a goddess. She supposed she understood. Or maybe she didn't. To her love was security. Perhaps to him, love was worship. "That is all."

I don't think he understands himself.

He was turning to leave, but Akera felt a tug in her heart, incited by the silence and the cold, and suddenly she answered, "no, please stay."

What was it? She wondered now as her companion turned again, eyes slightly wider than before, and dark as the midnight he loved. Was she lonely; was that all? Or was she afraid as well?

"I rarely get to talk...like this, in silence," she went on as Turino approached. He wore a deep blue sweater that he might have borrowed from Ketara. "Once the rest of the guild's up, there's never any peace."

"Oh. Is your work going well?"

"I finished days ago." She laid a hand on the book. "How has living with Nightfall been for you?"

Pausing by the sofa, he smiled a small sardonic smile that no one had but him. "Did you expect me to make friends?" he drawled. "No, I think it's the same as every other place we've been. Just another stop in our quest to defeat Caleix."

Akera wished she could apologise now, for everything she knew her existence was causing him. She knew that pain. But no blames could be lain, in her case. She'd done her share to deserve everything she was receiving. Shirion's loss of faith, Ralinn's spite, everyone's disrespect. Turino hadn't done anything to warrant this. He'd done everything to deserve the opposite, in factï¿½

"Indeed." She fit her emotions into that single word. "I hope you are coping well."

"As well as ever," he answered. "I hopeï¿½you are."

Something flooded his gaze, as it locked with hers. Protectiveness.

Her heart pounded and she glanced at the book in her lap again. "No, I'm not, and I don't think I ever will," she replied. "Unless things somehow returned to the way they were whenï¿½"

"Whenï¿½when you were seven? What sort of happiness was that?" he answered, temper flaring. "If you think this is all a battle for redemption, then you'd best give it up."

She frownedï¿½and realised she had nothing to say. Wasn't he right? Some part of her foughtbecause she believed in that chance. That to redeem herself of all the sins she'd committed those twelve years ago, she had to fight. Fight and suffer.

But she'd saved lives, so many. She'd helped them to the completion of the Spear. She'd led them through victory after victory.

And here she was, as much a sinner as she'd ever been.

Akera bowed. "I'm fighting for a lot of things," she answered in a grumble. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have important business to attend to."

"You justï¿½" Turino began, but she glared back, and moments before any word came to his lips, he blinked, bowed once in accession, and tore his gaze from her. "I understand."

Akera watched as he returned to the staircase and vanished down the steps, a silhouette in the lights below. She smiled a little, and at the same time shivered with sorrow. She wondered how anyone could fight so long without collapsing to despair. That same despair that had almost killed her.

The poor, lonely man, never once reciprocated by the people he'd given his love to. He'd become a constant in her life beneath her noticeï¿½a guard, a watcher, the friend she'd never credited for being there. Just one step closer than before.

dark lord: pleas

"Jetï¿½are youï¿½"

"ï¿½are youï¿½"

He thought he heard echoes, but he couldn't be sure. This night was so thick and dark, here in the prison. Every night, curled up in this threadbare mattress with his whip welts stinging and the chains creaking in his ears, he heard many things. Sometimes he heard the balrogs they'd locked up in the four corners, decoys for their positions. Other nights, all he could hear was the laboured breathing of his fellow inmates, their wheezes and coughs, their screams in the Black Chamber.

But never before had he heard thisangel's scream, echoing like a ghost wandering the halls.

Never before.

Who was it, calling his name? Here in the night, the Dark Lord sat up on his bedside, craning his neck for a sound.

The voice did not speak again; his breath thinned and narrowed and his pounding heart began to calm. His fingers sank into the thinness of the mattress; surely he was only imagining voices in a bid to believe he wasn't alone, wasn't the only one locked here. Surely he was only stoking his hope with fantasiesï¿½

"JET!"

This time, the agony was piercing.

Now his breath caught. He knew this voice. He knew it from the days of light two decades agoï¿½he knew it from the last time they'd spoken, and the voice had grown so thin ever sinceï¿½

"Athena," he answered, fears and anger lighting up all at once, making his chest burn. He touched the wound in his arm, the one he'd carved in himself four months ago when the leaves had only been beginning to fall on that Perion mountaintop. He felt for its edges.

No, his heart protestedï¿½weary, so weary from the tears he'd shed and long left behind. No more. No more fighting. What use was railing against fate now? What use was fighting a battle he could not win, only to die a little wearier, a few more wounds in his side?

But Athena was here.

And the weariness was dust upon his back. Suddenly he wanted nothing more than to be free again. Suddenly he would suffer anything to get to the place where that voice was being held captive.

"Are you there?"

The scream was met with a bellow for silence, a kick that set bars ringing.

Her voice was her only freedom. She had sent it through the tunnels in thehopes of finding a friend, and they had tried to block its passage. But the voice could not be held, the voice was free, and now he knew. He knew and they couldn't take that knowledge from him! Athena was here, she was here; she was nearer than she'd been for years, she was so near he could almost see her eyes...

"PLEASE!"

A second admonishment, and she was silent, but the echo continuedï¿½it moved, independent of the wills of the guards. It shivered the prison walls; it woke the guards and convicts. He heard it, and heard every drop of the fury that had created it. The Dark Lord's eyes flooded with tears, but he'd learnt not to shed them.

Metal clanged, and he glanced about. His feet had dragged him to the bars of his cage somehow, chains and all. The cold air pressed on his shuddering form, flowing down the gleaming passageways from a window far away.

He raised his chin to the bars, felt them cold against his skin. He thought he'd learnt how to rein his sadness, but forgot how nowï¿½and his tears flowed to his lips, salty as blood.

"Athena," he croaked, as loud as his voice would let him. He felt the corridors grow a little warmer. He thought he did. "I'm here. Athena!"

He heard a pair of footsteps begin towards him, saw a torch flashing through the night; with a blink he leapt away from the bars, not the stealthy form he'd once been, but swift all the same.

When the lights arrived, they saw a sleeping form. The guards may have suspected him; their black, featureless faces gathered at his gate like ghouls, and he watched through the cracks of his eyelids as they dispersed into the darkï¿½as his voice rang through the halls, and came to the ears of Athena Pierce, wherever she was.

twenty-fifth night

On the twenty-fifth night of Aquarius, the trees and the cities were lost in a blight of cold, cold of a world burning with despair, thirsting for light.

It wasn't as cold as some of the nights that had preceded it, but the sleet descended, and the earth was slippery, and the bandits and mages sprinted into the night in cloaks and scarves, cloth wrapped about their mouths to keep the cold from their lungs. They ran bowed, cloaks pulled close so they did not flutter.

Akera wore a hooded cloak not unlike theirs, but unlike them Akera was without a mask. In the night air about them swirled skeins, bales of mist; the sleet crunched beneath their feet.

"I want you all to stay out of sight wherever possible," she muttered briefly, certain they'd never remember. The trees rustled their farewells; the vegetation thinned and they knew the north edge of the forest was close, that this was where it began.

Coelion answered alone: "We will do so."

From the shadows they burst, like birds through treetops, sleek and eager. The cart road was lit by a line of pale lamps that unrolled like an unbroken thread from Henesys to Ellinia. As they flew, the night pumped itself through them. The chain of light took them between swells of hill where forests rose on roadsides, like dark armies that lay in wait beyond the smallness of the streetlamps.

Henesys rose upon the next hill, glittering with torches and bulbs. Breaths quickened. The bandits thought of the prisons and the places where Akera had said the money was hidden. Elode drew the prison maps in his mind.

"Good luck," whispered Akera, as the walls of the hillside city ascended to obscure every last drop of light, leaving no more than the towering guard towers visible. "Remember, keep going. Even if someone is captured. We'll have him or her back once we've overthrown Caleix. Just do what you're meant to."

Even from here the prison's position was impossible to miss, lying further north along the wall, its facade glowing with floodlights. But Akera tore her gaze away from it and persisted with their current route. Straight towards the eastern Henesys gate.

In this darkness, the thieves and Elode took an instant to survey of their surroundings, searching for cover. The forest stopped twenty yards from the Henesys walls, and it was the best they had.

Into the light they plunged. Down the last slope of the road towards the Henesys gates, into the view of the floodlights and the guard towers.

"Visitor!"

Maren's voice echoed against the wall and between the two towers. With a clang of metal on wood, the guards at the east gate locked their spears together.

He studied the highway and frowned. A visitor at this time. Not unheard of, but peculiar all the same.

A lone traveller approached, cloaks fluttering, but not in a leisurely stroll: the nondescript figure was charging, as if intending to ram the gates open. Maren leant through through the watchtower window and squinted while a chatter spread through the throng of guards behind him.

"Go get ready to be deployed," he muttered, waving them away before turning again to the window and raising his voice. "Visitor, please stop at the gate and produce your authorisationï¿½"

Then he saw it. A flash of white hair beneath her hood.

Immediately he sprung back "ï¿½Guards!" he yelled, head swinging left and right in panic. "Guards! Get back!"

But his guards were already shouting orders, and their blockade was already solidifying across the road ahead of the advancing traveller, spears extended. No, his mind reeled, no, they can't take her on, they're not readyï¿½

Panting, he ripped the telephone off the wall, eyes darting back and forth. These men, whose lives were his now, whose souls stood upon his palmï¿½did he know what to do? His guards lined up, and they were ready to seize the White-Haired Murderess and her group.

He neededï¿½necromancers.

Butï¿½no, no!Necromancers never did anything so menial as gate duty. He'd have to call them from elsewhere, perhaps from within the gates, perhaps from up northï¿½

The test rang in his bones. Maren was being called on now, to make a quick judgment. To choose best. But how could he? How could he know, when he didn't know? He heard his own gasping. It made him think of death, death and his own mortality.

He squeezed his eyes shut, heart roaring in his ears. No. The prison wouldn't miss its necromancers for ten minutes. Make it quick. Capture her and kill her.

Up on the road, the cloaked figure had finally halted, but only because his guards were holding their ranks. Fools! The Murderess stood at their head, serenely raising her staff. His guards did not understand.

They'd never seen her at work. Neither had he. But he'd heard the stories from the Ellinia unit.

One spell, they said, and half your men were dead.

Akera's eyes swam with guards and their eyeless visors, lining up into a wall of metal, torches raised. The sky, the sky spun wide and black; the tower turrets pointed away into heaven.

Taking a glance up and down the rank of guards, she curled her fingers around the staff, and a blaze ascended from its tip.

"Surrender, Akera!" bellowed the voice in the tower. She saw his head swinging in the window, red-faced, hair straggly.

With her right hand she threw her hood off, and let their torchlight fall on her face. "I see you've already surrendered!" she yelled back. "Scared to leave your tower? Coward!" Simultaneously their torches erupted into columns of fire and the guards staggered away, throwing the blazing sticks at the ground. Her face did not change. The night flooded in as the torches were smothered in the ground.

The tower guard did not answer her taunt. He seemed to know the depth of his predicament, and he did all he could in his capacity as their leader.

"Guards! Charge!"

The Mage screamed, wordless but she was above mere words. The sky flared orange and fire roared outwards like a herd of stampeding beasts, heating armour red and blazing through gaps in visors. She breathed to cast the heat out of her lungs, as guards collapsed to their knees and their skin was scalded by metal.

Fire, fire, she knew nothing but fire; she was it, it was she, her rage and her despair. Fire exploded through the air, lighting greased boots, burning strips of fieldï¿½a second wave of soldiers fell and moaned, joining the crackle of the flame.

But as they fell, they began to revealed the field beyond them in the northerly direction, and something moving like a wave across it: a black army, charging from the north. Fifty-strong at least.

Akera could not stop herself staggering away for a moment. They had no lights; they needed none. Their staves glowed the shade of red she had learnt to fear so intensely that the terror flooded in by reflex.

Clenching her teeth, she found more spells and cast them silently. They infused her limbs, rippling up her staff to blaze in the tip. The minor skirmish was about to become a proper battle.

Akera wasn't sure if she relished or feared the challenge. She gripped and raised her staff, and waited for their lightning to come.

The wind blazed with heat and light that was detectable even from thirty yards away. From the gold glow on the road beyond the trees, the thieves figured Akera must have loosed her first spell.

"She'll be alright?" whispered Pan.

"Don't be stupid," answered Erin sternly. "She's Akera."

As they slipped northward through the dark, the cacophonous bellows of guards and the clang of spears was overwhelmed slowly by the rustle of leaves above and the chirping of crickets. It was almost deceptively peaceful. Once the last sound had vanished from hearing, the thieves began to leave their Dark Sight and ease away from Elode, though they continued to run without a second's pause.

"Are you sure she'll hold up?" Pan said, glancing once back in the direction of that faint glow through the forest. Another blaze erupted in answer. A second spell.

"She may not, but we do what she's instructed anyway." At the head of their group Elode spoke, and the rest, who'd forgotten his existence till moments ago, turned. "We enter via the north gate. The four safest cells are at the corners of the prison; I do believe they were built for the job masters."

Now that Akera was gone, they automatically turned to Elode for leadership, and he did what he could, though he knew he couldn't be for them what the Fire Poison Mage had been. They proceeded deeper into the forest for a bit, till not a sliver of the wall was visible in the dark of night. But too soon the lights of the prison were blazing through the leaves, unmistakeable, brilliant electric torches baring everything on the grounds.

In less than half a minute, they had made it all the way to the forests's edge. They came to a halt just within its bounds and peered through the gaps between the last trunks. Their eyes were branded by the lights beaming down upon the north gate of the massive stronghold.

"Goddess, it's so bright," said Erin as she fought to blink the blaze away.

A tight unit of five guards patrolled, marching up and down in front of the towering iron gate in ranks of two, one at the head, mechanically, but to the eyes of the thieves, their panic was clear. Their steps were off rhythm, faster than any trained guard's steps should be.

"They've really eased up, haven't they?" said Elode. "In my time there'd have been ten guards."

"That's because there should be necromancers." Patricia answered. "There's a shortage."

He turned to eye his companions. "Are you ready?"

"I'm nervous," Erin said.

"This is fifty yards," muttered Coelion. "I did not practise for fifty yards." There was an uneasy shuffling of feet; no one dared begin. No one dared. Like the tipping of the carriage at the top of the hill. Once they started, there was no stopping.

Pan sniffed. "Please, I've done sixty," he answered, bowing and rubbing his nose in mock modesty. "You going to let a nineteen-year-old boy trump you all?"

"Don't make me laugh!" Aradel hadn't ever sounded half this disdainful before. "You were the worst of us at practice." Her eyes rose to the gates; her gaze hardened like metal as it cooled. She wouldn't be losing, not today. "We should coordinate this."

Coelion nodded, rubbing gloved hands together. The Ethiel thieves pulled in closer, their circle tightening. Elode stepped away.

"This is for our Dark Lord," whispered Patricia. The Nightfall thieves nodded to each other. "Three. Two. One."

Eyes closed; the lights blazed red behind their eyelids even then, and in the wind roaring through the trees, chilling them to the spines, their lips moved on their own:

"Meso Explosion."

A half-second gap warned them. Heads rose.

A boom of fire and smoke the walls groan and crack and spit as thousands of blazing fragments that had once been the wall exploded through the night airï¿½smashing against the head of one guard, who flew sprawling across the floorï¿½sending the rest into a frenzy of screams. And the booms continued to chorus, throwing smoke and flame into the airï¿½years of money in the stores, all confiscated from old burglars as they'd arrived, fresh from their thieving.

There were orders being shouted all about the gate, which hung from its hinges, the rest of the wall decimatedï¿½they raced through the smoke and excavated their fallen friend from the rubble, others glancing frantically about for the attackers with spears extended.

All seven dash backwards, out of the scouring light, quivering. If they were seen now and attacked, it would be the end of their game. The most they could do was keep themselves alive.

But they'd have to move along with the plan sooner or later. Elode glanced back at his companions, worry and hope sweeping his countenance all at once.

"I'm beginning to think we might actually succeed," was the last thing he said before turning to put the next phase of the plan into motion.

Crisis. The day every guard had trained in anticipation of. It was here at last, the futue day he had sometimes imagined while laughing to drink at the downtown pubs with his comrades.

And it was hellish. It made no sense at all. Nothing like the drills. Nothing like the training battles they'd fought under Master Feldoren and Master Esharo. In those, everyone had stood neat ranks, and enemies had charged in from two directions. The strategies had been no more complex than manpower diversions, false starts.

Here, here there was silence, only howling winter wind and a cold that bit to the bone.

And the prison stood with one wall missing, gaping wide open, and Vanel was dead. No, Coren wanted to understand, yet he didn't; their prison vaults had been blown wide open and there wasn't a person in sightï¿½no culprit, not even suspects, no one on whom to pin this crime!

It was as ifï¿½a ghost had done it.

And all precisely after the greater portion of the necromancer guards had been called down to battle a sudden threat in the south. His gloved left hand clenched into a fist. Was there any breathing person who could swear the events weren't linked?

Again Coren's eyes darted about behind his visor, his mind furiously considering theories. Maybeï¿½one of us is a traitor. His eyes flew wide at the thoughtï¿½but when they affixed themselves to his three squad men, all roaring curses and wailing over dear Vanel's body, he abandoned the idea.

Vanel. His eyes prickled at the sight. Noï¿½mourning at this juncture would be futile at bestï¿½and all he could do to serve his dead comrade was to ward off an attack from his murderer.

Then againï¿½Coren's head spunï¿½how was he to know his enemy's strategy? Which was the diversionï¿½the explosion, or the battle being waged at the east gate? He was no tactician; he'd grown up on a farm. His mind was a storm of possibilities, probabilities, all too much for his simpleton's paradigmsï¿½but he held his ground, teeth gritted, and he did what he knew how to do: follow protocol. He held his spear point to the forest that enwrapped the prison on three sides. The best he could do.

"Neredis," he muttered, "go to the prison west gate, call Caslin and Hana, tell them our gave is open." His glare did not waver from the dark between the trees. Neredis dipped his head and flew westward as fast as armour let him. "Algo, Eina, be at ready. We don't know who did that, but they're going to kill us if we aren't watching outï¿½"

His eyes swept the vicinity again, his breath sharp. On the grounds, everything was brilliant; the lights burned as bright as day, and all was so silent he could hear the lightest rustle of grass.

Then a figure emerged from the forest trunks.

The yell left him by reflexï¿½"ready!"ï¿½as he fell into offensive stance, muscles tensing, fingers winding about the spear shaft. Scrapes of metal told him his companions had done the same.

The shape advanced slowly towards their pointed spears, becoming a man cloaked in deep brown, hands spread and weaponless. A person who looked like he couldn't possibly have exploded their gate open. But appearances made friends of enemies.

"State your purpose!" he shouted, more valiantly than he'd ever have imagined he'd dare.

"Coren," answered the cloaked figure. Coren shivered, eyes narrowing further.

The man spread his cloak; he lifted his left hand to his forehead, and threw his hood off.

Coren gasped, old fables lighting up in recesses of his memory. Terrible fables of the comrade who'd died in the explosion of Kerning, proof inerasable of the king's willingness to spend his own men for his gainï¿½

"Youï¿½you died, didn't you, sirï¿½" his words were a feeble wheeze; his spear point faltered as the old brigade leader glided towards him. Everyone knew him, Elode Iris. Everyone knew the martyr of the bombing.

"The dead do come back to life," answered Elode, smiling through piercing grey eyes.

Then Coren felt a shiver wrack him, that made his grip wrap tighter about his spear. Something was odd about the blonde man; his body seemed to crackle as he approached, and he could feel it on his skin, a ripple of staticï¿½ "Algo, Einï¿½"

"ï¿½I wonder if you will be one of them," he finished.

He felt a jolt spread from his abdomenï¿½a great gripping, blazing pain that made him curl, and shiver, every inch of skin tingling with fire. He watched the ground meet his visor, felt his nose collide with metal as the scent of grass flooded his helmet.

Elodeï¿½magicianï¿½aliveï¿½

The last thought churned up his thoughts like a plough biting through earth. Then the second jolt awakened his body again, and burned, and the pain turned his mind black.

A boom.

The sound rocked him and shivered his blood like a memory. A memory it was, old but not forgotten, the memory that had chased him away from the home. He felt the world break again, felt cracks shoot through the windows as the streets flooded with fire and smoke and the keening of children tore at his sanity.

The sounds were different here, different yet the sameï¿½gasps and shouts, panicked cries, as fire flashed in reflections down corridors, and the closer cells became nests of screams and bellows.

"Quiet, calm down!" Suddenly the orders of guards were pillars of safety. The only assurance of life and living. "Do not move, do not panic, we are checking on the situation!"

In the corner of his mattress, the Dark Lord gripped his knees. The boom was still groaning through his mind in echoes. The echoes were narrowing, thinning in the windings of his brain. Then they were echoes of a voice, higher than the thunder. Jet. Grendel. Dances With Balrog.

He curled up as the torches flashed on floors and silhouettes of vertical bars hardened at the gate. The panic was in their footsteps, and in the clicks of his boot heels against concrete: it wasn't an accident. It was an attack.

His soul sprang to life. Was thisï¿½dare he hope? He'd stopped dreaming of freedom in the bowels of that cart as it had rumbled down the roads. But he'd started dreaming again last night. Dreaming in the safe mercy of Athena Pierce's voiceï¿½and the knowledge that she was here.

He wanted to be free. He wanted them all free.

Was this the time, then? He'd thought on escape, plotted it, so many times over and in different forms and versions, in the last few nights. Each plot had been quelled by the understanding of his hopelessness.

But here, now, in the midst of a siegeï¿½

The veteran thief and killer's fingers leapt to the edges of the wound on his arm, the lump that had grown in his body's attempts to seal it over. Dare he? This was what he'd done that for. This was the day he'd plotted for. But the blood, and the agony, and would he be able to fight?

You're the Dark Lord. The lord of all thieves. Where they murder you massacre.

He clenched his teeth tight; his fingers leapt to the end of the wound.

Athena Pierce, Athena and Dances and Grendel.

He gripped that memory and that love with grinding teeth.

And pressed down on the skin at the tip and slid it forward with his thumbï¿½

Coelion and Lawrence quickly took care of the two men flanking Coren. They snuck up under the veil of Dark Sight and plucked helmets off heads to reveal gaping, gasping faces, one brown-haired and one blackï¿½before flinging them face-first into the cart track and pummelling or kicking their heads till their eyes rolled. Not the most graceful manner of dealing with foes, but on the fly there weren't many simpler ways.

Already Erin had set to work; with hands as quick as his companions', she slipped the key ring off the belt under the armour plates of one of Coren's lackeys, and slipped a prepared strip of cloth off her belt in which she muted the keys.

Pan's gaze caught Lawrence's. The former's was certainty, and latter's, question. "Now?" murmured the taller of the two.

"It's all planned," answered Pan, something like a grin coming to him.

Elode watched the young thief scurry towards the rubble. "Let's go," he muttered under his breath, gathering his cloak and breaking into a run towards the entrance which lay in shreds and rubble, queasy from the memory of Coren's armoured body jerking about in the electric current.

They pulled their cloaks close and slipped through the open gateway, melting into the darkness beyond it. Elode had no invisibility skills; instead he hung close to them, listening for their faint footsteps in the low torchlight inside, and following them through into the prison depths.

The darkness completed itself around them, and the golden-brown torchlight grew clear, gleaming off the paving stones.

"How long until the inner gates come down, you figure? D'you think we could make a break for it and get out before then?"

Elode shook his head; he hadn't any idea which thief had asked the question. "They control it from both gates," he said. "Once Coren's messenger gets word to the south, they'll be done."

The dim entrance opened into an even dimmer corridor that ran left-to-right, sooty, bloody brown in the flickering torchlight from above. "Left first," whispered Lawrence. They turned, or at least Elode did. He hadn't any idea where his companions were, except from the faint sound of their breathing, somewhere nearby.

They had entered the prison proper now; black gates opened all along the length of both walls, and beyond each one, the figure of a prisoner sat curled in a corner. "One patrol of six per corridor," he reminded them in a whisper. His eyes darted about in the quiet orange. Not one speck had changed since he'd last walked this corridor. He paused now, spine tingling.

"Intruder!" roared a broad voice from behind.

With a piercing howl, a spear made its swinging flight past Elode's head. Yelling in fright, he spun back, panting, to face the assaulter. It was the east wing patrol, their tall forms armoured in steel, thundering towards him with their spears at ready.

The Wizard's fists balled up as he backed away. "I have not lost yet!" he shouted, in a whimper that sounded more cowardly than brave. "Weï¿½have not lost!"

The central manï¿½Elode knew him now, Slein Demarï¿½raised his spear and bared his teeth, and the Wizard started backwards. "You and who, the attacker at the Henesys east gate?" he answered, and as he did, they heard the crash of the inner gate slamming shut. Locked in. "Did she think she could hold off fifty necromancers?"

With a roar, Slein sped up his charge, weapon slashing. Elode's eyes darted backwards, and he felt the brush of something at his shoulder, heard a whisper: "give as a signal." Coelion's voice, from the depths of nowhere.

He took three steps backward, clenched his fist around his wavering staff and narrowed his eyes, beginning to gather a glittering blue Magic Bolt at its head.

"Banditsï¿½GO!"

And they sprung straight out of the shadows, like ghosts materialising, cloaks aflutter. As Elode let his crackling spell fly and shatter against Slein's visor, spears were thrust and thrown in fright, but they fell hopelessly short, because the attackers had appeared far too suddenly. And now the thieves flew over the shields of the entire patrol, stabbing and yanking and blazing red, picking helmets off heads, slitting straps that held their armour together. The guards yelled and spun, swinging shields; Coelion was whacked in the skull by one flying slab of wood-and-metal, and he stumbled into the path of another guard who would have stabbed him through had Lawrence not flown in and barrelled him to the concrete.

Cloaks were ripped by spears and the Wizard yelled his spells as if his voice would throw them harder, freezing armour plates together and tripping guards. He watched Patricia take a stab in the shoulder, but when he flew forward to help she snarled and snapped and waved him away before driving the dagger blade under the incoming guard's chest plate.

They had no qualms killing, not the bandits who'd killed to stay aliveï¿½and Elode watched, stomach churning, as their daggers reddened and armour fell and crashed to reveal wounds that opened into their internal organs, all effusing blood. Sometimes he could not watch. By the time they had built a pile of metal-clad corpses, he was close to vomitingï¿½but they waved him along towards the first junction, between east wing and south, where the first high-security cellï¿½and the first job masterï¿½would be waiting. He wove between the bodies and fought to ignore the warmth and wetness he felt at his ankles.

This is my last time in the prisons, he swore in his mind. Goddess deliver me from this place, and Clock Spirit never have me return!

He was faintly aware of the bars of cells passing them as they continued along the east wing, prisoners bowing their heads as they watched them pass. Surely the guards in the other wings had heard the disturbance and would come investigating sometime soon. Six guards per wing. Eighteen guards to go. He wasn't sure they could take eighteen guards all at once.

As they ran, Elode averted the gazes of prisoners, but however he looked the corridors were lined with cells, and he could not forget where he was.

Erin sifted through the keys as they ran; Patricia was too weak to cast another Dark Sight, and she raced with Elode in full visibility, staggering a little, swaying as if her legs did not wish to hold her.

The Wizard searched his robes, but all he managed to salvage was a tiny bottle of low-grade red potion, and he tossed it to her; she fumbled and shook before the cork came off and managed to down everything in a gulpï¿½the relief of the liquid barely showed in her face, but her step did straighten. She licked the rest off her lips; in the low light the liquid was eerily similar to blood.

"Keep the bottle," he answered, straight-faced, when she held it out for him. She jammed it in her pocket.

The first HS door loomed in sight at the end of the corridor; it stood at a forty-five degree slant in the wall at the turning, and its steel height stretched from floor to ceiling, a massive cuboid lock the size of a head where a knob would normally have been.

They slowed to a stop and caught their breaths as Erin searched for the keys. The faint sound of chatter appeared just thenï¿½more wardens.

The jangle of invisible keys finally ended, and he heard one rattle into the keyhole at the base of that massive lockï¿½

A spear shattered on stone. "Stop right there!"bellowed a guard close by.

As the blade point punched at last through three-month-old flesh, it came sliding out in a blood-churning, blinding slash of pain he'd scarcely imagined the agony of.

His teeth shuddered against each other as he tugged and pushed against his pain; his head spun with firework lightsï¿½streaks of blood trailed his thumb, as sticky as paint and reeking of iron.

He gasped for effort and yanked it out, and his skin flared another time with the trauma of the cut. After that the air pressed cool on his skin again, but it continued to throb.

His skin had torn more than it need have as the blade had slid by, and when he moved the pain swelled suddenly, as if the bare blade were slitting him again. He clamped his eyelids together and clenched his teeth against yellingï¿½bit so hard he grinned.

Blinking tears away so the blur of bars grew stern and clear again, the Dark Lord wiped both sides of the blade on his prison shirt. The pain was sinking in with habit, leaving his mind just clear enough to plot five minutes into the future.

But the planning began three months ago, he thought, gazing down into the gleam of the slender blade between the fingers of his bare right hand, no more than two inches long, one end blunted for holding. His left forearm still roared in agony; he'd have whimpered at the sudden spike of pain that now assaulted the muscle surrounding it, but he couldn't give himself away yet. Not till he knew what to do.

Slit his throat. They don't know I have a weapon; they'll be careless. Slit the one man's throat. Keys.

He'd murder for this, yes, he'd done it too many times to be ashamed of it. Goddess' justice? Dragon's mercy? He didn't have time to think of heaven high above when he was close to losing the world itself. If he was free he could save a thousand lives more.

Keys. Left or right, then? The voiceï¿½

Left. Left, and thenï¿½

Gasping in deep, the Dark Lord dragged himself to the gates, and sank to his knees. He raised his head, and let out a wail that was only half-pretended: "Guards! Aughh! Help me! I cut myself on your lousy bedframe!"

Steps were thundering down the corridor in mere instants; he played his part and contorted his face, clutching at his left armï¿½hiding the blade in his palm.

"Be quick about this," muttered the warden who emerged, his least favourite among them, which was all the better. The Dark Lord sneered at his face, but continued to pretend to ache, holding up his left arm, clutched by his right, through a gap in the bar. His mind was filled with Athena's voice. "Great Goddess, how didï¿½"

His right hand lifted from the wound. There was only a second's gleam of the blade, palmed in his right hand, before his fingers spun it point-up and he thrust it up through the man's arced throat. He tried to scream but the blade worked its way through his voice box. Then clean across his jugular.

He slipped off the two-inch blade and faded from life. Now there was a minute or two before the other guards grew suspicious. He kept this knowledge close beside the face of Athena Pierce and the sound of her scream in the night. From them he drew rage.

As he had waited, a small turmoil of mutters had started up in the adjacent cells. "Hey, you running?" called a gruff voice. "Take me! Just one, it couldn't hurt, I could helpï¿½"

"Shut up," he muttered. "If I take too long, Geriel will come, and he'll bring other guardsï¿½"

"Take me or I alert the guards."

He rolled his eyes. "You'll slow us downï¿½you get it? You'll get caught and hanged."

"I won't."

"You will. I'll make it clean. I swear I'll come with friends to break you out. I'll come with an army."

The Dark Lord slid the blade into the hem of his shirt. He hadn't time for this! He stretched through the gates for the man's belt where the circle of keys hung; his fingers unfastened the key ring, gathered the entire bundle of keys together so they didn't ring out. It was obvious which keys locked the ankle chains. He unlocked himself, and in a bound he was upon his feet again.

"Oaths are nothing," growled a woman in another cell.

"I'm the Dark Lord, and I hate this prison as much as any of you," he answered, still a harsh whisper. "Give me time, and I'll have you all out. All out at once."

"Leave him," Wellias from the opposite cell answered. His eyes glittered. "He was my mentor. He promised, he will."

Then they were all silent as the night. Whispering thanks, he began sorting through the huge ring of keysï¿½each ordinary cell key was engraved with a letterï¿½S for south wing in his caseï¿½and a number from one to thirty. Damn it, what was his cell number? Cold sweat broke out on his back as he fingered through the keys. The minutes were ticking awayï¿½

The facing cell. His eyes shot up at his companion Wellias' gate. 14. Then his was either 13 or 15. He gambled on S13 and stabbed it into his lock, twisted and waited for a clickï¿½seemed like luck was with him.

Westward, he thought, and flung the gate open. The bars that had become cemented in his reality slid away, revealing a floor too bare to be believed, too scarred. But was it too late? He'd dallied; he'd spent five whole minutes dealing with the guard, the keys and his fellow prisoners.

Feeling for the knife in his shirt, licking his cracked lips, the Dark Lord slipped outside.

He grew more frugal with his breath, saved it for running and not for fear. He shot through the corridors, painfully bereft of the Haste that had once come to him like blinking, prison-worn feet hardly enwrapped in prison loafers. He could feel the winter as he entered the western corridor.

The dark was no barrier to his sight; every face and every figure was clear, like a hieroglyph printed on a page, to be read and comprehended. Only he could scarcely comprehend the arch of every back, the furrow of every brow. The guard patrol was marching away, but it was nearing the other end of the corridor. Cells one to five were a chaos of clawed skin and torn bedsheets.

At cell six he stopped, eyes riveted to the figure crouching in his bed. "Grendel," he whispered. The old man lifted his eyes.

"Jet," he answered, voice crackling like old leaves. "The west gate's locked. They attacked from the east, that's what I heard. The east gate will be easier."

The Dark Lord nodded. "I don't have the keys for your cell, butï¿½"

"There's no need," the old Archmage murmured with bowed head. Without his beard, dressed in cotton like every other man's, wrinkled and lined like old bark, he wasn't Grendel anymore. Only his voice was Grendel. "They took it allï¿½I could never have fled, but perhaps I can nowï¿½"

With a wizened hand like a gnarl of branches, Grendel lifted his mattress to reveal a hand-sized hole, reached through it, and from deep within pulled out something that rang like bells.

"Quiet," muttered the Dark Lord. But the patrol was about to turn. About to see. No time. "Quick, here." The old man obeyed, lifted his rickety self from the bed. Without his magic he was but that, no more. Old man. He passed the keys to his thief friend outside.

The Dark Lord worked swiftly. In bare seconds, Grendel was freeï¿½and the old man promised he could run at least a bit, even though he was out of mana and his joints were weak without it.

"Stop!" It took barely five seconds for the guards to notice. Damn it. His veins burned as they broke into a thunderous run. More cold sweat. The man swung his bowï¿½and the Dark Lord ran, gripping Grendel about an arm and dragging him away, southward. "Stop! Escaped prisoner!"

Two spears shot by his head, both avoided on sheer luck; Grendel was luckier for he hadn't the strength to so much as swing away. He panted and dashed, begging Grendel not to flag too soon; they made the turn into the south wing, just in timeï¿½as another spear flew, splintering against the grey wall two inches from a torch. He felt a woody shard graze the back of his neck.

"Stop right there!" bellowed the guard again. Grendel was bent like a tree in a hurricane, wheezing with the ache of running. The Dark Lord glanced left and right, shoulders heaving with breathï¿½the Archmage faltered, grip tightening like a vice. He keep running, he knew he couldï¿½but what of Grendel, devoid of mana and feeble without it?

Orï¿½he could singlehandedly defeat four guards with a two-inch bladeï¿½

Panic had worked itself into his bones. He felt for his tiny blade again and felt the massiveness of his exhaustion tackle himï¿½

There was the flash of a dark brown cloak ahead of himï¿½and a man emerged from a swirl of air, staff raised, and flew into their midst with a shouted greeting and a cry of Thunder Bolt.

He flung a loop of blue electricity at the first guard, who twitched and sank to the concrete with another crashing clamour of metal.

Then, like a spark setting off a chain of explosives, others followed. Flashes of light, the glowing shapes of daggersï¿½straps ripping, helmets flying, spurts of blood on invisible knivesï¿½bodies twisting and the crash of spears falling from hands. Geriel's great girth sank to the ground just as an explosion of red sparks burst against his chest, sparks that swirled like flame as they vanished. Red sparks that could only be of one kind.

The Dark Lord spun back, gaping.

The guards were a heap of armour in a minute and a half. Much too dizzy to begin even considering theories, he stood stock-still at the heart of this remnant of chaos, hands clean, and watched from beyond the pile of bodies as another cloaked figure emerged from smokeï¿½as that one figure became sixï¿½and the foremost pulled her hood from her face so its shadow fell awayï¿½

A breath got caught in the Dark Lord's throat. "Patricia," he muttered. The torches flickered across her face, and the face of the golden-haired man beside her. An Ice Lightning Wizard.

Patricia smiled with everything from relief to despair. It was the first time he'd seen her smile this earnestly. Behind them, he saw Lawrence in all his icy remoteness, andï¿½he was quite sureï¿½Coelion, Aradel, those cold-souled lovers.

"Dark Lord!" it was Erin's voice. She grinned and stumbled between her companions, through the fallen bodies, kicking armour that rang in answer. Her face changed as she approached; her smile waned. "How'd you get outï¿½" her eyes darted to the open cellï¿½ "and why aren't you in the high-security cells? Oh, deities, we thought you'd beï¿½"

"Decoys," he answered, sizing his old friends up. "They put Balrogs there. It was too obvious."

"I almost led you to your deaths," muttered the blonde man, who turned to the northward corridor. Patricia had moved to help Grendel by now. "This is an unforeseen complication, to be sure. But our quest doesn't end. We must find the rest of the masters. Grendel, sir, are you well?"

"They flushed my mana out," croaked the Archmage. "Never seen anything of the sort before." The unfamiliar Wizard had pushed a small blue bottle into the old man's fingers by thenï¿½he unstopped it and drank weakly.

"Dark Lord, the guards called reinforcements ten minutes ago," Coelion cut in. "They could charge in anytime." The rest were preparing themselves for the long run alreadyï¿½reaching for soiled daggers, gathering cloaks.

"And the security gates are down," added Lawrence. "We're trapped inside."

Elode shook his head; his mind had been working while they'd had their reunion. "Part of our plan is still operable. We planned for this. We killed twenty of their men, they won't be going on with regular patrols, too risky. They'll gather the guards outside the gates and wait for the reinforcements arrive. We don't know how long that'll be, but once they do, they will open the gates and raid the place for us."

"That sounds encouraging," muttered the Dark Lord.

"No, you don't understand. If they do, the gates will be open again, provided we aren't caught. Akera talked us through this. And I think I know how we're going to evade them. Come," he said, leaping over the stack of bodies and racing to the open gate of the Dark Lord's cell. "Everyone! Inside!"

He took Grendel with him, and whispered the plan in his ear as they went. The Dark Lord took the body outside and added him to the pile at the corridor. The bandits filed in after the two mages, pressing him and Grendel into a space at the corner. He smelt their sweat, felt their warm breath against him.

"Now Dark Sight," he said.

Lawrence cast a questioning glance at Elode. Then turning, he nodded to the rest, and they whispered the name of the skill in unisonï¿½Dark Sight. Together they vanished, like ghosts into the air.

Suddenly there was nothing between him and the gate. He saw everything: the pockmarked floor, the glittering chains, the faint flicker of firelight beyond the silhouettes of bars, nothing to intercept their light. The Dark Lord was a silhouette on his mattress, locking his shackles around his ankles.

"Now what?" Aradel said.

"Now we wait."

The winter was creeping through their cloaks and cotton, and there they waited in the numbing silence. Waited for a sound, for the thunder of boots.

Ten minutes ticked by, yet no sound came. Their breathing made the dim space humid. Elode shut his eyes to the faint orange light. What if he was wrong, what if prison practices had changed since he had left?

As became apparent in the next minute, he was right.

Creaks sounded, gates rising through stone, and the colossal clang of the gate announced its opening. Sharp breaths echoed around him. The echo of the clang was overwhelmed by the rumble of footsteps.

They waited, huddled together, eyes shut to the noise.

Shadows rippled across the concrete outside, but there were no sounds of metal armour. Elode almost cursed aloud. The necromancers are back.

"I want a thorough search of the south wing," called their leader. "Block the exits and check every cell. Make sure none have left. Caran, dispose of the bodies"

A black figure appeared at the gate. Elode started, almost stumbled. He heard breaths being held.

The necromancer took a second to peer through and glance about, left and right, then an extra five seconds to stare at the bowed prisoner. Elode pressed himself against the wall as that pale gaze passed through him. This guard's face gave way to another, and then another, neverending. A storm of faces, outside their gate.

The Wizard found himself shaking, fire blazing through his veins.

Some sneered and spat. Some taunted the prisoner on the mattress. But the gate stayed shut, and the eight souls that shouldn't be there were never seen. The Dark Lord remained curled upon his mattress, bloodied arm hidden beneath him.

At last the flutter of black cloaks and white faces ended. He stood pressed against the wall, still, like a pig in a full pen, praying his breath wasn't louder than his friends' silence.

Ten minutes became fifteen. Frantic words came resounding down the corridor: "They massacred the guards and left with Grendel, sir." A pause, for an answering grunt. "Yes, just came and went, took the old man with them, killed near twenty men, but that's it. Nothing. They're gone now."

"Were the gates down the whole time?"

"As soon as we knew they were here, sir."

The superior did not answer for secondsï¿½considering, calculating on his suspicions.

The gruffer man made a sound like a choked laugh. "Well, then. If the old man has the magic to slip through cracks unseen, then Caleix is doomed! I wouldn't believe it just yet. Withdraw the survivors and set up blockades at east and west gates for the next twenty-four hours." He paced a few steps, paused to concede his underling's protest. "It's alright. We've still got three job master, and we've got the White-Haired Murderess; the news just came inï¿½"

Elode choked back an exclamation. Akera. Damn it. Damn this all.

"She must have planned for itï¿½" whispered Erin, but he knew from the waning of her voice that it was only a plea.

"I understand, sir. Is that all, sir?" replied the underling.

"Send a report to Esharo. We're having serious defence issues. Goddess blow them all to hell." Their conversation was joined by footsteps; the words faded slowly from hearing.

They all knew it should matter littleï¿½nothing. If Akera was lost, there was little they could do to bring her back. They would do better finish the quest they'd set out on. Four for the price of one; that was fair, wasn't it?

On his bed, the Dark Lord was pale and clutching at a bloodied forearm. "Are you ready to go?"

"We fear you are not," Elode replied, casting a wary eye at his forearm.

"Indeed" He winced. "Thank you for your assistance. You are?"

"Elode Iris."

"Elode. You...know a lot about the prison."

"I worked here. But I defaulted a year ago."

"Strange, you went upstream," he muttered, and Elode wasn't sure if the rise of his voice was suspiciousness. "Most of the defaulting happens in the other direction. But in any caseï¿½we should go. Dalliance does us no good."

"Sir, I'm not sureï¿½"

"You took twenty guards by yourselves, did you not?"

"We're exhausted." It was Lawrence who spoke. "And we are pessimistic about our chances, I will not lie."

"Pan," whispered Patricia. They glanced at each other.

Then Lawrence nodded. "But we haven't exhausted our means."

"Alright then, I will not blame you for your fear," said the Dark Lord, grip tightening about his arm, perhaps to numb it. His fingers were smudged with red. "We must find Athena and Dances."

"Come, come here," Elode murmured, taking Grendel by the shoulder. They slid out into the cold open, and their time began to lessen. The bodies had been hauled away, blood smudged on the stone, and all around there were only the moans of prisoners. "Grendel."

When the old wizard turned, Elode pressed his staff in his hand. Grendel nodded once. "I have not recovered enough. I have about one spell in me before my mana dries up again."

"Make it a good spell," answered Elode, patting his back thrice.

The entire group of eight slipped through the hallways like shadows. There was no need for Dark Sight now; the guards were waiting for them outsideï¿½thirty guards, fresh from the city.

And how pitiful their state in comparison. Grendel had to conserve what he had. The Dark Lord had an injured arm. And all seven others were tired to the core.

The west wing was simple; Athena Pierce sat waiting at the gate of her cell, her ears giving her away despite the unkemptness of her golden hair. Erin slid the keys from her sleeve and freed her with all the nimbleness of a thief, and the elf took the hand she offered, leaping out into the corridor and breaking into a wide smile at the sight of the Dark Lord and Grendel.

"We must go," answered the Dark Lord, though he smiled in return.

They went along the west wing, until it met the north. Then eastward along the north wing, scurrying along the inner wall, passing dank black cells whose residents they studied as they passed..

"Jet?" whispered a voice through the cold bars on the left.

There nestled amongst the tangled sheets of a mattress no thicker than a blanket itself, the prisoner's eyes were wide and motionless, his shaved scalp gleaming slightly in the torchlight. The queer familiarity of that stare only registered as proper recognition when he spoke again: "You're here."

"Dancesï¿½" Erin raced to the gate, fingers curling around the bars. Without his headdress, without even his Perion tribe attire, he was almost ordinary. He had not lost his musculature to weeks of starvation or torture. "Dances with Balrog. We came for you"

"Erin Ethiel," he pronounced the name like a spell, his face morphing into a form a little more like the Perion chief's. A feeble smile. "I'mï¿½shocked. You made it here."

"I have the keys," she answered, slipping them from up her sleeve.

Unshackling Dances with Balrog was a matter of seconds for the thief. He was wet-eyed when he emerged into the torchlit corridor and surveyed the crowd that had gathered to free him. "You must have been sent by the Goddess," he whispered.

"No, just the Dark Lord and Grendel," answered Erin, stuffing the keys into the sleeve.

"Thank you!" he gasped. Grendel smiled, raising a hand in welcome. The Dark Lord nodded once. Elode stopped him with an arm and pressed a blue potion into his palm, which he unstopped and gulped down voraciously.

"Dances with Balrog, the reunion must wait. They are waiting for us outside."

The words struck like a tide. Here in the torchlight, the team of ten nodded to each other. Their reserves were running dry, and a gruelling battle waitedï¿½a battle in which they were outnumbered four-to-one.

But it'd be a pity, to lose a game of strategy in a battle of strength.

They took off along this very last stretch, and the floor passed beneath their feet. Prison gates flashed past, then stopped passing as the walls grew bare, their exit nearing. The corridors grew tall, heralding their arrival at the atrium. The inner gate loomed.

All ten stopped. At the other end of the entrance corridor, the field shone through the jagged hole left by their explosion. And it was filled with stirring silhouettes, silhouettes wielding spears and staves, barricading the opening.

Every hand found its weapon. Thieves called on the others for luck and strength. Dances with Balrog glanced at Elode, and waited for him to nod.

"FORWARD!" he bellowed with the might of a general, and together they burst out into the floodlights.

A clash of metal greeted them, spears locking themselves together into a fence before them. Behind it, staves rose above heads, purple gems glittering.

"Stop!" one voice shouted above the rest. "Stop, and lower your weapons!"

More than forty guards, they saw as they binked the light from their eyes, forty-five guards bearing down on the exploded doorway. The helmet visors and black hoods kept appearing behind their frontline, more featureless faces flooding in to fill the spaces, more spears criss-crossing to form a glittering thorny wall.

"Surrender your weapons and raise your hands!" shouted the man at the fore. "You are still in the building. You surrender yourselves, you let us lock you up, you live. Or you step across that threshold, and we kill you all at once."

"Jet," muttered Dances with Balrog, pulling to her side and taking up a defensive stance, only his bare hands extendedï¿½extended as if ready to punch, to go down punching if need be. "We can't take them."

Grendel lifted his staff, but he had no intention to use it. Not yet. Athena Pierce had no bow. The Dark Lord was in a daze of blood loss, his wound blazing red and bleeding still.

"If only you had a weaponï¿½" Erin muttered. Suddenly the dagger in her hand felt like the greatest sin in the world. It glowed red, red and useless.

"Weapon," repeated Dances with Balrog, glancing about. She could feel his steely will slackening. He, heï¿½the greatest warrior of Victoria Island save Thaemis his equalï¿½was as hopeless as she. "I need a weaponï¿½"

"A weapon, you say?"

A crackle of falling rubble made fifty heads turn. In the rubble pile behind them, a slab of rock groaned, shifted, tiltedï¿½and then it slid down off the stack of fallen concrete in a shower of pebbles, leaving a gaping hole.

And from the hole emerged...the grinning head of Pan Ixora Ethiel.

And beside him emerged the head of a silver mace.

"Pan!" shouted Erin and Patricia in unison.

The head guard fought to retain his poise. "We do not wish to harm any of you!" he pushed on. "Do not move, thief. Do not move, any of you! Surrender yourselvesï¿½"

"Why?" murmured Pan, leaping from the hollow in which he'd lain concealed. Rocks tumbled away, down slanting slabs of wall. He swung the mace playfully about as he hopped onto the ground, standing in full view of the guards now. "Because you'll spare us if we do? Or will we all just die anyway?"

"What are you doing?" muttered Erin under her breathï¿½

"Catch!"

Sudden as a flash, Pan whirled back and flung the mace at the warrior.

Dances with Balrog leapt and snatched the weapon from the air, spinning it to ready.

Their gaping head guard had just a second to sputterï¿½ "seize him!" Then with a purple flare and a boom that vibrated the earth and deepened the cracks in the walls, a shockwave rippled outwards, knocking guards to their feet in yells, squeals even. From the epicentre Dances with Balrog roared and leapt, mace swinging, and he spun to unleash a bleeding red arc of blazing light upon the fallen guards. Bestial cries erupted from behind slits in visors. The warrior leapt again, swung it like a paintbrush; its head hummed white as with both hands he swung it straight into the earth, where it exploded like a bomb and flung every person in front of the man skidding through uprooted grass, armour cracked, helmets yanked off, necks dislocated.

A crackling wave of red light flared suddenlyï¿½and it was this moment that Grendel chose to unleash a blast of white light, light that blew dark mages and armoured guards alike to the ground.

Erin felt her stare become a grin. She sprung forward with her dagger, and all at once the other thieves joined her, red on their blades, the enemy's floodlights gleaming upon them. They danced about their enemies, dodging like the wind, slitting limbs and throats without so much as a twinge. Right at the centre of battle, Dances with Balrog was alive, grinning, and something else altogether. Whenever that mace swung the guards fell like logs.

"Your Majesty," the shout through the door was frantic.

"Aismeth, door," answered Caleix. She slipped the hand-mirror into her pocket to take the door. The woman hadn't been herself lately; when she hurried to receive the visitor, she stumbled like a drunk. Her fingers slipped once before sliding the cover from the viewing slot. But it wasn't drink, he knew. Something was not right with her body.

Nevertheless she gave indication of a messenger, and unbarred the door for the huffing man's entrance.

"What is it?" demanded the king. "Speak!"

"From Henesys Guard Captain Hesprel to Your Majestyï¿½near-simultaneous attacks on the prison and Henesys have been reported at eight twenty-four and eight forty in the evening respectively; Necromancer Guard Captain Mayel reports the capture of the White-Haired Murderess, and conveys that she is to be hanged after draining in the Henesys Square; Head Warden Geriel reports the loss of four prisonersï¿½"

He hardly had to ask to know which four prisoners. Caleix felt his temples throb with the news. Where you advanced one front, another was pushed back.

He found himself only half-listening as the young messenger detailed the blows that the "rogue band of killers" had dealt to the prison forces. Rogue band indeed. He rubbed at his temple. No rogue band could have organised such a thorough operation. No rogue band would be rescuing the job masters.

And what do you hope to achieve by saving your four best battlers? I could equal them with a new batch of graduates and a new shipment of Lithium. He'd begun in distrust of the necromancers, but it had rapidly become apparent that they were the anchors of his campaign. Now the schools were churning the ice-souled creatures out.

A new despair struck suddenly, and it struck deeper than ever before. All was high-flying; imports were as steady as ever despite the winter. His guards, of both kinds, had seen a good swell in numbers recently, as if the cold had awakened them to their properly patriotic sentiments.

Then why did something twang him so? Where now, where was this danger?

It was in the fact that attacks were coming at one month intervals. It was in this rogue band. It was in the dizzy blind-woman's walk of Aismeth his housekeeper. Something is rising out there.

"ï¿½Your Majesty, would you like to deliver your replies?"

He clenched his jaw and balled a hand, imagining he were crushing the world in his fist. Lifting the broom, Aismeth made a troubled complaint about faintness and purple sparks.

"Send my regards to Miss Mayel; tell her I am impressed. But then...if the Murderess should escape, change the tense of my message. I was impressed." He steepled his fingers, peering down on letters he'd never read, the corner of the fine bamboo table mat lost beneath them. The corner of a carved crane's feather peeked out, flightless. "And please send Mister Hesprel this message: We've bidden our time to our own ruin. I want Nightfall flushed out now. I want him to stop at nothing to discover their whereabouts. It is paramount you convey the urgency of these words. Stop at nothing. Now."

"There's the two I took on my way in." Heaving a breath, Pan straightened up against the tree, gnarled roots curling beneath his crossed legs.

"Final tally stands near thirty-five, then," murmured Aradel, tapping her lip with a finger. "We did well, I'd say."

The group had only converged at the western edge of the forest minutes ago, hems blazing, faces scarred, legs bleeding out onto the soilï¿½but all undeniably alive. They helped each other wrap their wounds, but they'd have to get back to the HQ for proper healing. Dances with Balrog had spent every second chattering about his victory, and Grendel had needed support from the Dark Lord and Athena Pierce, body robbed of its strength by that single explosive Angel's Ray.

For ten unbroken minutes since, they had scurried off through thick forest growth, dodging trunks and clearing roots in bounds, hearts bursting and some eyes floodedï¿½with relief and regret and the cold, which drove nails into ungloved fingers.

Now they came to a stop in a lifeless hollow near the heart of the peninsula of forest, huddling together and gasping in vapour cloudsï¿½so deep amidst the winding ways of the trees that they were sure the guards would never find themï¿½at least not with a force large enough to sweep the forest.

The winter was frigid, but it seemed warm beyond measure, now that the four job masters sat with them in the flesh, smiling old smiles and compensating for the decades of absence.

All four were weak nevertheless; three months in prison had left them desiccated of power and belief.

"Goddess, you're a skeleton," muttered Patricia over the Dark Lord, who turned away, feigning inattentiveness. "What did they do to you?"

"We'd been on his Most Wanted list for all of fifteen years," answered Dances with Balrog in his stead, hugging his knees against the weather. "That's fifteen weeks of ten strokes daily." His fingers gathered the smudgy grey fabric of his tunic, remembering the trauma of the whip. "I wonderï¿½what became of the king."

"Don't we all?" answered Athena Pierce; she spoke with brilliance that worked magic of its own, despite the exhaustion that so patently hung upon every word. "Such a change, for a king so good before."

"Even so, it promises a proper return," answered Grendel in slow, measured tones, and they swore his eyes gleamed in this place where there was no light. "I do not think a transformation so sudden of any personï¿½yes, even the kingï¿½can be reasonable or intentional. Caleix is not the king he was; somehow, his soul has been forcibly changed."

He rose, calling them to follow suit with an open-palmed gesture. Together they resumed their trek, thinking upon Grendel's deductions. There was a flutter in the branches, and their group tightened of its own accord.

"Akera," whispered Coelion from the back, remembering. The thought they'd been avoiding till now finally bobbed to the surface.

Aradel took Coelion by the arm, and the coldness began to swallow them as they exited the forest and crossed the highway, like shadows, at the narrow bendï¿½the light of the stars too high and far to cast proper light. "We've done what we had to," she answered. He glanced up at the job masters leading the pack. The shadows flickered between the lampposts; a bitter wind picked up and their firelight guttered.

Grendel turned, a makeshift staff in hand that he had fashioned from a branch. "Akera?" he answered. "Did she come?"

"She was our diversion," said Elode. "And she's kept them off us till now."

"Half an hour," muttered the necromancer bearing her upper body. "I'd say that is impressive."

Akera did not struggle. Her head hung, but every blink was labour. The red lightning still stung in her bones, the crack of earth against her chin. And her fire had taken all the rest out of herï¿½yes, Akera had found her limit.

I'm weakening, she thoughtï¿½vaguelyï¿½through a haze of exhaustion that hung from all her chained limbs. Deciding that she deserved Ralinn's hatred, deciding she was doomed to this sinner's path foreverï¿½it had weakened her.

But she was unable to reveal this regret to them. Her limbs had ceased all attempts to serve her. In fact she'd only barely stayed conscious in the past ten minutesï¿½conscious enough to watch them pick her tangled body off the gravelly floor and cocoon her in a cold swathe of chains.

But it was good, because she would not give them the satisfaction of a cry, not of pain, nor of fury.

"Do you know how many of us there are?" asked her bearer, hefting her higher. "How many necromancers you just took head-on?"

"Fifty-two," his female assistant answered, lifting a flask to his lips so he could drink without lowering his load. "You must have enjoyed that mightily, hm?" She leant close to the Mage's gagged mouth as she muttered an expletive, clicking her tongue. "What did you say? Can't hear you!"

Her high laugh ignited a spark of rage in Akera's heart. Damn right she couldn't hear her, if she could then she'd have spoken a word fierce enough to burn her ear off. But the gag was tight enough to be bruising, and she couldn't feel her lips.

While the necromancer procession moved, shrunken to a small twenty from the fifty she'd fought, Akera studied the sounds of their conversationï¿½almost as rowdy as a normal guard force would have been, but not nearly as eager, as if the black shadow they called upon for power also weighed upon their souls like a long chain. A chain that bound every single one together. Her eyes closed when the chill of her sweat rippled across her skin. What was wrong; sweating from fear already?

"Hoist her!" a shout from ahead quickened her two bearers' steps.

Apparently word had been sent before her entourage, and they'd already set up a pretty stage for her, tall and dark-wooded, and topped with an ominously gnarled black gallows like the ones she'd seen down in the shadow of Ellinia Station. The sting of fear grew sharperï¿½but why? She wouldn't let this gallows be her death, would she?

Would she? She could hardly move. Her limbs were dead; she'd spent too much on the fight. What if she went to her death paralysed and helpless?ï¿½helpless, Goddess help her, she didn't want to be helplessï¿½

Akera was thrust onto the stage so suddenly she flinched, thrown side-first in all her chains and unable to break her fall. The links crunched into her ribs and she found herself rolling onto her front, fighting to thrashï¿½moveï¿½unable to so much as twitch. Her side throbbed as if her bones were being gnawed at, but her teeth could not clench.

Up ahead of the crude wooden theatre stage, a line of guards had formed before the quadrangle gate. City guards, she knew them at once. Armoured monsters who'd chosen the king over freedom. She hated them. They were the ones who'd thrust Victoria into the tyrant's grip. They were the ones who'd driven cracks into the souls sheltering under the Night Hunters' roofs, they were the onesï¿½they were the onesï¿½

Once, her rage would have erupted as flameï¿½infernal flame, roaring, hungering after all it could find, crumbling wood to ash, melting glass. But she was out of strengthï¿½and something had been lost to her. The rage came in tears instead. Boiling hot tears, maybe. Tears that could hurt no one.

Hands thrust her to her feet then, so hard she almost tipped backwards. She barely kept balance for her arms were chained to her sides; her reflexive flailing found her fingers colliding with metal. Giving in to despair for the first time, she sagged on her joints like a collapsing stilt hut.

More tears. Goddess save her, what was she becoming?

Her heart roared. The tears turned to a flash of hot defiance. She managed a snarl. A yelping snarl, a dog's. There was chafing laughter from the ranks of shadowed faces below.

In this whirl of world-turning darkness, Akera sought the steadiness of a single image. Her eyes latched onto the line of guards beyond her necromancer audience. They were elite guards, she knew, from the organic shaping of their armour. The man at the centre of the guard blockade had a helmet like a bronze dragon's head. Its blind eyes gleamed in the Henesys Square torchlights. How ironic that he took the likeness of the God of Kindness: that man, towering stern amidst his underlings with a spear longer and deadlier than the restï¿½was the merciless guard captain, Caleix's lapdog. Esharo Hesprel.

His steel eyes came to meet hers, perfunctorily. She returned the stare, cold as the night. Hands gripped her, and in a dull jangle, the first chains came off her shoulders; she could breathe again, but her mouth was bound and numb and aching. Bowing like a tree, she tried to shift an armï¿½it twitched uselessly.

But she did not release the guard captain's gaze, not once, and eventually the man lost interest in her. He was there to prevent her escapeï¿½and no doubt he would. No doubt he would follow his king's command to the very last fault. No doubt he would die for his duty, as much as her own leaders would die to set them free.

ï¿½it was a pity that such good hearts moved for such dark causesï¿½

Calloused hands, rough as the earth, gripped her wrists from behind and snagged rope about them. Another ripped the gag from her mouth, cold air washing against her skin. She sucked in breath as the rope was wound tight against her bones, biting and scraping, and a wave of cold swept down her back. Perhaps she could kindle a spark upon her anger. Just a small spark would do, if she couldn't manage a flameï¿½

No, it's not time. One sparkï¿½and they'd be upon her. She could wait. Must wait. A spark at the right moment was better than an inferno now, a plan made in safety much better than a plan cooked up beneath the gallowsï¿½

The gallows. A shudder flickered across her body. The noose was sinking towards her. Akera's heartbeat surged; her mind flooded with images, the world soaring up like symphony to the sound of her neck snappingï¿½

"Up!" roared her executioner. He kicked at the stepladder before her, which ascended three steps to the hovering loop of rope.

Akera whipped around to sneerï¿½and found the executioner holding a magician's staff at her. She breathed, and gasped, and found she had a voice. "Do it!" she screeched at the hooded man.

A chant. Red lightning sparked and struck, streaks of pain blazing across her abdomen. She winced and staggered but did not scream, and the laugh from below wasn't half as loud as it would have been. "Up," he repeated, advancing on her. She sawï¿½and it made her stomach curlï¿½that the weapon was a Blade Staff. Like Lanorï¿½'s, but with human blood staining its edge an uneven silver.

Up. Akera knew she had to listen eventually. She turned again, and took the steps without complaint. The blood tingled in half-numb fingers. She could feel the ropes.

A spark at the right moment.

A second hooded executioner was there to receive her; he gripped her chin, and looped her head into the rope, tugging till it rested snug against her throat. Akera did not spit like so many criminals must have before, only felt her heartbeat rush and thunder, spitting sparks through her eyes; oh, this panic, was it the panic before the attack, or the panic before true death?

Her fingers tensed in their bindings. She could feel her limbs trembling with readiness, and the little blood there was left in her fingertips was growing a little warm. She imagined the old tome pages riffling by beneath them, old lessons clouding up her eyes.

From the quadrangle grounds, the guard captain raised his head with piercingly cold eyes, and gave the command:

"Alright. Let her swing."

And flame rippled up along her armsï¿½snapping and crackling in the air as the embers spat and a dozen guards, necromancer and not, began to frenzy and yell about positionsï¿½vigilanceï¿½defenceï¿½and with a terrible tripping swing she felt the stepladder tip beneath her feet, just as her wrist ropes crumbled away and the flames began to catch the planksï¿½

Akera choked and gasped for seconds as the rope slipped and tightenedï¿½her free hands flew up just in time to stopper the remaining gap in the loop before it shrank to constrict her neck. She screamed like a child for a second, starting another fire that ate the ropes above her; then they snapped and she was upon her toes and knees, scrambling to stand before the pain could spear its way throughï¿½the planks groaned. The flames were catching.

All about the stage, Henesys Square was chaos and grey smog. Spears were crashing through the smoke even now, they wanted to maul her before she could flyï¿½but the stage was collapsing; she felt the beams creaking and splintering beneath her. The fire was climbing the gallows arch like vines and already the structure was sagging with its own aching weight.

A sheet of smoke wafted into her eyes, and through it she watched the ranks break, the spears soar into darkness beyond. She was the heart of the inferno. She was burning, burning alive.

"You drained her, didn't you?" At the corner of the stage a necromancer was throttling an underling. "You drained her and hobbled her?"

"I didï¿½" he coughedï¿½ "she shouldn't have recovered enoughï¿½"

Gruff, choking voices. "We'll run her through, I swearï¿½"

"Leave it!" This, the guard captainï¿½every note raw, dry. "Let her burn with it! We take her if she tries to flee. No one's rushing into the fire while I can prevent any such stupidity!"

Yes, I'll burn. In crackling unison the smoke went up like veils; the crossbeam collapsed in a blaze, the fire that was the curtain falling on the show. The stage was still falling, the stage would be no moreï¿½quite a show, no?

Her eyes stung and teared. Suddenly the fires were edged with rainbows in her eyes.

Lanorï¿½, I sure hope you are pleased.

The beams beneath her finally became embers of coal themselvesï¿½falling, falling underneath her, to hellï¿½and as she began to tumble with them towards the fuming furnace below, Akera reached through the folds of her burning robes.

Grendel had begun a long tale about Akera and the "wondrous glow" he'd detected on touching her forehead and branding her with the magician's seal. The highway to Ellinia had vanished behind them in the thickness of tree trunks, and now the grave, sickening quiet had begun to sink upon them again, save for the wise Archmage's persistent storytelling.

"Sounds like how it was with my student Thaemis," Dances with Balrog piped up midway. "I only wish I knew where she's been after so long; that blow at the tournament must have done her in goodï¿½" His murmur became a sigh. "I am sorry for her. But I really would like to meet her again, after all these years. Let us consider happier things! I know a young man Shirion, he nearly matched her; it's in the rumours that he joinedï¿½"

"Shirion's with us," Aradel put in. "With the rest of Orion's Belt."

"Ah, that man. He certainly has looks," murmured Patriciaï¿½which must have surprised Erin, because she gave her senior an odd look.

That revelation had Dances with Balrog grinning. "They are here? Excellent! I will have some catching-up to do, after all." The warrior job master's pleasure made Grendel and Athena glance in puzzlement at each ther, neither, apparently, going to these lengths to bond with students. "And if Orion's Belt is with you, then so would be Ketara!"

Aradel let out a coo at the sound of his name. Coelion groaned.

"What?" she snapped. "You can't deny he's nice to look at. Right, Erin?"

"I...reserve comment."

Athena turned to Dances with Balrog and asked, "Who is Ketara?"

"My secretary," answered the Perion chief, beaming proudly. "Got my shelves all tidy!"

"He spent half a year telling me that," muttered the Dark Lord. He'd spent the entire trip taking furtive glances at the Bow Mistress; none but his thieves would have noticed. "And his shelves weren't even tidy."

"It delights me that I will be seeing them all again, old friends with years between us!" announced the warrior. Then his nose pricked up, sniffing. "Hmmï¿½have there been Fire Boars out? If that isn't Fire Boar then I've hardly smelt anything of the sort."

The sudden interjection met two seconds of confusion amongst the restï¿½before the gritty odour overwhelmed the rest, and their eyes widened. Two steps later, the pale glow of the HQ walls emerged from the foliage, which only served to alarm them more.

Their conversation vanished. Their footsteps grew more rapid amidst the newborn silence; the leaves crunched and scraped beneath them as they dashed between the trunks to the clearing of their northern entrance.

"Is there a fire?" called Aradel, soft enough for caution, loud enough for the sharpest listener to hear. In case the fire had been started by someone else. Someone not from the Night Hunters. Someone not meant to be hereï¿½

Then they saw her. There, sagging against a tree trunk not two yards from the doors, pale face gleaming with sweat in the lamplight, robes drooping with char, was a lone blue figure.

Silence.

When she raised her face, she managed a half-cocky smile. She dragged a breath in, let it go. "You'reï¿½late," she said, sooty white hair tumbling in tangles over her shoulders.

lanorï¿½

Victory. She felt its crackle in the air, like lightningï¿½or fire. She felt it in the first knock on the door, the ripple of sound. She saw it in the eyes of Zethis and Clynine at her table as they glanced at the door behind, forgetting their soda for moments.

Her answer had been upon her tongue, but the soft jangling of the bolts stole it from her.

They'd won.

She knew they had. And that meant they didn't have much time to go. Life is a raft ride when you're in the business of rebellion.

All stories of the night were told in a circle of couches, to much laughter and drink. Maegara, unofficially-appointed Keeper of the Drinks, rationed the beer, half a pint per drinker; it wasn't like access to beer was getting any easier, and they barely had five barrels left in the cellar.

"ï¿½then her voice was suddenly there, and she was yelling some rubbish about weaponsï¿½and oh, weapons? Well I'd be damned, for there were weapons right at my feet!" Pan seemed by far the most eager to convey the events. He and Dances with Balrog were the only ones in the rescue mission who could be described as anything other than "reclusive", so it was no surprise they were telling majority of the story. Athena supplemented a description or two; Grendel made the cryptic comments expected of a wise old man with a very long beard. Erin sometimes put down Pan's lyricism regarding his own deeds. But the other thieves seemed to think their time better-spent at the cards and drinks.

The job masters seemed to have recovered with pancakes and a spot of drink. Apparently pancakes were very much more than they'd gotten for any one dinner in the past month, and Kaida's prowess with the frying pan made up for the small servings.

Akera and the Dark Lord had been shipped off to separate healing rooms for the clerics to look at. Treatment of the job master's wound was typical of their repertoire. Akera's was slightly more complicated. They fixed a cracked rib, and wrenched a splinter out of her sole. There was a perturbed mutter when she explained the slit on her neck: the remain of some condemnable black mana-siphoning art. The Priestess Shara wasted no time in fetching their best Elixirs while the wound was being staunched. Eventually, they got her right, just in time for the party upstairs.

"ï¿½and if she did it right," Lanorï¿½ explained, "that's precisely when she took the Teleport Rock out of her pocket and vanished in the flamesï¿½"

"ï¿½I did it right, alright?" snapped the Fire Poison Mage, marching in on Lanorï¿½'s storytelling, Clynine in tow. Rows of eyes turned to the newcomer, the eys of a crowd that had just been regaled with a tale of that very same Mage's bravery. "The fire almost killed me! What sort of suggestion was that, showmanship?"

"Ah, but I didn't say you had to play it so dangerous," answered the Archmage, who gave that quiet smile. "Admirable, in any case. You finished fast, if I were any judge of speed. A little too fast, in fact; I've barely had time to consider my own plans." Without warning she rose to her feet; Zethis started. She crossed the room and rung the bell. "Night Hunters! Announcement!"

Their attention was immediate. She nodded at Hyrien through the silence; the guild master returned the gesture, rising from his couch and crossing to the dais. He had practically every eye in the room by the time he arrived.

"Night Hunters. Tonight is, of course, a time for rejoicing. However, this break cannot last long. It is my suspicionï¿½not just mine, but your friends' as wellï¿½that this is the tipping point. Caleix has not planned any search of the forests due to fears of wasting manpower," he said. "To those not familiar with the complaints of our cleric friends regarding charm duty, this relic is guarded by more than one light charm."

Comments of befuddlement joined long explanatory lectures. Light charms; apparently the job masters had used a similar thing, rendering their abodes invisible for any person who had ever been a channel to true dark power. They claimed invisibility was useless once someone told the foes where you were, and that that was how Athena and Grendel had been found. Traitors.

"These charms will guard us," their guild master resumed, "so long as Caleix does not gather a force capable of levelling the forest around us; so far, he has not. But like I have mentioned alreadyï¿½this is a tipping point. We've taken the job masters from him. We're levelling the power balance. We're becoming a very tangible threat. He will begin his assault soonï¿½" in this pause, he swallowed perceptiblyï¿½"and I believe he has a man who knows exactly where we are."

Soft mutters turned to cursing. Who, a traitor? But everyone knew everyone; none of the Night Hunters had left the HQ for longer than their duties had entailedï¿½surely not long enough to furnish Caleix with information regarding their whereabouts?

Eyes pinned the Ethiel thieves immediately. They were silent, but made their answer clear with their glares.

"No, this man is not from among us," he said in hasty correction, then cast his eyes down. "Heï¿½is a man I once knew. And trusted. I fear my trust was misplaced. He has become their guard captain. I am sorry."

The words begged commotion; commotion came, though none of it as accusatory as Hyrien seemed to have it prepared himself for. He let their fervour dissipate, before dealing the last of his news. "As such, we will be pulling a risky ruse on them. I have had my discussions with Ralinn and Lanorï¿½ and they will conduct this alongside myself; you will obey them as you would me."

The guild master invited both women to stand where he had, withdrawing to a lower position in front of the dais.

With no more than a nod of acknowledgement, Ralinn began. "We are leaving the HQ tomorrow morning!" she announced. "And we will stay out for approximately a week, more or less if the raid comes later or earlier. The point of this is to make them think we abandoned this place." A hand shot up from the crowd. "Ayla!"

"What makes you so sure they'll come?" the warrior stabbed the question in right where it counted. She was answered by assenting mutters.

"Sure?" answered Lanorï¿½, breaking the commotion. "None of us can be sure. But half of battle is guesswork, isn't it? And a pity if one is turned from an excellent tactic by the idea that one can't be sure. I suppose to you it appears a fifty-fifty gamble. But considerï¿½it is a foregone conclusion that Caleix will go on the offensive eventually, something I recall never happening in your history. If you were Caleix, and having just lost all five of your Most Wanted within ten minutes of thinking you had them all, would you sit and mope?"

"I'd order defences stepped up," answered Shara solemnly. "I'd improve training regimes."

"And then? Sit back and wait for another attack to happen?" Ralinn had had that line coming; she let it fly like an arrow in a weak joint.

"I don't know how much of a strategist he is, and how adept," the Ice Lightning Archmage supplemented, "but if I were he, I'd start trying to take them by surprise. And now is about the time I'd begin."

"Can't we fight back?"

It was most unnerving that Lanorï¿½ did not once cease smiling. "Do you think Caleix would charge at us without a substantial force ofï¿½sayï¿½five hundred?"

A graveness took them thereafter, and no one seemed to want to ask for any more details in case any more were given.

One brave man rose, fear creasing his forehead. "Where are we going?"

The packing began in the wee hours of the morning; all the circumstances left them no patience. There were three complete families amongst the Night Hunters; the parents found themselves hugging their children to sleep tonight, whispering words of comfort that they couldn't be sure weren't lies.

We've put our lives in Orion's Belt's hands. No one wanted to claim that the division between guilds still existed, but it could not be forgotten.

It was useful that Nightfall had not strayed far from the nomadic life they'd led before settling in this Sharenian ruin. The only things they could not bring were the stocks in the cellar, and those were hidden behind a seeming impassable wall of rock that only a specific flower in the plaster relief at the other end of the hall could open. Sharenians had, in the books, been fond of their alcohol, and Maegara had figured that precisely the purpose of that hidden cellar.

"It'll only be a week," Window whispered over her shoulder when the keeper-of-drinks refused to part with the store, but when she looked, the Ranger had flown away.

It took an amazing feat of coordination for Hyrien and his junior masters Rako and Lind to usher every single one of the hundred and fifty inhabitants out through the southern door and into the clearing in perfect silence. Not a lamp glowed through the branches as they gathered. The Clerics began pulling their light charms down at the same time, the act manifesting in a flicker that enveloped the entire building for two brilliant seconds.

Up and down the unruly ranks, men and women huddled bundled in furs over sweaters, some with faces wrapped, children nestled in woolly arms. These did not look like the battlers responsible for destroying the previous Henesys company of guards. Mothers wrapped their battle-glove fingers about dozing daughters' heads, stroking them to sleep with the same leather that had once drunk blood. If there were swords, they were wrapped up in belted hilts, and only spears stayed swinging in the open.

Yunira raised her watch: two o'clock. Nodding once to her, Hyrien commanded the beginning of their trek, and his junior masters wove through the group softly spreading the message. Like a beast rousing, the entourage groaned into action, and began to seep through the widest gap in the forest, southward. Some were weighed down by sleep; others stumbled and shed tears, for they knew not the perils of the southern forest. A legitimate concern, because the area south of the Headquarters had always been the least-explored of them; nothing lay there, save the barren Victoria coast.

Lanorï¿½ had explained the move but two hours ago. Have you ever tried to transfer a bag of a hundred beads into a bottle? It's a simple matter of pouring, channelling, but every last piece will find itself in the bottle in a matter of seconds. Now have you tried transferring a hundred beads scattered throughout a patch of grass into a bottle? Perhaps not, but you can be sure it would be sundown before you were even half done. Now imagine the beads were us and the bottle were the prison. If we scattered, how long do you think it'd be till the guards caught us all?

So they, like the beads, were to scattering through the forest. There was half a month of walking's worth down south of the forest, and plenty of room in which to lose oneself.

It would be a mere waiting game. Lanorï¿½ predicted approximately one week; this was the value that was passed down the wavering ranks to troubled children. But this was because they hadn't any solid idea when the soldiers would come and leave. For this, Yunira had hired a dragonï¿½Lehixrl, or so she called her. The pair, dragon and human, were conversing in hushed whispers on the fringe of the pack, the scaled creature craning its long neck and winding about the trees with the agility of its lesser cousins, wings folded up tight. The Night Hunters left a small bubble of ground between themselves and the red-haired Spearwoman's acquaintance, but it was a bubble of fear, not distrust.

"Try not to clump up," Hyrien advised from the head of the herd, then turned aside for a short exchange about dragons with Yunira, who in turn murmured something to Lehixrl. The dragon shriek-cawed a quiet answer. The message went down the chain. "The dragons know the forest; they will lead you back to the HQ, but they fear you will not take well to their presence." He regarded his wide-eyed guild, before appending his own message. "Please don't fear them. We were companions beforeï¿½before the hunting, or some books say. They are the Dragon of Life's most beloved upon this world."

They knew that tale, if not the former one. The Dragon made them for Himself. The Goddess favours us only because we know justice.

By the light of magicians they advanced into the unexplored territory, huddling together as if leaving for the last time in their lives. They finally parted in the woods. A triad of warriors looked to Hyrien for the nod, before going into the shadow with a broken branch and a flame atop it. All other eyes hung upon their jacketed backs till their flame was gone.

Little by little, the group dissolved at the edges, friends departing southwest, the few descending straight southï¿½radiating. Then suddenly Hyrien realised that even Yunira and her dragon were there no more, and he stood solitary in a clearing more hollow than the hall in the morning.

He began his southward trek alone, Esharo's face bobbing ominously in the back of his thoughts.

telida: loveless

The very first thing most did, once they'd made a niche for themselves under a fallen tree, or in a low-hanging branch, was sleep. Three o'clock; most walked no more than an hour before dropping upon their packs and dozing till the night was done.

In a ragged clearing enclosed by trees, barely large enough for two to lie side by side, Telida could not sleep. She felt her own breath.

Home. The ghostly howl of winter through bare spear-like branches made her think of winters in the Dungeon, when the branches had woven too thick even for the passage of snow. There'd be the same howling, though, even if she couldn't see where the wind came from; it felt like it roared from everywhere, swirling and curling between trees.

She'd have climbed, to keep herself warm, climbed and dashed and climbed till sun had broken the winter night at last, warming the world a fraction of a degree.

Rising and testing the bark of the nearest tree, Telida climbed. She hadn't forgotten how, and now she had two daggers to help her. Like teeth she sank them into the barkï¿½pulled herself up, tugged one out, sprung up again and dug it in higher, legs gripping its girth. Ten minutes saw her arriving near the canopy, where fragments of glittering sky fell through the branches, laying their merciful light upon the black ground beneathï¿½or what little of it the cruel branches would not claw away.

Onto the closest branch the panting Hermit finally hefted herself, before sagging, aching and breathing, in the crook of the branch. The cold breeze whirled between the rustling twigs. From here, the forest sprawled out, surprisingly unobstructed. She could see Ketara's dozing figure, curled around a rock of some kind. Then her restless eyes found the stars, and would not leave.

She hadn't seen any sky for weeks by now, for there wasn't any to look upon at the Headquarters. Now that she was near the ceiling of the forest, the gaps between branches became deep blue windows, and she could see the pinprick stars glittering between them, otherworldly and far. A swaying twig pointed at a particularly bright star; she stared at it, wondering which myths were true. Did the Goddess make stars; were they old messages for the future?

Ketara had told her once that he sometimes felt a golden glow of power open up like a flower in him when he had full sight of the stars. The thought seemed to elate him because he always grinned when he spoke of it. Care and worry welled inside her, and she found her eyes inexorably drawn to the Dragon Knight again.

"Lida."

Startlement almost threw Telida straight off the branchï¿½her fingers snatched at the branch and her palms tingled, and as she waited for her heartbeat to steady again, her eyes finally caught hold of the dark figure that had spoken.

She was staring at her brother.

"What? How'd you get here?" She pulled herself up against the bark of the tree.

Emerging from the tangling boughs of the next tree, Turino slipped into view. He wore about his jacket a cloak as ragged as the night sky at dawn; it gave him a ghost's silhouette.

She might have been surprised; she could have been furious. Yet something else reigned over these lesser things, something she could only call a mix of regret and nostalgia, throat-numbingï¿½and Telida found she could make no sound as Turino strode along the branch towards her, like someone who'd spent half his life doing so.

"I followed," he answered, pausing two feet from her, eyeing her like a raven studied a corpseï¿½before lowering himself to the branch and pulling his legs over the edge.

She folded her arms, head tilting against the trunk. "Who let you," she answered, though she'd lost so much of her will to hate him that she could not bring herself to snap or leer.

His face had been changed a little by the years, perhaps more hollow now, more haggard. He was still pale, and still distant, like a star. The wind didn't howl; it whistled, and it stirred his hair and hers. Black like midnight.

"My heart let me follow," he answered, eyes shut. "Or it told me to. My will didn't like itï¿½but it's so cracked already." The mage turned away. "I'm not very sure what I want, anymore. Don't you feel it too?"

His voice stole the angry words from her lips before she'd even begun to say them, leaving a whirling void in their place. Her heart ached with somethingï¿½what was it? She didn't try to ask. Quietly, they watched the stars together, watched them twinkle and waver as thin clouds ghosted by beneath them.

Telida pulled her legs to herself. "No. I don't feel anything." A tear threatened in the corner of her eye.

Turino gave no sign of having heard. "It's odd," he murmured, eyes clinging to the stars. "We shared our mother's womb. We were together for nine months in that tiny space. One would think that would seal a bond of trustï¿½"

Odd that we did. Odd that two children once so infinitesimally close could come to want nothing but to hurt each other.

"I know, and it doesn't mean anything," the thief growled. "Shut up about it."

But he'd opened the floodgates of her memory. Her heartbeat accelerated. Why had she kept the secret of their mother's fate so long? What difference did it make, whether he knew or not? Something that had been simmering, bubbling in herï¿½for yearsï¿½finally chose this second to burst through.

"Our parents hated us," she answered. "Don't talk about love in our family. You make the word cheap!"

Turino leered at her. "Keep our parents out of this."

She cringed, and her hands curled, but knew he had to know. "You aren't the one who watched." The tear in her eye was beginning to blaze. "Watched Father kill Mother." Blaze and struggle. She was beginning to choke.

"What are you talking about?"

"She didn't die by accidentï¿½he killed her, he killed her, because she wouldn't workï¿½he broke his marriage oathï¿½and the Clock Spirit killed him for it!" She had to pause for breath. "She was his slave. They didn't want us, Rino. We weren't meant to happen. That wasn't loveï¿½it wasn't loveï¿½"

The Mage's voice was soft and glass-brittle and impossible to listen to. "You watchedï¿½what?" he murmured. "When?"

It was the horror she heard in that single word. It was Turino's fear. It was how tight he clutched at the branch. That was the reason she'd never told him.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry I never said it."

We shared a loveless womb. Loveless, that's what we were made to be.

"Why didn't you?"

"Because it hurt." She shook her head, voice quavering. "Not that it mattersï¿½"

For once, Turino had nothing to say.

Here in this endless cave of stars, between the arcing sky above and the branch where they sat, Telida felt smaller than a speck of dust. Dust, all of them dustï¿½the wind had carried them far apartï¿½and now, though he sat right beside her, legs dangling into the forest, it felt like there were hundreds of miles between them. She'd never reach him in time.

She glanced up for stars again, but in a breath the sky had clouded up. She watched Turino's eyes dampen. Her own tears ached in her throat, and ran down her face.

"Why?" she asked softly. "Why this hate? Where did it come from?"

"You...you hated me first," he answered, but his voice croaked a little.

"Why don't I love you anymore? Why did it stop?"

"Your love is with someone else," answered the Mage, glancing beneath them, at the sleeping warrior. "There isn't any left for me. And in me there isn't any left for you."

She sagged backward against the trunk. How wearying, the world, and her brother, and love, and hate. "Youï¿½meï¿½I don't know whenï¿½"

The whirl of the world grew heavy and then she thought she saw glowing white specks descending through the branches. She felt her head sink; she was tired, so tired.

There were still tears on her cheek, dripping off her chin into her scarf, when the snowfall began and Telida fell asleep. Turino furiously blinked his own into oblivion.

There wasn't any room on this branch for the both of them to sleep; they'd never shared a branch before, not even in the Dungeon when hate hadn't yet embedded itself in his flesh.

Something bit at his heart now, together with the hate. Something he could only call a mix of regret and nostalgia.

Wrapping his cloak around himself, Turino rose into a kneel, leaning outï¿½and brushed a stray lock from over her right eye. A tear darkened his glove.

There was love left for her. All the love he had to give. But he knew she'd never take it.

"I'm sorry you bore the truth without me," he answered. "I'm sorry I became your problem. I'm sorry you had to protect me."

akera: mercy

When the morning dawned, the ground was glittering, pale even in the shadow. It was a thin carpet of snow, and it began to thaw the moment the sky began to glow. Lanorï¿½ had woken the night before to lay her own jacket upon the Cleric. She lay shrouded in deep blue, shivering, breath wheezing lightly.

In the dimness, Akera sat on a root, and decided she'd start them a fire. Her hands were numb as stones; the cold was starting to chew at her bones, not good for any Fire Poison Mage. But a fire for cooking could not sit badly with the other two. They had between them some slabs of old beef, crackers that would last them more than seven days, a Cleric's bag full of stale peach cakes and a tin of hot chocolate mixï¿½the beef could use some cooking.

She began her trek into leafless woods with nothing but her staff. There were twigs around their little camp, but after piling them together upon the snow, she'd decided there weren't anywhere near enough to keep a fire going.

The snow thinly buried the old leaves. All dressed in white like the caps of the Perion peaks, the forest wasn't the monstrous unknown it had seemed the night before. It barely crunched as she walked across it, bowing every now and then to gather black twigs in a fist. The breath left her in pale streams, and despite the cold that jabbed its spines through her gloves, she found herself beginning to sweat with the effort.

A glance back revealed that Lanorï¿½ and Clynine had vanished completely from her field of vision. The scenery was uniform, thick black pillars on shadowy white. No matter, because her tracks would be stark without another snowfall to hide them. But how far had she trekked by now?

With a mutter at the ache that had grown in her calves, she glanced at the bundle that was beginning to outgrow her right hand. Some of that went into her pocket, then she proceeded with her quest, winding between the dark dead trunks and sweeping the dirty things up.

"Ah, Akera!" She gasped at the same time as he did, gaze crossing the little clearing between the trees far ahead, where a tall figure was approaching.

Her heart was cracked in two, by old, instinctive joy and sorrow just as sudden. "Oh, hey," she answered, voice planed level. "Iï¿½did not think it likely that you'd be close."

She noted, as Shirion approached, that a small furless animal was slung over one shoulder, perhaps a ribbon pig caught huddled from the cold. His sword swung sheathed but loose on his belt. Huntingï¿½no doubt for his dear Ranger girlfriend.

Akera stemmed the rage before it bled out; there wasn't time for that anymore. Anger meant she still loved him. And she had to stop loving him. He might smile, but it was a polite smile, a smile without trust. Who cared about the cold nights they had shared? Who cared that he'd afforded her compassion in a world where there had been none? Loving had been her haven once. It was only a wasteland now.

"Good morning." He nodded a greeting. "Nice to be meeting you here. The snow's beautiful, don't you think?"

A thousand days echoed. Him at the jetties. Him on the deck, a sack arching his back. Him haggard at the Station campfire. Good morning.

"It is," Akera replied. "That pig is for your breakfast?"

"Lunch and dinner, too," the Crusader answered. "Ralinn broughtï¿½" He went quiet then, blinking as if he'd made a mistake. "We have otherï¿½things for consumption. But this," he tugged at a trotter, "will be fresh."

She sniffed. "Who else is with you?"

"Raydan, Zethis." His voice faded off. For ten seconds they exchanged not a word. The quiet did not invite cricket chirps; the crickets had long fled. Akera decided the conversation must be over. Bowing her head, her eyes began to search the snow again.

"ï¿½Akera."

The Mage looked up. Shirion was watching her, face bearing evidence of an odd emotion she could not recognise. It was short of a smile, a smile with pieces of joy clipped away.

"Akera, please listen." Those brown eyes narrowed, though his lips tried for a smile. "Before we're at the Headquarters again, before Ralinn gets to sees every glance we exchangeï¿½can I assure you, now, that I've never stopped caring?"

In the past, in a time buried deep below, Akera wouldn't have allowed him a single word more. She'd have locked her mind, glared, and retreated like a ghost to her own black world. But his stupid words had sunk anchor in her stupid heart, like they had the day they'd met. And she could not drag herself to bay, not now. The crushed fragments of some old beating love answered suddenly to his voice, throbbing like embers-almost-dead.

She dipped her head. "I'm glad," she answered.

"I'm sorry it isn't more. Loveï¿½mattered little to me while we were on the run; I'd always thought it futile. I never thought you'd see worth in itï¿½but you were always one to find worth in things." Bowing, Shirion began to study his hands. "You found worth in me."

She thought she felt a crack vein its way through the ice that held her captive.

"I believe," the Crusader went on, a little conscious of himself, "given more time, more years maybe, it would have been more. I know it would have. We justï¿½never had those years."

And Ralinn came along. And she changed you. Not me. It wasn't me.

Her heart stung as if beaten with a flaming rod. She smiled though the ache was ripping her open from the centre. She nodded numbly. "No one can reason with the heart," she said.

"Will you forgive me?" asked her Crusader friend.

There's nothing to be forgiven.

"Of course."

There is something special about fire made by a human heart. Fire is drawn up from rage, from fury, from pure anger. And in every Mage's fire lingers a part of her soul.

The morning was glorious, carpets of diamond blinking up at the undersides of branches. When Lanorï¿½ and Clynine awakened that morning, the snow was thawed to dampness and their skin was not half as numb as the ice should have made it. Then they heard a crackle, and glancing up at the source of the warming glow, they found the most brilliant red flame they'd ever seen, dancing high upon a stilt of branches.

And far eastward, where the sun was just beginning to trickle across the satin snow and the shadows of trees bowed long across the white, lay a white-haired murderess, crying into her lap for things she'd never have.

zethis: the light of stars

The nights sank and rose, and the cold grew from bothersome to excruciating. Zethis spent much of his time gathering his legs in his arms between roots, huddling, pulling the jacket tighter. It did nothing to ward off the cold.

On the third evening of their outing, Shirion came to sit beside the shivering White Knight. Immediately he bowed his head away, quite ashamed of having to show himself in so pitiful a state, even more ashamed at the concern he knew he'd provoked.

"Are you feeling fine?" asked the Crusader immediately after settling himself there, seeming not-quite-as-regal with furs in place of his armour.

Somewhere by the next tree, Raydan issued a loud complaint at his sister about "icky meat" and a desire for potato chips. Zethis look up without meeting the older warrior's eye.

"I'm c-cold," he murmured.

"It is quite chilly," replied the man, though he showed none of that sentiment in his stature. With a smile he bowed close and patted the top of his head, and though Zethis avoided it, he couldn't help but note the pendant hanging about his neck, glittering beneath his collar.

It wasn't just any pendant. He had the same one. The very same one.

Zethis had been about to exclaim about the discovery, but instead he clamped his mouth shut. That pendantï¿½I've had it all my lifeï¿½

Shirion had, unfortunately, noticed the flash of surprise, and inquired about it.

Relenting, head bowing in shame, Zethis pointed out the pendant that hung upon Shirion's jacket. "It'sï¿½that pendant," he murmured. "I have somethingï¿½like that."

A shooting-star spark of shock crossed his gaze, and he reached to lift the brown stone in his fingers. "Ah, this?" Zethis nodded, reaching with his gloves for the pocket in his bag where he had hidden it. When he raised it in his palm, the Crusader stared, and blinked. "Oh, that's surprising. I suppose they were a minor craze a decade ago. I'm not even sure why I have oneï¿½"

Long had Zethis realised that Shirion, the tallest, mightiest warrior of the guild, was an orphan like himself; they knew all the same sufferings. If he could even call them "sufferings"ï¿½it hadn't been some sort of tragic loss, like Yunira had suffered, and it hadn't been the ruin of a hometown, to which Ralinn and Raydan were both familiar. He hadn't even suffered like an orphan the way Shirion had. Again the fact made him frown and sigh.

"That's how it was," said Shirion. "I am left with nothing of my birth but thisï¿½and an heirloom in blood, the power that wakes at nightï¿½"

Pursing his lips at this, Zethis nodded. He'd seen him use that same power in battle, him and Ketara both. As if it were a gift given to the greatest warriorsï¿½yet there was no way he was great, was there? Dances with Balrog said onceï¿½

"It's strange..." he said softly. "It's really strange...but there's a lot of things you went through thatï¿½seem like things I went through too."

He immediately regretted the words. Shirion tried to ask on the topic, but Zethis shook his head and bowed it towards his lap.

He felt he'd never know why he stood amidst greatness. He barely deserved it, did he? He'd only meant to set out on a journey to find his neighbours, names all but forgotten by now. He'd made a friend at the Kerning Party Quest; that friend had taken him to join a guild of three. He'd thought nothing of it then. Just a little bit of luck.

But could any of them have known? Had it been coincidence, that he'd met Raydan first, that he'd been invited to Orion's Belt, that he would meet a man with a similar past to he?

He glanced up at Shirion. Had he known? It was nice to think that none of them had. That the deities themselves could not have guessed the windings that chance would have taken.

Yet something glowed with the promise that it had all been part of a plan. Something like a flickering star, its message finally spent.

"Do you remember?"

"How could I forget?"

The hollow was breathing quietly, even though there were no leaves to know. For the dead trees breathed too, knowledge crystallised in layers of flesh, hiding the vestige of life that was waiting for the spring.

The trees weren't dead. Even if the wind was biting. They were waiting to live again.

"Was it your voice I heard that night?" asked the Dark Lord, palm resting upon the bark of a tree.

"It wasï¿½" On the other side of the great dead tower, Athena blinked and bowed, and both paused, to watch the old Archmage as he looked for the stars. "I heard the guards say that the year was ending. And I felt itï¿½this doom, resting solid and vile upon me. I felt as ifï¿½we have been doomed by the stars to die once the Year of the Rabbit is up."

"Why?" he sniffed. "Our punishment is not up for two months yet. Caleix won't execute us till he's had all the fun out of watching us bleed." Bleed. He touched the bumps of the wound that had saved his life. It had gone infected and swollen, boiled over with pus. He'd never use his left arm again.

"I do not refer to Caleix," answered the Bow Mistress. "We're doomed by the stars; there were shadows crossing their light, a portent for the end of days, as if the Goddess saw it tooï¿½not just ours, but our guards' too, our captors' end, Caleix's end, the end of all life that the Dragon left upon this world."

He paused. Grendel eyed them briefly. Jet's hand had found Athena's, but her grip was weak and cold. Death, it could not frighten him, none of it could frighten the Dark Lordï¿½no death but hers. How could it be death already, so soon after he'd found her again?

"Howï¿½or why?"

"Have you heard the myth of creation?" she asked, after a pensive pause. "How the Spirit stole the world from the Goddess, and how She and the Dragon conspired to defeat It?" She breathed. "They never did defeat merely scattered, like dust when the wind blowsï¿½"

There was something of heavenly light in her breath. Elves knew Time better than the humans, but few remained now as seers of the stars. They'd barricaded their kingdom from the reach of humanity decades ago. Athena had stayed. And beyond all lies, beyond all possibility of lies, he knew she was making a prophecy. A chill rippled up his spine.

"Yeah, what's it got to do withï¿½" The cold gripped his limbs. "It's happening again. Isn't it?"

"The Black Scavenger must lie closeï¿½closer than we know. It survives in the dark of space, but to thrive it must feed upon humanityï¿½"

"Can any of this be prevented?"

"I would love to reassure you, but even I do not know," she murmured, and she searched the stars again. "I do not know what force of human power can contend with the Spirit."

They were both afraid to continue, and agreed without a word to bring the subject to close. The silence was conquered by the crackling of dry old twigs in the sky.

Before the night was out, before the trees stopped sighing and the sky creatures screeched to announce the arrival of the cold grey light, Grendel looked up and saw that the Dark Lord had not dozed.

"There is something strange about how Caleix has handled his kingdom," said Jet when he noticed his watcher. "The people's love is a surer anchor for his power than the fear he is wreaking upon them."

"And what do you conclude from this?" murmured Grendel, a touch sleepy, though a surge of magicï¿½manifesting as a blue light rippling up his skinï¿½banished that.

The black-haired thief glanced off through the deep grey woods. "He has no benefit to gain from harming them as he does now. Crushing families. Denying them power. He was a fine ruler till this began. Why do you think that changed?"

Grendel breathed a sigh through his lips. "Men have their reasons," he answered, "and not all are grand."

"I think he means for us to hate him, Grendel."

The wise old Archmage, with all his decades of memory, had no answer to that.

esharo: the hollow ruins

The charge lasted through the night; he and five hundred men, cresting the last hill into the blur of the forest. Esharo was glad for the armour plates that obscured the length of his right arm. Now was no time to look upon that white cross-shaped scar, no time to bring in questions of loyalty.

With all of five hundred men following in a hundred ranks behind him, he entered the forest where he remembered he'd been released. No mercy could be afforded these wretches. They had razed King Caleix's hard-won order, to the ground and would do it again if they were not eradicated.

Had Hyrien thought it kindness? Kindness to himself perhaps. By choosing to set him free with his memory intact, Hyrien had done Esharo a favour invaluableï¿½a favour that would now be his guild's downfall.

As a man he would have felt guilty for exploiting Hyrien's kindness. But he was more guard than man, and this was a gift to be seized and cherished. The creed of the guards was founded in ruthlessnessï¿½for justice was rarely kind, and only hard hearts would not break when the weak were cast down in its name.

Impartial. That was what a guard had to be, to serve his king.

A flash of fear crossed him. When had he sunken this far? When had he become willing to command the massacre of the innocent?

was what he'd abandoned love for. What use would love be, when Victoria had crumbled? This was the reason he had endured those blistering days and blighting nights, the reason he'd persecuted his own thieving parents. Loyalty to duty, to the nation, to the king!

Teeth gripping the air, he felt his boots take him charging through the dark, churning up the thaw beneath his feet, mud splashing the roots of the curled trees. He tore down old pathways that grew wider though unmarked, and his men marched after him like a collective of machines.

The path merged into a crude main road, paved with dead leaves and meandering where the trees dictated the turns. And there, just beyond it, a segment of the ruin's wall loomed up. From here the road ploughed through the forest, straight up to its northern door.

Something came to Esharo's notice then: there were no footprints. If this was a major passageway for Nightfall, the thin mud from the thawed snow should have been pounded to a mash now.

But that was pedantic thinking, and what could it mean if they hadn't walked down this road for weeks?

"Formation!" he snapped, pulling free of the last clearing. Behind him he heard a clamour of shouts and mutters, as his men formed up in a hundred loose ranks of five, earth sinking beneath boots. "March!"

With that he made off for the great building, and their boots thundered after him. No commotion had begun in the HQ; no lamps had been lit. Esharo pushed forward. They would take Nightfall in their sleep.

"Sir," muttered his deputy Gieron at his shoulder, "I hear no one."

"Quiet!" he snapped back. Ah, Nightfall, trying to feign absence. A worthy ruse, but one that would ultimately fail. "Men, get behind me." He primed his spear amidst the shuffle of footsteps and, rising to the front step, raised his left fist to knock.

Nothing. Ten seconds' silence. Still nothing.

There was an uncomfortable shifting of feet behind him. "Quiet," repeated the guard captain, raising his fist a second time. This time, he put some shoulder into his knock.

And this time, the great ornamental door swung open a crack.

"What?" Gieron sounded less impressed than ever.

"Formation, men," he muttered anyway, never once taking his eyes from the door. He clenched his teeth as feet crunched through biting frost, as lines formed behind him. "All ready?"

A scrape of armour. "All ready, sir," announced his deputy.

Esharo nodded. "Now! Move in!"

The door burst open to admit the tide of men. The great hall yawned over them, plain and dim, old sofas scattered like pieces in an abandoned game, vines creeping through cracks in the walls. The air was frigid. And the silence was humming.

It was empty.

His sweat turned cold.

In his mind, he saw Garth again. Garth swinging. Garth with eyes half-popped from the sockets.

"From Guard Captain Esharo Hesprel," announced the messenger off a neat little scroll.

Caleix perked up in interest, in hope. But then he heard in the young man's voice the graveness of a funeral, and he sank into his chair again.

"Following information from a defector of Nightfall," the man went on, "the Nightfall Headquarters was discovered two miles southeast of the Henesys east gate, but it was found to have been abandoned. There is evidence of their previous occupation of the place, including old furniture and a stove, but no evidence of any residents within, and no information as to how long it has been abandoned."

"Damn this all!" Caleix flung his pen, but only as far as the edge of his desk. It clattered and rolled, and bumped against his old letter stack. He clenched his teeth as if the ache of his fury would weaken if he gnashed them hard enough. This close, this close, and they had to slip away.

In a flash, Nightfall had slipped through his fingers. And Esharo had failed. He'd failed twice already. He'd failed to see the White-Haired Murderess' execution through. He'd lost Nightfall. The enemies were rising.

He ground a fist against his lovingly-lacquered tabletop. Can I punish him for failures that were inevitable?

It would be folly to dispatch a faithful workhorse of near seven years in a fit of paranoia and rageï¿½that he knew.

But what if he let this go unpunished? Would that be folly as well?

Ceramina...

The terror disintegrated. His fist unclenched, and he thought he saw a flash of a ghost cross the study. But when his eyes darted up, there was nothing. An empty carpet and a fireplace that blazed with coals.

Caleix's eyes closed to a sight that had suddenly grown unbearable.

She is an illusion. Her smile blazed like a ghost so pure his heart ached. Ceramina, Ceramina. Don't...delude...yourself.

He managed to rise on his feet, in this false warmth, bones creaking beneath him. The matter of Esharo, he supposed, would clear itself up after a walk in the castle. He had to remember the man's loyalty and not shortchange him for it.

But not the matter of the world. His kingship. The winter. That, he feared, would not clear itself till his reign was, finally, at end.

esharo: mural

He spent the minutes wordless, quivering, standing before the single mural on the wall like a man before a god, tracing its thick lines with his eyes. In big brazen letters it bellowed:

THE EVE OF THE DRAGON

As his gaze crossed the harsh dark strokes, a shiver came over him. The words stank of Nightfall.

They had been here. And then they had vanished. Like smoke in the wind, dispersed into the trees, into the nightï¿½who knew. Perhaps they'd killed themselves to withhold the satisfaction of homicide from Caleix and his guards.

Or so he'd have assumedï¿½but these words...these words told him all he had to know.

These worlds told him they were alive, as alive as the trees that grew, gnarled and bare in the winter.

And they told him what they were planning.

The eve. They mean to seize us on New Year's Eve. Of course. I could assemble my men on that day, call the necromancers in, arm the castle.

Esharo blinked, but the torment of questions and fears did not stop buzzing louder in his ears. His will flickered for a moment. He cast a glance at the scar in his arm, partly concealed by a sleeve. The cross-shaped scar that a man of Nightfall had left on him long before. He remembered the sting of the blade.

The day he'd betrayed his king and given up crucial information. For what? Whatï¿½had possessed him? Because he'd known he wouldn't be apprehended? Because Hyrien had managed to change his heart?

Well, how dare you, Esharo. How dare you make a mistake like that. If you try that again, ever again, you will die for it, you will dieï¿½

He would die. Esharo knew he'd die. Because they were losing, fallingï¿½Goddess, why did Caleix not see? They were losing. Losing, like the winter as it was broken by the dawning spring sun. The king was starting to thrash in his net. He was going to go mad. He was going to forget all frugality and deal out death like brochures.

I know I will die. Just a little man without family. This man who'd sold himself to law and justice. This man who'd condemned his own family for his king, put them in chains where they'd never see light again. This man who'd been a tormentor, an advocate for a tyrant, a hand in flinging his shadow far across the land.

Walls, walls all around. Walls of the monarchy. Walls of the law.

Could he have been the wrong, all this time? Could it be he'd come to fear the king, not love him? He'd done that all in the name of Victoriaï¿½killed and shamed in the name of Victoriaï¿½but really, he'd only done that all in the name of Caleixï¿½hadn't he? For fearï¿½hadn't he?

Someday soon that very same man would put him to death. Perhaps tomorrow, on account of this failure to find Nightfall.

But there was hope yet, there was a route out. What if he reported this wall scrawling to the king? He could turn this mission into a success, if it helped pre-empt Nightfall's attack. He could save his name, and in so doing climb a rank perhaps.

It was behavior his profession entailed, after all. Of course he would. That was what he'd done all his life. Foil their plan. Destroy the rebels. Crush them to dust. Further Caleix's tyranny.

I find myself having to choose betweenï¿½

But now as he stared at all of Nightfall's plots, condensed into five wordsï¿½surer than lead in his gut, surer than the life he was drawing in, out, through his lipsï¿½Esharo Hesprel feared the world was about to cave in upon him. He remembered the sting of the knife in his arm. He remembered the truths Hyrien had spoken, more potent than Caleix's propaganda campaigns could ever be.

ï¿½what is rightï¿½

"Sir..." It was the murmur of Gieron at his shoulder, equally captivated by the messy scrawling that loomed upon them. There were suspicions on his brow. Calculations. Worries. "Someone must have painted that. We should search the premises again..."

ï¿½and what I have been told to do.

Perhaps it didn't always have to be like this. Perhaps there was another way to redeem himself. Not to Caleix, but to the Goddess.

"No," replied Esharo. He turned his back on the words, pressing his fingers to the scar of an old promise. "Do not bother His Majesty with the triviality of a vandal's work."

"Sir, we cannot be sureï¿½"

"Yes, we cannot be sure!" he snapped. "It's nothing. We don't have to search for consolation in false signs. I have failed him, Gieron. I will take my punishment peacefully."

I will let the rebels do what they must. These walls can be broken.

ketara: fly with me

Morning twisted through the trees, lighting the very tips grey. And only in the faint light did the silhouettes grow sharp, casting shadows in the thaw that had been snow three days before. Their wings crinkled and flexed, pulled close against the chill that might kill them.

In the gloom, Ketara's eyes rose into the dawn, head shifting against the trunk, shoulders tensing. When he blinked again, he saw that the faint black silhouette amongst the trees hadn't vanished. The volcano echoed in his bloodï¿½the tribes and circling ritualsï¿½the thundering lava pooling like blood beneath Horned Tail's feetï¿½the crash of scales against his front.

It is finished, rustled a proud voice. He blinked and glanced about, upward. Telida was close. And the dragon-silhouette was shifting.

Without another sound's notice, the creature leapt off the branch and materialised into a sinuous black form, glittering with the dawn.

Ketara straightened in place, eyes taking in its every minuscule movement, the ripple of legs, the twitch of wings. "Ah? What?"

By then, the creature had stalked to his side, neck arching over him like a predator contemplating prey. If Telida woke now, she might think him in need of saving...

It crept a little closer before daring to speak, turning a great golden eye to its human counterpart.

They came and went, it whispered. They took nothing on their way. They are gone now. The enemies. My friends have left to tell your friends.

He made a sound of comprehension. "Oh, does that mean we can go back?"

It is safe, replied the dragon. Eyes wide, he started to rise, and winced at the stab in his wrist.

The dragon glanced away, ashamed to have seen his weakness. Dearest child of the Ancient One. Our brother in His love. It...pains me to see you so.

He glanced at his feet, which were enclosed in Nightfall's boots. The leather was worn but it had not budged. "Thank you for your condolences," he answered, "but I'm perfectly fine, I really am." The smile grew a little warmer.

Those golden eyes flashed out as it blinked; it tilted its head and made a sound in its throat, perhaps pity.

Fly with me, it finally saidï¿½then quickly withdrew, as if abashed of its own words, when Ketara looked up.

"With you? Now? I would...love to travel back with you..."

Now...and always, it answered. You should be free like you were made to be. Fly with me.

"Ah, but I swore to give freedom up!" The ex-Dragon Knight couldn't deny that it had sparked a painful flame of hope in him. "That's part of my oath, isn't it? What if the Clock Spirit kills you for helping me?"

Then it can kill the Dragon if it pleases! it cried. The Dragon would want you free! I know Right when I see it, and this is your Right!

Smiling, Ketara folded his arms. "What is your name?" he asked, and wondered for a while if this was really an answer. If he could join his friends in the final mission like he'd always thought he would...

My name is Elkhris, he answered. Will you let me be your servantï¿½at least until you need me no more?

He laughed. "I don't mind if you don't mind!" he answered with a grin, shifting onto his knees with a boost from his elbow. He shuffled through the dark wet earth, where the sun met it and turned it deep blue. "You're too kind, Elkhris. Could you do me a favour and wake the other two?"

The dragon sniffed a small cloud of smoke, so hot and so close to his face he started backwards. They are already awake, it answered. But they do not want to rise.

"Could you...er...fetch them here?" he asked, and it answered, with pleasure. All at once, that little hopeful flame began to spread through his limbs.

The Night Hunters had found their temporary homes in the corners of the forest, all curled in dens and on trees, some with improvised shelters made of branches. Over the week that followed, the dragon messengers navigated the routes and found every one, finding children huddled in the crooks of trees, adults hunting despite the scarcity.

The ones who settled closest were the first to arrive. They trudged one by one onto the flagstones of the old white ruins, into the throat of a ghostï¿½but the words they'd painted on the wall one evening in the snowï¿½THE EVE OF THE DRAGONï¿½welcomed them with old eyes and curled tails and belief all anew.

The great plot lived.

They rearranged the HQ so it looked as it had before abandonment, dragging and shoving the sofas back into the ranks and files, and the later arrivals came home to warm radiators and a blazing stove.

Training resumed, but the fog of caution lay palpable upon their shoulders. No one between the trees upon the earth dared yell unless in effort or agony.

The end of the year loomed upon them like the swollen cloud, and with it the day of their siege, the day they would either wrench Victoria from the iron grasp of the king or die in their last attempt to.

In the warm rooms of the HQ, little changed, and nights were spent alone.

Akera lay silent and pretended she didn't hear the rest of the world. Never mind Ralinn. Her word was less than smoke in the piercing beam of the old prophecy she carried. If she was to take the Spear, then she would, try whatever they may to stop her.

But something nagged at her long after everyone else was asleep.

It was fear. It wasn't fear that she'd fail to kill Caleix. With the Spear she direly outmatched him. It was fear because she outmatched him. The Goddess wouldn't bring them to the Spear as if it weren't the answer, would She? The Spear...the Spear couldn't be for that alone.

The room was empty when Ralinn was not there. I need a walk, she had said, and had vanished, but she had not come back and it was deep beyond midnight and Shirion was beginning to worry.

She is safe, he told himself with a shake of his head, looking upon that empty space on the rack by the wardrobe, where her bow usually hung. But he'd seen a change in the Ranger's eyes in the days since the forest, and he knew the monster was not on the outside.

The planners were at the table again; Hyrien was attempting to offer Lanorï¿½ the mug of hot chocolate he had meant to to have himself, because the queue was long today and she had a great deal of work to do, but the woman was insisting she knew the cold better than he.

"You can almost smell the spring!" proclaimed Yunira, giggling, as she sped by the table, children racing after her. A mother yelled at her daughter, who'd apparently just recovered from pneumonia, But no one blamed Lanorï¿½ or Ralinn for bringing that week of cold upon them; the guards had left footprints in the dust and gashes in the sofas, and everyone knew that the tactic had saved them all.

Hyrien frowned. He hadn't been able to stop frowning, and grew increasingly morose as the final day began to loom. The Eve of the Dragon.

"Are you sure they're gone? Properly deterred?" he muttered. "Are you sure they're not going to check again? They must know we were here."

For once, for the briefest seconds, worry crossed Lanorï¿½'s brow. "I cannot be sure," she replied. "But we could not have stayed in the cold wilderness any longer than was necessary. We need to weigh our costs and benefits. Too many deaths...would lose your people's faith and morale."

Hearing this, the tall Guild Master closed his eyes and breathed a simple sigh. "I mean no disrespect, but you seem to think of my guild members asï¿½pieces."

She nodded in a way of acknowledgment without agreement. "Perhaps I do," she said. "Perhaps I find myself hard-pressed to feel for every one of them. We are fighting a war, after all, and it's never easy making the right choices if you think of them all as your children."

Making the right choices. Hyrien closed his eyes. Pelinor. Esharo. Yes, pity and compassion. He knew how compassion paved the road to the worst mistakes.

"I...well...it's not always a bad thing, either." He bowed to stare into the hot chocolate mug that she'd rejected, watched the steaming liquid ripple when he blew on it. "I don't mean to dispute your methods, of course."

"Yes, you do," answered the Archmage, and he didn't have to look to know she was smiling one of those frightful smiles that made him feel like a child caught breaking the rules. "But I take no offence. I apologise also if I have thrown your guild too thoughtlessly to risk in interest of these schemes."

"You saved them," he said. "I suppose everything we do hereafter is unavoidable. The final push. The attack. We've all pledged ourselves to this."

Lanorï¿½ nodded thoughtfully, staring off into the dim living room where there was enough laughter to dispel the air of death. "Yes, that is true," she replied. "It is the worthiest cause you could hope to give yourself to."

akera: damnation

No one wanted to be outside the next day, for a fog had come to blanket the forest, obscuring the new fall of snow from last night. No one wanted to be out where the dragons and soldiers lurked.

"It's time we abandoned all forms of obstructive politeness," Lanorï¿½ had said to Akera last night. "Ralinn must let you use the Spear. Her permission ought to mean little in the face of the world's end."

Akera clung onto this piece of logic now as she watched Ralinn emerge from the staircase with Shirion at her side. The Mage drew in breath when the expected pang stabbed at her; she'd hoped she wouldn't have to speak with both concurrentlyï¿½but like Lanorï¿½ had said, it meant little. Her eyes narrowed.

The Ranger caught sight of Akera in time to take on a look of wariness, long before she had approached. When they came to a stop before her, the Mage answered with a sneer. But it meant little.

"Ralinn," she said. Anxiousness had gripped Shirion as well by then; his body was tensed, and his eyes darted back and forth. She tried not to cringe. "Let's not play now. You need to let me use the Spear of Heaven, do you understand?"

"I told you," answered Ralinn, "I am prohibiting the use of the Spear by anyoneï¿½"

"Oh! So, we just spent the entire year running all over Ossyria looking for its partsï¿½for nothing? You're going to discard it all on a whim?"

Ralinn's eyes went cold, like they always did when she was threatened. "Plans must change with circumstances," she said. "I'm sure you know that."

"This isn't a change in circumstance! It's a rule, don't you get it? The Goddess told you toï¿½"

"I will make my own decisions, thank you."

Her face must have changed. She felt the snap.

Beside her, the Crusader shouted something. Akera couldn't hear.

"ï¿½Akera! Don't do anything! Don't you dareï¿½"

"This is not your decision to make! This is not your choice!" she screamed. "She's wrong! She's jealous! She'll get us killed, the wretch, she doesn't care about anyone but herself, so don't you dare DEFEND HER!ï¿½"

She hadn't seen her hands spitting yellow-white sparks at the air. She hadn't seen, through all the angry smog in her eyes, the flames rippling up her fingers, between her lips, across the floor.

And it all came in a boomï¿½a sudden deafening, blazing surge of light, as the magic spat itself out of herï¿½

Akera heard it all through a mist. The sound of Shirion collapsing to his knees in a moan so uncharacteristically agonised she was jolted right out of her rage and into a whirlpool of dizziness. Whoï¿½howï¿½ She heard, she heard Ralinn screamingï¿½she watched, gasping with an aching chest, as the fire swirl away to reveal her friendï¿½from the station, from branches, from deep in the snow, her bastion, her fortressï¿½clutching at his face with blistered red hands, all his words tangled into moans and wheezes.

"SHIRION!" The cry split her throat, and she began to convulse with sobs, gasping for air, for mercyï¿½

The hall was in chaos around her. Like birds they flittered about around her, racing to carry him to Shara and Grendel and whoever else could save him; Ralinn was swallowed by a crowd, she was gone, and there was no one left for her to pin her hate to.

"Good going," muttered a stranger at her side.

She didn't need to hear any more. Shirion's voice reverberated through her brain, shattering every window and chandelier.

Lost in this rising whirlpool of glass, dizzy beyond reckoning, lungs full of fire, Akera screeched and stumbled and wailed wordlessly againï¿½but Shirion was gone, and there were only walls, walls everywhere.

The tears began to blaze like hot knives in her eyes, and Akera felt an overwhelming tide of black engulf herï¿½

lanorï¿½: shadows and fog

"Is she fine?"

Lanorï¿½ didn't look up, not when she knew who the speaker was, and not when the words were so thick with insincerity.

"I hope so," whispered Clynine, shifting on the neighbouring sofa.

"She is alive," answered the Archmage curtly. She touched a hand to the forehead of the Mage who lay snuggled against her, curled up in deep sleep. Her skin was still burning, and Lanorï¿½ whisperedï¿½Blizzardï¿½so a mist of ice caressed her forehead. "How is Shirion?"

"The healers helped him well. I think he will be walkingï¿½though superficially scarredï¿½by tonight."

"What happened?"

"Well, Akera asked to use the Spear, and I disagreed, so she worked herself up as usual and almost killed Shirion."

Lanorï¿½ nodded, veiling irritation behind pursed lips. Normally she'd not be irritated by people, and normally she'd do a much better job of obscuring it, but Ralinn was being dismissiveï¿½in a way so uncharacteristically cruel of her that it was impossible not to abhor.

"And who did this to Akera?" she asked instead, continuing to feign calm.

The ex-guild leader quirked an eyebrow. "As far as I can tell, she did it to herself." The spite crept into her voice this time and Lanorï¿½ felt her eyes narrow.

"Respect her!" she shoutedï¿½surprising even herselfï¿½and gripping the girl's wrist by instinct. "She did it to herself at the prompting of another. Do you realise you have a hand in this?"

"I did what I should have," muttered Ralinn, who then rose and departed. The lie rang out clear long after she was gone.

At least now Lanorï¿½ could sort out the things pressing on her thoughts. She touched Akera's shoulder, and her heart ached in a way she'd never quite known. As if she'd failed in her duty to protect the girl. She'd never noticed how sorely she wanted Akera to find happinessï¿½not till now, now that she'd finally crumbled in submission. Was this how it felt to be a mother?

Her eyes shifted to Clynine to her right, tilting over her sofa's arm to stare at the sleeping Mage's face. Her mind went to her own parents in the snow, the parents she'd estranged to go her own way. Is this it, Mother, and will you still forgive me?

She brushed Akera's white hair from her pale, burning face. So young and so burdened. Gross injustice. But did heaven really care? Amongst the billions of souls the gods had watch rise and dieï¿½from the day the Dragon's tears had scattered across the world, to nowï¿½did it matter at all that Akera was withering from inside?

Clynine's upward glance made Lanorï¿½ turn. She followed the line of her gaze to find the Guild Master watching from many feet away.

How long had she left him standing? "Come over and sit," she called. She'd almost hoped that the appearance of the job masters would give Hyrien someone else to treat as a deity instead, but it seemed his mind had room for five. It wouldn't do, her new Guild Master treating her like his leader. What if that power was being transferred to her somehow? For the better of her friendsï¿½and perhaps herselfï¿½she did not want that power. But he needs to learn to trust himself.

"How is she?" murmured Hyrien as he arrived, voice subdued as if in reverence. He took the seat two spaces to her left. Lanorï¿½ sighed. It would almost be logical to concludeï¿½from the two specimens she hadï¿½that White Knights chose their job on basis of their lack of confidence.

She only shrugged. "I barely know," she said truthfully. "She's burning up and still unconscious, that's all we can gather."

"I hear...she was meant to make the final move, on the day of the attack?" said Hyrien.

"The one who owns the Spear isn't allowing it." Lanorï¿½ sighed. "We might have to take it by force eventually. But I'd rather put that moment off until it can no longer be avoided."

To think...the greatest traitor would be one of their own. She gazed across the rows of empty sofas. The lights had been dimmed for the night, and she knew the fog outside hadn't cleared. Shadows, everywhere.

Lanorï¿½ wondered, briefly, if Hyrien was hesitating to respond because he was as anxious as she about matters, or because he feared to interrupt her daze.

She turned suddenly. "Please, don't fear me," she said. "You'd make quite a companion, I'd say, if only you weren't soï¿½deferent." Companion? Lanorï¿½ wondered briefly. He was the Guild Master. And I'm apparently a goddess. Her smile must have become more than just inward.

"I don't mean to be," he admittedï¿½well, at least he's admitting somethingï¿½ "it's just that...with the stories that have preceded you and which continue to be part of my impression of your person, you seem unreal to meï¿½fictitious, maybe?"

Lanorï¿½ laughed quietly; somehow the night demanded it. "How much farther out of control is this reputation going to grow?" she sighed. "Let me explain why you shouldn't hold me in high regard. For one, I spill my drinks sometimes. And for another, I frequently have trouble waking up in the morning."

"Mm, noted."

"Do you believe me?" she said.

"If it matters this much, do go on..."

"I enjoy cold weather, but I'm sure that'd be obvious to anyone who knows me. I think I spend fifteen minutes on my hair everyday."

"That's...surprising. Surprisingly ordinary." He didn't seem surprised though, which the Archmage supposed was progress.

The fog seemed to moan outside. The lights could scarcely hold; Lanorï¿½ glanced at Akera and wondered if she should be left to continue her troubled repose here on the sofas. "Clynine," she said without turning.

"Yes, Mistress Lanorï¿½!"

"Will you keep Akera company in the healing room?" she asked.

"Yes, of course, are we going to take her there right now?"

"Let me," the Guild Master put in, rising. The Archmage did not give a visible response, but allowed him to lift the girl. Akera needed rest; her recovery was all they could hope for.

Clynine tagged along behind, but Lanorï¿½ stayed ahead. They trooped down the stairs, leaving the last living room residents behind to enjoy the quiet.

The rows of beds at the healing room stood empty and pale when the lights flickered on, welcoming the new resident. The Cleric fluffed up a pillow and gestured at the bedï¿½Hyrien was glad to comply, laying Akera on the sheets as if lowering something priceless.

"I will do my best to ensure her recovery," Hyrien said earnestly as he did.

"Because she will be important?"

"Because I care for all my guild members."

Care, Lanorï¿½ smiled at the word. Perhaps she did care. Akera, the girl who'd known too little care. Save for Shirion'sï¿½till today.

Ralinn watched Shirion. He left for breaks between news bulletins, and instead of training with the other warriors he always descended the stairs towards the sick room, never once asking the Ranger along. She didn't have to ask why to know.

The Ranger left the living room early that night after a lonely drink, slipped into their bedroom silently. Shirion wasn't there. Of course. He was looking after the girl who'd almost murdered him.

When he did arrive two hours later, she snapped at him for not knocking first. They discussed dull things at the edge of the bed, before she lay down to close her eyes. Bowing over her, Shirion swept her hair away to kiss her forehead.

"You're unhappy today," he said. "What is it?"

"I can't say it. I know what happens when I talk. I lose a rein."

"You have never cried before, you know? As if tears would shatter your face. You should, if you need to."

"I am the leader. A leader at some level. I cannot be seen crying like a child, now, can I?"

"Have you never let yourself be someone else? Someone other than the leader?"

Her face was stiff as card. "If I ever was someone else, I think I've forgotten. Who else will they trust if they can't trust me?"

"Many people. We are Orion's Belt no longer," murmured Shirion.

"Yeah, we aren't." She couldn't hold his gaze. "We're Hyrien's guild. Akera's guild. Isn't that right?" She paused then, stunned at what she'd just let escape. But then Shirion's alarm wrung the next words out of her. "Everyone is Akera's now, evenï¿½you."

She was surprised to find the corners of her eyes damp and her breath achingly fast.

"I am not hers," he answered. "I follow her orders andï¿½"

"The Spear is hers. And so is everyone's love." Her eyes flared like fire on an oil slick. "Do you know that? Do you know? The Goddess sought her all along."

He stared back unaccusingly. "You're jealous of her. That's why you're stopping her from using the Spear. Isn't it?"

"Noï¿½I'm not! I'm just keeping her out of harm's way, I'm protecting herï¿½"

"You're not. You never cared for that. You're being spiteful. Is risking the world really worth saving your pride?"

"I don't know, I don't knowï¿½stop itï¿½stop it! Stopï¿½caring for her!"

No, in fact, some part of her knew how she felt. That was the thing with feelings; they clung like oil, and all one could do was ignore them till they faded. But she had ignored long enough.

"Shirion." She said it like a plea, at cliff's edge. He glanced at her, and his worry made her heart curl up. "Please...don't look at me that way. Iï¿½I don't mean to be like is my weakness. I obeyed the guards. I did things for Caleix that harmed men, women on the other side of the world. When the Goddess came to me, even though I didn't understand what I was beginningï¿½I was so happy. I could finallyï¿½do something."

Her eyes stung; she didn't know this feeling. The Crusader nodded. "Everyone seeks to do good for the world," he replied; he tried to reach for her shoulder, but she recoiled and turned the other way.

"I was glad to have the chance to turn upon him. And maybe some part of the child I was isï¿½still with me. Maybe I did want to be a heroine. Maybe I still do. Iï¿½still do.Butï¿½but the truth isï¿½it's not me. Akera is the Goddess' heroine. The Goddess just needed me to find and save her. I was just aï¿½just aï¿½"

She pressed her mouth against the back of her trembling hand, starting to sob like the helpless child she had never been. The story echoed between them, freezing everything it touched. And Shirion, for all the warmth he was, could not melt something so old, so insidious.

"You're notï¿½"

"It's fine," she croaked. "You don't have to tell me it's not true. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

"But then you know you must let her do what she mustï¿½"

"I can't just let her takeï¿½"

She tried to kill us both. And you love her even then. You're being selfish, Ralinn. No leader is selfish.

"ï¿½everythingï¿½"

"ï¿½she hasn't taken anythingï¿½Ralinn!" He snatched her by the shoulders before she could sink away in exhaustion. "Look, she and youï¿½you're both hurting yourselves over nothingï¿½"

"Not nothingï¿½"

"Ralinn."

"I'mï¿½disgusting. I never deserved any of it."

That night, the Ranger allowed herself to break. She screamed, and flung a slap at him; she yelled at him as if he were the reason for everything, though he clung to her just long enough. And she sobbed and wept, into a shoulder she didn't realise was thereï¿½till her convulsions ceased at last, and she was dozing in his arms with tears on her cheeks.

akera: morning

It was not till morning that Akera woke, and everything seemed greyer when she did. The emptiness in the room did not bring loneliness. Only peace. Except, it wasn't the pleasant lull of solitude; it was dull and crackly and empty.

She lay and waitedï¿½waited for Clynine to return from her breakfast. The girl exclaimed in apology when she found the Fire Poison Mage awake while she lowered the tray to her bedside table.

Akera didn't mind that Clynine hadn't been there. She didn't mind not eating. The food did not draw her despite the clawing in her stomach.

Five minutes later the girl vanished at the beckoning of Lanorï¿½. The Archmage glanced through the door only a secondï¿½to meet Akera's eyeï¿½before withdrawing into the morning.

Akera continued to stare through the empty doorway long after she was gone. Lanorï¿½...Lanorï¿½ had probably lost all respect in her by now. She'd failed to prove anything. Just another upstart. And she didn't want to any longer. She didn't want to be the most powerful mage in Victoria...

The memory of yesterday struck like a bolt; she cringed and felt fresh tears trickle down her cheeks when Shirion's voice resounded through her mind, crying accusation. The girl dried her face on the blankets, and the feeling was gone. She took the sandwich from the tray and ate, because it would sustain her, but even now she wasn't sure if she wanted to be sustained.

The light in the door didn't matter. The shadows shifting neither. She closed her eyes and pretended the world didn't exist.

That was, until the door creaked again, and her eyes lifted.

Turino. His arms were drawn up close, as if he feared her presence, but his dark eyes hung adamantly onto hers.

"Turino?" she whispered.

Another victim of her cruelty. She bowed away, face contorted against tears as an ache seized her throat.

"Turino."

"Yes?"

"Why...do you still care for me?"

"I don't know. I really don't know."

"You're stupid." She knew why. She knew he loved her. And she could not begin to comprehend how anyone could love a woman who'd tried to kill him.

She found the question nagging suddenly: would she ever return his love?

She loved Shirion, she knew she did. She loved him for all the years they'd spent living like the wind. She loved him because he'd been the lone light amidst a world of hardened faces, and she had needed its warmth. He had been the warmth in the snow.

But he'd never been the rain on the fire. Yes. The cure. She'd screamed and fallen, she'd blazed and scorched herself. But it had never been Shirion to save her from her own flame.

It had been him, in all his darkness. It had been him. He had taken her shoulders and yelled sense at her, burned with her, and without receiving anything but spite in return.

"Protect me," she growled, and seeing him start made her angrier. "Protect me! I order you to!"

"Stop it!" he snapped. "What's happening now? Are you going mad?"

She curled up. A sob shook her when she realised that he might be right. She bowed under the weight of the air, crying softly, and felt the hot lava tears tumble into her lap.

"Protect me," she rasped between convulsions and sobs. She was a shame to everyone and the world. "Protect me."

"I can't protect you from anything!"

"Stop, Turino, I thought you cared, help me. Help me." He nodded and ran to her bedside, sank towards her, catching her into his embrace, pressing her face against his shoulder.

Sitting there, sinking into the warmth of his hold, Akera found she no longer cared for the fire she'd once been so proud to wield. What use was a weapon one couldn't control? What use was power, when you could only use it for harm? What use was a gift so vile? She watched the flame gutter, gutterï¿½

Straightening suddenly, he pulled away, glanced down at her face, shook her. "Akera. Akera!" His fingers wound tighter about her wrists in pleading. "Don't give it up, Akeraï¿½"

She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head, bowing so she could see nothing. He didn't understand, there was nothing left of her that she wanted to keep. But the poor boy wouldn't let go, he wanted to save her even though he couldn't, and he gripped her face and kissed her. As if it might light her again. She let him.

He wrenched himself away when he realised she wasn't responding. His eyes clouded up. "Akeraï¿½don't," he pleaded between sobs. "Don't give it upï¿½"

"I don't want it!" she yelled back, hot tears swelling on her eyelids. "I don't want this power. Take it from me! Take it! I'm sick of hurting everyone!"

"You don't do it on purposeï¿½I knowï¿½"

"Do you know? Do you know what it's like, spending your life in fear of friendship? Putting in danger anyone who dares come close to you? I thought it'd change when I joined the guild, I thought that was a chance. But I just hurt more people. I justï¿½"

She gave out to a spasm of sobs then. The sound squeezed his heart like a vice.

"I don'tï¿½need to be powerful. I don'tï¿½need it. I'm just dangerous. No one can love someone like me. I don't want this any longer. I just wantï¿½itï¿½to beï¿½gone."

A stray breeze curled through the doorway. Turino pulled away, ad let go of her frigid hands. She felt so empty, she felt like she might scatter in the wind.

Her body sagged against the backboard. Her mouth curved into a tiny smile. Her sobs became manic laughter.

"It's gone now! Ha!"

"Noï¿½no, Akeraï¿½" His head sank forward; she saw a tear pool on his chin.

She was in ecstasy. "The Goddess is finally punishing me!"

"No. You're punishing yourself. You're doing this to yourself."

"She knows no mercy." She was free. She was caught between weeping and giggling.

He continued to bow, and the tears did not stop.

ralinn: the goddess' song

Clouds spiralled overhead, and the light beyond them was blinding enough that all she could do was bow and press on through the wind.

Ralinn didn't know where she was, but she knew she was here to meet someone.

From beneath the fog materialised a white desert. She felt the empty wind burn against her face. The light beat upon her, and she felt as if it were spreading her thin.

Don't run, murmured the voice of the wind. Echoing from all her dreams before and after. Don't flee.

"Then what do I do?" whispered the Ranger in answer, and tears raced down her cheeks. "Why did you lie to me so long?"

I did not lie.

"You didn't tell me that I was just doing you favours! You didn't say!"

Why should I have?

"Because Iï¿½I feel cheated. Because for the longest time, I thoughtï¿½I thought I was your heroine. You made me think that. And you took it from me. You just...took it from me."

The silence that followed seemed to hum like a distant whale.

Ah...but do you not see, how Fate is woven? Some must be servants, child. Some must pave the roads for others, or the weft will stray and the world will go awry. Personal absorbances must sometimes be ceded for the greater good, child. It is time for you to give the tale away, to be carried by another. This is what must be done.

She cringed, eyes narrowed on the sand ahead. "Soï¿½I am. I am just a tool to your ends. Aï¿½stepping stone. Then why did you let me think I wasï¿½being heroic? Why did you let me believe that?"

Because you were being heroic! You were the right one. You had the strength, and I see how right I have been. But now you must have the selflessness, tooï¿½you must have the counsel to relinquish your pride.

"I...only wanted to change something."

You've changed everything, daughter. My daughter.

Her eyes grew wet again.

You have been key in the progression of good, and you must be proud of it, even if you are not the heroine.

She lowered herself to the shifting ground, and let the white voice engulf her, hot tears trickling freely into the sand.

You have brought us so close, Ralinn, to a victory I could never have hoped for without you. You have changed everything, my daughter. Now it is Akera's turn. She will take the tale to its end. You must give it to her, Ralinn. My daughter. You must let her try.

the dragon's roar

A rumbling of thunder began on the evening after. The doors creaked in the gale, and no one quite knew what to expect.

Then there were cries from outside. Yunira left her tabloid puzzle to answer the door as was customary, listening between cracks.

"We know you're in there! Open up!"

Nervously, she leapt away and turned to her guild master for instruction, features tight. "Hyrien! Hyrien, should I openï¿½"

The last thing she was expecting, then, was for Dances with Balrog to spring up with the sprightliness of a child and dash right past her, a hand outstretched for the door.

"Crouching Bear?" he shouted, head thumping against the wood as he pressed his ear to it. "Crouching Bear, is that you?"

A soft cry of "Chief Dances with Balrog!" was followed by the clanging of door bolts, and the great grinding groan of the door, like the sound of islands shifting.

In the Perion tribespeople tumbled, with yells of "thank you" and "we made it" filling the main hall and living room as if it were their own home.

The stench of sweat and blood followed them in, telling of the daysï¿½perhaps weeksï¿½they had gone without a bath. There was visible cringing in the living room. "It is good to be safe!" exclaimed the man at the fore, a man tall enough to touch the arch of the doorway. "Safe in stone! The safest there is, I say. Nothing safer than stone!"

"Of course! Concrete is a laughable substitute," muttered another. In the nearby sofas, Dalran Ethiel shifted uncomfortably at the jibe about concrete.

Holding the door open, Yunira could only stare. Normally, she'd be all over the visitors. But these visitors were entirely different, she knew. The eagerness of her welcome might pale next to their excitement for arrivalï¿½and that wouldn't do! She decided she'd stand aside instead, and let them welcome themselves.

And welcome themselves they most certainly did. Even now, hugs were being exchanged at the doorway. A trio of warriors had already begun to discard their weapons by the door; all three seemed entirely unbothered by the dry-blood streaks they were leaving on the stones.

Alarm seized Yunira. "Sirs and ma'am!" she exclaimed, slamming the door shut and leaping into their midst. "Sirs and ma'am, we have an armoury downstairsï¿½could you, er, take them there instead! I'll show you the way!"

They glanced at each other. One man grinned. "Of course, sweet," he put in. "Lead the way."

"Hey, stop right there, Hawk!" his companion answered. "Let's introduce us to her first, eh? She can't take orders from men she barely knows!" His eyes went back to the young Spearwoman. "I'm Running Boar, young miss, and the bossy man hereï¿½" he jabbed a thumb in the direction of the man whom, in her opinion, wasn't quite as bossy as Running Boar claimedï¿½ "is Nighthawk. Hardly the deadly animal though!"

"Hey! Wellï¿½clearly, someone else fits his name better, eh, Running Boar?" Nighthawk accompanied the exclamation with a prod of his belly.

While the two men descended into a few ridiculous rounds of name-calling, the womanï¿½who happened to be of much smaller stature than she'd seemed from afarï¿½stepped in, grinning pleasantly. "Thanks for the help, girl, I'm Singing Riverï¿½and you?"

She stopped herself before she could blurt something about Singing River's height. "Name's Yunira! Nice to meet you!" she beamed widely as they shook hands, the woman's glove scraping against her palm.

"And are you a warrior too?" she asked, slapping the girl's back with surprising vigour.

"Yes!" Yunira grinned, patting her arm away. "Spearwoman!"

"Good on you. You getting your third job anytime soon?" Her eyes moved to her companions. "Oi, you blockheads, get here."

She shook her head while Singing River rounded the scuffling men up. "I'm not ready to ascend yet!" she said when she returned, Running Boar and Nighthawk in tow. "I've been going pretty hard at my training, too. Hyrien said we had to. D'you know? We're going to battle soon! Barely two weeks now!"

Their heads perked up in synchrony. "So we heard," said Singing River. "We heard it in the little townsï¿½a guild in the south, plotting an attack in the winterï¿½we came looking...and look what we found!"

Yunira waved for them, and they began towards the staircase together. "Yeah, that's us!" she said, and gestured at the huge words that had been slathered in black across the wall behind the dais. THE EVE OF THE DRAGON. "New Year's Eve. It's all set!"

Running Boar cut in right about then. "Oh, and weï¿½we could join you, couldn't we? Yes! Yes? If Dance with Balrog lets usï¿½"

"Ooh, of course! Dances With Balrog will be fighting on our sideï¿½I think Lanorï¿½ has something planned for the Job Mastersï¿½"

"Lanorï¿½Orion's Belt is here too?" Nighthawk exclaimed. "You have quite a lovely gathering here, haven't you? Ethiel, as I can see, and Orion's Beltï¿½and the Job Masters!"

"The King did us a favour rounding the Job Masters up," she laughed, and was absolutely flattered to have them follow suit. "And Orion's Beltï¿½that was a twist of fate, but I swear everyone expected it, deep down. We've merged now. We're the Night Hunters!"

"Hear that, Hawk? They hunt you."

"Quiet, you idiots," Singing River muttered. "All gathered for war, how exciting! And good to see we aren't late." She grinned at her sword, lifting it to the light as they walked. "She thirsts for war. It's been too long since we were called upon to defend our land. Too long for any true warrior!"

The curving hallways echoed their footsteps as they strode by an array of hardwood doors, caught up in a lively conversation that inundated the silence. The armoury stood in the far arc of the hall, differentiated from the rest by the locking mechanism; Yunira came to a stop before it, and they followed suit. Producing a pocket knife, she scratched the keysign into the metal plate and waited for the door to click, before giving it a good shove.

It was almost a pity to watch her warrior companions offer their weapons to the respective racksï¿½belts, blood and all. Talking to them, she had come to understand just how beloved the weapons were. These men and women were the true people of Perionï¿½not the children who came and went on mountain roads, seeking power and fame. Their blood was of the battle.

It was strange, because she remembered reading that it was the Dragon, King of Life, who'd first gifted the warriors with their powers, and taught them ardour for the battlefield. Was there a strange sort of Life to be found in the delivery of death?

Maybe it's the safeguarding of life, Yunira mused. She found it odd to look at the new residents of the armouryï¿½hanging bloodstained and dark, freshly-plucked from corpses, amidst the gleaming silver of the rest. Life, and war. I wonder why they always come together.

It was right about then that the girl grew aware that new footsteps were trooping down the corridor outside. An awfully large number of new footsteps...

She turned, and leapt when she found five new warriors at the door, all bearing weapons about as bloody as their compatriots'. "Ho, the pretty flame-haired girl's still here! Told you!" The foremost man chuckled the words as he strode in, a tattered, bloodied shirt barely covering his well-muscled torso. He reached to shake her hand. "Storm Rain's my name, thank you for your welcome! Which lucky man has your heart?"

Yunira could barely have prepared herself for the question; her mind began to race in quite a panicï¿½Perion warriors sure were forward!ï¿½but inspection of his hearty grin assured her that he was devoid of any true romantic interest. But still... She thought of Ketara, and the fact that he was very much someone else's. She cleared her throat. "Um, well, I can show you later, sir..."

Thankfully for her, she was quickly saved from further awkwardness by the emergence of an unknown woman from amongst the new arrivals. She strode up to Storm Rain and gave the great man a jab in the ribs. He grimaced incredulouslyï¿½ "hey, I was just being friendlyï¿½"

"It's fine! It really is!" Yunira waved her hands in front of the newcomer woman, who flicked her head so her braid swung, and spun her club in her handï¿½the girl flinched. The woman, all sharp-featured and silent, merely offered a grateful pat on the shoulder, and walked right past.

"Singing River," she called out instead, while the Spearwoman fell into a daze. "The Boar giving you trouble?"

"Been perfectly-behaved!" answered Singing River eagerly, and beside the new woman she seemed even shorter than before. "He wouldn't dareï¿½eh, would you, Boar?"

"You're no mother to me!" snapped Running Boar, a right child between the two. "Neither of you is!"

Yunira's daze persisted, as their short trip to the armoury turned into a brawl of insults and back-slaps, and she began to realise how hopelessly far out of her depth she was. The true people of the Dragon, were they?

I am the Heir to my clan, said Elkhris in the snow. Ketara had left Telida for the time, and she had let him go when she had seen the black dragons outside. She had helped him onto Elkhris, but had vanished before he could have thanked her.

"Oh, is that so?" murmured Ketara, head resting against his dragon's scales as he swirled a finger through the snowy night. He could barely see the lights on the other side of the frozen creek. "That must be wonderful."

It is not, dear brother, I will rule when the dark has claimed my fatherï¿½or when he abdicatesï¿½but I know too little! I am not a ruler but a hunter.

"Oh, but things can change pretty fast," replied Ketara, wiggling his useless right foot about. "It'll be great, Elkhris. I promise it will!"

Muscles flexing and contracting, Elkhris lifted his tongue from the ice and rose to a stand. I would like...to show you to him. I would like him to see you before he goes.

His eyes widened, and it was not from fear. "Oh! Of course, I'dï¿½love to!" he managed, grinning and shifting on the dragon's scaly back, as much as his wrists would allow. He shivered againï¿½the dragon was so coldï¿½but then Elkhris must have felt his trembling, for he made a guttural sound, and a gentle heat began to press up from his scales.

Quiet, he sang. You must keep this our shrine a secret. So Ketara bent close, and Elkhris sprung silently upon the next roar of wind into the dark.

rebirth i

He hoped, and kept hoping furiously, though He knew they were slipping away into the shadow. He wept blindly as He listened to the hearts of his children twisting and screaming in the Dark, the Shadow Across the Stars. All He could offer was a song of hope. Of mercy and sacrifice. The song that had raised them from the mud. He sang it each night, across the endless space, and waited for an answer. But no answer ever came, for when their mouths opened, the Spirit flooded their throats with despair.

His great heart of love and sorrow grew weary with grief, and every night His voice grew softer.

Thick night crystallised into glittering white points of frost at the tips of branches. Ketara watched them flicker by, clawing at the black wings that disturbed the trees. The gnarly growths began to tighten and tangle as they flew, and Elkhris twisted through the gaps, dipping and rising like a butterfly among twigs. There was something of an incredible joy to his flight, and white sparks of fire burst from his snout every few seconds, as if he could barely contain laughter.

A circle of dragons waited in the grey clearing, ten or so, a council. The dragon shrine was no stone relic, not geometric and paved, as if geometry itself were profane. The trees themselves shaped the sanctuary, curling with each other, centuries old. Dragons tangled their glimmering tails with the old black roots, and listened with their heads pressed to trees, waiting for the springtime trapped deep beneath their bark.

Ketara shivered at the cries of surprise that erupted from the gathering when their heir sank like a leaf into their midst, rustling hollow branches. The largest, broadest dragon arced his neck from where he sat curled about the widest tree.

A man, he whispered, eyes blinking, and the dragons beneath him echoed distrust with their watery hisses. Why do you bring a human to us? Is he here to negotiate?

Elkhris tossed his head. Father, he is the one, the Child! The Ancient One has pressed His mark into his soul, do you see it?

Their golden eyes changed in the shifting starlight when they saw the Dragon's light upon him, and one by one they began to sing their welcome, jaws wide to the frost.

At their bidding, the warrior slid nervously off Elkhris, resting weight upon his unspoiled left foot and limping towards the dragon chief. The great dragon's tail unwound, and he unfolded his wings like sails in welcome.

We sing tonight, he said. This is the last turn of the moon till the rise of spring. When the full moon beams upon us again, the new year will come riding upon it.

"New year?" Ketara echoed. Something trembled in himï¿½hope barely burning like a candle left unguarded in the wind. He feared the new world would not come soon enough. He feared it never would. "The Eve of the Dragon..."

When the time comes, you will welcome the spring with one soul less in your company. His heart was struck by a pang. He knew he was going to die. I do not wish to miss that welcome. Tonight will be the night we celebrate the world coming anew, reborn.

Reborn. The warrior wasn't sure what exactly he felt resting upon the word, hope or dread. Would it be a rebirth in light and blossoms? Or a rebirth in thunder and crumbling towers?

Let us notï¿½ The chief coughed a cloud of smoke that could not light into flame. Let us not dally. Time flows relentless. He raised his voice first to the night. It was a rumble, like a roar whispered.

I might dream and weave and singï¿½

Ketara breathed so deeply that his lungs hurt with the cold, and swallowed, eyes darting about the darkened clearing. Amid their voices he felt so unforgivably small, so silent and crippled, nothing.

ï¿½and thenï¿½

The clear notes resounded across the hollow-shrine, and Ketara lifted his eyes to the circular space amidst the branches through which the stars cast their light. He thought he heard a distant harmony join themï¿½something grand, calling from across an endless canyon. As if a crack had been rent through the spaces between the stars, and this song was struggling to bridge the cosmic gap.

ï¿½you might know everythingï¿½

Swallowing, Ketara lifted his voice and let the throb of his heart drown every fear outï¿½and he found he knew the words of their song, in some unexplored memory he hadn't realised was his own.

rebirth ii

Tonight, something new sat upon the air. The war with Darkness hadn't ended; it never had. But tonight, tonight something came anew, and againï¿½as beforeï¿½He rose to the peak, and listened for the answer. Listened for the storm winds rising.

Tonight, He heard an answer.

Then hope flared in Him. He raised His great head at the mountain peak, and the night was so dazzlingly bright He could almost see the stars when He breathed their wind. He raised His head high, and gave a mighty roar into the abyssal dark between heaven and the world He loved. The roar rattled all of Time on its myriad axles, and the Darkness quaked.

With a small sigh that could barely be heard among their voices, the King whispered, Take my army, Elkhris...do what you deem best. Then he breathed a thin cloud of smoke, a little spark, lighting a leafï¿½and with a grand thud his lifeless head dropped to the earth.

Go to the Ancient One, whispered the old King's son, and his song turned slowly to weeping.

hyrien: storm winds rising

"As the Guild Master of the Night Hunters," he announced, "I would like to personally welcome the men and women of the Perion tribe." Warm applause followed. If he was lucky, these new additions would give the guild a boost on the training grounds. The fog was finally clearing, and they'd be ready to return to it by tomorrow.

And welcome that was, too, with everyone finally recovering from their week out in the bare wintry forest. They had barely two weeks to go, the first of which was half burnt out already.

"Now, as our guestsï¿½and this applies to Ethiel as wellï¿½you have all rights to exempt yourselves from guild activities, but also to join in them if you please."

"Hey, Hyrien!" The warrior interrupted the Guild Master without a thought. "Hyrien! Can we join you? Like, in the battle?"

"Yeah! Can we?" The chorus of agreements that followed put Hyrien in a momentary daze.

"Alright, alright!" he shouted, and was relieved to have the perfect silence return. These warriors made their own chief seem wise and surly. "Dances with Balrog. As their leader, do you permit them to join us in our siege?"

"Of course." The chief folded his arms and reclined with a grin. Hyrien raised an eyebrow, as a cheer went up from near the front of the crowd. Were theyï¿½the chief, and the warriors themselvesï¿½so eager to place their lives where the darkness might steal them? They were a strange breed, these warriors. So ready to throw themselves to danger.

Like Pelinor, the thought gripped him and wouldn't let go. He thought of their bodies. Bodies. Lances in flesh. Pools of blood and rain.

He swallowed. "Fine, then. You will fight with us, warriors. Is there anything else to be announced?"

He noticed movement to his right, and seconds later found himself being displaced from the dais by Lanorï¿½. "Battle plans will be disclosed tomorrow!" she announced. "I wish you luck." She gestured at the words painted on the wall behind the dais. The black letters stared upon the gathering, and her acknowledgment of their presence only made them seem to rise higher. "I did not deem this wise at the start, but I must say now that the reminder might prove very motivational. We leave on the Eve of the Dragon. Hyrien?"

The man returned just as Lanorï¿½ stepped off. He surveyed the crowd once, trying to gauge their emotions from their expressions. "Is that all?" he repeated. "Are there any more announcements to be made?"

The fear won out in their gazes, and he was panged by guilt, even as he nodded and dismissed them.

cirid: storm winds rising

The plains between Henesys and the abandoned harbour were not known to offer shade. They knew little danger, devoid of the vicious creatures that roamed the rest of the island, and safe from patrols of guards, whose leader believed Kerning betrayed to death and Lith Harbour the victim of mutiny, the remaining survivors stranded with no help.

He was, of course, quite wrong about both. The first anniversary of Kerning's brutal massacre was barely nine days away, New Year. Lith Harbour's shores no longer heard the toll of bells. But neither had died, neither had cracked deeper than the skin.

Cirid Celadon had always known that.

Cirid grinned into the evening, and no inch of its dark girth was spared her gaze. The falling night had the disposition of a cruel queen, misty and austere, her hard long nails piercing grease and fur. But its fog wouldn't hide from the Guild Master's eye the surly grey wall that spanned the valley three hills away.

As the last sun cast them a parting red glance, she began to survey the top of the hill they'd only just crested. Bare woody branches criss-crossed overhead, howling softly and parting for slivers of purple sky, damp sloping earth spread beneath. "Right, alright, round them up for the night!" shouted Cirid, signalling for her Junior Masters, both of whom barely needed a look from her before setting off in a dash.

She listened with a small smile as a smattering of cheers went up through the sloping wood, for relief, and for the prospect of arrival in Henesys. Arrival, for what? Her lips twisted in thought as the wind began to bite. There was no home to return to, no lodging even.

But arrival, Cirid supposed, was not a matter of finding home. All seven hundred of her followers had lost all notion of home, after all. How they had stared when she'd found themï¿½when she'd pulled each dented drain cover up, blown every grimy stone slab open, and found hordes of survivors behind each one, cowering from the noise in the dark. Their eyes had demanded escape, not home.

She understood, naturally, and that was part of the reason she led them. She had lost her home and parents one night, twelve years ago, when they'd left her at a seaside tavern with a hunting rifle, explaining nothing. Safeguarding her, she now knew. She also knew they might be somewhere in Victoria Island, slaving for a king they couldn't love. She knew they had been wronged by the kingdom.

Holding the kingdom as your enemy was no easy task, she was reminded when her boots sank in the soil and she wondered if the rationsï¿½even tightï¿½would last her followers to the end of their journey. Seven hundred had come, winding through dangerous valleys that lay out of the highway's vantage, sharing food and comfort amongst themselves, some falling prey to sickness and exhaustion.

If the Goddess would provide, this journey would not last much longer.

Over the months she'd held a conversation, through dragons, with a correspondent over the hills. They had asked the first question one afternoon, sent the first black dragon to the depths of Kerning like a beastly herald of her coming fame, asking after the state of her uprising.

Twenty letters at least had gone between them ever since, half headed for a corner of the forest near Henesys, half to an old tavern under the City of Thieves.

The cause of their conversation had been clear from barely two letters in: a plot for Victoria's redemption. All of it had been simple hypothesis, reallyï¿½till two months ago, when her counterpart had told her to move her followers to Henesys. To be there on the Eve of the Dragon.

Why? She had had the good mind to ask. No one ordered Cirid Celadon about, particularly not on the matter of her own people, and particularly not with his motives undisclosed.

We will have our vengeance and justice, or so the correspondent had replied in weeks following. The eve is the day we will win or fall, against Caleix. We need you.

What promise do I have, that my followers will not be wasted on this venture? They have lost their hope, and you offer them hope anew with a promise of revenge. Do not enter this without knowing you will ruin them completely if this promise is broken.

We have the Spear of Heaven, the next letter had said, and the ones who rebuilt it.

So here she was. Hills and roads and valleys away from her base in Kerning, seven hundred outcasts on her tail, winding through deep forests in valleys, places of safe cover and little navigational marking. It was probably enough to trust them on, this claim that Orion's Belt and the Spear were with them. It'd better be. Cirid was not one quick to trust, but there were rare times when she found her judgment overruled by a tide of desperation and hope.

"Boundary check, Ledrin," she said into her shorter, more trustworthy, Junior Master's ear, and gave him a light shove on his way. "Report back in fifteen. And get the headcounts while you're at it."

The wind howled while the Fighter made away, and the trees rattled like skeletons. Cirid listened; between their hollow whistles and creaks, she thought she heard a faraway roar. A roar of storm winds rising.

She wasn't one to entertain musings so grandiose, and she did not think of the journey aheadï¿½into those cold hillsï¿½as a journey towards victory or death. This was only an act of duty, housekeeping. She was only as free as her nation. All about the woods she thought she saw sparks of light bursting into flame, contained and inconspicuous. She saw the shadows of the weak and powerful curl before each little pyre.

You can't fail us, Nightfall, the Mage thought, swinging the hunting rifle as her eyes crossed the darkening horizon. We'll be free together. This is why I'm putting everything in your hands.

The wind brought her news from across the hills; she must not mistrust. All the plans had already been made. Across these hills. She was a rescuer no longer, she was a warlady.

"Hyrien, sir," muttered Rako, rising abruptly from amidst the staring crowd. "A letter arrived from Cirid earlier this evening. Reborn has arrived. They wait in a wooded valley across these hills."

across these hills...

...the world flowed ever slower, almost syrupy, like glaciers, pooling in the valleys.

"I should never have been born."

Akera did not fight, did not try. She sat awake in bed every night, empty now there was no warmth to turn to for comfort, before she fell asleep. Goddess, I just wishï¿½I justï¿½ she prayed and faltered. Goddess, you do not care.

It was cold without her fire. She began to shiver, on the sheets but she did not regret. She had forfeited it all, power and belief and love and joy and worth. It was gone and she meant nothing. She curled up in soundless, dreamless sleep, untormented but also absolutely numbed.

"You can't lose yourself like this..."

Turino watched from afar; he fought the tears but they flowed hotter than flame. He was still afraid, and in part he was sure it was his fault Akera had lost all her power. His fault that he hadn't done anything when he'd seen the faultlines in her facade. Telida? No, he was beyond even thinking he could help Telida. Not now, when she had her own beloved friend to help. No. He knew he'd lost her long ago. And he didn't fight. He didn't try.

"I will keep you safe...I swear."

Telida didn't know, she didn't know. She'd never known pain like this before. But that was because she'd never cared. Not till Ketara. And sometimes she wished that she had never learnt to care. Because caring was like willfully reaching into your ribcage and tearing your heart from its place, vein by vein, because not doing it meant that the pain was someone else's to endure. Sometimes he smiled at her, but she knew he was only smiling so her heart wouldn't break. Knowing that love tore at his heart, just like it tore at hers, only made it worse. When did I change? Do I want this change?

"But I don't know if you can."

Ketara wished nothing had changed; he thought of dragons singing him to sleep sometimes, but only because he'd never sleep otherwise. The King of Dragons was gone, and the new King was Elkhris, brilliant and hot-headed. But all thisï¿½changing, it was like taking wing without knowing you could fly, spinning wild, all dizzy. He knew he was supposed to be thrilled. But all he could think of was the person he had been before. The one standing on the cliff, gazing at the world beyond its edge. The one whose happiness hadn't been borrowed. Who was he now? He didn't know. He didn't know.

zethis: a phoenix

"I'm...tired," whispered Ketara to the blond White Knight boy who sat beside him, toasting bread over the stove fire.

Zethis turned, blinking. "Tired?" murmured the blonde boy. Just a boy. He had the farm in his eyes, in his hair. "That...doesn't sound like you, Ketara."

"I'm..." the Dragon Knight's lips curved in an attempted smile, but he abandoned the effort midway, shoulders sagging. "...I'm just tired. I'm so tired."

Nodding sympathy, Zethis listened to the fire crackle, and the twanging of the wind that swept the tips of the fire, rippling and curving with the heat.

It was all taking its toll, this warring both inside and out. He'd watched his friends fade into shadows of themselves. The journey was changing them beyond reckoning.

He hated to watch and he hated that tragedy kept avoiding him. He wanted to know! He couldn't just watch, he wanted to know how it felt to be hurt, and bear the weight with them, and not get off light.

The thoughts condense themselves into simple, stammered words. "I wish I knew how you felt." Blinking tears out, Zethis twisted the rod on which his toasted loaf hung.

"You do, I think. You left home, and you haven't seen your foster father since. Your father was really important, right?"

Zethis nodded.

Ketara turned to the younger warrior and smiled a bright smile that, in the firelight, began to look real. "And now you're watching all this happen to your friends. There's lots going on for you, but you're doing fine. You're stronger than us, that's all." Midway the Dragon Knight began to tear up. "No one really gives you credit for that!"

Zethis lifted the bread out of the fire, and offered it, on the end of its stick, to the Dragon Knight. "D'you want it?" he asked, managing a smile. "I think you need it more than me."

The Dragon Knight shook his head. "You should have it," he answered.

But Zethis narrowed his eyes, and poked the bread at him again. "You need it more!" he exclaimed. "Come on, it's nice bread. I ate some just now."

Suddenly shaking with sobs, a small laugh broke through. "You've changed a bit!" he said, and bared his teeth as a fresh wave of tears cascaded down his face, bright as lava in the firelight.

They sat watching the fire, and the fire swirled and guttered and rose again in a wave of heat, like a phoenix.

We've all changed, haven't we?

hyrien: what has to be done

Pausing amid his idle book-straightening, Hyrien turned to regard Lanorï¿½, who sat studying the sheets on his desk.

She returned the glance half a minute later, eyebrows rising in expectance.

"Done?" he asked.

"Not much has changed." With those words, she pushed the notes out to the middle of the tabletop, and gestured at them. With polite haste he moved to the desk. For three minutes, he bowed over the papers and studied them, and there was clean silence in the study.

Hyrien eventually laid the sheets down on the tabletop, and stroked his chin in thought. "I see we are still splitting manpower." He hoped the dissent was obscure enough that Lanorï¿½ wouldn't detect it.

She did, naturally, and nodded at him with a serene smile that almost stung. "We know ourselves better than we know each other. Did you think the lines had dissolved?"

"I hoped they would," he murmured.

"Hope is all well and good, but at the same time you must keep the realities close in mind." She folded her arms. "However, I must mention that that is no longer my main motive. Let us be honestï¿½Akera alone would have sufficed before, and I was merely overcompensating by sending the rest of Orion's Belt with her. But I doubt she will now, seeing that she's entered such a mental state. The fact remains that she, and no one else,must wield the Spearï¿½but we cannot be sure she will be successful in using it. Now Orion's Belt will serve to back her up in case of critical failure." The Archmage's eyes paused upon his face; he drew his limbs closer. "Our written aim is to take Caleix off the throneï¿½but I have reason to think that is not our ultimate cause. Only the Goddess knows what that is. We can at least manage the ousting without Akera, and I believe that could be enough, depending on what the latter is."

"But that means weï¿½Nightfallï¿½will be on our own."

"Oh, have more trust in your guild, Hyrien!" He bowed away at the sound of her laughter. "You'll have the Job Masters too, besides."

"Even so..."

Lanorï¿½ looked oddly at him for a while, then broke into an even odder smile. "I see. You would like for me to fight with Nightfall."

Hardly surprised, Hyrien nodded. "It would be comforting."

She laughed. "Oh...I suppose Akera and Orion's Belt won't miss me," she murmured, weaving her fingers together. "With those three warriors, and four others who are brilliant in their own right." In the next pause, Lanorï¿½ pinned her gaze to his again. "I have a condition though, and that would be that Clynine be allowed to fight by my side."

"Yes, by all means." Now he had succeeded in bargaining, he felt almost guilty for having done so.

She barely acknowledged his worry let alone made an attempt to assuage it, and he understood; he was a Guild Master and he should know to live without the comfort of approval. Instead, she touched the table's edge and drew a line of ice crystals across it. The radiators had it dripping within seconds.

"Do you feel this is all becoming rather terrifying?" she asked, with a smile even so. "It started as a plot to overthrow the king. Or we were made to think so. But I see now that forces have been working behind us all this while. The Goddess calls us together through Ralinn, and bequeaths us her Spear. The king answers with necromancers, dark magicians. It's grown into something far out of our grasps nowï¿½or, it has always been."

"Oh. It never really struck me till now."

"This is proxy warfare." She watched the ice melt like an old clock counting seconds. "They lost the ability to harm each other in what they thought was their final battle. We're fighting their war for them, now. But can we do anything but continue as we are? It's still in our interest; we all want Caleix gone."

"Yes...we do."

Her interest in the original conversation wavered momentarily. "You're a greater man that that, Hyrien," she said. "Above paltry, unsubstantiated agreement, I'm sure."

"No, I have nothing to add."

She only seemed half convinced. "Have you ever let yourself believe you were as great as your title makes you sound? I understand, I think; I used to have difficulty accepting any part of my fame. But fame and notice come with accepting a duty so great, you know?"

"You earned your fame yourself. I didn't. I think I was put here by mistake."

"I don't think it was a mistake."

"My predecessor, Pelinor. He was so much better than I, and they all knew himï¿½my entire guild knew him." He heaved a sigh. "I feel like a a child trying to stand in for his father. Iï¿½don't deserve this."

"But you don't act on your duty because you think you deserve it," she answered, rising from her seat. "We'd all be ruined if the most important jobs only went to those with egos to equal them. You do it because someone must. Because they need you to, because they look to youï¿½for hopeï¿½and you must give it to them.

"You know, Ralinn was no more than an ordinary training Huntress when she was sent a dream from the Goddess. Thrust into it, just as you were. But she didn't shirk the responsibility, even though she was ordinary and only at her second job and fourteen years old. That's...something I respect about her, I suppose. She does things if they have to be done. If others need them to be done. Even if they impose upon her in every way."

The lights were bright, though the windows were so small, and in this dreadful winter Ralinn thought she could feel the first distant breath of spring.

I'll give it, Ralinn thought, and she felt the lights sway suddenly, felt as ifï¿½for a momentï¿½the curtains were parting for her.

This wasn't the climax of the story, not the moment when the world bent and bowed and rewrote all its truths. But it was the peak of her story. This was the greatest thing she would ever doï¿½never mind that it would happen in the confines of a little stone building in the depths of the forst. Never mind that it meant that Akera had won and she had lost and likely no one would ever forgive her for the wrong she'd done. Or remember her for the right she'd done.

She had always been wrongï¿½pride meant nothing. Her love meant nothing. She had to lay it all down in favour of something far more important.

She was going back on her word. She was giving up. She had to do what had to be done.

Marching straight to the table where the Guild Master dined, Ralinn called his name. Head perking up, he broke away from his conversation with Lanorï¿½ and Clynine to regard her.

"Hyrien!" she repeated.

Her fingers curled around the handle of the bag, in which she had jealously hidden the pieces of the Spear till now. Squeezing her eyes shut, to ward off her fear, she raised the bag in front of herself.

"Give Akera the Spear," she said without faltering. "She was meant to use it."

She wondered if they were surprised, when they glanced at each otherï¿½or if they'd been expecting this, if they'd always known that she would break and concede defeat. But that was irrelevant. She placed the bag in the Guild Master's lap, so its pieces rang against each other.

"Your service is vastly appreciated," Hyrien murmured, dumbfounded more than anything else.

"I am glad to serve," she replied, nodding once. Her eyes threatened tears. This was the peak of her story. A bewildered look. The passing of a weapon. An exchange of pleasantries. But she found it hardly mattered. I'm not a heroine. I am a leader.

And with that, the circle was closed.

hyrien: a shout in the void

Feverish days and nights had paved the way to this moment, days of communal training, increasingly ferociousï¿½nights of deep sleep and wild dreams. They'd fought to grow strong, grow swift. But nothing could hone bravery. Bravery was found in the sky, and the memory of Victoria in the sun. Victoria without the shadow.

"My Night Hunters, tomorrow is the day!" Seconds, mere seconds it took, for the gravity of every word to settle upon the crowd. The night swelled. It flapped and snapped and billowed and no one dared look anywhere else but at their leader, the man who was everything hope could be.

Hyrien licked his lips; he knew what he meant, and he was beginning to believe it. His eyes moved to the circular ceiling, but there were no summer lights in the windows.

He steeled himself, and breathed in for the next proclamation: "Tomorrow is the Eve of the Dragon!"

He was almost alarmed at the shouts that rung out in answer, in all moods. Was this fear boiling up in his gut something Pelinor had ever known? No, Pelinor must be above this. He'd always found it in himself to grin and walk like a deity.

But I'm not Pelinor. Hyrien felt his own fingers curl, and there was no fatherly hand to guide him. No sun. And he felt strong even then.

You don't act on your duty because you think you deserve to.

"Many of you must be afraidï¿½I know. I'm afraid as well, I'm just as afraid as any of you. How can it be us, you must wonder. How can we be the ones to save Victoria Island? We are only farmersï¿½slavesï¿½fugitives spared. We are hopeless sinners to the eyes of the Goddess. Powerless.

"Butï¿½Night Huntersï¿½we are powerful. This is a knowledge Caleix took from us by turning us into slaves. He has driven the terror deep into us. But we forget, that it is by our own power that we have almost destroyed ourselvesï¿½Caleix is one of us. Caleix is only a man! A man, and look what he has done! We are so powerful we are afraid to know our own power. If a single man had the power to turn a world to hate, then surely we have the power to tear it down!

"Do you understand? We dance into a trap of our own making. But we are our ownredemption. We are the demons who engender the dark; we are the gods with the blade to its end. The Dragon made us with flame, and flame we are, phoenix flameï¿½we are the fire of the stars!"

Hyrien listened to the applause as it rose from the seats and grew to drown his voice. He listened, only the fire of his speech warding winter away. The applause swelled, and began to sound like a storm. Some shouted for him. Fathers and mothers gripped their children by the shoulders and whispered into their ears. The Ethiel thieves, all in black, offered polite applause. He shivered. It was stranger than he could have imagined.

The night was full of stars, though the preparing battlers couldn't see them, stars sending messages of hope and despair. Their grips were nervous and tight as vices; their weapons clashed beneath the tent-canopy of clouds, splitting ice and bark.

Somewhere in Henesys, Esharo lay sleepless among cold covers, swallowing in the cold though he'd sealed his windows and turned the radiators on.

The Eve of the Dragon loomed in his eyes.

Tomorrow.

I live till tomorrow.

By tomorrow they will know.

It was only to be expected, though. He knew everything that went through the guard dormitories, rumour and whisper and tale. And he knew his subordinates had been muttering amongst themselves. Word of the black mural had been going around, whose existence he had so far hidden from King Caleix.

It was only to be expected. These rumours had been simmering so longï¿½but only this evening had one man finally broken. His deputy, Gieron.

Esharo had found himself being taken by the throat and pinned to the wall of his own office.

"The mural!" Gieron had snarled with glittering raven's eyes. "Why have you kept it a secret, Esharo? Why are you hiding things from our king?"

"It is unimportant and we need not trouble Caleix with it!"

"Unimportant? A date painted on a rebel base's wall?" Those eyes had flared brighter, and Esharo had seen his death in them. "I have taken your orders without dissentï¿½holding full faith in your virtue, Esharo. But I do not think I can trust your orders any longer. You are abusing your power, and to what end? To what end?!"

Treason had been his last bellowed word. His deputy had stridden away then, and he had not waited for dismissal.

And now, in this second-last hour, Esharo could only ponder upon the same questionï¿½to what end?

Sweat froze on his temples. He stared at the wall across from the bed, pale like the blur of his thoughts.

Had it been a whim, a sudden bout of anarchic foolishness? It wasn't a whim if he'd kept the secret for a month. Was it anger? Was he frustrated at the system that had brought him to the topï¿½was he so ready to betray it?

Why? He buried his face in his hands.

Caleix had trusted him. Caleix had awarded him the position out of trust and belief.

And it is his own fault for trusting me! He clenched his teeth, but the blaming brought no catharsis, only dull pounding guilt.

Was itï¿½thenï¿½because of Hyrien, his enemy? The white cross on his arm? Was it because Hyrien had set him free unharmed, because he had repaid his kindness by killing his leader and betraying their location to the king?

Was it that he felt he owed his enemy something...?

There in the blackness of the room, Esharo felt his throat gurgle, and pressing his back against the wall, he began to laugh. He laughed like someone bereft of sense. Because now he was a traitor to both sides! He had betrayed Hyrien, and he had betrayed Caleix! How many could brag of such a feat? How many could tell of this shame? He was a traitor, and he had been cornered.

He felt his laughter slowly die, listened as the silence drowned it out. All this silence, cold as the winter that was beginning to end. The laughter became dread, and he began to sob.

Esharo knew he had made many mistakes in his lifeï¿½some mistakes graver than any anyone else in the world would ever commit. But the worst mistake of all, he knew now, had been abandoning his other life for Caleix.

Midnight rang. He heard his door burst open in a crash that put thunder to shame, and he laughed again. He'd finally made a good choice! No time to look like a dishevelled madman now. He was the Henesys Guard Captain till he was removed. And like a Guard Captain he would stand.

He thought of Garth the harpooner. Garth on the gallows.

Midnight rang a second time. The Eve of the Dragon had begun.

The clock continued to chime, oblivious to the shadow and the light and the life that fed it. The clock ignored all.

All at once his room door splintered, and helmeted heads burst through, glittering like cannonballs. He did not cower. His grin was punctuated by tiny breaths of fright and ecstasy mingled.

Of course, being the one who typically ordered these raids, Esharo knew the procedure by heart. He knew they'd raise their spears first, and shoutï¿½

"Stop in the name of King Caleix, traitor!" The closest man's voice was muted by the visor, so it was no longer so terrifying to hear the accusation flung at him. These things always sounded so much scarier when you were alone with your voice inside your helmet. Had he really sounded such a fool whenever he'd shouted that, like a man pretending to be a god?

Half veiled in darkness that the moonlight could not pierce, the leader of the squad lowered his spear and raised his visor. Esharo stared back. It was Gieron, his deputy Gieron, with eyes that seemed unable to choose between honour and enmity.

"Esharo, Esharo, why?" he murmured, brow creasing with the genuine ache of disappointment. "Do you not serve Victoria Island and the throne?"

Suddenlyï¿½at this pinnacle of time, where he could feel his life teetering on spearpointï¿½he suddenly knew why he'd betrayed Caleix. His lips eased into a smile, so at one with his fate was he.

"I serve Victoria Island," he replied, smiling and weeping tears of sorrow. "Only Victoria Island."

And Caleix betrayed Victoria Island.

Esharo was not given a criminal's death. Not even that. He was speared through the heart and buried in abandoned land nearby.

the eve of the dragon

"The battle plan is relatively simple, given the size of the force we are dealing with. There is little to fear about our apparent power imbalance; despite our lesser numbers, we have a concrete advantage in our ability to tap and channel the powers of the Goddess and the Dragon."

The dawn screamed red in the windows. It glared upon the hills and empty plains, upon the two gnarled forests of Victoria, upon sleepless eyes in the towns and suburbs. Beneath its bloody light the last plates of armour were being strapped on, the last strips of leather wound around spears and maces. Warriors helped each other with belts and chains, and the archers exercised their bowstrings with fingers that wouldn't stop trembling.

"Goddess guide your aim," whispered a Hunter to another.

"Luck be ours," was the blessing shared by the thieves.

A lone boy wept in a corner. He feared his mother wouldn't return at all. Just like his father hadn't returned, three months ago. He ploughed fingers through the dust, and his mother kissed his forehead.

"I'll be battling next to the greatest heroes in the world," whispered a father to his daughter. "Be proud of me!"

"Daddy, please stay alive, pleaseï¿½"

"I'll try my best." A grin. The girl didn't know that trying his best would do little for her father's chances. It was in the hands of powers above, now. In the hands of the Goddess of Justice, the Dragon of Mercy. And the Spirit of Darkness which will oppose them to the end.

"Basic information. For the benefit of those who have not seen it, the castle keep has three gates, set in a similar conformation to the city's, and linked to them via major roads. The west and east gates are well-guarded, and the north gate is inaccessible. Caleix has a thousand three hundred at his command within Henesys' walls, two-thirds of which are necromancers."

Lanorï¿½ stood with Hyrien at the edge of the forest, fifty men and women gathered behind themï¿½warriors and mages who knewtheir numbers were far smaller than the king's. They might have a superior strategist, but strategy barely mattered when you outnumbered the enemy ten to one.

He shifted on his feet, caught between awe and fear. The Silver Fang of El Nath readied herself for battle at his side, the heroine he'd only have dreamt of seeing in battle before. But now he found he didn't simply want his heroine to live. He wanted his friend to live, too. He wanted his friend to survive to the end of this battle, with him.

"Fight your best," he finally managed, choking mid-word.

"Of course I will," she answered, and turned to regard him with a smile less icy than usual. "I thought I might tell youï¿½before either of us has any opportunity to lose his or her lifeï¿½that should this battle end the way we plan, I would like to know you better."

"Thank...you." His head spun like a wheeling bird, try as he did to steady himself with fear of death, or hope for life, or the colour of the dawning sky as it spread and seeped to claim the sky overhead.

Then she drew back and her gaze grew serious. "But you need to accept your greatness, before you can embrace it in full."

"Am I great?"

Lanorï¿½ sighed, shaking her head. "It takes quite some greatness, I imagine, to make me fall in love."

Clynine lingered with Zethis near the HQ door. Neither had known till last night that they would not be battling together, and neither had received the news without fear for the other.

There, clasping each other's hands, the girl could feel his trembling against her own. "It makes sense," she tried to give him something to believe in. "There will be hundreds of people there, and they'll need my healing, and the necromancers will be there as well! And, well, Mistress Lanorï¿½ will be there too."

He fought against a sob, and snatched her in an embrace both wholehearted and petrified. "Promise to be safe?" he murmured with a trembling lip. He thought of his father on the farm. He thought of Clynine seeing him at last, thought of them talking over drinks on the porch, beating the midday sun out of their eyes.

Zethis flung all of that wishing away. It might never happen now. It was war.

"I...love you," he said between shivers, and she understood that fear without words, for he knew what was to come. Blood. Darkness. And perhaps end. All passed through her vision like silhouettes in the light.

Shedding a few quiet tears of her own, she combed his hair down and pressed her cheek against his, and beamed at him warmly, just like the morning light they shared. "Thank you," she answered, and giggled, though the sound was trembly. "But why do you always sound so nervous? I love you too."

"As our listeners within the walls understand, Caleix knows nothing about our intentions to attack. This leaves us with the advantage of surprise, and we will use it by making a swift attack. Speed is crucial. The rest of the strategy is as follows.

"Thieves and archers, you will form the first charge. You will enter swiftly from the east, and unlock the eastern castle gate by whatever means necessary. Caleix is expected, at that point, to call city guards towards the castle, rather than the gate, to meet the threat. He values his town little."

"Athena?" called the Dark Lord. "Athena." The anxious bustle threatened to drown his soft calls out.

"Jet," she answered, directing archers and thieves into ranks on the frost.

He tapped her lightly on the back of her hand. "Good luck."

"Luck isn't my suit." She smiled lightly. "Goddess grant you alacrity and endurance."

"The Goddess does not like thieves." He shook his head. "It's barely been weeks, Athena. This is too soon."

"I won't die that easily," she said. "I will bleed, at most. This is why we learn to fight, Jet. To protect."

The Dark Lord only nodded, suddenly losing his compulsion to speak. He told her the truth with his gaze, that he cared too much to be pacified by mere hope. He wanted to be sure. He wanted to know.

"You'llï¿½come visit sometimes, won't you?" the elven archer asked suddenly, eyes liftingï¿½eyes that were bright in the sun breaking through the winter clouds. "Come to Henesys on your less busy days. Watch me teach. Have some ice cream soda."

"Don't spend the days hoping, Athena."

He never smiled, but she must have heard the silent promise, because the frown left her eyes. Their hands met briefly; the old black war burned in her eyes, the war with all its teeth and claws, shadow and blood hanging upon it. The old war hadn't died though they had fought to put it down.

The morning birdsong ascended with the sun, parting them. Fear or no, it was time for them to lead the charge as if they weren't afraid.

Ten minutes, the ranks had formed and the forest was still.

Fifteen minutes, the lone crow raised its voice above the roil of the wind.

The Dark Lord thrust his dagger in the air. Is this power? Is this how it feels to be a king?

I do not understand Caleix then. If power is waiting for blood to be spilt in your name.

He glanced through the silence, at Athena Pierce, Athena Pierce whom he would part withï¿½win or lossï¿½after tomorrow. What did Caleix want with tyranny, when there were things worth far more?

He'd heard of the king's wife, of course. Lost in the blur of the rising autocratic regime. Had he dismissed her so easily?

He didn't normally shout, to frighten or to encourage. But he heard Athena shout the name of Victoria Island over the heads of these children, and he followed suit, saddened to know that naivety alone tugged them to battle.

And he turned with tight fists and drawn lips to face the morning as it widened to welcome them.

"Your Majesty. Henesys Guard Captain Esharo Hesprel has been found guilty of high treason and executed in his home."

The news seemed to shake the room. Caleix thought of Esharo's face, gazing at him from across the table. He thought of that face.

"What evidence was there?" he demanded, "that he betrayed his men?"

"Assistant Guard Captain Gieron claimsï¿½"

"I don't care what he claims! He has everything to gain from his superior's disposal!"

"Would you not feel inclined to dismiss any judgment made against Mister Hesprel, then, Your Majesty? None outrank him but you, and does that not mean he is to be assumed innocent unless you have seen his crimes with your own eyes?"

With a bang of the tabletop he rose. "How dare you answer!" he spat, snatching an official document, crumpling it in a fist. "Out!" He glanced across the room at Aismeth, too caught up with her mirror to be perturbed by the sudden noise.

Esharo, traitor. Esharo, gone. Esharo Hesprel, whom he'd have trusted with his life. Damn it, damn the world and all its illusions.

"But, Your Majestyï¿½there is more newsï¿½fifty attackers were reported to have massacred a platoon of guards and entered from the east gateï¿½"

"What?"

Here, now, King Caleix finally collapsed into his seat, and stared listlessly at the papers cluttering it. He watched their stillness, stared at the curls of his writing, watched the blur of the messenger shift uncomfortably beyond.

"ï¿½Guard Captain Gieron recommends stationing as many necromancers as possible near the castle, as their target is most certainly the castle."

"Yes. Go on ahead." Esharo was gone. He'd let a traitor into his room. "This is it. Their endgame." He'd trusted the wrong man. "We...we must step up our fight."

The world was growing too heavy for him.

"And, sir, what of the strangers sighted in the valleys to the west? We have reason now to believe they are linked to the attack that just happened."

Caleix's eyes flared. "Who's the king here?" he snapped. He eyed his housekeeper, now trying to fall asleep. "Don't beg for orders! I will give them when I please!"

"Ahï¿½alright." He shifted and clutched at the letter with white fingers.

The king massaged his forehead. "Do not slacken the western defences. I believe these strangers of whom you speak might be intending to take the opportunity of a diversion. They expect us to forget about them. Esharo would have advised me before...but clearly I should never have entrusted him with tactical work."

"Yes, sir. I will inform Guard Captain Gieron."

A nod was exchanged, and the messenger had flown.

"Aismeth," said Caleix, waking her suddenly from her slumber. "Tell me...tell me what I should do."

She shook her head. "Someone will probably be coming to see you," she replied. "You should be in your throne room, not hiding in your study. They will find you either way."

"I am a king," he replied with resolve, rising with a sweep of his robes. "I fear no one."

It was on the edge of the frosty pathway that Ralinn met Raydan for the first time in a week. The first charge had left half an hour ago. The second charge was waiting on the other side of the clearing, Lanorï¿½ and Hyrien and Clynine at the fore, all nervous chatter and wan smiles.

All there was to do, for the rest of Orion's Belt, was to wait for the second charge to begin, and for Cirid to answer. With the air so still and full of muttering, it was hard to believe any battles were being waged right at this moment.

Ralinn had begun to wonder up till then if she still cared for her brother as much as she should. But when their eyes met in the cold blue morning, all Raydan could think to do was tackle her with a huge hug, gloves and belts scraping against her arms, crossbow swinging upon his back, and she could not help but laugh in response.

"Where have you been!" he exclaimed after he'd pulled himself away. "Having fun with your boyfriend?"

"Now's kind of an odd time to be asking, don't you think?" She patted his head, and pushed his hair aside to find he still wore a strip of cloth as a headband. As silly as ever, the little brat. "We're going to fight nowï¿½I'm almost excited!"

"Yeah, I totally want to die," he muttered. "This willï¿½make a difference, won't it? This battle? Or else I'll just go hole myself up in my bedroom and pretend nothing's happening."

"While Yunira is out here? Doing what you're afraid to do?"

Raydan grimaced. "It's not as if I'm going to be anywhere near her when they start fighting." His eyes betrayed him. "Come on, it's not too late. Let's run off and hide while we can."

Ralinn's eyes grew steely. He almost recognised the expression. "They're fighting for us. If we fail, we're all dead, us and them."

"But some of us will die...right? I'm scared, Linn."

She had no answer for a moment. Yes, some of them would die. Some of them would be fighting to save a home they would never return to.

"Yes," said Ralinn. "But you won't be one of them."

Across the clearing, a stirring of leaves was joined by the patter of feet in thawing earth. Voices ascended in a chaotic clamour, asking questions almost frantic. The terror in their voices was colder than snow.

"The first charge has entered!" cried a voice through the crowd. A woman burst into a clearing with the wind on her feet. "The first charge is inside the gates!"

The commotion of the warriors and mages took up purpose. Lanorï¿½ took Clynine's shoulder and bowing to say something. They began to straighten, sheathing their weapons, ending their conversations. The wishes of luck grew frantic. The air was strung tight.

Ralinn and Raydan glanced at each other. She ruffled his hair, and he rolled his eyes like the child he pretended to be. Then they turned, hearts booming, to find the rest of their guild.

"The warriors and mages will form the second charge; as soon as the number of guards has visibly lowered in the area, a signal will be sent and you will enter the city from the east as well, which will hopefully be made easier by laxness in numbers."

telida: interim

Together Telida and Ketara slipped into the woods. Here, where the trees bowed together, the forest looked a little like the Dungeon where she'd grown up. She turned her jacket collar up, and felt the outlines of the throwing stars in her belt pouch.

"You're being a little stupid," she sighed, as they came to a stop in a dim clearing, leaves crunching beneath their soles. "Those injuries were meant to keep you out of battles like these."

"I guess I am being stupid!" He smiled at her voice, and snatched a quick kissï¿½one she did not mind offering. Something new had come over him in the last few nights. Something like an armoured surety, a resolve, to be happiness pure and sure. It was a joy she would do anything to keep. "I think the Clock Spirit didn't count on another deity assisting me, though. Elkhris!"

Shadows stirred and boomed high above, and the branches swung aside. A golden-eyed beast shot, glittering, through the branches, black wings flickering against leaves. Eight dragons burst into the clearing and landed in a circle around them, arching their necks and glittering proudly in the grey.

We fly now, do we? asked the foremost, the new dragon King, the spines on his neck rising. We fly to victory!

"Yeah!" answered Ketara, and with a firm shove Telida offered him to the grand beast, who crept closer and bowed. Once he had climbed atop his back, Elkhris enfolded him in his papyrine black wings and rose. Around him, all the dragons called out their welcomes and questions.

The Dragon Knight turned to the girl on the ground. "Lida, come on!" he exclaimed. "Ileihran there wants you to ride with him. You remember him from the last time, don't you? You've flown before!"

He beamed at her, and Telida's heart swelled when she saw that the life had returned to his smile. She nodded once. Of course she remembered her flight in the dark forest of three misty years ago. "I don't fancy trying again," she answered, but smiled, and dashed to the dragon beside Elkhris, leaping atop it with barely a sound.

Here in this window of peace, in this quiet interim, Ketara found it in himself to cry out in joy. She let his voice buoy his heart up.

"Telida," he said earnestly, taking her eye. "I'm so happy to be with you."

The lithe body beneath her lurched suddenly, leaving only a second to for her to forget the tears about to spring to her eyes so she could snatch the dragon's neck and save herself from being flung off. She pressed close to the cold scales, and the morning hummed by her ears, alive with the songs of dragons once again.

Again we fly with mankind! they chorused, and their song spun Ketara's head like a fresh breath of spring. It is the Eve of the Dragon, friends. The Ancient One is waiting to rise!

Everything passed so fast. The forest and the barren countryside. The bloody road, the hills, the plunge into the valley, the open gates, the soaring arc of the sun.

All of a sudden, Hyrien was inside Henesys. Henesys, the king's citadel, the grey town.

Ahead of them, a line of guards had unfolded across the road, spears criss-crossing into a fence.

Standing on the frontline in that moment before the storm, fingers shaking with the urge to kill or run, Hyrien raised his eyes to survey the city. Beyond the wall of guards, the streets of Henesys were a teeming chaos of necromancers. Every foot of every road. Every inch of every street. Like ants on trails of sugar.

Death was waiting for Nightfall.

"Do not move beyond this point," the guard at the middle of the barricade said. "Discard your weapon, and offer yourselves up as prisoners."

"And what if we do not wish to debase ourselves as such?" Lanorï¿½ murmured from behind him.

"Guards," the man bellowed. Their weapons shifted.

Hyrien unsheathed his sword.

Dances with Balrog tensed at his side, axe swinging.

"They do not mean to surrender," whispered a necromancer guard. "Ready."

Their staves rose in a wave of red.

No turning now. No changing back. Every soul in Nightfall had been redeemed to new life for one reason. One reason alone.

"For the new world!" the Guild Master roared, and the warriors surged in on the barricade of guards.

Noon sank into afternoon, alive with the sounds of metal and screams, with the crackle and flash of magic; the clouds saw nothing; the wind did not care, and time was still twirling like a carousel.

A black dragon shot into the afternoon air from beyond the hills, raising shouts and alarms in its wake.

It circled thriceï¿½thrice, dignified, as if drawing the shape of the sun in the air.

Cirid rose to the rock, her rifle at her shoulder, her boots planted firmly in the earth. "The second charge has entered!" she shouted, and all her people, scattered through the valley, scrambled to take up their weapons, abandoning their packs and food on the ground. "This is our last chance. Remember your cities, Lith Harbour and Kerning. Think on their evils. Think on your broken homesï¿½and go! Win it back, for all that is good!"

Everything was happening. Everything was creaking into motion.

That same dragon burst through the barren canopies, just as the day was beginning to sink through the late orange afternoon, raising a rowdy chatter amongst his fellow dragons, their scales rippling with orange light.

Ketara glanced upwards amidst them, and even without evesdropping he knew the what had come.

The third charge, they cried, the third charge has begun! They reared and bristled with words that only Ketara could translate. Our time has come!They snorted blue fire that set the icicles dripping.

"Really?" the Dragon Knight murmured as pounding heat surged through his veins, glancing past Elkhris at Telida upon Ileihran. "They're ready. The king is occupied. Time for us to go."

The eight members of Orion's Belt sat trembling on the backs of dragons, and not one was a picture of readiness. Raydan nibbled at his nails. Turino frowned pensively. Ralinn glanced at her brother, then at Shirion. Akera bowed lifelessly to the scales.

All they could think of now, as they sat testing their grips on their weapons, breathing the cold air of the winter afternoon, was their own mortality.

Death, which had chased them entire lifetimes, death, which promised no return. Death sat upon the wind like a breath of rot, waiting to snap them up in its jaws.

But the only thing worse than death was pain, wasn't it? And what if the only way to end pain was by gambling with death?

Instruct us whenever you must, murmured Elkhris from the head of the pack, his seven mounted companions flicking their tails impatiently.

Ketara nodded though the terror flooded his eyes. He turned. "All ready?" he called.

"We have no time to waste," Ralinn replied.

The Dragon Knight conveyed the order. With a strident call, Elkhris bounded into the wind, and his wings lifted him out of the forest, fellow dragons following suit. Together they burst through the bare treetops into the gleaming sun, and shot away, across the hills and huts, to where that grey castle sat sprawling its ugly limbs out over the land.

The afternoon was already upon them, yellow as gold.

The Dark Lord longed to curse. He long to spit every curse he had at the Goddess, at Hyrien, at Lanorï¿½, for not telling him it would be this painful. Battle wasn't strange to him, he'd fought before, and he'd watched death before his very eyes. But his friends had never been part of it, his friends had always stayed where they were needed, underground.

The afternoon was burning rapidly away, and their force was down by ten. He knew people among the ten. He knew them too well. Erin. Dalran. Poor urchins of the streets he'd dared call friends.

And even now as he dragged his dagger out of his enemy's visor, he knew that Lanorï¿½ had planned for everything, including this. This tireless slogging. Thisï¿½this death. She had known. She had know the battle would last them hours, and that it didn't matter how hard the fight ontinued to be. So long as it was not over, so long as Orion's Belt did not carry out their part of the operation, they could not stop.

They were hanging by a thread. Thieves were not trained for stamina, and Lanorï¿½ had assured them that the warriors and mages would join them in an hour or so and take the fighting off their shoulders.

It had been hours but the warriors were not here.

He glanced up at the trees and terraces where the archers had sprung into hiding, and now fired as rapidly as they could though their backs strained and their arms must be fatigued. But every now and then a red beam struck one screaming from his place. He saw Erin's bloodied face, crumpled, trampled. No space in war for pity. He wondered where Athena was, if she was here at all, and he wished he could see her, just see her eyes and be sure she was safe, but another guard had flung himself at him, spear primed, and the battle had returned to his consciousness like a battering ram, knocking the sorrow from his chest.

So long as their true deception did not come to fruition, they would fight. They had to.

It's for Orion's Belt.

Afternoon raced on; afternoon melted into evening. The lights in the sky were like blood and rainbows, stirred in a cauldron of froth and smoke. They stained the air like poisons and elixirs, purples and greens, piercing reds. The colours, the colours were in the blades and staves, chameleon surfaces, pretending they weren't coated in blood.

Swords and spears. A net of blue light strung up below. Armour splitting rocks open and the chaos of screams, pleas, the Goddess too far away to hear.

Chances. Cries. Gushing wounds.

Lanorï¿½ had known from the start that the battle would wear them thin, threadbare...but she hadn't known she would start wanting to die.

She cast spell after blinding spell at the fore, advancing the line between houses and huts, breaking down their enemies' ranks, and they were charging through a marketplace now, taking strikes from every side. Lightning had burned shelters off stands, knocked barrels over, and all around she heard indecipherable battle cries and spell-weaving screams, the boom of weapons splitting the earthï¿½but it was all far away in her mind. She cast an arc of lightning across the battlefield, over the heads of comrades, to find the head of a necromancer.

It was like chiselling at marble with a twig.

Half of the route to the castle was behind them now, a path strewn with bleeding corpses and sprawled black robes. But they were beginning to stall. The fatigue was weighing like lead. The deaths, more so. And suddenly the wall of necromancers was thick as concrete.

It was one mile to go. Even with this flame and lightning in their hands. One mile before they could meet their friends and allies at the castle gates, the thieves and archers waiting desperately for backup they could not do without.

Was this really their last battle? How could it be soï¿½feeble?

She'd planned for this, yes, she'd planned for the king's redoubling of effort, he was no stupid man and he knew everything was to end today. Yetï¿½the weariness, she hadn't counted on weariness so bone-bitingly deep, taking the plan out of everyone's minds.

She'd battled before. Countless times. On snow and at sea and on the mountain peaks. But never like this. Never with such dread, never in such a haze of despair.

It doesn't matter. As long as we are here. As long as the king is diverting forces here.

Nothing was too much a price to pay, for the safety of the world. Not even the lives of comrades, not even this meagre life of her own. But was that the right thinking?

She saw Clynine's white magic on the edge of her visionï¿½here at her mistress' side, even now in tilt. And in her footsteps she saw her parents. Locked behind a wooden door, cobbling shoes together. She saw everything she had loved of the world before.

I want...I want you to go back to your parents, Clynine. I am no mother.

The Archmage spun and struck a guard down with a Cold Beam that trapped him against the ground. Beyond her, an axe blazed the arm off a necromancer and he crumpled like a tower of bones.

It will end before midnight. She made herself that promise. Her staff cut wind like a warrior's blade, and a bolt of blue lightning erupted from its tip, flinging ten necromancers to the ground. But it's a long way till midnight.

The necromancers were always shifting, their formations morphing between the houses without pattern, and they struck in a chilling rhythmic synchrony that persisted like clockwork. A chameleon monster. A creature without mind, but with purpose.

She dropped to her knees, robe flaring about her, as another crackling red wave surged over her head.

Beyond, a scream froze the battlefield, and a body thudded, charred to the bone, grinning.

Someone sent up a wail, Cera, Cera, Cera whom Lanorï¿½ had seen breathing clouds of vapour into the cold mornings at the Nightfall southern doorway, but she was that girl no more, only a Fighter who had lost her life to warï¿½and her friend, still weeping, was shoved to her feet, a voice bidding her forget Cera now.

Is this what I want? Is victory worth the lives we are spending?

The battle did not stop, and the evening skies grew purple, bursting open in a shower of sharp snow.

Blood made curved trails across the white earth. Dances with Balrog sent a head flying from beneath its hood. Hyrien's sword sank into the heart of another. The necromancers' faces always changed a second before they diedï¿½like souls finally bereft of the shadows that held them captive, conscious and real for the last seconds of their lives. Each died as an innocent.

For fleeting moments, sometimes, it was so easy to succumb to a swell of emotion, to refuse to kill.

But the red lightning came again in a demonic chorus and Lanorï¿½ found she could only fight as mercifully as she would against a hoard of monsters.

"With the second charge causing damage near the gate and the first charge approaching the castle gates, the enemy forces will be placed in a momentary logistical dilemma, ending in what is likely the deployment of a majority of guards on the eastern side of the city, close to the castle and on the grounds. Now the possibilities double: either Caleix anticipates Cirid's forces in the west, or he does not. In the former case, we are bereft of a strategic advantage and will have to fight the long fight. Otherwise, the road to the west gate will be free for the taking, and Cirid will join us on the castle grounds with little delay."

"Forward! Forward" Cirid yelled, thrusting her rifle in the air in the red of the evening. Red was her colour. Reborn saw the sparkle of its barrel and it sent up a firework of courage.

They were not the warriors of Nightfall. They were not the Ethiel thieves with their deft hands. But here, as an unprecedented force of seven hundred, the guards could not stem their tideï¿½this endless tideï¿½in which every stab they landed was all but futile.

Cirid cast flame at the towers with a scream so fierce it curdled the blood of the stoniest guard. They kept pouring onto the road in messy ranks, but each was met by a hundred assaulters. The flames spun and spiralled and consumed the stilts. The towers came crumbling, and the men inside were dashed against the ground, eaten alive by flame.

"Go! Go!" she yelled into the sky, as Emina blew the lock apart with a Soul Arrow laden with rage. They flooded through the gate like water spurting through a bottleneck, and even as they did she quietly mourned the fallen. She felt the blood beneath her shoes, and she swore it had not been in vain.

But she was not one for tears. There was no room for tears today. Today, when everyone would die! Cirid Celadon grinned and thought of her death. Death was nothing if the world was free. Death was the price they paid!

And once they are in place, Orion's Belt will take the castle from above.

As the texture of the ground smoothed out and the wind began to scream, Zethis found his arms winding about the dragon's neck, his face pressed against its freezing scales. From where his head tilted against the creature's hide, he stared down at the earth below, at the windings of the highway as it emerged from Ellinia and raced through open fields, weaving around white hills till it slit through Henesys' wall and became a tangle of roads. Today the streets were a mess. Today they were a buzzing, glittering mass of movement. He could see weapons flashing in the blur. Colourful streaks and bursts of light.

Clynine, he thought, gulping, when he saw the traces of magic. He tried to find a flash of white, a cascade of green, but she was nowhere to be found.

Their flight took them straight northwest, and the castle turrets slashed into their vision like claws, tearing the clouds at their very points. Flags fluttered like ghosts amidst the snow, bells ringing the alarm of war.

At once the dragons began to plunge through swirling evening colours, and they chose the highest battlement as the landing point, to which all eight dropped, wings arching, till they thumped against the stones with the litheness of willows.

Immediately his guild friends leapt from their mounts, belts and sheaths ringing.

"Let's go!" shouted Ralinn as she unhooked her bow from her shoulder, taking the role she'd grown so familiar with. Her fingers ran through her quiver, rattling the arrows. "They've been waiting for usï¿½hurry!"

Shirion nodded, gathering the rest with a shout and a wave of his arm. Ralinn and Raydan exchanged a look that Zethis read as trust, but it must be something so much more, something forged from five years apart and five years together.

The procession down the battlement was solemn as the grey before storm. Here they stood, in the beating heart of the shadow, and the vile, frigid cold of the stones was almost palpable.

Akera strode without purpose, but without delay. Her eyes did not betray emotion. She clutched at the bag, and her hair was dishevelled, like it had never been before. She had been broken by the king, driven to anger by his cruel deeds, driven to desperation, and grief, and utter self-hatred.

Turino trailed after her, an unfathomable sadness in his eyes that kept clinging even as they began to run, and in them Zethis saw a history that had been warped to unrecognition. Telida cast him glances, as if afraid to be noticed. What ran through her face as she raced along, hopes of the world hanging on the points of her stars? Was that hatred or grief, was that anger or care?

Perhaps it was all of those things.

Siblinghood. Zethis sighed, and shrank away, as, in this moment, the bonds between the eight in the guild tangibly strengthened and frayed, snared and wove. Bonds so tangled, he could no longer make them out or discern them from each other. Ralinn and Shirion. Ralinn and Akera, Akera who could not stop loving Shirion. Turino's divided need, for sister and mage, for two people he knew he would never have. Ketara and Telida, both of whom had been hurt for need of each other. Ketara and Turino. Raydan and Ralinn. Everyone.

"Keep your head up, Zethis!" called Shirion then, coming to pat him on the shoulder. "We need you to be proud and true. We need everyone at this juncture. Hold your head high."

He tried to smile. Shirion and himself. Everyone and he. They were all bound, bound till the very last day.

Ketara stayed upon Elkhris, the King of the Dragon Messengers, and the great beast strode after them with his wings outspread. He rounded up the group, as they sank down the yawning stairway, and the dark of the castle swallowed them whole.

Evening was falling. Everything could only worsen from now. Athena had abandoned her place among the treesï¿½the numbers on the ground were dwindling too fast; thieves and archers weren't trained for stamina, and now dozens of them lay bleeding beneath trees, clutching at limbs, waiting like injured game for the hunters to pick them off.

Arrow after brilliant arrow soared across the battlefield from the arc of her burning bow, ripping through armour in a soul-rending surge of noise. But she was not an army, and every fallen comrade placed a dent in her will. There weren't ten minutes of battle left in her; there wasn't that much time; why weren't Orion's Belt done? Why hadn't the other two charges caught up with them, here at the hilltop, before the castle gates?

It was here, in mid-thought, that a chorus of yells came rising up the slope.

Athena Pierce spun roundï¿½and her mouth opened, bow dropping momentarily to her side.

Barely ten seconds saw the noise changing into a battle cry. And then came a torrent of new battlersï¿½one, then suddenly a hundredï¿½rising over the western side of the hills, swords and daggers swinging.

"Reborn!" Athena barely gasped, as the hundred multiplied by seven.

The wave did not end for minutes. Throng upon throng of warriors, thieves, archers rushed in like floodwater, to fill whatever gaps the walls and carts and trees left, brazen as the sun at noon, lighting the entire hillside with their weapons.

At their head charged a young woman with a glowing rifle, something Athena took almost a minute to understandï¿½by which time the newcomers had engulfed their entire guard unit and were yelling taunts at them. Athena whispered silent praise to the Goddess.

"Sorry for the delay!" the rifle-wielding woman exclaimed, giving a two-finger wave. "There were more of them than we anticipated, and Goddess, Henesys is massive!"

Amid loading her bow and shooting foes down in the fours, Athena smiled back and answered, "It is, isn't it!"

Before the girl could answer, a spark of red snatched her attentionï¿½she crouched as the arc of lightning crackled past her, then, with five seconds to aim and brace herself against recoil, drove a bullet into the heart of the offending necromancer.

The Mage turned briefly then. "Cirid Celadon," she called. "We can talk later."

Clynine longed to weep. She longed to scream it to the world, out of this terror she'd never been born to contend with.

Never once, in those years, hiding in a room of mirrors in the depths of a mansion. Never once, with parents to hold her, with servants to meet her whim, with petals falling in the garden and all the world to love and everything, everything so sweet it had been almost impossible to believe anything could be wrong.

There was blood staining her arm, black in the indigo sunset, blood spattered across her shoes. She had watched a comrade die, she had seen a guard's head roll into the darkness. Every moment was a game of finding the attacker before he managed to strikeï¿½every moment was fearing for your life yet being strong enough to take the life of another. She'd cast a Holy Arrow and a necromancer had fallen, throat gurgling, like a black flower tipped with white. Evil, she had told herself, that man is evil, but she could only think of death, death, the eternal end of a soul, the darkness pouncing and seizing her. And she wanted to purge her body of it. Death on the back of her tongue. Death, sitting like poison in the marrow of her bones.

She clenched her teeth as she raised hers staff. Shara called her to stand strong, and together they cast Heal, and watched its twofold effect, friends recovering an ounce of vigour, necromancers descending, screaming, to the earth. Clynine felt the screams shiver in her brain, and she sobbed once, eyes clouding.

"Iï¿½Shara!" she criedï¿½and the Priestess spun back, Shining Ray bursting from her staff and past the Mu Lung girl's head to send a woman behind her falling. "Shara!" It was a plea for help.

A sword plunged. His agonised bellow chewed away at her mind.

"I can'tï¿½Sharaï¿½I can'tï¿½"

She felt an arm take her by the shoulders, a voice whisper warmly in her ear despite the snow. "You'll be fine," said Lanorï¿½. "I'm right behind you! I'm here!"

She sobbed, felt the woman swing her out of the way as a pagoda of electric arcs erupted overhead and sent black mages sprawling.

"You're alright," repeated the Archmage.

A red knife of light shot out of a stirring of bodies. Clynine shrieked at its heat, and stumbled back at the sound of her mistress' gasp, the tilt of her bodyï¿½"I'm fine!" Lanorï¿½ promised with cold eyes as she sank on one knee. The Cleric could feel the snow gnawing at her gloved fingers.

Clynine watched Lanorï¿½ stumble to her feet, her silhouette limping as she rejoined the battle, eyes not leaving her assistant. "Keep fighting! This is what I trained you up for. You came to me for this. You came because you wanted to do some good for the world."

"Yesï¿½yesï¿½Mistress Lanorï¿½"

"Do it!" she shouted.

With a push, her mistress thrust back into the battle. She heard a humming surge, saw a red glare rise. She spun, teeth clenched, her own staff lighting up in her palm. She trained me for this. Up on Orbis. Every skill in every book.

The light gathered at the tip of her staff. "Angel's Ray!" Clynine shouted, and was answered with a whoosh, like the sound of flowers spiralling into the Mu Lung nights. White wings of light enveloped her, then exploded outward, and she heard shrieks and squeals, like the sound of pigs, far beyond her.

I'm ready! I'm ready! I'M READY! To give back! I'm not the girl in the garden. I'm not the child who couldn't live without her mother. I'mï¿½

Ralinn glanced upwards when the chandeliers flickered simultaneously to life.

She shrugged, and they began to traverse it, pulling their weapons close.

Never once, though, did they find themselves having to raise their weapons in answer to a threat. The castle corridors stretched on, high and echoing and empty, each one like a cathedral. Marble statues prayed, sat, reclined in the alcoves, pale faces almost ghostly in the flickering chandelier light.

The floors were checkered, like endless chessboards, glassless arched windows opening in walls to reveal the endless dusk and the flaming lights beyond. Tonight the windows revealed the battle at the pinnacle of the war; it was hard not to stop and watch, to search desperately for the friends far below.

But here within the walls, the air was so still it was impossible to know that a war raged outside these walls that would decide if the world would live on after today.

Their feet echoed in the hallways. The quiet seemed almost sacred, their reflections gleaming in the smooth tiles at their feet.

Tapestries passed them, depicting the many victories of heroes before their time, feet planted on the chests of their enemies, heads raised to the sun. Had they served to inspire their monarch's cruelties? Had he seen in his tyranny the glory of heroes?

They walked with the belief that they were free to roam, but the castle seemed to lead them exactly where it wanted them to go. The turns felt deliberate, the passageways sentient. The ornate carpets led them only one way, straight to the heartï¿½whatever it be. Ralinn felt an almost tangible tug, taking them through corridor after checkered corridor beneath the glow of chandeliers and the shadows between, statues of mages and knights offering cruel company.

And all was silence, save the whisper of breeze outside the windows. Wind began to pick up, curling through the windows in steady shimmering breaths. The chandeliers flickered.

Eventually, the windows stopped and the corridors turned an earthy gold, the gold of deep caves and riches and treachery. The ceiling swooped upwards, the walls outward, into a beating atrium that reached a gold-lit dome at the top, its walls decked in a theatre of statues. Thousands of statues in a thousand niches, casting their long shadows on each other, staring down at the circular room below.

Orion's Belt came to a halt in the centre of the atrium, where the concentric circles of the tiles converged.

A doorway yawned before them. A colossal archway, ten feet tall at least, revealing a hall more ornate and more spectacular than any they had passed on the way, almost as grand as the cave of Horned Tail, or of Zakum. Great arched windows, like those of the rest of the castle, stood amid a colonnade of pillars set into the blood-red wall, welcoming a view of the icy black night, pillars featuring the motifs of dragons and phoenixes, feathers and tails curling around them.

The floor was checkered, harsh black and white, just like the room outside. And a thick red carpet swooped straight down the hallway's length, to touch the foot of a tiered dais, lit from below.

A small laugh began. Gradually, it grew into a guffaw, till every eye had risen to find its source.

"You have come," announced that grand voice from the centre of the hall. "Orion's Belt!"

All eight glanced up, and Ralinn felt heat surge through her blood.

On the dais stood a throne. A glittering throne of precious metals, taller than any person, flaring outward at the top in a bouquet of dragon-tail curls. And among the golden curlicues sat a man of moderate stature, chin propped up on his right elbow, thick red cloaks cascading over the cushioned seat and onto the ground. At the foot of his throne waited a blue-haired woman, seated like a servant with a hand mirror before her. At the dais' four corners stood four motionless black-cloaked figures, serene and dark as chess pieces around their king.

"I am amazed," he went on. "I am frankly amazed. I emptied my castle halls to secure the gates against youï¿½yet you didn't even use the gates, did you? Now...I am alone."

Sighing, he began to rise from his throne, sweeping his robes out around him. A hundred shadows flickered across the floor.

No, noï¿½"No!" Ralinn raised her bow and nocked an arrow, arms shaking. "Caleix!" she shoutedï¿½and saw everyone else spring into ready around her. Everyone but Akera, who gazed listlessly into the air. "Today is the day you die!"

In the silence that followed, her cry faded into echoes, bouncing off tapestried walls, so feeble and small suddenly. The chandelier light cast countless more shadows all around.

King Caleix did not answer. There, standing still with the jewelled crown upon his head, he held his hands out to them as if in welcome.

"Give me a chance," he said at last, and she could see his kindly smile. "Would you really kill me when you outnumber me so unfairly?"

"You? You've deployed thousands of guards and necromancers in your name, and you've terrorised us for fifteen years," answered Ralinn. "And you dare say you are outnumbered!"

"None of them are here," he answered. "None but four servants, and Aismeth. Do you have no guilt?"

Aismeth. Akera whispered her name, and frowned.

"I will not feel guilty for killing the man who destroyed Victoria Island," the Ranger snapped.

The air was still and frigid. Everything was far too quiet, too hollow, for a final encounter of this scale; everything was too still, for this to be the climax of seven years' working and warring.

No one dared break the stalemate, to initiate the final push. Only the winter wind continued to move, softly, across the checkered tiles, making the golden chandeliers and their blazing reflections swing.

Caleix lowered himself back into his throne, nodding acquiescently. The faceless necromancers did not shift, but Aismeth ran a finger through her hair.

"Who is that?" asked the king idly. "The young man with the sword? The reports never mentioned him."

"Someone to whom you owe years of happiness," Shirion growled in answer. "You owe it to my friends as well. To all of us."

His lips curled perceptibly. "A king owes his people nothing."

"Who taught you that, Your Majesty?" snarled the Crusader, sword point rising. "Who told you you could take our wellbeing and not face consequences?"

Ketara shifted uneasily. Elkhris's throat rumbled with fire, as if sensing his discomfort. "The woman," he murmured, voice trembling. Akera's eyes darted to him. Ralinn's fingers tensed, and her arm strained, bowstring biting into her finger.

Even as they watched, Caleix's voice changed, from tranquil to troubled. His brow furrowed, and his shoulders slackened like an old man's. "Please, hear me, listen," he said, "I have done none of this of my own accordï¿½"

The figure at the foot of the throne shiftedï¿½and Caleix glanced down. Aismeth the housekeeper was preening her blue hair in her hand mirror.

"Don't kill me, that's all I'm sayingï¿½"

"Whyever not?" Ralinn yelled. "Orion's Belt! We will not let victory slip away like this! With the king stalling for time till he has soldiers at his side!"

Eyes considering serenely for a moment, King Caleix sighed. "Alright, then. I'm sorry your quest must end so unceremoniously, but I cannot let you kill me." A last glance at Aismeth, as if to be sure. He raised two fingers in a beckoning gesture. "Necromancers."

He felt the weapon sink into his chest.

It was dull, and sudden. And then it was sharp, like all the world crashing through a hole in his skin.

The Dark Lord moaned. He could feel the blood spreading on his skin, cooled as fast as it seeped.

The pain was cracking his skill in two and everything was growing black, too black even for the night.

He could see the faintest stars. The Great Bear. The Argo. Orion, pointing across the white galaxy.

The Dark Lordï¿½Jetï¿½the Dark Lordï¿½moaned the name of Athena Pierce in his very last breath.

With a thunderous flutter the necromancers ceased being stone. They threw their cloaks back to reveal the glaring red lights of their staves. A chant went up, vibrating with the rage of a looming storm. Then all four raised their hands in synchrony, like puppets in a play.

A soft, sure hum had begun, shivering the marble of the chamber around them. Recognising it, Ralinn shrieked and threw herself to the ground, just as the hum climaxedï¿½

A cracklingï¿½and then a hot, synchronised flash of red that ripped across the room in a wave, branding a black line in the wall. The Ranger felt its heat press her head to the ground. Then it was gone and immediately she sprung up, nocking and aiming a wavering arrow, palms growing sweaty.

It flew wide and she cursed, pulling another arrow from her quiver even as the first bounced, shattered, against the marble wall. Across the hall Raydan aimed as well, but she could see he was shaking even more than she was, and that, even now, the necromancers were charging up their next attackï¿½

Red surged in a blazing crackle, just seconds after Ralinn threw herself to the ground again, knees throbbing, and Elkhris leapt into the air, fleeing the beams. "Raydanï¿½" she gasped, and paused, for Shirion had pulled her brother to the ground with him and grazed his arm against the red-black lightning, clutching now at his elbow with bared teeth.

Ketara gave a shout from above right thenï¿½the dragon leapt and soared across the chamber, spewing blue flame in swirling torrents. Red beams retaliated. Snarling, the dark creature wheeled out of the way, then turned back to throw a jet of flame in their direction, narrowly missing.

An exchange of red and blue, flooding the chamber with heat and sparks. Ketara yelled and gasped, clinging on for his life. "Guys," he shouted through the roar of flame and smoke, "get them now!"

Ralinn snatched for another arrowï¿½but then Telida had sprung forward already, yell merging with the sound of metal stars leaving her claw like a flock of birds. Five, six clattered against wood and marbleï¿½but the seventh snicked and was followed by a moan and a dull thudï¿½and then the Hermit was sprinting across the room, tackling a second necromancer to the ground in a flourish of dagger strokes that sent blood splashing across the floor. Stokedï¿½perhaps by his sister's recklessnessï¿½Turino gave a shout and raised his staff. Twin whirls of flame, red and blue, churned like a hurricane across the roomï¿½then black lightning again, exploding against a horizontal staff.

A crackle, and another blastï¿½Turino's staff clattering as he gave a cry of agony, his left arm curled up against his chestï¿½but he refused to let it dull his fight, and he refused to leave his sister alone on the frontline, and retrieved his staff with his right hand, soaring across the red carpet to join her. "Noï¿½don'tï¿½" Ralinn called, but stopped. Elkhris roared overhead, and sent another cascade of blue flame raining upon them, setting the back of the throne ablaze.

"Lida!" yelled Turino, barrelling her out of the way of a stray shaft of red lightning.

"I can do it myself!" she yelled in answer, extending her claw and firing another barrage of stars, all ripping gashes in the necromancer's cloak.

Turino raised his staff at ready. "No, you can't, but neither can I!" he shouted. They exchanged a half-second's glance, in which Turino touched Telida's forearm Telida nodded.

Then they sprung into the fray in synchrony.

Against the glow of the chandeliers, two black silhouettes danced between arcs of red light, spinning out of reach, attacking in turn from two ends of the room, one flinging stars when the other's spell ended, flame swirling to take the place of metal so not one of the enemies knew which way to fire. The third necromancer was thrust to the ground, eyes wide, head bleeding. In a flash of robes Turino was at the foot of the throneï¿½and with a sound between a laugh and a roar, he gripped the last necromancer's shoulder and shot a Fire Arrow into his head point blank.

Ralinn saw it at onceï¿½their chance. Caleixï¿½Caleix, alone and unguarded, free for the takingï¿½she leapt to her feet, fingers nocking an arrow as quickly as her brother sprung to her side and raised a bolt. "Orion's Belt!" she shouted, beginning her run. "Ready!"

And the moment shrieked, and sang, as they lifted their weapons and began their last charge, ready for the attack that would end it allï¿½as the marble chessboard stretched, longer and longer, and the arches grew wider than the sky. "Please, pleaseï¿½" Caleix cried, falling to his knees at the foot of the throne, head thrown up in prayer; the world outside was still contracting, and the king's life was about to endï¿½

"It's her!" screamed Akera.

All at once, the charge faltered, and weapons ceded their glow.

Caleix lowered his hands slowly, eyes wide.

Ketara echoed, "it's her, it's herï¿½", and he clutched at his eyes, and Elkhris landed clumsily, tipsy with fear.

Amidst all nine stares Akera strode forward, and raised her wand at the woman by the throne.

"Thaemis!"

The sound was like a gunshot. Zethis gasped in fright. Ketara cowered. Shirion shook his head listlessly.

Blue hair. Red eyes. Ketara's witch. The Lost Hero.

"I never expected that you'd come here, of all placesï¿½under the service of King Caleix," Akera went on, her lips beginning to curl suddenly, as she took step after dangerous step in the direction of the throne. Everyone knew her wand was an empty threat but it didn't matter. She was a picture of utter surety. "But that is a lie too, isn't it? You are not his servant. He is yours. He fears you." She bared her teeth. "It's the hand mirror! You're using the hand mirror. Blackmail. What is it, Thaemis Omarden? Explain yourself!"

Even as Akera's words came, wild and senseless as a madwoman's, Caleix began to smile.

The womanï¿½Thaemisï¿½the blue-haired woman let her gaze flicker back and forth between the attackers, like an animal in a snare.

"Tell them," snarled the Fire Poison Mage like a huntress.

The masquerade was over.

She let the disguise of Aismeth fall away. She seemed to shrug it off, the diminutive presence, the withdrawing posture, as if it were a foul robe. Then she rose to her full height, and it was terrifying, for she hadn't seemed so tall, or powerful, before. As tall as a Heroï¿½as tall as the woman who had vanished one day, fifteen years ago, when her enemies had come to rob her of all she had owned.

Then, grinning like she'd won a war, Thaemis spunï¿½and flung the mirror at the ground.

The shards burst outward, like a splash of water.

The little pieces glittered in the chandelier light, and scattered into cracks between the tiles.

Caleix's eyes took five seconds to widen. When they did, they were red and wet with tears he was too stunned to shed. Before their dumbfounded stares, he collapsed to the floor, and crawled to the base of his throne, whispering something over and over, sweeping the shards together beneath his palms, tears cascading to join them.

The capture of slaves, the passing of laws, the condoning of fifteen years of cruelty. All of it had not been his will.

It had been hers.

But of course, Thaemis cared nothing for the king. Her dark eyes flashed blood-red as she strode into the midst of the strange tableau. Ketara shrieked, breaths coming ragged and thin, and Elkhris was paralysed by his rider's fear.

"You, my dear girl, have only scratched the surface," she said as she came to face Akera, fingers curling. Her eyes travelled to Ketara, cowering atop the dragon. "You silly child. You remember me." Then she glanced away at the rest of them, and leered like a snake. "He remembers! Your brother remembers! It'd have been hilarious to watch, three sons killing their father!" Her gaze caught Shirion's, and held it steady, her lips curling.

"Whose father?" the Crusader demanded shakily.

With a smirk, Thaemis, unarmed in a gown slit to her knee, walked up to the warriorï¿½stood before his armoured height, and touched him on the shoulder. "Yours," she said with a sad sigh. "Yours, and hisï¿½" she jabbed her chin in Zethis' directionï¿½ "and the boy on the dragon. Your father."

She gestured at the king, who was raising his anguished head.

"Sh...Shirion," he whispered, hope rising behind the shattered facade.

"No," the Crusader muttered, fingers slackening on his swordï¿½

Sudden as a viper, Thaemis wrenched the weapon from his loosening hand and spun it into hersï¿½and with a swing, she slammed the blade against his cheek. He yelled and stumbled amidst her crow-like laughter, and Ralinn raced to take his shoulder, leering at the woman.

Thaemis moved like a blue river. She whirled straight by the crossbow bolt that Raydan sent soaring at her, then dove and thrust the butt of the sword in his gut so he groaned and collapsed to his knees.

"Do not forget who I am!" she shouted as she knocked three of Telida's throwing stars from the air with three slashes, and swung away from a jet of fire, both twins snarling at her. "I'm the Lost Hero! The greatest warrior!"

"Youï¿½were!" Zethis gasped out, and cringed when she paused momentarily, eyes turning to him.

"Oh yes, so you know me!" She knocked Raydan's crossbow out of his hands even as she spoke, the bowstring snapping.

The White Knight clenched his fists. "I...of course I know you, Thaemis, you were my idol." Ceasing her attack just as Turino dodged out of the way, she lowered her sword, losing interest in the battle, and a smile began to light her face. Zethis straightened from his crouch, and his eyes took up fire. "My father followed your matches. He told me all your stories. We bought your plaques. He'd be so happy, if I could tell himï¿½that I'm finally meeting her!" Then his face fell. "Are you really her?"

"Why would I lie?" she exclaimed rapturously, walking up to him and ruffling his hair, though he clutched his weapon tight and bit his lip. "My boy. I did not think the child I sent away would grow up to adore me!"

"Youï¿½sentï¿½"

"It was you!" Ketara gasped out, rising like magma from the throat of a volcano. "You took us. You removed our memories. You threw us out to be found!"

Thaemis laughed. "Anything in the name of advancing my cause."

Shirion glared, wiping blood from his lips. "What is your cause?" he asked. "Why? Was all this terrorï¿½" he glanced at Akeraï¿½ "was it necessary?" Weaponless yet, he walked to face her, fists balled. "Fifteen years! Fifteen years, was it necessary?"

"Oh, perfectly necessary," answered the woman, but it was now that Shirion saw a shadow flicker in her bloody red eyes, of weariness she was tryingï¿½always tryingï¿½to hide. "I do not serve my own wishes!"

Ralinn felt her will slacken, her bow sink to her side. Something had not been right about this woman from the moment they'd seen her. It was as ifï¿½a world of power were waiting in her, waiting to spill out through her bloody eyes.

"I serve the Shadow with whom I bargained fifteen years ago. It offered me my supremacy, in return for a small favour. That I should take control of the nation in Its name, and ready the world for Its coming. And look where I am now," she laughed, curling her fingers so her nails gleamed. She strode up to the crouched king, his fingers bleeding amongst glass shards. "Caleix beneath me, with but his wife as the bargaining piece." She kicked his hands so they skidded through the broken glass, blood beginning to pool beneath them. "But it's too bad that she's dead now, isn't it? Dead inside that mirror. Like this world was meant to be."

"Whyï¿½why did you take the bargain?" answered Ralinn.

"Lost pride," she said.

"Pride isn't worth a deal so dark."

"You know nothing of lost pride!" shouted Thaemis, spitting the words like poison. "I lost my life! I might as well have! I lost everything that made me who I was! And now I have it back. I have it all. Any minute now, dear children, I will become the queen of a black world. I will win my reward for fulfilling my duty as the Dark Spirit's vessel." She leered like a snake. "And you can't stop us."

The cold suddenly grew vast, so infinitely vast, that no one could move. Not Akera caught in songs of madness. Not Ralinn who had begun this journey. Not the three sons of the king whose lives had only just ceased being a mystery...

Ralinn breathed two wordsï¿½of course. She cast a sidelong glance at Akera. She understood now. She knew what was to come.

Then her eyes returned to Thaemis, Thaemis with all that smouldering prideï¿½and she raised her bow and arrow. The Ranger was furthest from her, and it would be at least five seconds before she could reach her. She aimed the arrow, and drew a breath.

The Hero's face slackened when she saw the weapon. "Do you think a simple arrow will defeat me?"

"You are not the same woman," Ralinn.

Thaemis clenched the sword hilt in her fist.

"You were amazing," said Zethis, more sad than afraid. "I couldn't wait to meet you. But you became...this."

"We change," Thaemis answered, though her eyes had not left the leader of the guild, nor her arrow. "I only wanted to have what I'd lost."

"But you didn't have to. You were my heroine. You were my heroine right up tillï¿½tillï¿½five minutes ago."

Then with a shout devoid of regret or fear, Ralinn let her arrow loose. Thaemis flung Shirion's sword, but it was too late. The arrow took her in the neck and sent her rasping, gasping, to the floor, dark red blood leaking thick and sludgy from the wound, as the sword clattered like thunder across the stones. The Ranger sprung forward in a flash, and planted a foot on her chest, aiming another arrow in her face.

"Surrender, surrender now! You've lost!"

"I'm...I'm sorry, Zethis," whispered the fallen Hero, eyes giving up every last trace of light, as blood burbled up from between her lips. "I...didn't know."

Then a great shrieking began to shake the hall. A shriek that seemed to come from everywhere, ripping tapestries off walls all across the castle, shivering the ancient stones that held the castle highï¿½and the carpet beneath them began to buck and whip, wind screaming like a banshee through the windows carrying the smell of rot and smokeï¿½and it ripped the chandelier from its place, smashing it against the floor in an explosion of wax and glass and flame, lighting the scarlet carpet on fire.

And Thaemisï¿½

A seam opened at the top and bottom of Thaemis' lip, a red line that ran up and down through her skin as if slit by an invisible knife, slid through her nose and her chin and between her eyes.

Her blue hair swirled into a stormï¿½and her face erupted, split open along the seam in a spurt of blood that caught the hem of Ralinn's shirt, flooding out along the checkered tiles in dark rivulets.

Her body lurched and twisted, once, twice, a rope in windï¿½then, like an exploding cage, it burst open in a torrent of fuming black.

Black, black that expanded to fill the room, smothering the flame that had devoured a foot of the carpet, and spilled out the window like a many-tentacled thing.

Black that flooded the entire hillside, like mud clogging drains.

All across the battlefield, the necromancers lurched into the air like marionettes, and their cloaks stretched into tattered black wings. They spiralled over the field of corpses, shrieking and singing, red eyes flashing, black smoke bubbling up from their wings to coat the battlefield. Black smoke tumbling like sludge from castle windows.

Hyrien ran, but he felt the smoke snatch him, thicken, and twist through his throatï¿½and all at once his lungs grasped at nothing. He gasped and tried to yell. Not a sound. He saw Lanorï¿½ with her fingers on her throat, she fired bolt after bolt at the smoke, and it relented a littleï¿½he watched her stumble and race across rumbling, roiling black ground, as he felt his sight dim to nothing...

DO YOU DARE HARM ME?

Ralinn screamed as black smog began to squeeze her body like a vice. She bared her teeth and fought to string an arrow, to aim her bow, but her hands were shaking like twigs, her fingers couldn't curl. Blackness boiled up beneath her like sludge, and all the faces were goneï¿½everyone, everyone was gone, and every rock, ever hidden cloud, started to sing in hellish cacophony.

Elkhris bucked and roared; Ketara yelled, tears spilling into the dark, but no one answered. The Cloak of Night, the dragon cried, cowering and trembling upon the cold floor, head swinging, the Spirit of Darknessï¿½

RALINN, YOU'RE ONE TO TRY! DON'T YOU SEE YOU ARE AS EVIL AS I AM?

"I'm sorry! I'm sorryï¿½" Suddenly all she could see was Akera. Akera, torn open on the Nightfall floor. Akera, crumpled, twisted at the bottom of a cliff. Akera with a blade through her heart. "I'mï¿½I'm sorryï¿½I'm sorryï¿½"

THE GODDESS WAS A FOOLï¿½THINKING YOU WOULD BE MY NEMESIS!

Bereft suddenly of will, Ralinn sent up an anguished shriek.

DROP YOUR BOW.

Her fingers loosened; the Dark was pressing on her eyelids.

YOU ARE ONLY A SINNER. YOU ARE ALL SINNERS. YOU WERE MADE TO BE MINE.

Akera dead. Lanorï¿½ dead. Shirion dead. Her throat was not her ownï¿½her heart spasmed, like a bird stabbed throughï¿½and she cried for light and savingï¿½"please", she screamed, "please stop"ï¿½but pictures of dead friends kept thrusting themselves through her mind like spears through her brain, and Shirion could only listen through the blackness as her mind was torn apart by them, weeping with fright and sorrow and love that he feared would be gone once this night was over. He shouted and shouted her name till his throat was bloody, but the darkness caught him about the neck and choked and throttled the words out of him.

"Ralinnï¿½Ralinnï¿½" his bellows became whimpers, and the tears would not help.

The ground was spinning beneath her. Solid darkness, playing with her body as it did the rest of the world, cawing and shrieking, the entire night heaving as one.

In a single roar that muted the stars beyond, It cast its tentacles out over the worldï¿½and swallowed it whole, at last, withering the tops of trees, blotting stars out.

A cawing crowing cackle began, like a breath of rot in myriad windows. The world. The world was only a puppet in the hand of unfathomable Dark. The world was Its to twist and destroy.

At last, millennia after the first ascension, the dominion of the Darkness was complete.

"Ralinn! Ralinn!"

...she twisted in its grasp, everything was black and bloody...

..."Ralinn!" a high voice called through the dark...

..."Helpï¿½" Ralinn whispered in answer, memory dripping from her mind like melted flesh...

"Ralinn, you'reï¿½you're not dead yetï¿½"

...Akera.

Ralinn's voice had woken something in her eyes. Something like jealousyï¿½but without the poison. And something like hatred, but devoid of spite. Something bright and white. She tore the bag open in the dark, finding Shaft and Shard, Neck and Spearhead, rapidly slotting them one, by one, by one, end to end, into each other. Spearhead into neck. Neck onto Shaft. Shaft onto Shard.

"RALINN!" Akera screamed again, hot tears cascading down her cheeks, and suddenly she knew what it was. It was love. It was fire.

Fire.

Necromancers wheeled through the air, and beneath them the battlers collapsed to their knees, choking and screeching with blue fingers at their necks.

"Go!" screamed Clynine, sobbing hot tears, flinging a Shining Ray at every tendril of black that came. "Go away! Stop!" She felt her foot kick a dismembered arm, she retched and swung her staff feebly even as her stomach clenched and everything was thrust out through her lips.

Her throat ran dry then, and she fought through the dark to Lanorï¿½'s side. The Archmage lay tangled in black, arms immobilised, a thread of shadow curling down her throat.

"MISTRESS!" the Cleric screamed, collapsing at the woman's side. "Don't goï¿½don't go again, please, don'tï¿½" Her eyes darted about. Necromancers, swirling through the sky like crows, cawing glory and hate. And corpses. Corpses, tangled with each other, corpses of guards and comrades, woven with the shadows in a black orgy. Her eyes returned to her choking mistress, as she remembered the lesson she'd had in Orbis. "I canï¿½I can Resurrect. I can still do it."

Lanorï¿½ shook her head slowly, but the black snagged on her hair. "Don't you dare," she croaked. "Don't you dare try. You're still alive. Keep it that way." Her smile returned. "That's why I trained you. Goï¿½back to Orion's Belt. If they win. Go start Victoria Island anew. Be part of it. I want you to be part of itï¿½"

"I won'tï¿½I won't be a part of itï¿½without you," she sobbed in reply, and lifted her mistress' cold hand to her face.

As the Shard slid into the end of the Shaft, Akera screamed and screeched; in her blindness she could feel blisters boiling up on her hand, and the pain plunged so deep she began to screamï¿½she wanted to fling the Spear away and forget it forever. But even as she fought with the heat, the Spear of Heaven lit up like a beacon in her handï¿½bursting through the dark like the summer sun.

Summer, summer, so far away.

It cut slits of light in the black, revealing ceiling and tapestry, an arched window here, a crumbling pillar there. The shards of mirror that Caleix lay curled beside. The fire on the carpet, almost dying embers. Checkered floors. Blind statues. Cast into relief by the glow.

It wasn't just her hand any longerï¿½it was her entire forearm, her upper armï¿½all ablaze with flame hotter than any she'd ever made or known, fire that burned like heaven and drew scream after ragged scream from her, there on the marble floor. Yet she clenched her fist as it surged across her, let it swallow her limb a hungry beast.

AKERA!

Murmured the Darkness, drawing up thick around her even as she blindly cried.

AKERA OF LITH HARBOUR, HOW QUAINT! I DID NOT THINK YOU WOULD ATTEMPT TO DESTROY ME, WHEN YOU ARE ALREADY SO DEEP IN THE MIRE OF YOUR SIN.

Images plummeted like bombs through her consciousness, exploding in her skull. Her father on fire. Her mother's face in ashes. Turino blazing. Ralinn half dead in the snow. Shirion roaring out in agony. Fire, fire on the eaves of houses, fire burning through the eyes of grinning skulls.

WHY DO YOU TRY, AKERA? DO YOU THINK RISING AGAINST ME WILL SAVE YOU? DO YOU THINK YOURSELF SO NOBLE?DO YOU THINK THIS WILL BE YOUR REDEMPTION?

YOU WILL NEVER BE REDEEMED, AKERA. YOU HAVE NOURISHED ME, AND I HAVE LOVED YOU, I HAVE FED YOUR HATE!WE ARE SYMBIOTIC, WE NEED EACH OTHER! I BRANDED YOU FROM THE DAY YOU WERE BORN, I KNEW YOU WOULD GIVE, AND YOU DID!

YOU ARE NOT TO BE FORGIVEN, YOU IDIOT CREATURE. NOTHING YOU DO WILL APPEASE THE GODDESS! YOU HAVE SPENT YOUR LIFE SERVING ME, AND TO ME YOU WILL RETURN!

Akera felt tears of agony gather in her eyes, and though she was using every last ounce of her magic to rein the fire in, to stop it from searing away her flesh and bone, she had in her the strength to grin.

"No, I don't seek to be forgivenï¿½" she answered, clutching the Spear of Heaven tighter so her fingers stung as if the skin were being ripped from them, feeling the oscillation of the flame fall slowly, gradually, under her control, one breath at a time. "I don't seek to be redeemed by the Goddess. I gave up on that long ago. I gave up on being loved. But that hasn't stopped me from loving!"

LOVINGï¿½

"I don't care, you stupid Spirit."

Like stars aligning. Like mountains sliding into place. Suddenly, the fire was all hers.

And suddenly, she was burning.

She felt her feet lift from the ground. Free of the world. Free of the Shadow.

She laughed. She soared to the ceiling, she extended a hand and her fingers slit gashes through the Dark like whimsical fireworksï¿½she spun, laughed again, feeling the Goddess flood her veins and the Dragon move her hand.

"You are not invincible."

ALL MEN WERE MADE TO SIN.

"And to forgive. " She grinned wider.

YOU WOULDN'T DO THIS. YOU'RE TOO SELFISH. I KNOW YOU ARE. AND FOR THAT THE GODDESS WILL NEVER REDEEM YOU.

"And you're wrong," she sneered right back. "Because I am my own redemption!"

Its words descended into croaks and caws, and she grasped at a stray flame as it arced around the Spear, and let it swell in her hands into a bright, strong shaft. With a cry she flung it through the shadow, and in a trail of rainbows and sparks it ripped holes in the night.

"We are the demons who engender the Dark. We are the gods with the blade to Its end."

It roared, and expanded, and the castle roof erupted in a sound of thunder so grand it made her ears ache.

Out into the night sky It gushed and bloomed, like a great spurt of ink through a broken pipeï¿½and feeling a surge of fire in her blood, she chased, a blazing starï¿½she chased and slashed with the Spear, the Goddess' light poured through its shaft, slits opening in the Darkness to reveal the brightest stars. Canis Major. Centaurus. Orion.

The Dark boomed and snapped, and engulfed her like the sea as they rose, rose through the stratosphere, blowing the clouds to shreds. But she screamed and flung a shaft of light through the air, and it tore a straight line through Its unfathomable grandeur, sending shreds descending towards the ground below.

The wind was frigid. The snow swirled. All the sky roared white between her fingertips.

Akera cried outï¿½Explosionï¿½and her Fire Mage's spell snatched the rainbow flame of the Dragon, blew it open like a dandelion clock.

Fragments of Darkness scattered, never to be found.

She swirled through the air, slashed once, slashed twice, laughing manically; time wound back and forth around her in a great columnï¿½she screamed and reached through the weeks and years, and suddenly the trees in the castle gardens were blooming, and then they were burning red and goldï¿½everything was malleable at her fingertips, everything was nothing to her!

Screaming in rage, the Dark snapped back again and wrapped Itself in a vast sphere about her, threadbare and fluttering.

DO YOU THINK IT SO EASY?

It shrieked.

DO YOU THINK I'LL JUST DIE?

"Yes," answered Akera, and in that word she felt a surge of joy so beautiful she could only call it heaven, tasting of the marble of the amphitheatre, soft as the velvet robes of the gods. Her tongue unleashed fire. Fire. Fire.

The black bubble burst, and the pieces shrieked like a million crows.

NO! I WILL NEVER BE DEAD! AS LONG AS HATE AND FEAR LIVES, SO DO I!

But she heard nothing but the angelic hum of her flame. Here in the sky, with the power of the gods in her hand, the White-Haired Murderess could see everything. She could see a child on the coast, staring at her light. She could see the pigs in the glen, rooting for fungus. She could see the fairies of Orbis at their games of chance, she could see Chief Tatamo in Leafre, patting a seed into the soil. She saw Ralinn staring listlessly, tears dripping from her chin, she saw Shirion holding her, and she felt glad.

For countless seconds Akera stood in the sky, nothing between her and the stars but fathoms of emptiness. The most powerful being in the universe, all the world swirling about her. Time fluttered on her fingers, the solid past, the nebulous future. Yes, for these seconds she could reach twenty years far, she could murder herself before she could be born and save that couple the anguish of the daughter that would come. She could destroy Caleix as he gazed through the golden windows at the shower of stars. She could kill Thaemis before the deal was made at that pool of boiling darkness in the deep blue cave.

But that would be selfish, for the Dark would live on. The Dark would return. And she wouldn't be there to stop it.

"If this is the price we must pay," she shouted, teeth bared in a grin, "then so be it! So be it!"

And she gathered up the world in a single breath of the night. She looked to Orion. She knew the answer to the riddle. She thought of Shirion, heir to the throne. She thought of Ketara, Dragon's Pride. Zethis. Son of the morning. Lanorï¿½, Silver Fang, the Archmage she would never best after all. And Ralinn, queen of the rebellion, heroine of the greatest tale Victoria had ever told.

She threw it all, in a blinding spiral of light that looked like the flowers in the gardens when the winter was finally over and the spring peeked from the cracks in the bark. The Dragon's sacrifice rang in hers, so resonant she began to weep. The song He sang to raise them out of sleep.

They rose out of sleep again.

As she cast a universe of fire upon the Spirit, she found herself drowning in absolute, pure ecstasy. Ecstasy, like the spheres of the world and heaven touching so their harmonies fell into synchrony.

It was like every bone in her body shattering in synchrony. A universal song, vibrating through her veins, which held the fragments of the sky together.

Timeless Heart, Arelyn, Ayris and Kalia glanced up, all changed, claws in place of hands, fangs growing in their jaws. Timeless Heart, I hear her. She will be so transient. But she will last forever.

Clynine clutched at her staff and straightened where she stood on wobbling legs. She was just a girl, and the sky was blooming and bursting, streams of light like aurorae rippling outward for miles, catching the darkness, ripping it to ribbons.

Here on the ground, she saw that light beyond the flickering of dark spirits. And none of that light could save her friends from death. None could save them but she.

All her friends. Every one of them, dead and dying, crumpled amidst the trees.

"Clynineï¿½" wheezed Lanorï¿½ a last time. "Listenï¿½listenï¿½"

No. She could not listen. She knew Lanorï¿½ cared, so much, and she knew listening to her orders had saved her countless times before. The last time she'd disobeyed, they had wasted three months.

But today was not that day. Todayï¿½today Clynine was no longer a girl without a mind. Today she wasn't going to give her mistress up because she'd been told. Clynine had had enough of doing as told.

She climbed, shivering, up to the top of a boilder, and slowly raised herself, till she stood in the full view of the necromancers circling above. "I'm here!" she cried. She raised her staff beneath a universe of glowing stars.

She saw their red eyes flash, and they twisted in midair, shrieking, plunging at her like a volley of knives through the sky.

She squeezed her eyes shut and for seconds all she heard was their screaming, screaming so rending that she felt her ears drip with blood. Her mistress lay dead at her feet. Hyrien did too. She wanted them to be happy.

"Resurrection!" she yelled with all her might, gripping her staff with both hands. "RESURRECTION!"

White light swallowed her whole. Then the battlefield. And every barren tree. Every twig. Every shingle. Every grain of earth.

She saw an army of souls, drowned at the bottom of an ocean. She dove amidst froth and bubbles, and she called them. She called them back up towards the surface, where the living world waited for them. She spoke of Henesysï¿½Henesys before the king, Henesys when there had been festivals and markets, Henesys waiting for them to return, jubilating, to the new celebration that had been called in their honour.

She sang of Ellinia when the trees glowed like emerald, sure, it was winter now, but what when the spring came! When she spoke of spring, she spoke also of Victoria Island, growing out like a tree from dead bark.

"She's just waiting for the spring to return," she said. "And the springï¿½is almostï¿½hereï¿½"

And two thousand souls chased her back into the living world, bursting through the surface of the endless sea, wailing and roaring. All the while, Clynine felt her self screaming blood between her lips, her ears pounding with the strange sounds of the universe, throbbing beyond limit. All two thousand. Every friend and enemy. She wanted them all back, and she didn't care for the pain.

Lanorï¿½ woke, and when she saw her comrades all stirring from the soil, she immediately remembered Clynineï¿½

Clynine lay crumpled in the thawing earth, blood streaming from her nose and lips, blood pooling beneath her head. "Clynine, Clynine," she panted, dropping to her knees to touch her forehead. "Clynine, you didn't listen...you didn't listen..."

She rose to her feet, staring up into the maelstrom of ragged black creatures, and the strange aurorae that shimmered beyond.

"You didn't listen. I'm so proud of you." She struggled with tears, but what use would they be? Instead she thrust her gaze into the sky and raised her staff.

She did not have to cry Chain Lightning to unleash it upon the sky. The lightning exploded from her staff, it arched through the night, and grew so bright she could not keep her eyes open. She braced herself on the earth, let it net itself across the entire battlefield and burn every black mage to nothing.

The world shook, but it was silent. The Darkness exploded in the sky over Victoria Island, with a rumble that drove cracks through the castle foundations, and a bloom of rainbow that conquered the blackness like a million shooting stars outstripping the darkness it chased.

Akera descended through the silence, robes hanging in tatters about her limbs. This silence, it was almost...peace. Silence, not only in the world outside her, but silence within her as well.

Silence. The demons had finally fled the room of her mind, and she was alone...alone with herself, at last.

When she landed on the tiles, the Spear of Heaven rolled from her hand, and with it all the light drained from her being.

Akera suddenly felt as fragile as a dry petal on fire. On the brink of breaking to pieces.

Turino was the first at her sideï¿½dear Turino, of course; he reached out for her, and took her in his arms, so he scalded himself on her softly blazing skin.

"You're back!" he shouted. His smile was so wide and so true, Akera felt a surge of gladness and sorrow.

"I've...finished it," she replied in a whisper, and felt a piece of her lip crumble to ash.

"Akera?" his voice changed, his face fell. "Come on, it'll be fine. You're going to stay. You're right here, safe now. I'm holding you."

"Turino. Let go."

His grip shifted and tightened, and pieces of her robe came away as dust. His face twisted, he was only just beginning to understand. "Akeraï¿½you're right here! You're not going anywhere. Don't talk like you're going to die, Akeraï¿½"

When she tried to stand, her legs would take no weight and she collapsed, a trail of brilliant dust following herï¿½and sobbing outwardly by now, Turino caught her blazing body and pulled her close. "Yes, Akera, yes, I'm here," he murmured. "I'm always here."

"I know," she answered listlessly. "Thank you." Locks of her hair tore away and vanished in flashes of flame; she hardly seemed able to fight, let alone willing. All that galactic light, gone in a blink.

Weeping wretchedly, the Mage bowed towards her, and she let him kiss her again, though she left ashes on his lips, and he smelt her burning flesh when she did.

Her eyes shifted. They hurt inside her skull. It hurt to move. "Ralinn, is all forgiven?"

"Forgive me," she answered, blotting her eyes with her arm. "I'm sorry, Akera, I'm sorry."

Her lips managed smile. "You were a friend."

"'Were'?" the Ranger answered, another wave of tears coming unbidden. "No, you are a friend, Akera, you are my friendï¿½"

"Yes," Akera replied, just barely.

The flame thinned in the wind through the broken ceiling of the throne room. Nothing but the night sky shone down upon them. And here, gazing upwards into their endless light, she could feel every laboured beat of her heart, as it fought to keep going. Fought to hold her together.

It was only now that Turino noticed that her hair had changed in the fire. It was no longer the silver-white of remoteness and isolation, the white of the icy cage she'd built for herself and hid within all her life. It was warm brown. Brown, the colour of her life before tragedy. Brown like coffee with milk, and old woody houses. Brown of Lith Harbour soil.

She twisted, just slightly. "Be happy," she said.

With a cry like a phoenix's keening, he grasped at her burning clothes, but even as he did her body began to crumble. He could not watch, his tears kept cascading down his cheeks, blurring the world to unimportance, and his throat would not contain his wails; her face went still, and her nose, her eyes, her lips caved, her skull crumbled. She flowed through his fingers like sand and the wind scattered her across the floor, glowing faintly gold.

"COME BACK!" he screamed into the sky, fingers digging into the ash for just another touch, just another trace, of her warmth.

"Rino?"

The voice was crisp as a cold morning, and the wind could not drown it.

"Lidaï¿½" Turino shook with sobs, hands planted in the golden dust, as Telida dropped to her knees where her brother knelt.

"Quiet, Rino," she whispered in answer. She reached, tentatively, across the space between them, to rest her fingers on his arm. "It doesn't matter..."

"What do you mean? What do you mean,it doesn't matter?!" Turino whirled back, snarling suddenly, ready to shove her away.

But their eyes met once in that windy second, and he bowed his head, surrendered, abandoned a battle he'd thought would never end. She caught him by the shoulders as he sagged, and pulled him closer. He shifted, so his head was nestled against her shoulder.

"She's where she wants to be," she replied. "She's fine."

And the truth of Telida's word pierced to the bone, and the night began to tower so tall above their heads, the night full of blinding stars and prophecies. Ralinn gathered herself up on the shattered, checkered floor, and Shirion lost sense, sinking to the stone as he, too, began to weep, thinking of winters of old, of fires that smelt of incense, of a friend he hadn't loved enough.

By the throne, unfazed and misty-eyed amidst the sounds of sorrow, Caleix sat staring into the mirror, remade by the Spear as Akera had whirled through the sky changing the seasons.

It was Zethis who came first, who crossed the glittering tiles, and dropped to a kneel beside the great king.

He turned at the White Knight's approach, tears ceasing momentarily, lips trying to form words. Zethis watched him intently, waiting for a word.

"...Zethis," he finally said. "Zethis, I've been waiting fifteen years for you."

The boy paused, searching for the warmth in the man's eyes.

"Dad," he answered softly.

"Your mother is in there somewhere," the king said, lifting the mirror for his son. Zethis tilted and peered into the glass. "Eleira, do you see him? Your son. Aismeth didn't destroy them. They're all back here. They're all with me." The tears began again. "I found them."

The first thing Athena Pierce saw when she woke from her unconsciousness was the sky, aglow with a thousand rippling ribbons of rainbow-light, every thread streaming out of the broken tower at the centre of the ruined castle. Aurora, she'd read before. Beneath its light she dug her hands into the earth and lifted herself onto one foot, then the other, though her legs trembled with exhaustion and threatened to give way as soon as she was standing.

"Aï¿½thenaï¿½" murmured a voice in the soil. Her eyes darted to the ground, where saw a hand reaching through for her left boot, a black-gloved hand that belonged to a dishevelled thief.

"Jet," she answered, voice brimming, and she snatched at his hand, tugging him onto his feet with a magnificent swing. "We bothï¿½live. We live!"

"Are you sure it's over?" answered the thief, ever the cynic even in the face of victory, eyes darting about. But the guards weren't fighting, and there were no necromancers in sight, and it was as if everyone knew without a word that the battleï¿½the war of fifteen yearsï¿½was over. Jet whirled to face Athena again. "It is...Athena, it's done..."

She answered by taking his head with both palms and kissing him, while around them a multitude of bodies rose from their deathlike sleep, like flowers from the thaw that used to be snow.

Cirid dusted her shirt, rising from amid bodies she'd been assured were only slumbering. She plucked her watch from her pocket and smiled. Ten minutes gave her some time to prepare something.

She found five tins of gunpowder right where she'd left them, and in her moneybag a bit of the old colouring metal she'd salvaged from a corner of their raided cellar.

Tying the material in a few small paper parcels, Cirid took another glance at her watch, then pulled out the wooden wand she kept with her. She was quite a thrower, if she could say so herself. And even greater of an aimer.

Somewhere in the marketplace, Lanorï¿½ strapped her staff to her belt and lifted her assistant in both arms, placing a finger before her lips just to be sure that she was breathing.

She glanced about and called Shara's name, till the Priestess heard her, reclining somewhere beside the tree, and sprung up to meet the unconscious Cleric.

Shara breathed steady though her eyes were wild and distraught, stricken most by the sight of the girl's pale face. "Heal," she whispered, and a swathe of green light descended like a curtain upon her, but not a muscle twitched. She said it again. And again.

"Heal," gasped the Priestess yet again, fingers gripping the Cleric's face. "Heal."

She sagged with the effort of her twentieth consecutive spell, and began to shake the girl, bereft suddenly of her power, left only with the despair of a failed mother.

Tilting the girl's head back, she placed three fingers in her mouth and shouted the spell's name again. Green lit up beneath her skin, spreading to her neck.

With a choked cough, Clynine sprung up in Lanorï¿½'s arms, eyelids fluttering.

"Mistress...?"

The Archmage could barely stop herself gasping out, and she lowered the girl to the ground, before seizing her in a rough embrace. "Clynine!" she said. "Clynine, you liveï¿½"

"Mistress?" the syllables came slowly.

Lanorï¿½ released Clynine and stepped back. "I'm very proud of you, you saved hundreds of people todayï¿½"

"I...can't...hear you. I can't...hear you."

Elation evaporating suddenly, the Archmage felt her lips part. She wasn't sure if it was fear or the cold creeping into her fingers. "Clynine, are you sure? Swallow, look up, can you hear me?"

But she didn't look up, and didn't swallow, only glanced left and right frantically, terror contorting her face. "I can'tï¿½I can'tï¿½" She abandoned the sentence halfway, throwing herself into her mistress' arms again, sobbing timidly. "I can't hear."

Lanorï¿½ stood motionless upon the damp, frosty ground, trapped in the catatonia of horror. Panic fluttered only briefly across her featuresï¿½she couldn't feel more. She couldn't let them see.

Her numb fingers rose to clasp the girl's shoulders, and Shara bowed, weeping, as if certain it was her doing, certain that the girl might still be whole and healthy, if only she'd fought a little harder to save her.

"It wasn't you, Shara," murmured the Archmage, a croak coming to her voice. "It's not your fault."

The wind carried Akera's ashes away in a spiralling swirl, and Turino was too broken to try and salvage them. He knew what he didn't want to know, that her ash would never be her, would never be that flaming soul with bright blue eyes again.

Instead he sat with his sister in the glowing pool of light that the Mage had left, trapped in memory and regret, and they held each other, trying to cast ropes of light across the dark between them, through eight murky years of hate and emptiness. She touched his left hand, and he responded, lifted it gingerly for her to hold. When she smiled at him for the first time since they had left the Dungeon behind, his face contorted with the ache of tears.

Standing beside the golden throne of the open chamber, stars sparkling high overhead, Ralinn rounded the rest up with shouts and beckoning gesturesï¿½her brother, Shirion, and Ketara.

"Is it really over?" asked Raydan, gripping his sister's arms when she offered them, then flinging them away. "No way, I'm not hugging you." But she snatched him about the shoulders anyway, and he laughed softly.

Reaching out to the man by the throne, Zethis helped Caleix to stand. Strange, to stand face-to-face with the tyrant you'd spend seven years hating, to find his face so ordinary it couldn't possibly be the man you'd wanted to kill before. To discover he had fathered you sixteen years ago. To realise you were taller than he.

"Will things change now?" asked the White Knight.

"Everything. Everything will change. I've done too much now to be trusted again."

"But everything can be fixed, Dadï¿½" answered Zethis quickly.

"Not broken trust. I will abdicate. And your brotherï¿½"

"ï¿½my brother?" He had to think long and hard, but even then the fact did would not begin to sink in. "Ohï¿½Shirion?"

Caleix nodded. "He will be a much better king than I," he said.

"I will not," answered Shirion suddenly, and both turned to the man, who strode, red-eyed, towards them. "I will not be the king."

"I will vest that power in you anyway," answered Caleix, "and that decision will be officiated within the week, perhaps tomorrow. What you decide to do with that power thereafter is entirely your decision."

"Butï¿½"

If there was anything two decades at the throne had imprinted in Caleix, it was a habit of ignoring others' opinions. He turned away from Shirion with no more than a smile. "I will begin my search for information shortly," he said, running a finger along the edge of the frame of the hand mirror in his pocket. "I must find a way to free my wife."

"A mirror world..." said Zethis. "We went inside one once. Only deities can open or close them, if I remember right..."

"Then I will find a deity and have it free her," he answered, eyes resolute. "The cost matters not."

Some way across the room, Ketara whispered a request, and Elkhris crept over to the twins, lowering himself to the ground so Ketara could slip carefully off his back. He sank onto his good leg, dropping to a kneel beside both twins. Both glanced at him with teary eyes.

"Come, we should go back," said the Dragon Knight, extending a hand, with a voice that brightened their eyesï¿½if only for a second. "War's over. And the Year of the Dragon starts in a few minutes' time."

Out on the battlefield, amid swarms of battlers and guards who were quickly forgetting which side of the nonexistent line they stood on, Cirid Celadon flung the first parcel as high in the air as she could, and when it reached its peak somewhere far above the rooftops, she closed one eye and shot a Fire Arrow at it.

The bag burst in a dandelion of sparks, red as necromancer lightning, red as blood freshly-spilt, red as sunrise. Eyes turned, and gasps went up, as the boom resounded across the battlefield, red light filling their eyes.

She tossed the second with a little more swing, and when she shot it, it exploded brilliant golden white, and amidst the dazzled crowds beneath began many a rowdy cheer. It was like gazing at the Goddess' wings.

The third parcel burst in sparks that were vivid blue, and everyone saw in them the sky of springtime, waiting to emerge at the end of this deep grey winter.

And when Cirid shot the last, the most special package, it burst to reveal a firework of seven different colours. Those familiar with the myths thought this must be how it looked when the world was just beginning, when the Dragon had sung and traded His eyes for the world.

A lone man raised the first line of song, and everyone was surprised when the melody lit chains of memory, new strains of music. One by one they joined in the singing, and for heavenly minutes, Henesys was bright as the womb of the world.

"Let us welcome the Year of the Dragon!" shouted Cirid to the people all around as the last bar ended and they rose out of their daze, beginning to laugh, salvaging drinks from the ruins of their homes. A celebration began, then, that would be remembered for centuries.

Epilogue: Fire of the Stars

"The decisive battle of tonight was won through the hard work of nearly a thousand collaborators," read Hyrien from the podium on a makeshift stage in Henesys Square. "First, I would like to thank each and every member of every group and guild that assisted: Cirid, Ledrin, Emina, and the rest of Reborn, whom we pray may return to their homes after restoration work is complete; the thieves of the Ethiel brotherhood under the leadership of the Dark Lord; every member of the Perion tribe under the leadership of Chief Dances with Balrog; Orion's Belt under the leadership of Ralinn; and my own guild, Nightfall, who fought very well tonight."

"And Hyrien!" yelled the voice of Yunira from the crowd, who immediately raised the rowdiest applause yet.

Hyrien cleared his throat amidst their cheering. "Er, thank you, Yunira," he said, to a chorus of laughter. "We would like to honour the following individuals for their contribution not just to this battle, but in every moment that led up to it.

"Firstï¿½posthumouslyï¿½we would like to thank the previous leader of Nightfall, Pelinor, who dedicated fifteen years of his life to rescuing and training members of Nightfall. He always spoke of becoming a hero in death, but what he did not realise, I think, was that he was already a hero in doing what he did everyday.

"We would also like to thank Cirid Celadon, for a display of great trust in leading her guild from Kerning to Henesys without any guarantees of its safety, and coming to our aid when it most counted. And the Job Mastersï¿½Athena Pierce, the Dark Lord, Chief Dances with Balrog and Grendel the Really Oldï¿½" many snickers came at this pointï¿½ "for readily joining our cause despite not being offered much of a choice.

"We'd like to thank Lawrence, Pan, Erin and Patricia of Ethiel, and Elode, Aradel and Coelion of Nightfall, for their role in savingï¿½" he paused to turn the page overï¿½ "the Job Masters, who proved crucial in our campaign. Lanore for her work as a strategist despite it not being her area of expertise. And Clynine of Orion's Belt, for her selfless contribution in keeping all our battlers alive on the battlefield last night, at the expense of her hearing, and hope to aid her in whatever way we can.

"We would also like to offer a great thank you Akera of Orion's Belt, for doing what no one else would have dared. For raising the Spear of Heaven against the Deity of Darkness Itselfï¿½and winning. She was intelligent and powerful, but as many of you might know, she knew terrible circumstancesï¿½a life rife with turmoils she took upon herself to bear in silence. May she rest in peace and be favoured by the Goddess and the Dragon.

"And, we would like to thank Esharo Hesprel, the previous guard captain of the Henesys company." Here Hyrien paused, so he could take in the surprise he'd hoped to elicit. Surprise there was; it swept the gathering in a wave of mutters. "Now, Esharo did commit many murders in the name of Caleix, that cannot be denied, as did every guard under his charge. But when the time came, he chose to help Nightfall by wilfully obscuring information about our plans from his own king, and that, I should remind you, was absolutely essential to our victory today. Yesterday, he was executed for this deed. While many may dispute his claim to our gratitude, I believe the very act of defying the corrupt authority you serve in the name of fairnessï¿½a mortal sacrifice on his part, as is apparent nowï¿½is heroic in itself. May he rest in peace and be favoured by both Goddess and Dragon."

The HQ saw no silence till the break of dawn, and not even then. Ethiel played poker. Nightfall enjoyed an impromptu buffet. Orion's Belt sat in a circle, smiling and in tears, wishing this moment were eternity itself.

Turino would not leave Telida, he promised to love her like he never had, promised to give what he could so he didn't have to regret again. Ralinn could not sleep till Shirion was beside her; the dark kept returning, the dark was always waiting beneath her eyelidsï¿½she shivered to sleep against his shoulder, and his eyes grew damp when she did. Lanorï¿½ sat staring eastward, unable to so much as close her eyes in case the black ocean began to roar too loud.

Because she could not hear, Clynine watched more intently than ever. Watched Raydan ruffle Zethis' hair. Watched Zethis weave his fingers with hers, eyes a little brighter than before, bright with tears and apologies. Watched Ketara attempt to find a comfortable position on the couch, almost comically clumsy if only she didn't understand. They all slept outside, near the cold, and Yunira guarded the keys till the night was over, casting little glances at her Sniper friend below.

When it was dawn at last, and Dances with Balrog's warriors lay snoring soaked in alcohol, and the thieves had concluded their last card game, celebration turned suddenly to bittersweet farewell. For with the end of Caleix's reign had also come the end of the cause that had brought them together under this roof.

Rooms emptied slowly as the early leaversï¿½the ones without love or friendship to hold them anywhereï¿½left with new scars and stories to tell. New quests to seek.

As the year began again, the Dragon seemed to rise from the bark and the earth, in little shoots and new birdsongs, spreading breath through pale roots and green buds and red blossoms, His great rainbow emerging through thousands of generations.

There were a great many visitors to the Nightfall HQ for the next week to come. But of course, priming this were the tabloids on the first day of Aries in the Year of the Dragon, which took care to detail every exploit of the Night Hunters on the night of New Year's Eve. Most of it wasn't far from the truth, and in fact a lot of it gave the major players their due respect. But for the most part, the tabloids did their best to be as sensationalist as always.

Raydan dropped off the sofa laughing, throwing the bulletin onto the floor between uncontrollable guffaws. "'She looked death in the eye, and death blinked first'ï¿½Did you tell them to say that?" he yelled amidst giggles, wiping his eyes.

Looking up from her own copy of the bulletin, Ralinn grimaced. "That was horrible," she muttered. "What a waste of words. They could have spent it talking aboutï¿½I don't know, how Akera did everything." She glanced out over the living room at the pair of twins sharing a sofa at the far corner.

"Oh, they sorta did talk about her," answered Raydan. "'But the heroine of the night was Akera, who till then had occupied the top position on the king's Most Wanted list. Akera, knowing that only a person of her immense talent could handle the Spear of Heaven, took bravely to the duty. Wielding the powers of all the deities combined, she destroyed the Spirit for once and for all, putting on an unforgettable light display in the process. Another thing she did in the process, unfortunately, was give up her life. She will be missed dearly, especially by friends, whom we interview below.'"

He snorted when he was finished. But Ralinn found herself tapping her chin in thought. "I think the description...suits it, actually," she said. "Describing it likeï¿½like something to be celebrated, not mourned."

This made her brother pause as well. "Someone needs to build a statue of her," he said, and it was relatively clear he wasn't cracking a joke this time. "Put it in the middle of Henesys Square. So the evil place becomes a good place." He glanced up. "Hey, you're the new king's girlfriend, aren't you! Go tell Shirion to do that!"

Ralinn blinked. Still wasn't joking, was he. "I'm sure he'd agree," she said, somewhat absently. Shirion had made his intentions all but clear in little conversations they had shared since, but he would nominally be king for a week more at least. And this most definitely was in his power.

"But Linn," added the Crossbowman, sounding serious as ever. "Akera didn't do everything. I mean, yeah, she did do the most important thing, but she didn't do everything. Everyone did something. Except me." He snorted.

"No, you kept us hoping," she replied in a laugh. "Imagine if you hadn't been there. We'd have been gloomy all the time. And our morales would have taken a beating from that."

The Nightfall HQ was abuzz. Its location having been published in the tabloids to much hype, and a list of members printed in gratitude for their contributions, everyone's mother, father and cousin twice-removed was coming to meet the newly-made heroes inside the old Sharenian building.

While most people were beyond describable elation to see their families again at last, it was with immense reluctance that Lanorï¿½ waited by the sofas that day, holding Clynine by the shoulders with cold hands and a remote smile.

The middle-aged couple, newly-released from prison, appeared at the doorway in clothes that marked them out for their wealth, some time earlier than the proposed meeting time of two-thirty.

Instead of calling out to them, the Archmage bowed, swallowing nervously, and Clynine, who felt her mistress' tension, lifted a hand to touch the woman's arm. Five days had given them time to learn to bypass the girl's disability in conversation; they'd established a simple language in handsigns, and learnt to understand each other's gestures much better. But the silence gaped and stretch, and Lanorï¿½ couldn't ignore the rift yawning between them, pushing them farther apart every time they tried to converse.

Lanorï¿½ couldn't have escaped the couple's notice forever, and Clynine's parents found them eventually, with directions from the other residents. They crossed the room eagerly, bowing in turn when they arrived before the two.

"Thank you, Lanorï¿½," said the man. "We have read all about your journey, and we would like to thank you sincerely for all you have taught our daughter."

"Iï¿½" For the first time, she found her poise slipping. Looking upon the man's earnest gaze, her eyes began to prickle. "I'mï¿½sorry. Clynine has been a wonderful assistant. But I couldn'tï¿½protectï¿½her." A tear pooled in one eye and ran rapidly down her cheek.

They glanced at each other, both seeming to contemplate a reply, but neither managing one. But the Archmage recognised the sadness in their countenances, the sorrow-laced pride, and love, which she had stolen and betrayed.

"I could have done better, and I would like to offer my sincerestï¿½apologiesï¿½."

She stopped. Tear by tear, she felt her facade begin to crumble. Years upon years, of terror and flight and pretending not to care, finally catching up to her. Right before their bewildered eyes, she began to descend into shameful, incomprehensible sobbing.

What's wrong with you? You aren't supposed to show them. You aren't supposed to feel. The sobs were clear and hard, stopped short by pride and anger, but the tears kept flowing, like a mark of her failings.

"You entrusted your daughter to meï¿½but I couldn't return her to you completeï¿½I'm sorryï¿½"

Again Lanorï¿½ felt Clynine reach to touch her arm, hand clasping hers.

"Pa, Mistress Lanorï¿½ did nothing wrong," she said, voice wavering, breaking slightly. "She took care of me. But I disobeyed her, and this happened. It was my fault."

"Noï¿½" Lanorï¿½ began to shout, to deny that it was anyone's fault but hersï¿½but she stopped when the lady sank forward and wrapped her arms about her daughter.

"Lanorï¿½, ma'am, there is no need to apologise," she answered earnestly. "We're not upset. How could we be upset? You turned her into a heroine. You're being too hard on yourself."

"But she made a heroine of herself," answered Lanorï¿½, fighting to smile despite the pangs in her throat. "She has unfathomable talent. Pleaseï¿½keep teaching her."

"And we'd like for that teacher to be you," her father replied.

It was fifteen minutes before the couple, polite as ever, finally gave their final hugs and said their goodbyes, relinquishing the conversation as if giving up life itself.

Turning from the crowds and the lights, Clynine glanced up at Lanorï¿½. "Thank you," she whispered, tonelessly. "You have given me so much, Lanorï¿½." She bowed. "I haven't given you anything in return. I haven't even paid."

The room seemed to turn into a void, all voices falling silent. Nothing between them, no air, no light.

"No," Lanorï¿½ whispered. "Clynine, you've given me more than you think." How could she not see? "You taught meï¿½humility, don't you know? You taught me to love. I didn't love anyone before this, my parents were caretakers, my friends were companionsï¿½but you, Clynine, when I took you beneath my wing, I suddenly learntï¿½"

All these multitudes, these nuances and explanations and tales, they refused to be captured by mere hand gestures. Her hands were useless, her hands were only muteï¿½

Love, she signed desperately, the ache of frustration pounding in her throat. You, me, you, us, love, happiness, light, joy!ï¿½

"Mistress?" answered the Cleric in faint puzzlement. "I...I love you too?"

The Archmage paused. That's not what I meant, she ached to say, but Clynine's simple words caught her, embraced her, and she found herself smiling instead.

"Me too," she whispered. "I love you."

Till now, Hyrien had been conversing with Cirid at a table, and snatching short glances across the living room at Lanorï¿½ and Clynine. When he noticed them looking his way, though, he immediately busied himself with his coffee.

That did nothing to stop them from making straight for his table right then.

The Reborn leader smirked from across the table and tilted her head. "Seems like you'll be quite busy shortly," she remarked, putting her hot chocolate down and swinging her legs off the neighbouring chair. Despite his protests, she immediately made herself scarce, and Hyrien found he could do nothing but resign himself to the unaided confrontation about to follow.

"Afternoon," the Archmage announced her arrival, folding her arms till the Guild Master lowered his mug and began straightening his shirt. "Are you busy?"

"No...in fact, I would like to converse with you," he answered quickly, glancing between both females. Lanorï¿½'s eyebrows rose. "I mean, I wouldï¿½I would like to talk." He paused to gather the words. "Are you alright?"

"Why would you ask?" she answered.

Hyrien wove his fingers together. "You wereï¿½over there, beside the sofasï¿½"

"You were watching?" She only seemed faintly perturbed.

"I'm sorry."

"No, do not be sorry. I hope that is proof enough of my humanity. And fallibility."

"It's alright. You're no less for it," he answered. Lanorï¿½ sighed. In that moment's pause, he drained his cup and put it down, rising from his chair. "Could I bring up...the matter we briefly discussed yesterday? Before we left for Henesys yesterday, I mean. About...you..."

"Of course," the woman replied, beginning to smile herself. "What about it?"

Hyrien folded his arms and shifted on his feet, eyes refusing to settle anywhere. "You mentioned thatï¿½"

"Yes, I did," she replied. "And there was an offer implicit in my words. Are you going to take me up on it?"

"Uhï¿½ahï¿½" Now he'd been caught off guard. Clynine laughed softly. "Yes...yes, I wouldn't mind taking it up at all. I would very much like to, in fact..."

Lanorï¿½ nodded thoughtfully. "Would you do me a favour?" she said.

"Of course."

She met his eye, and said with a tilt of her head, "Kiss me."

Hyrien was far less adept at moderating his expression than she. As his face reddened, the room fell silent and others began to look his way, snorts and giggles rising into audibilityï¿½from Yunira at the door, who squealed with her hands held together, and Pan, who had lain draped over two couches till then, and sprung up now to watch events unfold.

"Lanorï¿½!" exclaimed Hyrien, more than sufficiently aware of the attention coming his way, face burning all the hotter for it. "I'm not sure this is the right place or timeï¿½" The idea was at least somewhat appealing, he wouldn't deny. But the embarrassment just barely tipped the balance in favour of no.

Lanorï¿½ hadn't stopped waiting. "Getting cold feet now, are we?" she asked with a lilt.

"Aï¿½alright thenï¿½"

He bowed tentatively, eyes darting about the room. Not one person wasn't looking. Lanorï¿½'s fingers found his arm, and Hyrien hated to admit that she was a whole lot more beautiful than he'd realised before, now that he'd set his heart to noticing. He bent closer and closer; she was a tall woman so it wouldn't be as awkward as it could beï¿½but everyone was looking, and, Goddess, he'd never kissed anyone before...

He wasn't ready when their lips suddenly touchedï¿½but she responded quick as lightning, pulling his face closer and kissing back as if she'd been waiting forever to do so.

To his profound horror, applause and laughter immediately swelled from the crowd.

He should probably have guessed that Lanorï¿½ wasn't one for shying away, but he hadn't expected such boldness. She communicated more emotion in this single gesture than she had for all the three months they'd known each other.

And he couldn't say he wasn't amazed, even though it was stirred in with a considerable measure of shame.

Hyrien swung back several seconds later, lost in a whirl of lights and the sound of blood in his ears. When he had steadied himself, he found her beaming with an elusive hint of what might be happiness. Not the glassy, formal sort she frequently displayed. Real, unfeigned happiness.

"I'm sorry," she said in a breath, without meaning it. She was Lanorï¿½ again. "And thank you." She turned in a whirl of blonde hair, Clynine tagging obediently behind. Hyrien stared after, trying to breathe steady.

"Yunira!"

Recovering from a huge fit of giggles, Yunira turnedï¿½and was startled to find a new figure beside her. A figure with dishevelled dark-blond hair, almost a head taller than her, grinning without any of the usual bawdiness. "Hey," said answered brightly. "Have you seen?"

"Oh, yeah," answered Raydan between snorts of laughter. "I always knew she was shameless, but not like this..."

"Shameless, really?"

"We used to play pranks together, you know?" But the Crossbowman barely had eyes for any person of the room except the one right in front of him. "Hey...do you want to take a walk outside?"

"Uh, walk? Yeah, sure, I've been on door duty all day, let me get someone over hereï¿½"

"Oh, no, it's fine then. I'll just join you at door duty, I guess. Can't have a pretty girl doing things for my sake."

Yunira giggled, casting her eyes at her feet, pushing hair behind her ear. "Then that doesn't apply to me, huh! I'm not pretty!"

"Oh yes, you are," answered Raydan promptly. Then he paused and frowned. "Am I being creepy?"

She swayed on her feet, hands in her pockets, twintails swinging. "Nah, we're good friends, aren't we?" she exclaimed, then turned to knock him on the forehead. "But you're not getting me that easily, stupid."

In answer, he grinned. "Challenge accepted," he exclaimed. "How about that walk now?"

"How are you?" asked Shirion as he approached the creek, twigs rustling overhead. This far out in the forest, it became easy to forget that you weren't the only person in the world. The bare trees towered overhead like the vaults of a cathedral, and the only sound here was that of the lone bird in the wind.

The creek flowed anew now that the spring was returning. Alone out in the cold of early evening, the black figure bowed over its edge seemed so lonely that the melancholy was almost visible in the frigid air.

Head lifting, Turino turned to meet the Crusader's eye. "I should be asking you," he replied, quiet as ever. "How are you?"

"I dream of her," answered Shirion, pausing at the creek's edge, staring at the reflections of dark branches, rippling in the current. "I see her the way she was, glowing and surrounded by rainbows. I see her spinning through the stars."

"Happy dreams, then?"

He lowered himself to the ground beside the Mage, legs crossing on the damp earth. "You could say so, but I always wake with a feeling of emptiness."

"Same."

They shared the silence and the sound of the ringing creek for a while, the cool spring descending to complete their tranquil tableau.

"You knowï¿½" Shirion broke the silenceï¿½ "I know I love Ralinn deeplyï¿½but sometimes I wonder if...it would have been her. If Akera is the one I would have loved, given different chances, different circumstances."

Turino wrapped his arms around his knees, sighing. "I don't think anyone is meant for anyone else," he said. "It all depends on what we make of the time we're given. And you spent that time with Ralinn, so she's the one you chose."

"Mm. But...Akera is special to me, in a way I don't think Ralinn can accept just yet. She was my closest friend for years...and would always have been..."

The Mage smiled wryly. "Don't you tell me you have never been attracted to her before."

Shirion shifted, brow furrowing. "I did wonder a few times, when we were younger," he said. Then paused, glancing at the creek as if seeing something in it. "Let's not talk about it. She's gone now, she's...vanished. She's not in the world anymore, not even a trace of her body." He bowed. "Sometimes I wonder...if we dreamt her up. Maybe she never evenï¿½existed."

He hated the very words he was saying, and a tear threatened. But listening till then, Turino shook his head. He reached for his nape, and unclasped the chain he always wore.

Raising his left palm, he lowered the pendant gingerly onto it, and stared, eyes reddening even as he did.

It was a brush, half black and half white. Shirion glanced at it, and a bittersweet pang struck his heart.

He would know that white anywhere. The white of snow and stars.

"Akera," he murmured, and in the sound of her name, he thought he heard a flame crackle to life, somewhere far away.

all endings

King Caleix issued his formal apology on the same makeshift stage on the Sixth of Aries. It was on that day that he gave his crown to Shirion, announcing the return of the new king and two princes. Zethis could barely stand to remain onstage, shifting his weight from foot to foot every five seconds, but Ketaraï¿½perhaps aided by the crutch of a dragon at his sideï¿½took in the attention with a brilliant smile that had as many women sighing as ever.

It was on that same day that the Crusader announced, before the entire congregation at Henesys Square, his only order as the reigning monarch of Victoria Island: that Akera be commemorated in the form of a monument, to be placed that very square, as a reminder of her bravery and its triumph over the evils that the square used to symbolise. Then he ceded his power to the four Job Masters, who would rule their respective municipalities, in the loosest sense of the word, while a more permanent leadership solution was being arrived at.

The statue of the Akera was sculpted and erected two months from the day, right at the centre of bloodied Henesys Square. She was not depicted in one of her famous raging moodsï¿½but as a saint, a child, serene as a breeze in castle halls, her gown swirling around her the way it had as she had risen towards the stars. Eventually the Henesys citizens decided the square was too dank and dirty, and that it should match the statue. They paved it with cobblestones and refurbished the stalls around it so she should look more at home in the backdrop.

The castle ruins were demolished in a symbolic act of rejection of the old regime, but Athena Pierce, in her capacity as a friend of Ralinn and Shirion, had a mansion built in its place. "In commemoration of your contributions," she said, "and in anticipation of your future wedding."

Everyone went home, for home is the first place one goes at the end of war. Clynine's parents took her home, offering to take Zethis and Lanorï¿½ with her. But Zethis had his family business to attend to, and Lanorï¿½ had hers, so only Lanorï¿½ followed the little family to the renovated Ellinia Station, where they parted waysï¿½she on a ship to El Nath, they towards Mu Lung.

Lanorï¿½ was delighted to find her parents' shoemaking business running well, if not flourishing. They weren't home that evening, but she found them at their favourite seafood restaurant, digging into a pot of marinated seal meat. They turned at the sight of their daughter, and they dropped their forks, forgetting dinnerï¿½forgetting to breathe for moments.

As for Zethis' "family business", the White Knight had the housewarming party to attend at the Victoria Mansion where his brothersï¿½brothers!ï¿½were already claiming rooms. Their father had left on his pilgrimage through Ossyria before the house had been completed, but they took care to save a room for himï¿½a grand room overlooking the Great Forest, big enough for two.

Before then, though, Zethis put a public message in the newspapers for the kindly man who had cared for him half his life. A day later, he found himself at the gate of the old farmhouse in the Henesys outskirts, standing amid the chirping of crickets and the rustling of half-dead crops. The gate was ajar, and the front door came open when the rusty doorknob fell out, so he snuck inside and waited three days, boiling his own water and cooking his own meals. The pot handles were smaller than he remembered them.

The three days ended with a knock on the door, and a middle-aged man, suddenly so muscled, so haggard, once-cropped hair falling in straggly strands to his shoulders, entered, and was seized by joy.

"Zethis," he gasped, eyes changing the way they always did when shock overcame him. Their warm embrace shrank the years to seconds. "You're back, Zethis, I thought you were gone for goodï¿½"

"I always meant to return!" he replied. "After the war, after everything. I always wanted to."

"I'm sorry, Zethis, I became a guard because they made life too hardï¿½I took the easy route, I did terrible things, you wouldn't be proud of me..."

"Don't say that," answered Zethis, letting his father go. "I'll always be proud of you. Prouder than I am of my actual father, for sure!"

Zethis pulled a chair for his foster father, and waited for the old man to sit before seating himself. Amidst the passing of jokes and stories, they sat down to have the lunch they'd waited seven years to have.

Fields grew and sank as winter came again; soil was tilled and seeds were sown, and when an old school in Henesys was reopened the first thing they did was plant the cherry blossoms anew. Kerning was rebuilt slowly, by the thieves who had destroyed it, the Dark Lord directing construction efforts. Needless to say, it grew out just as orderly as before. Dances with Balrog returned to Perion with his tribe of eight, and within two years, a score of new members had joinedï¿½or been born.

New chapters were added to history books, new editions published. Hundreds of postwar books made their appearance, biographies and accounts and fictionsï¿½of Orion's Belt and the heroes they had brought. And Nightfall, the wronged of Henesys, rising to claim what they had lost under the banner of Pelinor with a heart like the sun, and under Hyrien with a voice like the moon. And the Job Masters, flung aside, only to rise as bright as before. And Esharo the hero, and Ethiel, and Reborn, and the people of Henesys, and scattered people in remote parts of Ossyria who'd had a hand in the fight, however small.

Victoria Island was beginning to look like the place it had been before.

Shirion and Ralinn were first to be married, two summers later; they were united on an island at Orbis in wreaths and furs, with all the fairies there to bless them, the sound and light of the Goddess so close it was hard to imagine anything but fortune for them.

Lanorï¿½ resumed her tutelage of Clynine, and together they developed a new means of transmitting messagesï¿½spells, by drawing dancing shapes and tales in light and ice and lightning. It was never the same as speaking, but magic held far more than gestures couldï¿½nuances and temperatures, that almost imitated the tones and lilts of speech. Eventually Hyrien opted to start travelling with them, and together they trekked through the far reaches of Mu Lung and into the lost cities of the Sahel desert. They only returned one day a year later when a letter from Zethis summoned them back for Ketara and Telida's engagement party.

Turino slowly lost his magic in his grief, for the fire brought the memory of Akera. He became an artisan at the Henesys marketplace, backed by full funding from the Cyrahel family treasury (that was, Caleix's) but money was not his motivationï¿½only a neverending search, for an elusive peace that he found little fragments of in the love of his craft, and his sister. Some days he spent sitting at the foot of Akera's monument, making brushes and carving trinkets, revelling in the warmth of knowing her memory lived, so that, momentarily, it overcame the grief of knowing she was gone.

Raydan's parents, members of Reborn till then, called their sonï¿½and Yuniraï¿½to live with them in their new Kerning townhouse (courtesy of the Cyrahel family treasury, once again). Kerning society grew out fast and wild as weeds, and now with heroes and heroines to its creditï¿½Ralinn, Cirid, Ethiel, the Dark Lordï¿½they felt a spark of pride for the city they had once despised with a passion.

The Ethiel thieves found a little corner of the city, a little ruin on the suburbs overgrown with shrubs and overhanging trees, where Dalran remained as busy a cook as ever, and Lawrence took to obsessive reading, and Pan caved to teasing and confessed to Erin who accepted him with even more embarrassment. It was where the new thieves came to learn from unrecognised masters, given the secret address by a network of friends who pretended to be enemies.

justice and mercy

"It is with great joy that I call this meeting today, for the ordainment of two new deities from the pool of souls."

From the day she was located by messengers in the Forgotten Passage, she was adamant about her friend joining her in this vocationï¿½and while the Goddess didn't usually entertain petitions, half the amphitheatre had watched her all eighteen years of her life, and her ratings were climbing even now, so there was no way it could have been avoided. Now the deities sat, discussing river maintenance and ocean tides and sculpting snowflakes, impatient for the announcements to go on.

"I have with me two very special souls who will, for their lifetime achievements, be raised to deityhood, to occupy a pair of seats that were, till now, nonexistent."

Then the light rose from the theatre stage like countless rippling curtains, revealing the two ghosts who stood waiting, wearing gowns of entirely different make. On the left, a white-haired woman, gown trailing in swirls like clouds at mountaintops, laden with clear crystals as bright as raindrops, a shawl of mist and dew drifting like a nebulous halo about her. And on the right, a lady with striking purple hair and a dress as dark as midnight, flaring outward like the petals of a mountain flower at the skirt and sleeves, hair ascending in a complex style of loops and knots. She stood on black boots that shimmered with stars, long strips of night wrapped around her ankles and shins. Beside her stood a majestic mare with a sleek black coat and scaly dragon's wings, every hair combed to perfection by the sprites who sat tittering in the stands.

The God of Records whirling in a cloud of threads and inky letters, glowing eyes taking in the crowd. "I would like to introduce both souls before they are christened. The first was a mortal ghost; her worldly name was Akera, and she died while handling of the Spear of Heaven in her battle against the Spirit of the Dark. She lived a life of unbridled suffering, and repeatedly resisted the temptation to die at her own hand, or to harm another. She chose, in her dying moments, to defend the world that had caused her this suffering. The Council of the Deities finds this grand and admirable.

"The second is the ghosts of a demigoddess destroyed; her name was Deina, and she died doing her duty, defending her tower for fourteen millennia alone, from the beginning of the world up till the day the Shard of the Goddess' Blood was taken and her world destroyed, her alongside. The older gods attempted to forget her out of convenience, but the Council of the Deities have ruled such treatment undeserved and unfair. Her loyalty will not go unrewarded."

Chatter and applause rose, the sound of rain and chimes. Amid it, the God of Records turned to face the pair.

"Akera, you will henceforth be known to the Council and the world as the Lady of Mercy. By the Will of the Dragon we vest in you the power to grant reprieve to those on whom law has become unfairly cruel, to absolve of sin those who have paid more than their due, and to relieve of suffering those who have suffered beyond their time. This should be governed by guidelines that you will draft with the Council.

"And Deina, you will be known to the Council and the world as the Lady of Justice. By the Will of the Goddess, we vest in you the power to award to the wronged what is deserved, to enforce law where it has been neglected, and to reward or punish rightfully where no law has been lain down. This should be governed by guidelines that you will draft with the Council. May this repay your sufferings during your lifetimes."

"Thank you," answered the Lady of Mercy. Justice stayed silent and bowed.

The guidelines were drafted and the vesting was completed, there at the hands of the Goddess, beneath the claws of the Dragon.

The Lady of Mercy's first deed in her new seat was to seek the friends she had known in her life. Moving through unlocked doorways, she found them deep in the night, Ketara and Telida fast asleep curled around each other, Clynine in a sleeping bag out beneath the Leafre canopy, Turino among the branches, inseparable from the blinding night sky. And Ketara, whom Time had not spared, was finally spared by Mercy, and Clynine for her heroism was finally given reprieve, and Turino woke from dreamless sleep to find a blazing white feather on his lap. A firebird's feather, the colour of snow and stars.

It was five years after his departure that Caleix came stumbling wearily to the edge of Orbis' last garden, years of books weighing in his haversack, when a white figure rose from the swirling snow, humming wordlessly.

"Who are you?" he whispered, arms dropping to his sides, knees threatening to buckle in her divine glow.

"Mercy," she replied.

And she lifted his mirror from his pocket, swallowing it in light and shattering it in her hands.

Caleix gaped, reaching a hand into the light, but only bright fragments whispered between his fingers, slitting red lines through his skin. He breathed, the snow whirling through the light so they were one and the same.

Then the light was no moreï¿½and in its place cowered a shivering figure, her eyes blank and bright in the cold, tears tumbling into the snow.

"Ceraminaï¿½Eleiraï¿½" he shouted, catching her trembling figure by the shoulders, pulling his cloak off and wrapping her in it, and pulling her close, so close, so that there was nothing in the world but her warmth, and no one but she. Nothing else. A single point of warmth in a world of snow and ice.

Ceramina was crying, weeping hot tears into his shoulder. "Celdan," she said raspily, "Celdan, was it a dream?"

"Yes, my dearest, yes, it was." The cherry blossoms fluttered. The windows gleamed. Their sons were sleeping and the stars shone on their closed eyelids. "Just a long and frightful dream."

The Dragon smiled down, listening to the new songs as they caught like fire on the late spring air, breaking free of His measured melody, sending up trills and glissandos of their own.

Coincidence it was that began this tale, but it was not coincidence that ended it. Not a moment in time, but millions of lives crossing, weaving wilfully with and into each other, like rivers and talesï¿½sweating and bleeding, clawing through the earth to the light. Not orchestrated but organic. A scattering of sparks, sprouting out in willful design, as if seeking beauty by itself. It was this for which the gods envied humanity.