#heroicretreat

[nextwarden]

A Hero’s Retirement

On the night that was set to be their ultimate encounter, the Hero and the Demon Empress have died. Or have they? Now they are roommates. A quiet life at the ends of the world, in an old house by the sea.

---

New Dog, Old Tricks

Echoes

Pride

Who Goes There?

Second Coming

Evil

First First

Old Friend

A Weapon of Choice

Crushed

Heirloom

First Come, First Served

Angel

Age of the Sun

Still We Have Faces

Brungen the guard

A Million Years Before

more...?

---

Whatever else I write if you’re interested.

[nextwarden]

Still We Have Faces

Amenor had been leaning against the balustrade for a while now, eyes set on the stars and the night sky. A soft and warm wind was floating around yet she could feel the bumps forming on her skin. An almost imperceptible shiver ran down her spine. Perhaps it was time to put something over her dress. Summer was there to stay but nights still got chilly near the sea. Yet the atmosphere was so relaxing, the sound of the waves and distant seagulls, the thousand fireflies high up in the celestial, and the smell of home. She had felt it for a while now, it had crept slowly into her mind and before she'd been able to do anything against it - not that she really wanted anyway - she'd felt right where she was supposed to be. That was precisely the reason she was in that spot at that moment, lost in her thoughts. So much so that she had not heard his footsteps and only realized he was there when he dropped a layer of soft warmth on her shoulders.

"I thought you might be cold."

Of course he'd noticed, she smiled.

"Thank you."

He nodded and leaned beside her, eyes to the sea. He'd just finished putting away the dishes apparently, she could smell the flowery scent of soap from him. Why he did it manually she didn't quite understand, a quick spell and everything would be in order. Yet he insisted, the manual task calmed his mind, apparently. It wasn't that she didn't understand, she had the same thing with the garden, simply magicking everything into shape was far less rewarding after all. But why those boring and menial tasks too? He even went as far as to materialise his ice arm 'to have a better handle on the fragile things', however, so go figure…  In truth, now that she thought about it, they had not used - or abused - their powers that much since they'd moved in. If by powers one didn't count their augmented strength, heightened senses, or anything that pertained to their innately passive abilities. And abused, the efficient use of them made purely to oust trespassers. They'd mostly done everything by hand at a rather normal pace. And it did feel nice. Perhaps too nice? An unease had grown in the back of her mind recently and she couldn't quite put her finger on why exactly.

"Is everything okay?", she heard him ask, his voice ever gentle.

He did notice. Both a curse and a blessing.

"I'm not sure. I'm thinking about it…"

"Hmm."

A non-reply, as was his habit. He inquired and listened but did not pressure, she appreciated that about him.

"A drink?"

Only then did she notice the two glass bottles he'd brought with him, filled with soft alcohol, some sort of beer she surmised.

"Gladly."

They stayed silent for a while, enjoying the atmosphere and the privacy of their own thoughts. She got the impression he was tense, but maybe she was projecting. She'd have to out with it at some point, keeping it to herself was not a solution and worrying indefinitely would make him worry in turn. Curse! She felt like a child, a weak child whose emotions and fears ran amok until her parents would come to calm her down. Honesty, right. Talking about it was not being weak, and he deserved to know.

"Hey," she was unsure how to open.

"Yes?", he turned to her, his gaze steady and calm.

He knew she wanted to talk and in his infinite patience he gave her the time to collect her thoughts. She'd have kissed him then and there, had she not decided to have a serious conversation.

"I'm not quite sure how I feel about it yet, I don't even know if these are the words I'm trying for, but… I feel like something's missing."

He looked up and studied her for a while, his face calm. She saw the small smile perk his lips before he spoke.

"Like a sock, or like a part of you?"

"Like a part of me."

She smiled too, although weakly.

"Hmm."

"I know that no one is waiting for me back… there." She almost said 'home'; home was here now and she knew it, she felt it. Still, she couldn't help miss that part of her she'd said she'd cast away. "No one would welcome me with open arms even if I went back. I don't even know if I'd want anyone to… Still, I think I miss it.."

"Well the undergrowth is your realm after all."

It was, in many more ways than one. It had been her first home, the place where so many memories had been forged, her territory once she'd ascended to her role of Empress, and she couldn't deny the beauty she found in the strange and often eerie landscape.

"Would you want to go back?"

Her chest tightened at the question. Not because it was frank and direct, but because of the honesty with which he had asked. He wished to know and to help her know, as simple as that, nothing more. Or, perhaps, if he did have any ulterior motive, it was to help her.

"I… I'm unsure. I think I would but not definitively. I've found a new home since, and I quite like it here."

He smiled.

"What about you? Do you miss your world?"

She'd seen the wistful gaze before, fond and melancholic.

"You know I do. That's how things work once you lose them."

How true that was... He continued.

"I've always missed it a bit, though less in the beginning. Everything was so shiny and new here, it blinded me. But over time, as I got used to it, I realized that maybe I did miss those things I'd taken for granted before. Modern bathrooms, the internet, everything technology had to offer… Magic can do a lot, but not everything. And if something has not been discovered or invented here yet, its absence is noticeable. At least to me." He paused for a moment, his eyes delving into hers with immense care. "I learned to come to peace with it, though. It took some time and some work on myself. It doesn't mean I don't miss it, I just know that it's no use dwelling too much on it since it won't make it come back. Like a loved one when gone, you have to make it part of you so as to not forget but also so that you can move on. With, not without."

She could hear Vaud's breathing inside the house, the large dog must have fallen asleep near the fireplace after wolfing down its food. It seemed to have become its preferred spot for resting, whether it was lit or not, for its pleasant warmth in the winter and the refreshing coolness of the stones in the summer.

"Sometimes I do think about it, though," Lug continued. "All those unfinished things left behind… It's not like I had a lot of people who cared about me, I just regret the little things like books I left hanging, films I hadn't seen yet, music I had not heard, and such. If I could go back, I think I would."

Her heart didn't jump but she felt a needle of cold prick right through.

"It would have to be temporary, though, and on my terms, I wouldn't want to go back for good. Like you said, this is home now. My life is here, with you and Squiggles and Vaud."

She couldn't help a slightly annoyed snort.

"What is it with you and nicknames?"

"What? Squiggles? But it's so cute! And it fits her hair so well. Plus she said she liked it, so..."

Her disapproving head shake seemed neither to convince nor deter him. She knew it was a lost cause but she had a reputation to maintain. 

"Amenor?"

"Hmm?", she tucked back a strand of hair that was floating into her face.

She'd noticed the change in his voice, it was tinged with apprehension, as if he was unsure if he should speak. The silence that followed made her look his way. His eyes were full of many things, admiration, uncertainty, care, amusement, and, somehow, hope. She'd learned to read the variations in their glint over time, it had become one of her greatest weapons when they clashed. Now it made her unsure of herself. What was on his mind for such a storm to brew within them?

"I mean it."

"What exactly?"

His hand was on hers, warm and soft.

"That my life is here, with you."

"I know that. You've told me many times already."

"Well, may I tell you once more?"

The soft clink of the box caught her attention. She must have been distracted by the atmosphere which floated around them, she hadn't even noticed the warmth leave her hand. Now he was holding it in his, a small wooden container, richly carved and covered in purple velvet within. How he'd opened it she could only guess, he'd become quite deft with his remaining fingers as of late. The box contained two small strips of what seemed like simple cloth, beige coloured and covered in complex arrays of runes. She recognized them immediately and her eyes went to his once more. He was looking at her, his gaze steady and open.

"Amenor of Solefarer, heir to what is yours and former Empress over the Shadows, to you I ask this: this night, under the stars of the celestial, with the sea and the winds as witness and the hearth of this home as kingdom, would you take me for what I am as I would you for all you are?"

He had not knelt, nor had he prepared a grand effect. His words, although ceremonious, had remained simple yet full of meaning; they had rung true. This was not entirely a surprise for her, they had spoken of it in the past, broaching the subject jokingly and not quite, but he had always given her the impression of imagining some grand gesture. She, on the other hand, had not had much imagination for it, finding herself lacking in knowledge and experience of such things. Not that she had wanted nothing, she simply had not known how one would go about this. Yet now that it was upon her, now that he had proposed, she found it fitting and found herself unable to regret a thing. Perhaps she would come to it in the future, or perhaps not; they would have time to improve upon it if necessary. Now was as perfect as she would have wanted it any other way.

"I, Amenor of Solefarer," she used only her name; as fitting were any other of the titles attached to it, it felt more true to who she was now, "would gladly take you, Lug the Brave, Hero of the Dawn and vanguard of the Alliance, for all that you are as you would for what I am. Under the stars of the celestial with the sea for witness and until the hearth of this home goes ever cold."

Their eyes met and, for a while, it was all there was. Warmth and familiarity, a delightful certainty. Then, carefully placing the box atop the balustrade, he took one of the pieces of cloth and with the most gentle of touch he wrapped around the long finger she offered him. It was his turn to offer his hand, not the right one of course - or rather the right one, for that matter - but alternatives were scarce. She placed the cloth around his finger and wrapped it carefully. As she looked into his eyes again the moment seemed to stretch. That day had been unremarkable and so was that night, yet she could feel the world around in all its glory. His smile grew as their fingers interlaced.

"From now on until the hearth of this home grows ever cold."

She repeated the words that were meant to seal the commitment they had just chosen to make.

"From now on until the hearth of this home grows ever cold."

His voice was soft yet full of meaning meant only for her. The two strips of cloth began to glow as they spoke and soon turned into two full-fledged bands. One bronze-colored with patterns engraved in thin blue lines around its circumference, the other of a darker colour, resembling obsidian, and encrusted with thin golden carving. The seals had been made to work so long ago by old elven magi, once the vows had been exchanged the ritual would be considered as accomplished and they would take physical form. What form exactly depended on the desires of the bearer. Whether a ring, a necklace, an earring or any other piece that was willed by the bearer, it would become. They had both wanted rings yet the complementary nature of the result was astounding. Time seemed to slow down to a standstill yet again before a warm breeze washed over them. She felt the gentle tug and stepped forward, their hands parting to let their arms lock around each other. She did not close her eyes when his palm came to rest on her cheek, waiting until their lips touched to let herself fully enjoy the moment. It lasted a long time, long enough for his arm to wrap around her waist. She was almost half a head taller yet at that moment she felt a perfect fit, any feeling of vulnerability one might have expected washed away in the exhilarating intensity of the kiss. It wasn't the first and would certainly not be the last, yet it felt like it was.

…

"Mom? Dad?"

Sinojd's smaller frame came into view. She was wrapped in her blanket and her eyes were drooping with sleep along with her ears.

"Yes dear?", she heard him reply with a smile, his arm still warmly wrapped around her.

"Can we go pick flowers tomorrow?"

They looked at each other; it was rare enough for her to ask for something, but flower picking? That was a first. They knew she'd greatly enjoyed helping around the garden but never had she done that, always preferring to care for them as they were. Moreover if she'd asked to do it with them, it meant not in the garden. It wasn't like they had anything to do of importance the next day.

"Of course," it was Amenor's turn to reply.

"Thank…"

The girl had gone for a hug but hadn't even managed to finish either her gesture or her sentence, falling asleep against both of them in an instant. She looked at him and saw he was looking at her. Suddenly the same smile bloomed on both their lips. They'd promised, that was all.

—

PREVIOUSLY | NEXTLY

A Hero’s Retirement

[nextwarden]

First First

Worst thing is, it doesn't hurt. If it hurt he would be able to find his way through the pain and think about this rationally. He'd be able to get angry, to lash out. But it doesn't. It's just… unnerving, like the mild inconvenience a wet leaf stuck under your heel would be, when he'd expected more like a bed of burning white thorns slowly piercing his flesh. It's over almost as quickly as it started. One second he's in broad daylight, in the bustling center of the city, the next he's in a large, dimly lit, damp room of unknown proportions. They're watching him, murmuring secrets in hushed undertones. They wear robes, grey, white, black, some have their hood up, others not. One of them, an unhooded woman with fiery red hair walks up to him. That's when he realizes he's naked, naked and missing all of his possessions. Unarmed too. A shiver runs through his spine. Not that they're threatening, the look in her eyes is more one of skeptical wonder than of a desire to hurt. Then she speaks. Her voice is strong and clear but he cannot understand a word she says. The tongue resembles something akin to german, or perhaps russian? He can't really say, it's not one he speaks. It's simultaneously raspy and soft, the words are long, and he gets absolutely none of it other than the intent behind the questioning tone. Yet, somewhere in the back of his mind, the strange realisation that with enough practice he could pick it up somehow hits him.

She must see the focus lines on his face because she frowns too, so do the others - those without hoods at least. Half have sat down, mainly those clad in white, the others are assisting them or have run off to fetch things. He can hear them whisper again, but it's too low for him to catch anything. Would he even understand? He tries to speak. It doesn't work, his throat is itchy and burning, as if he'd swallowed a whole bottle of acid with needles. He coughs a bit, almost retches, and the redhead leans toward him. He tries to cover himself as best as he can but the look in her eyes tells him there's no real need for that. With a quick and practiced move of her wrist and a single word, one of the black clad men brings a coat and gently places it on his shoulders. The shivers die down a bit but he still feels weak and woozy, and he gets the feeling it's not simply because of the low temperature of the room.

Torches are lit along the moist stone walls, some furniture is visible here and there, but mostly the room is filled with shadowy space and columns. Engravings everywhere, on the columns, on the ground - he notices he's laying in the middle of some sort of runic circle, somehow burnt into the stone floor. A man enters the room and seems to address them all. They straighten and nod, most of them leave, to go do what is a good question. The woman places a hand on his shoulder, he feels her grip firm but gentle. He turns to look at her and she speaks once more, her words flow like oil on a slanted sheet of metal through one ear and out the other. He tries to make her understand he doesn't comprehend a word but with what feels like a burnt throat it's not easy. She gets the message somehow, or perhaps she already got it but had to get things out anyway, perhaps the message was in her tone? It wasn't aggressive or threatening, so that's at least one piece of good news… Then she points at herself, placing her palm on her chest.

"Voïenssa."

That's how he'd spell it if he had to take a fucking guess. But he doesn't have the mind for it at the moment, so he just keeps it in the back of his mind. It must be her name, or at least a way to refer to her. She does the same thing a second time.

"Voïenssa."

This time she pats her chest, it wobbles and echoes with a soft thud. Then she offers her palm to him, open and inviting. Either he's supposed to grip it, or she wants to know his. Not feeling up to moving in anyway he chooses to go with his name. In his elation he must have forgotten about the state of his throat and/or, mostly 'and' though, not have realized the shape his body was in. The cold inside his stomach, the shivers, the world that keeps wobbling in front of him. He feels the cramp far too late and only has the time to push her back far enough for the burnt liquid to spill from his guts all over the floor and not over her coat or her shoes. Good job, mate! You managed to miss both, what a hero you are… Is all he managed to think before he falls over, only narrowly avoiding falling face first into his own vomit thanks to trembling arms he threw to the ground.

Ah. There it is. The pain of the aftermath brings his mind into overdrive and clears everything else away, allowing him to think properly for the first time since the light struck him. A place that is not the street in broad daylight, strange people in strange clothes, chanting and runes, a language he swears he's never heard before, and a deeply foreboding feeling that everything has just gone to shit. Oh he's heard stories about this before, read most of them too! Yep, that must be it! Just his luck, he's somehow been isekaied.

---

PREVIOUSLY | NEXTLY

A Hero’s Retirement

[nextwarden]

Age of the Sun

He was of the Sun. Literally. They'd eventually explained what that meant. His powers came from many things: his will, his control over his aura, the world around him, but, fundamentally, they were powers of light, powers of the Sun. Of course that didn't define his abilities, it simply categorized them along the axis of the Wills. He answered to the will of the World, and the World was of light, which in turn gave him strength. It felt weird at first, his affinity was entirely other, after all, something removed from light as he imaged it. Fire would have been more appropriate, in all its blazing glory, warming the souls of those around him and showing them the way by reducing enemies to scattering ashes. But he was of cold and clear, of calm and steady, of that which melted under the power of the beams of sunlight that invariably rose after every night. Ice was fluid, much like fire but differently. Where fire was volatile and explosive, ice was slow and patient, running slower yet than water itself, and keeping etched in its eons old memory all the woes around. It calculated and creeped on you soundlessly and once you noticed it it was too late, in a crack it would have you numb and ready to sink into a long slumber. How it could have been of light he did not grasp for a long time. Only when the Axes were revealed, truly revealed, not simply explained, but revealed to him in a vision during one of the longest fights yet in the middle of a heavy winter night, only then had he understood. Axes were alignment dependent on the divinities they belonged to, they had sway over one'sactions and heart but no true thing to say on the matter, at least not forcefully. As he'd seen in Serom and Simin, the mistresses of poisons and venoms, as he'd seen in Vanesh, keeper of shadow puppets and occasional wielder of the somber arts, the appearance of one's power didn't determine one's worth.

Then there had been the matter of his name, bound to him during the second ceremony to confirm his identity. An old word associated with many meanings and layers - which was quite quite ironic as in it designated light in its most primal form, that which hone upon the world to show in its truest form. A bearer of light, of truth, of virtue and righteousness. They'd made him to be that. Not that he wasn't interested in fairness and doing the right thing, he'd gone that far to follow up on his beliefs after all; he'd never asked for it however, never really wanted it. He'd taken on that role partially by sheer curiosity, partly in boredom, maybe even a little bit to surrender some sort of wild hope?

It had taken him time to truly understand what it meant to be of the light. That night in the ancient woods, engulfed in hail and snow with no true grasp on either direction or orientation, and a band of fellow soldiers trying their best to simply stay alive until the morn to come. He'd never actually quite believed in the power night held over human hearts, nor the surprising depth of the meaning of "longest night" before. It wasn't a casual burden or one of the usual hardships to overcome, there was a nameless terror in a cold, starless night which never seemed to plan on ending. He found himself at the foot of a wall of dark snow, literally as much as figuratively, how to get out of that situation? How to believe? In himself and in others?

…

Despair had been creeping upon him all night, deeper and deeper as it went. Waiting and waiting, not quite hoping anymore, for the sun to shine its first light on the desolate snowy decor. The harsh wind and dark night had not stopped eroding his patience and his will. His companions were in a similar condition if not worse. Little time, little hope. How he missed the sweet days of the Capital, the scent of flowers in the spring and the heat of bread in his hand. That was when he understood, when, somehow, in the midst of the tempest, within and without, being of the Sun bordered over the precipice of logic and began to make sense to him. Hoping was one thing but believing was the step he had to take. Belief in himself and the  worth of his mission, the strength of his comrades and their bond, belief that after night would come day again and a new beginning. Belief could lead to foolish actions and visions of the world, but if mastered right, it could also open new doors. If one could believe, then one would know, and knowledge was power. Perhaps he was not the hero of this story, but he could help write it.

He'd felt it long before the first rays of the sun pierced the deep blackness. Within him. It stirred, slow and steady, weightless yet sluggish, as if asleep for too long. It roused and shook, shivered and yawned, before spreading all over. He was One. With himself and with others, with purpose and with power, with strength yet no desire to take, only to give. Communion, he had realized later. A feeling akin to a little death, some had said, giving up what one was to become part of more, becoming less to become more. It was strange, he realized, yet it had always been, he realized too. On days of sun he would feel good, and on grey days he would feel faint, rain would give him peace while the Sun would warm his soul. A cycle had been long growing within it, repeating each day and each night. It was not all, however, he'd learned to see what before was hidden, to see the Will and the Sun here nothing had been before, where too few or too faint, where others looked not long enough.

He saw flickers of light, somewhere between halos, fireflies and flares, it rarely surrounded, more often than not simply dancing lightly around. Always shimmering, faintly one beat, bright the other, growing and receding, coming and going. That was the Will, yet it was no order, it was a path, many paths, offered most generously to any who would borrow them. Yet it was never so brighter than when he laid eyes on them. They hued in golds and honey and sand, melting into every colour conceivable as the day went by, and found he could not look away. Enveloping their whole figure, as if walking out of the light itself. He could never put the words on what exactly it was he saw - or felt, yet he knew. He felt, so he knew. It wasn't truth. Truth was absolute. It was verity, his own voice and his own path, his to choose, and, by god, he chose it.

***

"As the ashes of morning settle and night is cast back into the shadows, a new champion rises, my friends! Listen to the Will of the World as it sings the hope reborn and rejoice for the age of Light is upon us once more! May his name be honoured by all and may his blade cut true, Vytus Yggdrasil. Freedom in blood and peace in light!"

The archpriest of the holy Order of the Storm had addressed the crowd in such words, fervour in his demeanor and absolute belief in his words. Such began a new cycle of hope and reclaiming, he had assured, the darkness would be quelled again, fought back to the confines of the lands and they would prevail. The ceremony on the whole had been coated in such tones, that of destiny and inevitability. After all, a new Hero had appeared and made themselves known both to the Alliance and to their enemies by shining brilliantly on the battlefield and pushing back against the oppression of the Ashen Legions. A new dawn to the night.

Born to unknown parents, orphaned since his youngest age, Vytus had never expected in his wildest dreams to become entwined with the Will of the World. His own path had always been to be by Zema's side. The proud knight and protector of the soul with the ever wilting flowers in their hair and freckles on their arms, the one who had shared everything with them since the fragile child had learned to dance under the rain, falling prey to cold fevers each time they repeated the feat yet unrelenting in their desire for Vytus to accompany them outside when the skies darkened. The one who shared still, now a grown adult still sporting flowers in their flowing sunset mane - still wilting, although they did tend to last longer -, with a smile far stronger than their body had become and an undying desire to dance to the world's beautiful symphony whenever. Their soul had not dimmed despite skin now covered in galaxies of tears and cuts, earned with pride over the years. The fight had been harrowing and he knew that had Zema not been there, he'd never have managed to come so far. Yet he'd always believe it would be them who would rise to fame, with their innate talent for natural magic, a rare and precious gift of the Will if the witch which had confirmed this during their first ceremony had spoken true. Zema had the aura, the talent and the ability to make it shine, and he was ready to follow, protect and support wherever they wished to go. Yet, despite it all, he had revealed himself as the next chosen.

It had happened a cold winter night, as the stars shone dim in the sky and their expedition had faltered in the crossing of the Perynos, the mountains separating the northern arm of the continent from the rest. They had been seeking an old relic and the guidance of ancient spirits in an abandoned forest when a pack of direfoxes had apparently taken a liking to their scent. Sent running into the deeps of the woods they'd managed to find shelter in a small grotto. Six they were, Zema and him, Michael of the order of the Storm, Kal, a travelling musician they had met a few weeks prior and who had insisted on accompanying them, and two of the local lord's men who served as guides as best as they could.

…

"Much like the Hero of the past, as legend says."

The quiet discussion between the two soldiers had caught his ear and he had listened. They'd partly turned to include them when they'd noticed.

"He'd gotten lost in such forest too. Almost passed on, but they got saved by his revelation," said the older of the two, bearded with a single spiky line of hair in the center of his head.

His colleague, a more reserved lad spoke in turn.

"A shining beacon from within, legend says. Not dissimilar to what you've described. I can't see it but I can feel the warmth of the light within. My bad eye is sensitive and I can feel it, I see the colours unknown," he pointed to his bad eye.

"Torn by a nölger a few years back, he says he can perceive things others can't, since."

The spike-haired proceeded to mime a mauling.

"I can too!"

"Yeah, yeah, I believe," the other scoffed gently, "but it does resemble that of the previous Hero. They say it was in a forest like this, not this one but a sister, another part of the ancient  that once covered the whole of the lands, further to the east."

"I…", he hadn't quite known what to say.

In truth he had felt the surge of power within him, as if a potential had revealed itself behind a now open door. A new path that would lead him to something more. He couldn't quite grasp it still, he couldn't even be sure it was what it meant.

"I cannot say if it is such, I mean, it would be hard to believe that for myself…"

Their eyes had been true and so had been Zema's. Michael and Kal had been more reserved and curious, but Zema had believed from the moment they'd felt his aura surge and coil. They'd always been the more sensitive of the two, alway the one to see beyond, and so they had known. It had taken him a few more weeks to truly begin to believe, but Vytus had had to resign himself to the surprising truth: he had awakened in himself the mark of the Hero. Not by power or worthiness, more as a response to a need, or perhaps a want. He'd known what it had meant, perhaps that was why he'd been so reluctant to accept the change… For change it was, a change of destiny, of fate, and, more unnervingly, of himself. His greatest fear had not come to pass, however, as Zema had remained by his side all the way and he'd remained by theirs, each acting as the other's sword and shield when needed, each other's pillar, each other's rock. They were two but they were one, in a much deeper sense than anyone else might have agreed to believe, deeper than the lords and their sons and daughters of marrying age had been inclined to hear, deeper than the teachers and wisemen and trainers had chosen to accept at first. Still they had all seen in the end - had they not, he had made them see - that one without the other would not do, they were them or they were not at all. The mark of a true hero, a strange dwarven woman has chuckled in such a meeting they had had to live through many variations of, a strange almost knowing glint in her eye.

…

They'd risen and fought. He had had to learn the way of the sword, which had come quite surprisingly naturally to him, flowing along his liquid aura in almost perfect and instantaneous synchronicity. It complemented well with Zema's more reserved yet unyielding shieldborn tactics. And, as times passed, supported efficiently by Michael's all-rounding aura and Kal's strange ways with curses and illusions. They'd made their way to the top, recognition raining on them as all but him had believed he deserved.

He had not truly wanted it, however. Being recognized was good, pleasant too. Offering his abilities for the sake of others had always been his call in life, Zema had been the first recipient of that. No, the problem was the reason he was. Were the reasons for this war truly what they could be? What they should be? He'd learned more as the years had passed, more about himself, about his beliefs and their origins, his imperfect knowledge of the world, of himself and those around him, of what truly mattered and what didn't. An attempt to separate them by a band of local nobles in the hopes of making him their pawn had gone down in the lands history as a very bad decision. Zema was his and he was theirs, not a voice more had a say in that.

…

Perhaps that is what had driven him and, almost immediately so, Zema, to turn away from what they had always been told they were destined to accomplish. They had accomplished much, quelling tensions and fighting in remote regions, finding ways to defend against the Ashen Legions yet also coming to understand where they came from. Such that they had welcomed one of their enemies into their ranks. It had surprised all of them when Michael himself, the vanguard of the Order, had insisted on helping the gravely wounded and abandoned harpie. They'd found the feathered woman torn and bleeding on the side of the road in the aftermath of a long and difficult battle. Sueh-lissa, as they'd eventually learned she was called, had somehow become their companion of travel and of questing, teaching them the ways of the land in ways they had not known existed before and teaching them about the Ashen as much as she learned about them. It had opened new horizons, too many it seemed, as it had also turned questions back into their minds, questions they'd known they had possessed since long before yet had never wanted to actually pull from the depths of their mind and ask. Uncomfortable. They'd asked and found answers, reflected, and eventually decided that seeing things for themselves would actually be of service, insisting on a questing chain away and in travels, pretexting one of the utmost importance, given by oracles in the uncertain smoke of the future.

They'd travelled east and west, north and south, all over, to the deepest reaches and the dangerous lands, crossed over the seas and walked the continent and its myriad of surrounding iles in the hopes of finding a truth which seemed to elude them. It had taken a stop in a small, remote village, a refuge for beasts and halfling Sueh had heard about in passing and a fateful meeting with a soul who had died once and another who had not to gain an inkling of understanding as to what the Will of the World truly represented. They had not been the first. Long ago another had chosen a similar road, armed with a lance and a heart full of love. He too had not been alone, and such had begun the conquest of peace over the land, peace that had endured and stretched for so long, much of what had been forgotten had been recalled...

---

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A Hero’s Retirement

[nextwarden]

Angel

An angel had wings so it could fly. An angel was good and kind. An angel was beautiful and majestic. It brought light to the world, peace to the heart, and calm to the mind. Hallowed in the power it had been given.

She was nothing like an angel. She was strong, she had taken all she could to become so. She was powerful, reaping time and lives akin in order to rise. She was fearless in her spirit of conquest and fearsome in appearance. She was gorgeous of a deathly beauty; tall, with skin of ash and eyes of gold, flowing hair of night and sunset that enraptured the soul; her claws were sharp and her horns solid, many a last breath had flowed upon them. Talons, a strong tail which she often kept wrapped around herself, and large ominous wings completed her hellish appearance. She was proud of it, more than a memento of her family, it was the image of her own ability: not a scratch came to blemish the vision of chilling awe she inspired in others. Not until that moment, at least.

She had never been deeply attached to them yet too late had she realized how integral they were to her being. To her being her. The two ugly and badly scarred studs that served as a reminder that she had once soared the skies in search of prey were but painful reminders of a past long lost.

They'd taken her by surprise, unprepared, unarmed, undefended. Somehow, within the conjunction of events, a miracle had occurred, and their plan had worked.

But they'd not stopped there.

They'd marked her with shame: defanged, declawed, wings torn off, she'd been left there, bleeding and shivering in her pool of tears. Until they'd portaled her and emptiness had come to wrap her in its sweet and silent arms.

And the worst part was that she couldn't blame them. She was furious, a rage burned in her like it had never before,and bitter about such a simple defeat. Yet she understood: they viewed her as she viewed them and she would have neither hesitated to do the same unto them if she had been in their position. Take out the head and the rest falls. Gouge the eyes and cut the tongue so that it may not curse. Burn the ashes and their ashes so that it may not rise again. Scatter them in the wind at the four corners of the known world and vow upon their abandon to the void.

They had taken everything. Her beauty, her power, her freedom. Taken and locked away for eons. And yet, despite the rage sizzling in her blood she bided her time. Such was the way of the world, darkness consumed light and light swallowed darkness, one had to overtake the other, it was inevitable.

But in every light there is a shadow lurking and in every shadow a star burning. That shadow was their fear; perhaps their strongest weapon and yet their flaw too. They had gone far to ensure the Hero's victory would not be undone easily, too far to prevent the shift yet not enough to erase its consequences. They had robbed her of all that made her Empress and cast her away in an abyss out of all, in hopes of delaying the righting of the world. It had worked in a way. When a Lord of Shadow is vanquished, another rises. They had hoped to prevent such an passing for the foreseeable future. And in doing that, they had left her with a possibility, a single hope, one that would carry her through the unending nothing until her return: she had not come undone. What that meant took longer to realize than the fact itself. She was broken yet not undone.

The pain had been her sole companion, unfading for so long she had believed it would remain ad aeternam. It had, in a way. Beyond her return, beyond her subsequent rise and fall, and her second starless night, it had rescinded yet kept throbbing. In her regrown form, claws and fangs, in her horns and tail which they had not touched for she had concealed them, in her wings too, absent as they had remained since that fateful twilight where they had burned in holy light. No more was she to feel the wind in them, the Sun and the Moon dance over the delicate fur; in the hollow of their past glory only the disconcerting echoes of their silence remained, throbbing uncomfortably. She had been once more, but she had not been her own.

Even in her wholehearted abandon to her goal, to her people, to the cause, she had not been able to wash away the stains that had permanently disgraced her, tainting the revered frame, the only thing she had not gained through power or effort, the only present she had ever been given, the only memory which remained of what she had once loved. For she had loved, once. They had been beautiful and kind and so little remained of that in and around her.  So little it almost felt as if nothing remained at all. Her father, her mother, her grandmother, the ever mysterious shadow of her grandfather, all had sunk into the sands of time, only for her to stand alone and needed. In truth, she wanted little of it, she would have wanted none of it if they not still whispered in her ears the pride of her clan, if they not sang in the breeze the destiny she was to reach for.

The pain had been constant, throbbing and ebbing, spreading and blinding. Or perhaps had she done those things to herself to push it back into the deepest recess of her mind, trying to forget it was ever there. It had been there. Driving her to go ever farther, ever stronger, ever better, ever more… Until it had not. For she too needed.

When that shift had happened, she could not exactly say. The fires burning under her skin had been ablaze for so long and had reached such intensity, she had become them. Yet at some point she had found them tamed, lukewarm, unable to burn the hand that had reached into them, offered to her for reasons unknown. She had thought at first that the hand itself had managed that feat on its own, it was strong after all, stronger than she had ever believed - she could see it in the blue of the eyes that came with it - and, to be perfectly honest, had ever hoped. All had been too easy, too smooth, something had to happen and come put a wrench in those projects. Long before she would have seethed and turned the world ablaze at the simple prospect; then, it would have made her furious. Now, however, she had found it had simply been a source of excitement, almost childish, as if an amicable competition, almost.

They had competed, clashed, had taunted and mocked, searched and teased, they had gone from simple coincidence to fated foes and, despite all the shortcomings, the ups and downs, never had backed down from the challenge the other offered. Perhaps it had been a pure spirit of competition, perhaps it had been hate or distaste, but perhaps it had been something else. Something else entirely that had made her willing to go further than before, that had kept her standing when all around her faltered and knelt under the pressure, that had made her see beyond. Beyond herself and that seemingly unattainable goal, beyond duty and beyond commitment, beyond what was expected of her, by others and by herself. It had pushed her to think about the choice, long before she had made it. To ponder why even she was pondering. That hand in the fire, not unburdened yet unburned, opening a path to an unknown, so scary and thrilling. It had not tried to kill the flames, simply basking in them, patiently.

She was nothing like an angel, features of shadow and fear. She was broken, beaten and bloody, and in pain. She had been for so long. She was not undone, the shackles of duty keeping her whole as much as they pulled at her. She was not her own. Yet, perhaps, she could learn to see the stars in the depth of night, perhaps she could put herself back together, perhaps could the pain be truly soothed as the weight of the chains were lifted. Perhaps there was still hope, one she realized far too late she had left behind as an unwanted burden. Perhaps the fire within had burned through all the embers that were left, and it was time to let the rain offer new life to the forest. Perhaps it could be done with him, not by or through but alongside, in kindness and in good. Perhaps beauty was in such things after all, and perhaps such things hid within her. Perhaps still, she had the right to decide and to choose, perhaps it was high time she let the wind ruffle her feathers and the Sun and Moon bathe her open wings…

—

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A Hero’s Retirement

[nextwarden]

Heirloom

The fire had been on them so unexpectedly and had spread so quickly that she hadn't been able to bring anything with her. The Night of Ruby, as she had later learned it was referred to now. She had not seen any jewels that night, she had not seen much. Heard, she had. Felt too. Cries of tens, hundreds, perhaps more voices lost in the dark of the night, wailing in pain and fear, calling each other and cursing the foolish self-proclaimed gods that had decided to purify their land. Much of the story had been filled in through second-hand tellings and reading. Other parts she learned from the mouths of those that were there, but they were rare. Many had perished. Too many. She had been too young to truly know what was going on at the time, yet she remembered pieces and small details, like the depth of the dark once they left the fernik, or the unbearable heat that quickly overtook their house and the aching of the smoke in her throat. She had made a grab for Kuss, but the small paw of the straw puppet had eluded her feeble hand and she had felt herself be carried off into the chaos. She had felt her father's heartbeat against her face, so fast and thundering. She'd heard her mother's instructions, clear and quick, precise as always, yet full of a raw emotion she would not forget nor understand for a long time. He'd kept her face against the felty layer of fur covering his strong upper-body and his hands over her ears all along their discussion. They'd argued for a time, their voices strained and wavering. Then the world had come back to her for a single instant: her ears still sealed, she'd read the words on her mother's gentle lips before they pressed against her forehead. They were cold yet full of an unending love she had not found again until that quiet house on the shore at the ends of the world. What they professed exactly had been lost in time, not even the most feverish of dreams had raised the unknown words from the depth of her mind, yet she knew. It was as clear as day in her mother's eyes, greenish orbs dotted with specks of the warmest brown, she was making a vow, a most sacred vow that even eternal lie would not be able to break. She had known then that it would not break, it could not. The deep sad eyes and the hand on her cheek were the catalyst, the unknown words were the incantation, and the gentle lips on her forehead the seal to this simple yet most everlasting spell. It had not broken.

Before she'd had time to reply, to question the meaning or the purpose of such an act, the world had vanished from her view again and after one ultimate collision of the softest and the warmest kind, the cold had taken them within the dark. Her father was a good runner, one of the best in the whole fernik. He'd been praised for his abilities since his early childhood, always able to run faster, longer and with much more agility than any other. They'd tried to make him a true warrior but despite his best efforts - or what he'd always claimed were his best efforts - he'd never been able to rise enough through the ranks and had been demoted to a simple coursier. Not that he'd been displeased with that, quite the contrary. He'd honed his ability to surpass every other. Mother swore he worked tirelessly, harder than anyone she'd ever seen or known of, and mother never lied. Although he did not become strong like everyone expected of him, he'd become fast. So fast he'd make the journey from their fernik to the furthest one to the south faster, more efficiently than the carriers, and as fast as the riders if not faster.

"They thought they were dishonouring me by saying that, but I found my calling. I may not be as good a fighter as your mother - she's oaken strong, you know! - but no one's faster on their legs than your father."

Then he'd whispered in her ear.

"But you wanna know a secret? It's when I'm running back home to see you and your mother that I'm the fastest!"

He always proudly smiled at that, before frowning playfully.

"Not even the riders have been able to catch up to me then, but of course they don't count that, these bast-"

A well placed smack on the head from mother had prompted a sheepish grin.

"Sorry, language, I know."

She'd seen him run before, but experiencing it that way made the experience ever more so impressive. She could feel the wind push on her back, the distant thundering that had taken over the fernick that had perspired through the dulling hands was fading away. Then sound had come back. Overwhelming in the depth of its silence. She could hear father's breathing and his quick powerful steps on the ground, the whipping of the branches and the bushes against their bodies, but nothing else. No birds, no insects, nothing. The whole of the forest had gone quiet. It never went quiet. The experience was unsettling, scary even. She felt her body fastened against his with strong cloth bindings. It made it a bit hard to breathe but she knew it was necessary. Why they were running away from their home and why so fast she didn't know, but it must have been pretty serious. The Captain never came to bang at their door in the middle of the night, not like this, not when there wasn't a party in the square. And tonight was not a party night, she knew because mother had been home to play games with them, she and father had even read her stories before she'd gone to sleep.

She heard them before she heard the cry. Hooves and voices. How they had caught up she couldn't say. She had later surmised that they must have used some kind of magic, more powerful than her father's, surely unnatural. He was the fastest, faster than the riders, so he had said and so mother had confirmed, and mother never lied. Yet they had caught up and soon something whizzed by her ear, then another, and then the cry. The world turned upside down as her father fell. She didn't smell the blood immediately, only later, when they brought her back. He must've been hit in the leg as he made to get up and run again but stumbled. Another whizzing sound and another cry after a dull thud. He fell on his knees, his breathing laboured and his whole body tense. A second arrow, in the other leg this time. Probably magic too as he had protections against that normally. She'd remembered being told so, years later when learning to engrave. She felt him turn around and quicker than she could blink he detached her and pushed her away in the underbrush, commanding her to keep running in a hushed whisper. She didn't retort, she didn't hesitate. His eyes were deep and serious, the same as mother's. She did not know why but she had to run, he'd given her a very important mission, a mission which she couldn't fail. It was a game they had often played back at the fernick, he'd give her a mission, usually a simple task, and she had to carry it out successfully to prove she was worthy. Worthy of what, he had never said. Perhaps he had never had time to do so as it was usually when mother was not around that they played the game. Mother did not like it because she had come back with a bruised knee once. She had never seen mother so angry with father. It hadn't lasted, she knew they loved each other very much, but the order had been clear: no more missions. At least when mother was there, or so father had whispered with a smile as he'd been taking care of her knee. This time it felt different, however. This time she knew she mustn't fail. Not because father would say she was not worthy - he'd never said so, or because mother would be angry, but because he'd not told her to come back quickly. He'd just told her to run as fast as she could, as far away as she could.

And run she did, until her legs were weak and her lungs were on fire and her bleary eyes were unable to see in front of her as well as they should. She ran and prayed to Opan to make her hold on just a bit longer, to make her feet carry her just a little bit farther. It was useless however as they caught up to her. She couldn't say how much time had passed but it must have been a while longer than she believed because she could feel day breaking in the distance of the treetops. They were yelling things she did not understand and then she felt a searing pain in the back of her head and the world ended.

Actually, the world hadn't quite ended. But her world, the beautiful, loving, and peaceful realm of the wild forest, the world she had known since her first steps and the one that her parents had given their lives to protect had been reduced to ashes and blood. The foul smell permeated everything when she opened her eyes and she couldn't help the tears that welled in her eyes. Once again she hadn't seen anything, but she had heard and smelled and felt. Everything was quiet, too quiet, and cold… She was bound and gagged and her eyes were covered, she couldn't move but she was being moved. Where? She didn't know. The voices were aggressive and savage, full of hatred and anger and destruction. They yelled and tossed her around and cared not for the pain of her world. Neither within or without. There were many smells and sounds she did not know then but recognized later, and it felt so very painful to take it all in that she shut herself from everything and let herself be taken by an unknown and invisible fatigue.

The next time she came to, she was still unable to see or move. She surmised they must have finished what they had come to do as they were now moving. Nothing of the sounds or smells were left but all around was quiet still. For days they travelled, away from her home, then away from the forest and into a hot and dry expanse, before they reached a loud and hard and cold place she would later learn to be a city. At some point they had untied her but she was prevented from escape by the heavy bars that circled her cage. She wasn't alone, she noticed. Others had been taken too, mainly women and children, a few men too, but they were in the worst shape of them all. There was no sign of father or mother. The pain came back at the thought.

The next few years were the hardest and the longest of her life. That reunion with the others from the forest had not lasted long, they had not even had time to talk before they were separated and sent to different corners of the land, far away from each other. She was no exception. Or perhaps she was, time had made her realize that perhaps they were keeping her to sell her to someone who would be able to pay. She was a healthy child, tough yet intelligent, they saw that in her very fast. She had tried to run away on multiple occasions but they'd alway caught her and offered a punishment. Rarely as a simple increase in her chores. She was to bring them food and water, to clean their baths, and to feed the mounts while they moved from city to city. At first they looked at her with disdain and the prospect of profit. Her kind was known to grow into fine individuals among most of the other civilisations - if she was to believe mom and dad, she had. But as the months and years passed by and she began to grow, they changed: envy, desire, lust. She hadn't understood them all at first, time and many nightmares had seared the images in her soul, however, making them as clear as day the first time comprehension had dawned on her. It wasn't that she was slow or stupid, far from it, but she had managed to be kept safe and innocent of any of this before that moment. Again, years of care and love had been needed to begin to come to grip with that reality. The stares had lingered, the smiles had become smoother if not less ugly, and the talks of pushing the auctions back had popped up then and again. It had always been shot down by the big, burly one that seemed to be their chief, however. But infighting sprouted everywhere sins dug their roots and soon the tension was palpable day and night in the group. It took a head and a few hands to calm down the contestarians, and even so it was but for a time. She wasn't the only one in that position, but many were already used goods, in one way or another. She had value and each wanted to take it for themselves. Yet the prospect of a lump sum of money seemed to keep them somewhat at bay.

One night, it must have been on her fifth or sixth birthday since she'd been captured, as they were on the road towards the south east reaches of the continent, they were attacked. By raiders, rivals or others, she couldn't say, but that served as a sufficient distraction for a number of them to escape from the clutches of the group. Many were caught but she'd managed to run. She'd stayed quiet for all those years but not idle: learning from her mistakes, preparing her mind and her body. She was tired, exhausted by more than chores, but ready to run as far and as fast as the wind. And so she ran. Faster and further than ever before. Out of breath, out of energy, out of hope, but desperate to show she was still worthy, she ran and ran and ran some more. Even when her lungs were burning and her legs were weak and her eyes couldn't see she kept running, for she had been growing a power within her. One dad had later said was probably similar to her father. It did not alleviate the pain in the least but it gave her a drive she had only kept dormant for all those years, a primal rage that grew and spread through each of her limbs like vines on trees. The moon went up and down, the sun too, each thrice around, before she collapsed into the trees of the woods she had entered. When she woke up, only silence was there to welcome her, but it was a different kind of silence she had grown accustomed to those few years. It wasn't a bustling silence, dull with activity and cries, neither was it a deafening silence like on that night. No, it was the silence of the trees and the forest, the silence of the wind in the leaves, the silence of running water and chanting birds. It was mother's and father's silence, the good kind of silence, the right kind. Her feet were tired and painful, her stomach roared her hunger to the world, and she knew not where she was nor where she was going. Yet she kept moving, she had to, she had promised.

Once again - and for the last time in her life, she could remember promising on that day - she heard them before the pain came. Padding feet on the ground, somehow soft and harsh at the same time. Then her world turned upside down and ended. Except it didn't. She could feel it growl and breathe and rustle all around her. Then she heard the voices. The ones that were to define what that ended world would become from that day on.

"Vaud, stand down!"

The pressure came off her but the sudden light was too blinding for her to see, tears welled in her eyes.

"What- is that…? It's a child."

"One of yours?"

"What? Oh... No," a chuckle, "I don't think so, look."

"Is she alone?"

"I sense no one else anywhere near…"

Something large and wet suddenly covered her face.

"Vaud, back."

She saw the large black form of the doglike creature back away from her and the two silhouettes that accompanied it come into view. One was tall with skin like ash and deep golden eyes, she noticed that the horns protruding on the person's head were not unlike that of her family, but shorter and straighter, albeit thicker. The man next to her was slightly shorter, his skin was beige and his eyes of a blue more intense than that of the sky, while his hair was the colour of the sun. She'd never seen such strange people as them but somehow all fear was washed away from her when she saw the worry on their faces.

"Are you okay? Are you hurt anywhere?"

The man crouched near her, offering a calm hand which was strangely full of warmth despite her having not yet reached for it.

"I apologize for Vaud, he didn't want to hurt you, he simply doesn't know his strength…"

"That is something we will have to correct, isn't it?", the other said as she looked towards the large dog.

She had no threat in her voice nor in her posture, yet the creature they called Vaud lowered its gaze in a pitifully apologetic posture. The woman simply huffed and turned towards her again, her eyes surprisingly gentle, as her partner spoke again.

"My name is Lug, this is Amenor, and that big dumbdumb over there is Vaud. Are you on your own? What's your name?"

They must have noticed the collar and the cuffs as they exchanged another look. She hesitated, what if… what if they were not… She almost let her tears overwhelm her then and there. She could not be weak, she had to run, she had to live, she couldn't stop, father had given her a mission. But she was tired, and weak, and hungry, and scared, and lost, and alone… The thought hit her harder than it ever had. Alone. They were gone, father, mother, the few others she had seen long ago now, they were gone, all gone. She was alone. Alone and so lost…

"Hey.", the voice cut through the fog that had begun forming around her. "Look at me," he was looking at her, as if he knew what she was thinking, and doing his best to hide the pain in his eyes but failing. "It's okay, we mean no harm. We want to help. We live nearby, just the three of us, in a house near the sea. It's not very big or very great, but it's safe. Do you want to come back with us and warm up? We'll get you something to eat."

She couldn't help but glance at the tall woman behind him. She was so imposing despite not doing anything. She had noticed the swords hanging on her hips yet realized she felt no aggressivity in her posture. Both of them had such a gentle presence, unlike the people of the group she'd been a captive of for so long. The woman's mouth bloomed ever so slightly with a shadow of an inviting smile, and she nodded, as if to confirm what her comrade had just said. She felt herself nod at that, it was weak but they seemed to understand the intent. The man, Lug, he had said, grabbed her hand. It was cool, almost cold, but she somehow felt an unexplainable warmth within the gesture. He helped her stand up.

"Can you walk?"

She nodded but stumbled immediately as she tried to prove she could move on her own. He caught her and immediately went to carry her in his arm, not unlike father had done so many years ago, when she was still small and scared of everything, when her life was still peaceful and full of unexplainable joys, when mother hummed her songs over slices of honey bread. Everything was gone now and only she was left, broken and lost… She felt all strength leave her as a painful shiver numbed her limbs, tears rose in her eyes. She cried on his shoulder for what felt like hours, holding tightly onto the rough yet strangely comforting shirt of the man with cold hands but warm touches. Her undergrown antlers dug lightly into his flesh, he did not seem to mind however. They did not talk for the whole of the trip. Perhaps they communicated through looks or gestures of some kind as they moved in tandem, not hesitating once.

Finally she calmed down enough to look around and couldn't help a gasp. The blue of the sky was all around her, above and below and she couldn't keep her wide eyes off of it. How was that possible? Had she run so far she'd reached the ends of the world? She heard a light chuckle from her right, where the woman was walking.

"Have you never seen the sea before?"

She shook her head, her eyes darting back to the wonders of the land sky. So that was the sea? It was like the heavens had melted and dripped onto the lands. Beautiful…! It seemed she'd said that last part aloud, she heard a chuckle from the woman beside her.

"Well if you want, we can go see it from close up when you've rested," she said, her voice surprisingly rich.

"I-", she hesitated, unsure of what she should say.

Could she still speak? Should she even say anything? She remembered the searing pain of the burns and queasy colours the skin took on afterward. Yet she decided to listen to that voice in her mind, the one that whispered that maybe they wouldn't mind.

"I'd like that…", her voice hoarse after so long, but she was surprised at how clear the words rang.

"Alright then, it's decided."

She saw the smile grow on the woman's lips by pure chance, it wasn't a half-bloom this time. Had she looked away for a second more she would have missed it as she saw her turn her head to the sea too, her features vanishing from her sight. Her heart caught in her throat but it was different from earlier.

"Um", again she hesitated.

"Yes?"

It was the man who spoke this time, the corners of his eyes crinkled in a gentle expression.

"My- my name. It's Sinojd."

…

Over the days and then months and then years that followed that meeting she learned more about the strange trio of inhabitants of the quiet house on the shore at the ends of the world. He was Lug, the Hero, the one destined to save the world from the forces of darkness, and she was Amenor, Empress of Twilight, and the one destined to take over said world and plunge it away from light. They were supposed to be enemies, they were supposed to be at each other's throats and to want to destroy one another. They had adopted Vaud, a hellhound - a supposedly demonic, highly vicious and dangerous creature - a while before. They had made the choice to escape their destiny and live quiet lives together in that old and mysterious house as if the rest of the world did not matter. Perhaps it was because of that, or perhaps it was because she had found in them the warmth she had lost with her parents, but she eventually found herself at home. It had taken time, of course, yet their patience and love had seemed to know no bounds. Slowly but surely she had grown to accept that strange yet wonderful love they had to give, with all the quirks and history that it implied, and her body had grown with it. Becoming more like that of other faonkin. Her fur more pronounced and dense, her legs more powerful. Her antlers, once simple studs on her child's head, had grown to their full majestic size over the years.

Many outrageous things had happened since the day she had met those whom she had taken to call family. They had cared and loved and cherished and trained her to become the woman she had strived to survive and become since the Night of the Ruby and the destruction of her community by western raiders. Many of her brethren had been killed brutally or sold of into slavery, yet over the years, with this strange new family, she had helped all those she could and strived to rebuild that which had once been trampled. Her real family may have been gone but their memory lived on through her. And so had she. Her happiness was her offering to them, memories of songs and hugs and smiles and kisses her incantation, and the pride of her kin, those lush antlers, heirloom of her family, were the catalyst of the spell. It was simple yet quite unbreakable.

—

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A Hero’s Retirement

[nextwarden]

Old Friend

The house was usually quite calm. Silent even. Not that they'd designed it this way, there was no interdiction to speaking or laughing or shouting, neither was there any spell casted to drown out the sound of the tide or the chiming breeze. But the house near the beach was a calm one. It felt as if it had always been, somewhat like a curse. Or a blessing, depending on one's view of the world. The cities he had lived in for so long, in this life and the one before had always been bustling with life. Life was loud and exhilarating, it felt great at first, exciting. Soon it melted into the background, however. One learned to live with shouts and the rumbling of distant machines and carriages on the street, and music in the taverns and the buzzing of the daily all around. It wasn't quite losing something as much as forgetting it. Silence and quiet. He had spent so long chasing after them, attempting to recreate what only the deepest reaches of his mind seemed to vaguely recall. On some nights, rare and precious, those memories came back to him in a flood, when they camped under the stars and he had to distance himself from the fire to relieve himself, or when he found himself in desperate situations, alone against the world during a number of his tribulations. They had always been few and far apart, never fully appreciated due to the constant buzzing of his mind. The cause, the duty, his comrades, the fight, the light of hope… Only when he had come here for the first time had he realized the preciousness of what he had found, the value of the name that house possessed. He had smiled when she had confided that she too had come to understand that meaning. That day it had hit him. He understood that despite never making it clear, despite being to vastly different beings, they had come, together, in no grand gesture but their daily actions, to the same understanding. That which they had found here they had both chosen to protect it. Then, he had been sure. It might have been glaringly apparent to an outsider for years prior to that day, heck! it had been obvious to him too for some time now. Nonetheless, if he had to pinpoint not a time he had known, but a time he had been certain, it would be that day. The day he realized the value of a quiet homelife.

So, yes, the house was quiet. It did not mean it was silent, far from it, yet if any word was suited for it, quiet was. What unnerved him as soon as he set foot inside, however, was that the sound of that silence was not as usual. There was not calm rustling in the flowers that grew beautifully in the garden, no soft humming and not footsteps in the wood. Nothing had changed yet he immediately knew everything was different. It's when the silence finally broke to the sound of soft patting on the floor that he realized the heaviness of it.

"Lug!", came the small voice he almost forgot he was accustomed to, followed by the ragged breathing of Vaud.

The small frame of the girl crashed into him much more softly than he had expected, soon followed by her hairy companion. The large wolfish hound stopped by her side and sat down quietly, his orange eyes trained on Lug's blue, they seemed to convey a feeling of gravity.

"What's wrong, Sinojd?"

He had a feeling already. Rather, he knew. If he was right, however, now was no time to curse at himself and his absence. He had planned on coming back earlier but had been delayed by snow and unfavourable winds. He couldn't feel her presence at all. He had not payed attention to it earlier, too preoccupied by the prospect of coming home after a fortnight away, but the usual warmth imprinted in every inch of the house was nowhere to be felt, only the cool of his own aura poured through every nook and cranny, desperately searching for its companion.

"She's gone. I-"

The young faonkin seemed to hesitate. Her eyes were large and teary, her nose wrinkled and her long ears pressed to her head. Even the growing protrusions which only hinted at the future majesty of the antlers she would one day bear seemed to be downcast. With a soft press on her shoulder he encouraged her to carry on. Sinojd had intuition like few others he had met in his life - or lives - but she often let her deep-rooted doubts cast a shadow over it. They had learned to trust the truth of her words, although they sometimes lacked clarity (that would come with age and greater affinity with her gift), and, slowly but surely, to make her realize she should be more confident in herself and perhaps open more. It was still uncertain but he could see the progress in the way her eyes poured over the world nowadays.

"I think something happened to mo- to Amenor, I think they took her…"

He held a smile as she corrected herself. They'd realized it not too long ago but had not yet had time to properly talk about it with her. As for the matter at hand, he had no absolute certainty, yet the first name that popped into his mind felt like it was the right one. It had to be them. The demons that had come knocking had been dealt with, even Kreist had chosen retreat and he was pretty sure she was trustworthy, so that was an option he could rule out. The fact that made him certain of his first thought was that he trusted Sinojd and her intuition. She had worded her worries in a way that had made him think that it was them, which meant there was little doubt to have. That was one of the peculiarities of her ability: the uncanny way of making people understand.

If they had indeed taken her and if it was recent, it meant they had taken advantage of the recent black moon. Yet even that would not have been sufficient to subjugate her, which meant that they had somehow acquired gildvern. And the only place he could think of that they would know about was- He felt a shiver run down his spine. This was bad. If it was indeed them, it wouldn't be above them, and it meant he had to act fast.

"Thank you for telling me, dear," he said with a smile as he patted her head, "I'm sorry for taking so long to come back. I have to be quick so I want you to listen carefully to me, okay?"

She nodded. Vaud followed suit. He had an uncanny ability to understand tongues, probably what had made him so efficient in his past.

"It's going to be okay. Amenor will be fine, I'll go get her and bring her back. I'm very sorry for being busy again before I even have time to spend with you."

She shook her head to show him it was okay. He knew she understood, she was much smarter than anyone had ever wanted to believe, they had seen that as soon as they had laid eyes on her back near the Thunder Village, and on multiple occasions since. But that did not mean it was something he liked about her, she was still young, too young to be so wise. Too young to be so accepting of the responsibility and wisdom thrown upon her tender shoulders.

"I know you will be, but I have to say it anyway: I'll be back soon, in the meantime I want you to be good. Take care of the house and of Vaud, okay?", she nodded, "and you", he turned to Vaud, "you know what to do."

The huge sunset eyes shone with comprehension as it let out a deep huff. Lug turned back to the young faonkin.

"Do not let anyone in the house. You know the crest, only those who bear it are allowed, is that understood?"

He extended his hand and a glowing symbol, intricately delicate, appeared over his palm.

"Yes, I remember it by heart!", she frowned with pride.

"Good. I have to go now, don't stay up too late and don't worry, we'll be back soon!", he smiled as brightly and as genuinely as he could.

It seemed to work as Sinojd's worry appeared to ease away slightly. Then he walked back to the entry of the house, setting his sight towards the eastern horizon. He then knelt and closed his eyes, he placed the palm of his hand on the ground, focusing his aura. The release sent a pang through his bones and the way was made visible to him when he opened his eyes again. He turned towards the girl and her large protector, the two more recent members of this little group which had begun to feel more like a family recently, and offered his arm  in which they buried themselves. A tight but warm hug - as warm as he could muster. 

"No one without the crest. And don't stay up too late. Both of you."

"I promise," Sinojd replied, her eyes unwavering and stern.

Vaud huffed in concord.

"Good. Now, time to go get mom!", he said with a wink.

He almost chuckled as he saw the blush rise to the young girl's freckled cheeks. She deserved everything good in this world and he would be damned if some stupid pricks took it away from her. He stood again, patted Vaud for good measure and turned around.

"Arédil!", he called, extending his hand to the side.

The large bronze spear appeared out of thin air with a crack and lodged itself in his palm. He took a step forwards and, with a thrust of his arm, flew into the air towards the winter peaks of the north.

…

The trip was rough and tiring but flying was the faster way to move, he could not afford to waste time. Heavy winds almost blew him off course when he passed near a storm yet Arédil remained steadfast. The legendary spear had often guided him on his way when he believed he was lost and had saved him more than once in dangerous situations. They had tried to make him give it up and choose that sword instead. The Holy Blade of Caspian was supposed to be the Hero's weapon after all, it was a divine gift to humanity and was to be the Hero's shining beacon of hope. It had been forged eons before by the great dwarf queen and the elvish prince for the First Hero, and imbued with strength and beauty. Lug had never had much love for it, however. It wasn't that he hated or even disliked the sword, but Arédil felt so much more right in his hand. Caspian's sword allowed the user to surpass their limits many times over but one had to learn its specific fighting style, the blade having both an uncommon shape and mass to it. And that wasn't even touching on the aura attunement… Using it had felt exhausting when they had made him train with it, even wearing it by his side was tiring, in more than physical ways too. Arédil, on the other hand, felt right. It had its weight, yet it felt light and strong. It may not have the Holy Sword's shine or impressiveness, but it was still a legendary weapon. Lug felt in tune with it and once he had been sure of his abilities, he had refused to use the sword. They had taken it as a marker of his own confidence in his powers: using a weapon considered vastly inferior to the Holy Blade of Caspian was an aberration, but since he kept winning they could only accept his decision. On the eve of that last battle he had made sure to leave the Holy Sword behind, not wanting to burden himself with it for their ultimate clash with the armies of twilight.

One of the reasons he had chosen Arédil over other weapons was his discovery of one of its attributes. Each Great Weapon possessed attributes of its own. The Holy Sword had its amplification of power and its destructive blasts; Gurdud, the Sacred Bow, allowed one to sense enemies from far away and to fire multiple piercing tracking arrows at the same time; and Aegis, the ancient shield, would protect from almost any attack and slowly repair itself once broken. Arédil itself was a somewhat lower grade weapon, the fact that it was made of bronze was the reason it had been discarded for so long, yet, among its attributes, it allowed its bearer to store it away in a pocket space but, most of all, it could be thrown with great power amplified by magic over vast distances and kept its momentum as long as it was fed magical energy. Coupled with the fact that it would return to its owner, it had given Lug the idea of using it to fly, or rather jump, over great distances.

…

It was almost half a day later when he finally landed near the peak of the mountain. Despite its height and the season, there was no snow on the jagged slopes. Lug had never seen any snow in the vicinity anyway. Something in the air made it impossible for condensation and water to turn into snow or frost. The climate was surprisingly quite dry too and it never seemed to rain around the tall peak of the mountain. It stood alone in the marsh lands of the west, towering over everything thousands of leagues in the distance. Few knew of the reasons behind these peculiar geographical anomalies. Lug himself had only learned of it by chance when he had been asked to investigate strange shadows in the night around the towns that bordered the marshlands. It must have been during the sixth or seventh year of his adventures as a hero. He had followed tracks deep into the mountain and, having come upon a vast grotto, had then discovered the true origin of the tracks and the shadows. An ancient dragon and its child were watching over hatchlings which had barely come to the world and were still learning to fend for themselves.

Bathmehor, the olden guardian of this sanctuary, and Fÿrzmehor, its daughter, were taking care of a litter of new hatchlings that she had birthed not long before. She had fled back to this hidden sanctuary when her mate had been gravely wounded while defending the nest. In the end Lug had managed to keep his life which the majestic creatures could have taken at any time had they so wished by promising to search for Fÿrzmehor's mate and ascertain his fate. In exchange they had promised to not harm the human settlements near the border of the marsh as long as those would not seek to harm them. The whole affair had resolved itself quite peacefully, to everyone's surprise. Over the years, Lug had realized that this might have been due to similar characters and affinities between him and the old dragon. They had become close acquaintances, good friends even, over the years. One of the reasons for this was that Bathmehor was not only the mountain and the sanctuary's guardian, but also the protector of one of the rare deposits of gildvern in the world. A material which, once refined and prepared in a specific way - as a coating on weapons or on objects made to restrain for example - allowed one to greatly weaken the demon race, particularly the Empress who was acutely sensitive to its properties. That was the reason of Lug's presence here, to ascertain that his hunch was correct. If it was, however, it meant that something had happened to his friend and he did not like this one bit…

His worst fears were verified as he entered the quiet sanctuary. It usually brimmed with a pristine aura of pure magic, dense and powerful, lethal even to those who did not know how to protect against it. At that moment, however, it was dim and cold, only the ragged breathing of the ancient creature came to him from the cavern's entrance. Bathmehor was lying on the cold hard stone of the cavern, his limbs bruised and bloody, his chest moved so slightly it felt as if it didn't at all, and his eyes were closed. Lug rushed the dragon's side with a breath.

"Old friend, can you hear me?"

After a moment during which Lug half expected no response, the immense creature stirred weakly opened a bloody. It grunted weakly in response.

"What have they done to you?", Lug asked while he gently stroked the black scales near the neck.

Black liquid was pooling around, he knew the dragon was on the brink of something he'd rather not think of yet. If he was to help, it had to be quickly. And he needed to know if anything had been done to Bathmehor other than his injuries. Yet, all he received in lieu of a response was another grunt. Then, as he was about to query on, the dragon opened its mouth. As he peered inside, the scales began to glow faintly and he found himself overtaken by the vision in a flash. They had gone as far as to deprive his friend of one of his most prided attributes, the tongue with which it weaved its spells and controlled its fire breath. Why they had not killed him on the spot, Lug could not say, yet they had left the ancient guardian of this sanctuary to die. He couldn't quite grasp why, perhaps time had worked against them? If it was the case, he had to hurry.

"One grunt for yes, none for no. Can you hear me?"

A single grunt.

"Have they used or done anything I should know about?"

Silence.

"Good," he let out a relieved sigh. "I will try to help, I think I can heal you, will you let me try?"

Silence again. This time his heart stuttered. He looked back at the dragon's head but its eye was still open and calmly trained on him.

"You don't want my help? Why?", dismay was palpable in his voice.

Bathmehor lifted its head slightly, enough for his scales to come into contact with Lug's skin. Another flash. A feeling and a single thought this time, no image. Urgency and Go!. Lug took in another breath, calming his nerves.

"I… I know. But I can't leave you like this, you won't make it until I return. And you know as well as me that I'm never as sharp when worried…", he locked eyes with the slitted emeralds that peered into him.

He could feel Bathmehor's aura weakening.

"I want to help, I need to know you'll be okay before I go. She is strong, I'll make it in time. I just need to know I did not have to choose. Let me try, I'm sure I can do something in time, please do not make me choose…"

The old dragon kept its gaze straight, unwavering, and Lug thought he would refuse once more, but it closed its eyes and grunted as it let its head rest once again on the ground.

"Thank you old friend," he sighed in relief.

He summoned Arédil once more and began to focus his aura.

"I'm sorry for the cold, you'll have to endure it a bit," he added as he began tracing a complex pattern on the ground around the dragon, his hand sure and steady as he engraved the delicate patterns in the stone with surprising speed and accuracy.

It took him a few minutes.; once the circle was complete he gathered his aura once again and closed his eyes. Fortunately, the cave they were in was open toward the sky. Had he had more time and been able to dedicate himself to treating the deep injuries on the dragon's body, he would have used another method. However the situation required him to call in the favour he had gained years ago. He planted Arédil in the ground and knelt by it, grasping the bronze weapon with both hands.

"By the oath I have made, by the oath I have received, I here on this day ask for your assistance in repayment, let the debt be cleared and the slate be burned. In blood, in bones and in flesh, I dedicate this chant to you, Wise One."

He knew blowing this card meant he would have none other if the situation arose again, but it was necessary. He had to act now, reflecting upon the right or the wrong of his decision would have to wait for later. Thus he began chanting in a tongue he had ever only understood out of instincts, his tongue as sure as his mind despite the lack of steps before him as he ascended and descended through the guttural and the crystalline, through the familiar and the strange, through the names of Vanesh and Hoïos, through what had been given and what was now owed, through time and space not yet come to pass but already vanished from possibility.

His voice was steady, it needed to be in order to make the celestial tongue as clear as his mind. He focused his aura in the body of Arédil as he spoke and upon uttering the last words released it all into the circle. Each pattern began emitting light and vibrations, one after the other, and soon the whole of the ground seemed to be glowing and abuzz under Bathmehor's body. The dragon had kept its eyes closed, its scaly brows were furrowed and its breathing ragged yet it was holding on. Suddenly the sky above the grotto darkened and the atmosphere became heavy. A deep and loud rumble descended from the sky and without a warning a powerful bolt of lightning struck Arédil. It did not dissipate immediately, however, and had Lug not been prepared, he would have been taken out but the intensity of it in an instant. The former Hero had called onto that power twice before, it had never been this potent however as he had been much less proficient. Back then it had almost killed him, and still today it was a gamble, but he had gained confidence since and he had no other choice anyway. He focused his mind on redirecting the energy that was smashing into his own, he had to expel it all or it would consume him as quickly as a match would burn itself out. It felt like his head was about to split and his body ready to give out. He gritted his teeth and soldiered on, he had to hang on. Just a bit longer. Just a bit. As he was about to collapse the lightning bolt finally died down and as quickly as it had struck it had vanished. Lug forced himself to keep his focus, he had to make sure he had finished the incantation properly before he could allow himself to rest. Once he was positive only his aura remained, he allowed himself to fall onto his back and open his eyes.

His chest was heaving and his whole body was soaked in sweat, as if he was dying from a fever. He still managed to turn his head towards Bathmehor and saw the dragon's body covered in small sparks. The quantity of blood on the ground had augmented, his friend's breathing seemed to be getting smoother and more regular however. Lug let out a relieved sigh. He closed his eyes, focusing his mind on the sound of the wind through the tunnel leading to the outside in order to lessen the buzzing that was assaulting his every sense. He tried to remember the garden with the flowers, the waves ebbing on the shore, her strong arms delicately tending to the flowers, Sinojd's cries as she played with the large wolfish pet, tears of blood running along his cheeks, the cold slowly spreading over her skin, a starless sky filled with fear and anguish-

"Amenor!"

Lug heard the echoes of his voice bounce on the polished walls of the cavern as he opened his eyes.

I see thou are awake.

The voice in his head was rough yet sweet, deep like no other. Immediately he recognized it. He sat up, too fast it seemed as his vision went blank and a need of pain struck right between his eyes.

Don't move too fast, thou blockhead, thou'll hurt yourself.

"Bathmehor."

The dragon was still lying on the ground but when Lug turned his head he saw the wounds had almost completely healed, leaving scars that would fade over time on the scales.

I feel fine now,. Thank thee.

"Good."

Lug let relief course through his body. He knew it was only half true, however. He had managed to successfully heal the wounds and restore Bathmehor's vitality yet the fact that the dragon was speaking to him via mindspeak meant that its tongue had not recovered… Perhaps, one day, he would be able to right that wrong, but his powers did not extend to that. If only Fymna had been here. The priestess might have been able to help. That thought lit up another in his mind and he sat up too quickly once more.

"How long-", he did not have time to finish his question however.

A couple hours or so, not much more. I thought about waking thou up earlier but thou looked like thou needed this rest. Thou still do.

"Damn… Yeah, thank you."

He was reluctant to admit it but it was true, that had drained him far more than he had thought. That short nap had him recovered yet he still could feel the strain on his body. It wasn't that he was empty of energy, more that he was sore. It was like a dam that had suddenly begun overflowing and had to evacuate water, it could do it with considerable efficiency and in large quantities if needed, but the valley below would undeniably suffer. Slowly he stood up, searching for his spear. He found it standing where he had planted it in the ground, nearby.

"I'm glad to see you're okay, but I'm sorry, I can't stay."

I know. A princess to save.

"Ha," he chuckled, "yeah, something like that."

Their eyes locked once again and he read the many emotions storming those strange orbs.

"I know. But I have to, I can't let them hurt her…"

I didn't say anything, I don't think I need to. Thou know what I think about this.

"And you know how I do. I do not lie, sense my heart if need be, you'll see."

No, thou misunderstand. Not about you. Although I understand little of the why, I have grown quite fond of the idea - it's true, don't thou dare scoff.

Lug suppressed it as best as he could.

I meant that path thou are on. It be not an easy one, take care, is all.

That was the first time Lug had heard the dragon express concern in such a way. He had long known the aversion the old creature possessed toward the cause and his mission. Wisdom come with age, perhaps; despite being amicable with the party and its allies, it had never said a kind word about their mission itself. Often criticizing it in indirect ways when it was only the both of them. Never had he expressed outright hostility towards the other faction, once even agreeing to Lug's praise of the Night Empress's prowesses. It had not batted an eye when learning of their decision to remove themselves from the equation and leaving the conflict behind, neither when he had seen it clear they were on a common path. Only offering a few words of encouragement and some guidance.

"Hmmm. Well, I guess I'll see how it goes when it does. Que sera, sera."

As proved by his feats until now, he had never been quite the man to think too deeply about a situation if the outcome was headache-inducing. The most straightforward answer was often the best as he remembered. He worried for his friend so he had come to help, he worried for Amenor therefore he would go too. It was as simple as that. It didn't mean he didn't think things through, he simply tried not to hesitate too much. It hadn't done him a great deal of good in the past…

"You know," he picked up Arédil before turning to the dragon, "they might try this again. And if they got the better of you this time-"

They managed to take me by surprise, it shall not happen again.

"Maybe it won't, but maybe it will… The world has changed. I believed that by removing the 'root of all evil' - the Empress of Night - it would solve all our problems but if time did one thing it was to make me realize that maybe things weren't so easy, maybe the world wasn't that manichean. Our decision may have been selfish but we have served our purpose, one that was not that positive to begin with, and even with that, the world still goes on. It's a good thing but it means that there will probably always be a force to pull at the good in people, whatever it is. What I mean to say is that if you do not feel at home or safe anymore, or if you feel tired of this", he gestured vaguely around him, "just know that our home is open to you, it will always be. I'm sure she'd be happy to see you and that you'd enjoy our little... friends' company. That's all."

Thou know it is my duty and I must see through. This sanctuary must always have a protector. Even if said protector is old and weakened.

Lug nodded with a weak smile.

Thank thee for the offer, however. It warms me greatly. Maybe one day…

Bathmehor paused as if to think. He huffed, a bit of smoke came out of his nostrils.

I can feel my strength returning, that means thine worries may be forgot now. Go, thou art awaited.

Lug bumped his forehead on the old dragon's large scaly snout.

"Be well. Til next time."

Til next time.

Lug walked out of the cave, slowly, as the dragon began stretching behind him and followed. He felt his muscles and his bones, more than usual that is, which meant he still had not recovered completely. It wasn't optimal, but it should be enough to deal with them. Once again he focused his aura into the bronze carvings of the spear and with a crack he soared towards the east and the Capital.

Be safe.

He saw the dragon stretch its wings and roar into the distance before it flew off towards the peak.

---

PREVIOUSLY | NEXTLY

A Hero’s Retirement

[nextwarden]

Evil

They'd liked her smell. It was sour and musky and it reminded them of birth. Some might have said home, but theirs felt here, now. The vast yet deserted expanses of the undergrowth were familiar to them, yet that of the plains arounds the house, and the beach, and the sea, were growing ever fond of them. Or perhaps was it the other way around? They couldn't really say. It had not been an immediate process, being far from birth had found them lost and weakened at first, confused too. They'd come for the blood, finding their way through the mist of life had always been their specialty, but things had gone south. The squadron had found their target. They had simply not taken time to check what that target was exactly. They felt them fizzle out one by one, after arrogant displays of weakness. All by the hand of the mistress. They had recognized her immediately of course, they had tried to warn the others, but the one they called Quizz - apparently because he asked much, they found out -, the one who was supposed to be their guide while they were the fangs and the claws, had ordered them silent. They had obeyed of course, it was their duty. Obey, be faithful to their guide, and attack mercilessly once given the order. They had obeyed despite all their instincts telling them of the dangerous truth that awaited the rest near the lone house on the shore.

It had gone rather as they had expected, not that they had expected much or anything extraordinary. The surprise had come in the form of the other one, the bright one. He was the shining to her shadow. They had felt him more than anything and this time Quizz had felt them too, guiding them to retreat. Unfortunately, or perhaps not, the deathly crack had come far too fast for either of them to react. They had been lucky to be them, Quizz was not so much. They'd felt his breath quicken and his life slow down to a cold stop in a matter of seconds. Had they been a blood wisp perhaps they'd have been able to respond to the uncertain light before it had faded away from his globulous eyes. They were but a 'poor stupid mutt' however, and that had been that. They were tempted to flee but towards where? The way to birth had been lost with Quizz, only his palm held the secret. Yet they couldn't remain or they would be found out by either the mistress or the bright one - they'd rather not if they had any choice. While they'd never encountered one or the other, the mistress's aura was simple to read and perhaps their connection to her would be able to help. He, on the other hand, was a different story. He was on the opposite end of the spectrum and their compatibility could not be ascertained. Why both resided together, they had no clue. Their auras seemed to clash only slightly and none was yet dead, meaning they must have either been unable to rip each other's throat out… Or perhaps found some sort of accord? They wouldn't remain to find out its exact nature however, that was far too dangerous, danger they were sure they would not enjoy. They decided a slow and discreet retreat was the best option to follow.

…

Perhaps it was the fact that they had no way to return, or perhaps they found their new liberty quite interesting, but the desire to see birth again had somewhat faded from their mind. They roamed the plains and the forests, explored the mountains and padded along the endless beaches on the coast, but always gravitated back towards that strange lone house. Whether it had something to do with her scent and the pull it had over their memories of familiarity was not the point.

…

"Hello there."

They'd felt her aura too late. The drowsiness of sleep dulling their senses. Immediately on guard they rose and prepared to react if need be, sensing the air around but finding no trace of the other one. Only she was there.

They'd gotten closer to the house earlier that day, while night was still deep and dark. They'd settled on the large rocks of a near promontory not far away from the forest. It was far enough away that they could conceal their presence well enough and close enough to discern the faint scent of the mistress. They'd watched over the silent house for the most part of the morning with a half gaze until she'd come out to tend to the garden. It was unfinished but already quite exquisite; they couldn't say for sure about the colours but the shapes were neat and the smells blended well with her own. They'd watched as she went from one plant to the other, slowly but surely, trimming with care where needed and making sure all were in good shape. It had become a ritual for them to come by at intervals not always regular. On days of good weather such as this they found her at her usual spot. Sometimes the other would come out too to take advantage of the sun or to train, which she would sometimes join. They couldn't help the shiver at such sights, both were powerful beyond what they could believe, in raw power as in technique or cunning. They had felt that way some time ago but now they measured their luck in having survived the encounter. Not to say they were weak, they would rip out a heart in less time than it took to beat if most creatures dared even to believe they stood a chance. Those two were on another level entirely.

Once, another came. They recognized the smell to be that of the little fiery one. They witnessed the fight and its outcome. Even one of the thirteen could be downed, they stood little chance if ever confrontation were to occur. Not that they planned on it, watching from afar felt fulfilling enough. Half because they could answer the pull which tugged at their soul because of her presence, half because they had the freedom to decide, for once. The fiery one had seemed to agree to interact otherly than with her fists, a rare occurrence for her they'd thought. What must have transpired in that conversation must have not pleased her however, despite coming from the mouth of the mistress - they'd not been able to hear exactly what but rather the tones of voices which had floated to their ears. They'd seen the uninvited guest almost let run her rage once again before the indomitable aura had permeated the air with such mass they'd let out an involuntary whimper. It was not their fault that their tail would retract between their legs and their ears would placate themselves on their head. They managed to resist the urge to run away thanks to that, which was a nice achievement in itself. Intimidation had never been their strong suit anyway despite their imposing size and features. The small one had had a very similar reaction, yet, to her credit, had kept her position, if only lowering the level of her intent. In the end, the mistress had had the last word and the visitor had turned heels in a huff, promising a return menacingly before storming off as the sun had begun setting behind the high peaks. They'd felt the discharge of power as she probably vented her frustration and then nothing. The two inhabitants had remained for a while before entering the house. They almost thought the mistress had shot a look towards them but although possible it was highly improbable she'd noticed them.

Now, however, as they enjoyed the warmth of the afternoon they realized maybe she had in fact noticed them. It had been a while since then, they'd been careful not to get too close nor to come back too soon. But the damage must have been done. She was standing a few meters away, by a tall old tree that had grown at an angle. They noticed she was wearing the same dress, it had small traces of dirt and green from her activity of the day. Her eyes were warm and calm, almost friendly yet they knew this mustn't be. As quick as they could they jumped away and ran into the distance. The night had come and almost gone when they stopped. The presence of the mistress had long faded away but they'd decided to keep on going so as not to compromise their chance, pushing away the thought that danced in their mind. The one that whispered that maybe it would have been okay. Once more they revised their plans, resolving to stay away for a while, and to take more care in hiding their presence when the time to go again would inevitably come.

Twice more they were found, each time she was alone. Once on a cold morning and the other on a rainy day. They'd managed to escape again into the mist the first time, the second time they'd not been so lucky. They had not heard or felt anything, simply rain on their fur one instant and a lack of, the next. Before they'd even had time to react, her voice, strangely melodious, had come to their ears.

"Aren't you wet?"

They'd seen the shadow of a smile on her lips and the twinkle in her eyes. She was holding a large leaf, large and thick enough to cover their whole body, and yet she'd remained in the rain herself. She'd traded her usual light dress for a thicker and surely warmer leather coat and pants. Yet she remained barefoot - something they would later realize was a preference of hers, her claws making it awkward with most footwear.

"Am I so scary you must run each time?"

She sat down next to them as she asked in the birth tongue when they showed no reaction. She knew they could understand her. They could also feel the genuine yet gently playful nature of the question.

"I don't mean harm."

They were unsure of what to do next. Running away was possible, she would very probably not pursue despite easily being able to, she had not the previous times. But that was an occasion to be near her, which the pull would not let them forget. Their unsease must have transpired somewhat.

"I speak truthfully. I merely want to understand," she paused for a moment to rummage in her bag. "Here, it's for you, if you want it."

They'd not noticed the smell of dried meat before it overpowered their nose. Suddenly they were quite hungry, indeed. She smiled as she placed it on a smooth rock in front of them. They hesitated a second before grabbing the slab of meat and munching on it, she'd given him an encouraging nod.

"I guess you came with the group that time. I've never seen a hellhound without a guide before. Was it the one in the forest?"

Their momentary pause must have answered her question as she nodded again.

"I'm sorry for that, but we couldn't let anyone go back. They'd have sent more…"

They noticed the look in her eyes and gulped the remains of the meat before offering a tentative nudge of understanding on her knee. They'd never quite bonded with any of the group anyway. They heard her scoff.

"I guess I can feel your intent," she replied as they offered a quizzical look. "Similar to how you can feel my presence, I believe."

Oh. That was news. What to do now? They couldn't just-

"Don't worry. As I said, I'm here as a friend. I came to offer just that."

She took out another slab of dried meat. They gladly took it. A friend, then? Why?

"Your guide being dead, you are rather free now, aren't you? And I believe you want no master."

It was true, the appeal of being assigned a new guide, one they had to learn to know once more, learn to obey too, was not quite what it had once been.

"You are also stuck here, it seems. So, as I am able to, I offer to help. I'd like you to become my companion, if not my friend. You can choose to refuse, you are free after all. I could even send you back if that's what you want, I know the way still," she paused, perhaps to let them mull it over a bit. "But from what I've witnessed, you seem to enjoy life here."

They saw her glance at them and once again that shadow smile.

"This is the last one. I'll leave you alone now," she stood up and made sure the leaf was well in place, covering their body, "Do know you don't have to run away from me, you are welcome any time."

With a pat on the head which they did not resist, she walked away leaving them in the quiet rain with a third slice of delicious dried meat. They realized they hadn't even offered to scoot over to let her sit down in the dry…

They did not agree immediately. Not outwardly so. Deep within they must have, yet the mind still had to consciously go through the process. It was slow, over the course of a number of days. Each of which they pondered the implications of that choice. The situation was peculiar, the mistress, supposed dead by many, was now sharing a table and more with the one who had done the deed, unbeknownst to anyone else. Well, until now that is. They did however reduce their efforts to conceal themselves and in return received friendly gestures from her each time she saw them. Not always a treat, but a wave or a smile. Even good ruffling of the fur, once, when they had assisted in a hunt. It sufficed.

It had not been greed which had prompted them to agree, but the realization that whatever they would choose, they had to make one, it was their duty now, not that of their guide. They were their own. The fact that they had thought of leaving for good so as not to disturb the inhabitants of the quiet house in case one tried to trace their presence and that it had pained them had contributed to making them realize they might indeed want to remain by her side. So they had, padding up to her one day, a branch of a rare breed of fruit tree which grew near the desert border in its maw.

The first interaction with the hero, whom they would soon learn was named Lug - a strange name for a strange man - had gone quite smoothly. He'd understandably raised some concerns, concerns which she had shot down, arguments at hand, in her unrestrained brilliance. The hero - or rather, former hero - had warmed up to them rather quickly, and they had found in him a game partner rivaling the hunting prowess of the mistress. Despite having half the limbs he also gave very good pats. They had offered their bond through a contract only to be refused.

"You are not mine. If we are to bond it will be by choice, yours and mine."

They'd been content with that reply, insisting on a simple bond of link if ever either needed help. They'd offered Lug the same. They had chosen to abandon birth, duty and path. In return they had been gifted a home, a guide and a name, all their own.

…

The rain had begun falling for a while when they'd found her in the middle of a nightmare. The girl had been silently crying again. They could see it in her shaking shoulders. She looked so small and frail. She'd been smaller when they'd found her, yet she was still so in their eyes. Or perhaps was it them who were too big? A question for another day. For now they'd make use of that size of theirs to do some good, or so they hoped. Carefully, they lied down besides her. Her ears were placated against her head; they knew that feeling very well. She wanted to be strong, they knew it, but strength sometimes came in other forms than simply putting up a front and relinquishing one's emotions. And had not all the great heroes had to face their grief one day? Being sad was useful sometimes, crying was good to expel the shadows from within, even if only for a time. They felt her stir besides them and an arm extend over their fur as she buried herself within with a whimper. Mistress was aware, he too, both did their best to help as they could yet sometimes the heart only needed time. They knew it, a lesson hard learned. She sobbed silently, her shoulders shaking in a broken rhythm. They had been gone for a while now. Surely they would return, but when? Neither she nor they knew, they'd seen him off three rests prior once she'd informed him of the situation. He'd left everything in their care and they'd promised. Family meant to care for one another, and they'd do just that.

Dawn came as a surprise when they opened their eyes. The night had been loud and full of strong rain, now the quiet of the morning was almost disconcerting. The little one was still fast asleep by their side, her head buried in the thick fur. Their body was warm by nature, they had to regulate the temperature however so as not to burn too hot. Looking down they saw the lines of her face were now faded and relaxed. She'd gotten some sleep which was good. They turned back towards the window. It gave view on part of the garden and the beach, plunging in the sea, a beautiful sight to have in any weather but especially gorgeous after a storm like the one of the previous night. The stirring must have woken her however as she rolled on her back with a groan.

"Good morning…" She seemed to hesitate a moment. "Vaud? What are you doing here? Were you scared of the storm?"

They nudged her gently with their nose and huffed. She laughed which made their heart swell.

"I'm hungry," she passed her hand on her stomach. "Do you want something to eat?"

Another huff.

"Alright, come on big lad!"

She nudged them slightly before stretching her limbs. They followed suit, noticing with relief her ears were back to being perked up as usual and her eyes big and shining with curiosity and wit. They grabbed her by the collar once stretching was over and guided her to the kitchen without her feet touching the ground, much to her loud protest but, they knew it, her secret enjoyment. She still had a ways to go but maybe, just maybe, they, all of them, could walk with her along that path and make it just a tad less dreary…

---

PREVIOUSLY | NEXTLY

A Hero’s Retirement

[nextwarden]

Second Coming

The sound of wings came to her ears long before she saw the figure appear above the plateau, yet long after she had sensed their presence. How long had it been? A month? Two? Maybe less? Not much more, in any case. Roughly a week to get around, a few days to do the job, and another week to make the trip back. A few more days to wonder at the strangeness of the absence of contact and yet another number of days to decide on the steps to follow and the decision to make, finally another week or so to retrace steps. Add a few days or weeks here and there for the wait and the decision-making. It seemed about right. She had estimated correctly from the information they had gathered last time. They were obstinate, that she could give them. They didn't even know what they had found and yet, the mere fact that no word had been heard beack had them make a move once again. That was no problem in itself, simply another annoyance to deal with. The issue, if there was one - and he would say that there was while she wished herself more optimistic, surprisingly -, was that the more they came, the stronger the impulse would be. Which meant a stronger response and therefore a heightened impulse. Rince, repeat, until they got the message. Then they'd know and the real fun would begin. She didn't want that kind of fun, neither did he, if he was to be believed; they had both decided to leave it far behind when they had walked away. Yet it was tailing them unwaveringly, so annoyingly so. What a bother.

"Company?", she heard him ask from inside the house.

"Uhuh."

She hadn't even raised her head, keeping her focus on the plants she was tending to. The bushes had begun yielding fruits and utmost care was necessary to ensure they would do so without a hitch. Tending to seeds from the ashen fields of the undergrowth was not something easy in the overlands but, just as much as her roommate, she was not one to run from a challenge. It was her passion after all. Gardening too. She was pulling the last pair of weeds from the spot she was working on when a nice aroma greeted her nostrils, surprising her agreeably, as he stepped outside on the terrace. She still couldn't quite grasp how he managed to do it, there must be some kind of dark magic at work in his way of preparing food. It was too good and always managed to take her by surprise once it was done despite her inhuman senses. He winked at her, as if he divined her annoyance.

"I made some tea," he placed the wooden tray with a pearly white pot and three cups on the table. "Should I prepare some biscuits too?"

He had his shirt slung across his shoulder, a habit of his she wasn't quite sure she understood, a hand in his shorts and his sandals half-floating around his feet. It was a sight more annoying than revulsing if she had to be honest as she knew he knew she had asked him on multiple occasions to at least wear things properly if he was to even attempt to wear anything. It was as if he took pleasure in toying with her. Well, not that she didn't pay him back in kind of course, but still. She eyed him knowingly before adjusting her hair and her hat, which she noticed, with some satisfaction, he did not miss a moment of.

"If you would be so kind," she acquiesced with a smile. "I believe it is customary when having visitors."

He scoffed, listlessly gesturing what he called a finger gun at her with a click of the tongue before he walked back into the house. She had found a comfortable position in the lounge chair near the table when he came back, her hat on her head to block the harsh sunlight and a pair of tinted glasses to spare her eyes from the glint that was coming their way. He was wearing his sleeveless shirt correctly this time, which she found somewhat disappointing. Their guest would be there shortly. He seemed to know so as he poured the dark liquid into one of the cups before offering it to her, as she saw the heat ring under the pot to keep the tea at precisely the right temperature. He offered her a biscuit from the tin box, she accepted with grace, and placed it on the table at arms reach for both of them. He poured himself a cup but did not touch it, waiting for it to cool down. She could not understand how he enjoyed this beverage cold, yet such was his preference. He'd mix in some honey, some lemon juice, and then wait long enough for it to cool down, often adding a few ice cubes before drinking it. Why he went through the process of preparing it like normal tea beforehand and making only such a small quantity at a time in such a time consuming process was beyond her. That was his problem, however, not hers. Plus it did amuse her to watch him do so.

After pouring his own cup he looked in the direction of the uninvited guest and, surely guessing how long it would still take for them to arrive, he decided on walking around the garden and taking in the day's warmth. She watched him as he did, moving slowly from plant to plant, eating small bites of ripe fruits here and there, and finally stopping to face the sun, eyes closed and a smile on his face. It was nice to see him enjoy himself in simple ways like this, to be able to witness the small pleasures that made his life. He raised an eyebrow when he opened an eye and noticed her looking. She didn't avert her gaze, simply raising her cup before taking another sip. Apparently he noticed something interesting near the ground as he crouched and fiddled with the herbs surrounding the growing oak tree that had been planted there a while back. When he stood up again she noticed the beetle of night-bluish color that was dancing on his finger. He gently nudged it a few times, the beetle seemed to nudge back, before he offered a branch on the tree which the insect gladly grabbed and began exploring. How he managed those kinds of things with living creatures smaller than his hand she didn't know, it seemed nothing in this world could resist his charming cheerfulness. She began nibbling another cookie, it too was sweet and crunchy, just perfectly so. The silhouette drew closer, she repressed a sigh. At least if they were alone it might be slightly fun this time. She stretched her toes and absentmindedly scratched an itch on her calf. She was wearing a light dress that day, which complimented her features nicely and was made to catch the eye, but was decidedly not meant for whatever their impromptu visitor was sure to have planned. She was sure he had noticed that, of course. Few things escaped his awareness, this least of all. With a smile she took a small sip of the tea, it was good, as always. Sweet and dependable. How lucky.

She knew the face that would show itself to them moments before it appeared. The coarse yet musky aura the smaller demon exuded had always made her instantly recognizable. It was inversely proportional to her size, or so many had attempted to joke about, finding themselves to also be inversely proportional to their own size in the following instants. Usually by her hand, sometimes by their own, once by what seemed to be sheer fear on the poor undead's part.

Kreist landed a dozen meters away from the house, on the small path leading to the road, as if by design. Amenor saw the amethyst eyes, half shielded behind an unruly curtain of sea coloured hair, roam the sight that offered itself to her former subordinate, before they settled on her. They narrowed and her mouth moved, as if to form a surprised word, but settled in a half-open position when she noticed the other inhabitant of the house, her face paling noticeably.

"You…!", she exclaimed, her voice hoarse.

"Me," Lug smiled.

The dhampir turned towards her, unsure of how to proceed and seemingly at a loss for words. Judging from that reaction, it seemed that they did in fact have no idea of what had taken out the first group of nosy scouts which had come by earlier. She was grateful for that. Although Kreist wasn't exactly simple to deal with, it meant that there was still hope for a quiet existence. Her vampire half gave her deadly instincts but counterbalanced her hot dwarven blood with a good dose of cold scrutiny.

"Your Highness, what… is the meaning of this?"

The dhampir's tone had gone a shade less friendly. Her surprise at the Empress's appearance had evidently been pushed back by the Hero's presence by her side. Amenor could almost see the gears turning wildly in that cute round head of hers. She would have attempted to negotiate if she believed that the other party was one to interact with, but in the state Kreist was at the moment, that was unfortunately out of the question. It didn't mean she wouldn't try, simply that a show of force might be very necessary first. Whether it was her or Lug was Kreist's decision however. The blond man moved towards the table and gestured towards the third cup as he filled it with the warm beverage.

"Would you like some tea and biscuits as we discuss?" he offered.

Hmmm, the twilight's envoy might have taken that as a provocation. She saw the muscles around her jaw tighten and almost heard her teeth gritting together. Her heartbeat was still ever so calm, but that was her vampire heritage at play, it could not be trusted. Amenor decided to try her hand at the talking game.

"Come, sit with us, I'll explain everything."

She hoped her status as the former Empress and as Kreist's direct superior would play in her favor. The dhampir was one of the Blackhands, the thirteen most proficient and trusted officers who had been under her direct orders for so long after all, the most respected force after the heavenly four. It did not seem to be enough, however, as the dark lids narrowed around the purple eyes and she saw her turn once again to Lug.

"What have you done to her?"

He looked at her for a moment as he followed his recipe for "disaster", his eyes of clear ice darting between the amethyst ones and her golden.

"And what exactly do you think I could have done?", Lug asked sternly.

This seemed to make the dhampir hesitate. Not enough, however, as suddenly they felt her aura surge. The blast came almost instantly, almost. She would have had time to react but she'd felt Lug on edge and, as he had made clear by the look he had given her, he'd take care of it this time as she had the previous one. It's only fair, he'd smiled while explaining that he'd take care of making food and maintaining the house - it had needed some repairs at first - seeing as she was the one taking care of the garden and of the hunting. It wasn't absolute, however. More often than not he'd come with her to seek a specific beast for dinner or to tend to the bushes he had asked to be placed at the rear end of the garden. She too would contradict this statement, preparing the meat and offering spices as well as participating in the renovation process. That had been symbolic more than anything, to emphasize the need to share the chores, which she had to admit she found agreeable and more fulfilling over time, as they mostly did what they liked on their own and tackled the rest together. Despite that being a first for her, it felt right, good even, and she found she indeed enjoyed this quiet rhythm they had fallen into.

He'd signified to her he'd take care of it this time, so she sat and sipped her tea as the wall of ice rose before them and deflected the blow. It evaporated almost as instantly, a useful spell Lug had learned in order to quickly build a strong defense but not have it consume all his power to maintain. He stood up and walked around the table towards the pathway leading through a row of gentle flower bushes into the garden. They had been preserved thanks to his quick action.

"I assure you, there is no need for violence. Come and sit with us and we'll talk, " he offered once more with an open hand. "I would like not to fight with you, any damage to the garden or the house would be a shame..."

"Silence, I have nothing to say to you, " she saw Kreist raise her hand, claws drawn out.

"Will you not listen to what your Empress has to say?", Lug seemed unfazed by the threatening attitude.

She had to commend him for that, he had a knack for keeping his cool in such situations. And with Kreist, she knew it wasn't easy, the smaller member of the Blackhands had a tendency to let her blood boil, kick ass on the moment, and chew gum later. Getting answers often became akin to spiritism. This was not helpful in their situation, but they had to try. Unlike the dumb brutes from before, she did not want to harm her if it could be avoided.

"Our Empress is dead.", she sent them both a dark look.

"So am I. Yet here we are, I suppose," Lug gestured at the home behind him.

"I do not understand why. I will, but first I know you must die!", the dhampir jumped forward and let her dagger rip through the air, sending a wave of darkness forward.

Amenor almost reacted this time, but once again Lug was there to block. As suddenly as he had deflected the attack, still barehanded. She saw his shirt strain against the sudden pressure as he and Kreist both disappeared.

"Then if you are hellbent on it," she half-rolled her eyes at that as she focused on their more distant forms, "we'll fight here. It took a while to repair the house, I don't want to have to start again. Plus Amenor is enjoying her tea, let her have that."

They were now at a respectable distance from the garden's entry, still she could see and hear them clearly, the advantage of having a preternatural body. Even if she couldn't, her aura spread far enough to be able to witness the fight without a problem.

She heard Kreist roar and the clashes began. The dhampir was fast, agile, and much stronger than what one might have thought from her slender and shorter-than-average body. She looked like an adult but her height had stopped at barely chest height, owing to her dwarven ascendance. Her eyes were of a dark violet colour, blending nicely into her tea coloured skin. Her features were a surprisingly well balanced mix of dwarven angularity and vampiric elegance with a round nose and a set of square ears. She boasted a large amount of strength and resistance to many things, of an ability that was much greater in the night or dark spaces - where both her ancestries were in familiar territories - yet also a rare immunity to the burns of the sun that her vampire side might have feared. Her mother, a dwarven artisan living in the mountain ranges of the undergrowth, had raised her well, teaching her the skills she would need to pursue her legacy one day. Her father she'd seen much less of, yet he'd been there when she had her first thirsts and had comforted her when need be, training her to master her impulses in his own strict yet fair way. She'd joined the ranks of the Blackhands many years later, zealously performing for the love of the Empress, after years of a rather bland and restrained life. The group of thirteen had opened new horizons to her but, most of all, had allowed her to let out her impulses and channel them into something she considered more useful rather than simply letting them wither away. Dwarven blood boiled more easily and boiling blood made for more aggression in a vampire - they were usually calm, being of the not-living. They were closer to reptiles in that regard: seeking the way of least exhaustion. Kreist was somewhat of an antithesis of this. That was one of the reasons dhampirs were not regarded kindly everywhere and, if allowed to breathe for more than a day, had to be trained strictly and firmly. Amenor had had to tame her too, in the beginning, but after some time of continuous efforts, she had helped Kreist grow into a strong and dependable comrade. How strong and how dependable? Well that was for Lug to see. They'd already clashed shortly in the past but neither at full strength. She couldn't help but almost find this event exciting; if it weren't for him getting wounded, the house getting destroyed, this fragile peace being threatened, or her old comrade being hurt.

She felt both their aura surge as they exchanged blows. Kreist wielding both her daggers, slashing, piercing, throwing and much more. Lug barely hanging on, his hand, as bare as his chest was quickly becoming, moving faster than a normal eye could have seen and with more force than one could have imagined to counter, evade and deflect the oncoming onslaught of blows. He made clever use of his aura, using his affinity to ice and water magic to slow the dhampir and inhibit her movements. She smiled. His plan was surely to drain her completely; it wouldn't be that easy however. Kreist had near endless stamina and even then, always seemed to get back up anyway. And if she managed to bite him, she'd regain it over the course of the fight. She knew he knew that, and yet he did not seem to want to think this through any further. Oh well, his problem. The tea was getting cooler but was still as delicious as ever.

This went on for a while, the dhampir attacking, the former Hero deflecting. She noticed the blackhand's movements were getting faster and stronger over the course of the fight, something she usually saw in his. Yet he was not exempt from that, his footwork more compact, his eyes more alert and the movement of his hand sharper. He managed to down her with a well placed blow to the chest, yet she got up almost immediately, focusing her aura on her blades. He barely deflected the move, or so Amenor thought before she saw the thin red line spread on his torso. She'd managed to cut him, which meant… The roar came not a second after that and she saw Kreist's eyes had widened, the black slits taking a good two-thirds of her pupils. Her movements got faster and more aggressive yet again; such was the taste of the former Hero's blood, so she knew from experience. He was pressed and forced to retreat, which somewhat worried her - perhaps the blades had been laced with poison? - until she saw he was focusing part of his movements to apply healing magic in between blows. It was slower this way but allowed him to keep fighting at almost full strength by overexerting himself for a while. That had always impressed her, not that she liked the fact he could or had to push himself beyond his limits, she couldn't help the respect at this ability of his. In the latter years he was more often than not forced to use it in front of her, when they fought isolated from the rest of the battlefield, as she was his only worthy opponent, either in strategic value or in competing strength and power. She almost felt a pang of jealousy at the idea that he was using that to hold his ground against Kreist, almost. It wasn't her type to be jealous. Usually he had the support of that priestess too, which meant he didn't have to focus on his wounds.

Once the bleeding had stopped, the fight gained in intensity once again, Kreist bent on repeating her feat and Lug on stopping her from doing so. Probably. Amenor couldn't actually tell; she'd noticed he hadn't taken out his spear yet. It went on for a while, the field around them, which had been designated as the one to hold these kinds of happenings, taking damage and, little by little, resembling those of their days of conquest and war.

She focused back on them as she heard a loud crack. The spear was out. From then on the fight went two ways: one, Kreist was gaining on Lug, forcing him to use his aura for spells as well as for his moves, two, Amenor felt like a pattern was beginning to emerge on the upturned earth. She knew it was Lug's doing before he even activated the array. At some point during the fight, probably after his first wound - his chest had been riddled with more cuts, some light, some deep, which he had been light-healing, over the course of the exchange of blows - he had decided to assert his dominance with this strategy. She wasn't one to offer critique, memories of similar feats of hers were never as far as they should be in the depths of her mind, but that didn't mean she wouldn't repress her groan. She knew he'd heard her as he was smiling when he walked back.

It had been very sudden, Kreist had visibly managed to corner Lug and had offered both her blades aimed towards his heart in honor of her magnanimous victor's compassion. Plus it would prevent him from coming back from it as he had before, and killing him in one blow would add cool points to her feat. Yet as soon as the tip of the blade struck the flesh of his chest she froze. Not by will, at least not hers. Not by a spell either, she had not felt him utter a single word. And yet she found herself encased in a thick layer of ice, one she couldn't break away from and that seemed to inhibit her aura. She almost blinked, almost, as the surprise took her unprepared. Had she blinked she would have missed it. Seemingly as soon as the ice had formed it had vanished and she found herself lying on the ground, shivering and without strength, the tip of a spear pressed to her throat and her weapons pried away from her hands. She was beaten and she knew it. But how? The Hero seemed to register the question as their eyes met, he smiled and shrugged, offering no clarification as to what had just happened. He looked slightly more battered than in the beginning but unlike her, he was still capable of going on for a while more. What exactly had he done? Her curiosity washed over her anger for a moment, grounding her. He seemed to notice this as he retracted his spear and slowly walked away. She barely had the strength to turn her head to the side to see him gather her blades on his way back to the yard, before he sat down with a huff. She turned to look at the sky and almost felt her anger rage within once again as even the blue expanse felt as insultingly cheerful as the Hero had seemed while walking away. Damn him. Fuck be his smug smile and his power. Fuck him and fuck all… She let out an exhausted sigh, unsure if she even had enough strength for this amount of frustration.

…

They were still sipping on the tea when she stood up. He'd gone inside to get more crackers and a change of shirt - not much remained of the other one -, the ashen skinned one sitting beside him had apparently gone ravenous on the previous batch. Not that he minded, on the contrary, he took it as a praise. His body was slightly sore but he could feel the healing factor kicking in. He should have warmed up beforehand.

"You should stretch, you know. It would do you some good, old man," he heard Amenor smirk more than he saw.

He scoffed for a response but still stood up and did exactly that. It wasn't that his body needed it per say, the healing factor took care of such problems, but it did feel nice to unwind after a fight. Plus it was true he was beginning to get old. Not that he would lose out anytime soon, but still, taking care of one's body was important. He'd learned that lesson in his previous life. As he finished he noticed the demonkin's stare and winked at her, quite glad he had purposefully not put his shirt back on yet. He sat down and munched down on a biscuit while debriefing the exchange of blows in his mind. He'd gotten to at least half a dozen things he could still improve on and a sip and a half of iced tea when the dhampir stirred.

"Your weapons are here, if you wish to collect them," he pointed at the other end of the oval table they'd been sitting at. "Although I'd very much enjoy it if you were to sit down with us and talk."

His voice had been calm yet loud enough for the smaller frame to twist towards them in recognition. The dhampir slowly got up, her legs slightly wobbly and a hand to her forehead. It was to be expected, that little sleight of hand he had used was one designed to greatly weaken an enemy. Even an elder dragon would feel its effect. Yet she was already moving on her own which was impressive, her recovery power and stamina must indeed have been as great as Amenor had made them sound. Slowly she approached, visibly unsure if it was a trap or not.

"It isn't. A trap, I mean. All I want is for us to talk," he said, hoping he was reading her mind well.

"I do not have anything to say to you, Hero," Kreist spat back with a scowl as she stopped on the threshold of the garden.

The fact that vampires needed an invitation to enter one's home was nothing but a rumor, a falsehood deformed from the truth. They had placed protective wards around the house, and some distance further too, hence the reason they had known of her arrival. However they had already made it so she would be able to enter without reprimand. The dhampir knew it. The reason she had stopped must have been her own hesitation in what to do next.

"Then if you have nothing to say, at least try to listen."

Lug's voice was filled with a certain edge this time. Amenor heard it and placed her hand on his arm momentarily so as to have him let her speak.

"I-", the dhampir began, but was interrupted by Amenor.

"You, Kreist of the Fangs, have witnessed my power many times over the years. You, my trusted servant, one of those I let shoulder the heavy burden that was my duty by my side, you who have sworn by your life many a time to see with open eyes and steady heart the world above us. You are insinuating that he", she waved her free hand towards the blond man sitting at the table, "could have manipulated me? That he could have somehow forced me to do his bidding? And you are insinuating this, to my face? Have you learned nothing over the years, sister?"

She insisted on those last syllables, reminding the younger of the two - at least by appearance - of their closely knitted past. They were not sisters by blood but by camaraderie and choice, a much stronger bond, or so she hoped.

"You come to my home and threaten both the hosts of these lands, looking for quarrel, and in your frustration act destructively towards it. Do you believe you have the right for such actions without consequences? Do you believe I have become so lenient as to not even raise the problem of such bad manners in my presence? I may have relinquished the title of Empress through my death, but I am less in title only. You should better understand that, Kreist of the Fangs, Blackhand and old servant of mine."

Any biting response the dhampir seemed to have thought up seemed to die in her throat as Amenor made abundantly clear that her status, although different, was not to be looked down upon. Her aura had filled the air with unseen tension and threatening power. It was a show of force, Lug knew it, but he couldn't help being awed by the indomitable presence beside him. She was not only beautiful but imposing and cunning; none, not even her generals, dared often to test that.

"Now, if you wish to speak no word, free of you to do so, but you will listen to what I have to say and listen well for I will not repeat myself."

He listened with one ear as they spoke, as Amenor explained the situation to her former subordinate. His focus was on her features, treading slowly from her almost immobile eyebrows down to her agile lips and the slope of her neck as he sipped his cool brew. He felt her eyes dart towards his from time to time, each time he focused his attention on the dhampir before resuming his journey when he felt her gaze retract. The one named Kreist didn't lose to her in any way but the unconcealed poison in her gaze wasn't inviting in the least. He remembered having gone against her a few times, it had always been a harsh fight. Today was no exception, he had simply somewhat cheated his way out of it. He couldn't be bothered to be bothered by it, however. Honor, rules, and legitimacy had been relegated to the bottom of his priority list. This was also not about the fight but about the negotiation. They had to appeal to her, she wasn't merely part of a squad of goons sent to do some reconnaissance after all. She was one of the thirteen, a prominent position that would ensure notice if one of its members ever went missing. Especially in this kind of context. It wasn't his place to act, however, so he listened. He did feel that this discussion was one of stating facts rather than negotiating, but she had his trust. If Amenor believed it was the way to go in order to have tranquility, so would he.

---

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A Hero’s Retirement  

[nextwarden]

Who goes there?

"So... how old are you, anyway?"

"Pardon?"

The look she gave him reminded him of an old idiom from his past life that discouraged questions of that sort. He almost changed the subject but his curiosity was genuine and, if worst came to pass, he'd already died once, so… Still, at that moment, justification seemed to be the better paved road.

"Not to be rude, I'm simply curious. I was wondering how long you've been doing this. You know, the whole Demon Empress thing…"

"So I did hear right."

Her frown was apparent now. He almost bolted right then and there. Almost. They'd eaten not long before and he did not want to exert his body on a full stomach. Also they were now having a light drink for dessert while seated on the porch facing the sea, which, until then at least, had been quite comfortable. He eyed her carefully but to his relief her expression had turned thoughtful.

"I guess," she tapped a sharp distracted nail against her cup, a habit he had learned to find endearing as time passed. The clicking seemed to smoothen her train of thoughts and made for a strangely relaxing sound.  "That depends. In total or practically speaking?"

"How about both?"

She kept her focus on the view before them, her golden eyes wandering along the waves and beyond, as if she was trying to locate something far removed, even to the horizon itself. He found himself staring at the crinkle that had formed along her nose when she looked back. She noticed it of course, few things passed her by, even when at the corner of her eye. Yet she made no other comment than a simple raised eyebrow. Finally locking eyes, he remained unapologetic. His curiosity often got the better of him, even more so when the subject was of particular interest. He'd asked the question as it came back to him. Often he had wondered how many years she had walked the lands of twilight and those of the overworld to make her the being before his eyes. His own life, doubled by his previous experiences, had made him wiser than his peers from a young age onward, yet he felt she was on another level altogether. He couldn't say if it was because of age however, for things worked curiously sometimes in the land of magic that was his new world. He would be surprised although not so much were she to reply only a few days old, despite how unlikely it felt to him.

"I guess, around four centuries in total?" It felt more like a question than a definite answer. "Sadly, I cannot pretend to remember the exact year of my birth, nor the exact number of years I have lied dormant…"

She paused again, her gaze wandering his face,  perhaps to gauge his reaction. He felt what she saw satisfied her as she turned back towards the sea. Four centuries of life. A long time, a whole other scale compared to his mere three score and then some years, if one were to count his previous life as well as this one.

"But in reality it is much less, if I were to count only the years I spent awake, I believe it takes it down to less than a century."

She'd also been sealed away for years at a time, he knew from history sessions he'd been forced to take during his upbringing as the chosen one. Yet those times were recounted from the point of view of those who would rather have forgotten her if they could. Not much had transpired of the rest.

"You can ask for more if you want, I do not mind. After what we've been through, that wouldn't be the strangest thing," she hummed.

It was true they had had peculiar interactions in the past, to say the least. One of them being the discussion leading to this one where he had revealed a large part of his story and true identity to her. For all intent and purposes they were isolated from the world, where land came crashing into the never ending sea, and by the nature of their cohabitation, none of the past restraints felt like they truly mattered anymore. She must have noticed the look in his eyes, the one she had always tried to evade as it had roused questions she had been uncomfortable peering into, yet the one she now was thankful for.

"Sorry."

"Don't apologize."

Shaking her head, she placed a hand on his for a moment, as if to say there was no need.

"Yeah, still...", he couldn't help a small sigh.

He took a sip of the sweet delight they had been sipping on while talking, it was cool yet tasty and helped lift the soul from the slump into which the grey skies sent it.

"So," when he finally mustered enough bravado to get the conversation to move along, "tell me about your life."

Heavens! He felt the heat rise to his cheeks. He'd even let the corner of his mouth rise into a corny smile. Stupid. She didn't seem to mind, though, as she nodded, her features thoughtful once more.

"You must already know some of it from the scriptures your kingdom has surely shown you, so I'll do my best not to bore you too much with it."

"Never", he winked.

Onwards, further than any ever before. She let out something between a sigh and a scoff.

"My mother brought me into this world about four centuries ago-"

"Here? Not the twilight lands?"

"Yes, here. As surprising as that may be, it wasn't uncommon at the time. We had say over a portion of land that spanned from the southern tip of the continent to the Kiln river," she continued as if that first interruption had not even happened. "I only moved to the twilight lands when both my parents died in an attempt by the Alliance to sway the balance of power, they gave their lives to defend their land. My grandmother raised me then, making me her aid and training me. I wasn't destined to become the Empress of Shadow from birth as you humans believe, see. Us demonkin have a strong respect for talent and ability. I was not born with both but rather grew into them. It was during my fourteenth or fifteenth birthday that I rose to a high enough status to be recognized as a potential candidate, and a couple of years after that, when my grandmother perished by the hand of the hero's party that I began truly showing signs of that which made a true Ruler to the eyes of other demons. Anger and resentment for my family's death fueled my soul. The next few years I spent training and waging war. As you know things went well for us at first until that fateful battle at Aamon's Pass where I was undone by the Hero herself and sealed away..."

Silence settled over the room once more before she continued.

"I realized afterward, during my time imprisoned in this strange prison in between space and time actually, that I had been hasty in my decision to pursue such a lofty goal. I vowed I would not make that mistake again - you know very well how that went..."

He scoffed before nodding. She carried on, resetting her eyebrows.

"About two centuries or so I spent in that state. That's from the information I gathered once the curse's seal wore out, and from what I was told. Saying that time doesn't flow in that state is false, but it flows in such a strange way, everything is distorted, crushed together and pulled apart at the same time, nothing really makes sense. I- Often I doubted I would be able to keep my sanity. That feeling of eternity… I believe I would wish it on no one."

She seemed to surprise even herself at the idea of compassion, yet she did not correct her words.

"Once I was free, I sought those who had helped me before, I sought my kin to find familiarity once more and to see if the fires of war were still being tended. The latter was still true, war is a constant it seems. The former was slightly more complicated. Many of my… acquaintances were alive, yet many had perished, either of decay or in battle. You see, if our reason d'être is erased we may wither away over time, and as battle and war was the demonkin's only focus all these years, when my demise became known and our defeat inevitable that time, many thought it was the end and the forces of twilight scattered. It took a few years to gather people and fan the flames of resistance once more. We had a world to conquer and our blood still ran hot! Two decades I worked tirelessly to regain allies, strengthen my army, and sharpen my claws. And when I thought I was ready to take up the mantle once more, I made my first appearance as the Empress. It did not go as well as I thought, many had either forgotten or turned their back on me over those long years; I had been in power for a short time after all. Yet I managed to… convince them that I was worthy and once this was beaten into their thick skulls, the forces of twilight united under my banner once more. We launched an assault once our preparations were finished - that paid off in a way, though much later - and, as I believe you know, this second attempt at conquest by my hand went as well as can be. We marched over half the continent of Vaneat in a matter of months and conquered Bor and Atalante over the next few years. Those were tough nuts to crack but oh so satisfying. Yet that's where the first hurdle appeared. The second generation of heroes that I had the pleasure to meet. They were greenhorns but had somehow a bottomless pool of luck. Everywhere they went, trouble awaited us. I still do not know how they managed to go as far as they did, yet one day they put in action their master plan, one which would have killed anybody else on the spot. For them, however, one crowned with the smile of Fate it seems…"

He'd heard about her demise at the hands of the Sea Dragons, the Heroes of that time's party, and their miraculous plan to take down the Empress in one fell swoop.

"One night - at night even, when our powers are most feared - they infiltrated my castle with a teleportation spell and sealed me away before turning my fortress to rubble. For the second time I found myself in that tortuous hell of a place, if a place is the right way to qualify it. I learned later the exact way they had achieved this result. They had activated an array of ancient artifacts brought with them and before I could react had sealed me away. It should never have been able to be set to work in such a way with such success, there was insufficient preparation on their part, any wrong move could have sent them to the void in an instant. They were untrained, without much experience, while I had the most fearsome army ever seen in these lands and I had spent nearly thirty more years honing my power. Yet, they succeeded. For over a century I was stuck in that place, with only my thoughts for company. It was… harsh."

She was playing with a lock of hair, twirling it around her long finger. He bit back a comment, letting her have this moment to herself. Perhaps she needed it. He knew he would, were he in her shoes, although he was positive he couldn't even begin to imagine what she must have gone through. It did nothing to calm the prickling annoyance that he had felt many times over the years, but he now knew what smell to put on that faraway look she sometimes had when she got lost in her thoughts. It was that of wet maple leaves in the muddy soil of autumn.

"The rest of the story you may know from personal experience," he shivered as she resumed her story, her voice was soft and low, "I was awoken about two score years ago now. Some of my followers traced the location of the hidden tomb I had been sealed in and managed, not without effort, time and dedication, to free me from that prison. I believed that I would have to go through as much trouble as before but the precautions I had put in place were successful and the soul of the undergrowth had not withered this time. My forces had split into factions, some which were still loyal to me, others who wished to continue the fight their own way, and others still who wished to cease with this war and had retreated into the farlands. I hesitated to take up the mantle of Empress once again, feeling for the first time since the death of my family that I was perhaps not made for it. That perhaps it was something I did not want as much anymore? And so I lay low for a number of years, isolating myself, mingling with the common folk and living a simple life. In the meantime I honed my power once more, regaining my previous abilities and much more over time. Finally, one day, I was reminded of why I had started this in the first place when I stumbled upon the ruins of a castle."

"Your parents'?"

He too had seen the charred stones, years ago now, when Solence, the sage of the court and first magus of his party, had deemed it necessary to give him a more practical lesson.

"Yes. It's not as if I had a deep connection with them, I've not known them that well, never had the time… But that feeling at the idea that I had lost them so young and had missed out on so much because of, well, your kind, it made me angry and the fire in me roared once more. From then on I trained with more fervor than ever, every day and every night. I travelled the lands to gather my forces once again, coming to an understanding with the different factions that chose to hear me out, and convincing the others. And when I felt I was ready, I launched the third assault on the territories of the Alliance. They scrambled to respond and we pushed them back far. This time, I thought, I would do it, I would avenge my family's memory, I would achieve my dream, and I would finally put an end to a nonsense which had gone far too long. Once again I was wrong. Or at least, I had underestimated the Alliance's hand. See, they had noticed the seal had been broken and they had begun preparations in case I ever returned. Not everybody believed it, and as years passed some even began to think I had simply vanished for good. Yet as per their policy of the Tenth Man, they made their preparations. They got you and the others. And they kept it under wraps from us, even when the war had already begun. Whether it was because you weren't ready or as a strategic advantage, I don't know, but it did take us by surprise, I'll admit that. Seeing a full-fledged hero, albeit still not at the height of his potential, march on the battlefield and take our assaults head on, and, as time went on, push us back, did not feel good."

And he had to admit he was quite proud of that fact. Making an army of demonkin and its olden leader feel the pressure had been one of his proudest achievements in life.

"What I thought would be a quick victory stretched into years of conflict and somewhat of a stalemate. I had already had my doubts before, but I believe it took me meeting you to really begin to open my eyes. What I thought I desired and what I truly did want had always been muddled within me. Your appearance and feats made it easier to focus on what I had to do, perhaps that also revealed what I desired to do… And as our clashes became more numerous I also found myself enjoying that more than conquest itself. War is always the same, it gets boring, or rather, tiresome over time. Violence for violence becomes stale, and even the flames of vengeance struggle against the winds of time, or so I believe I have come to learn. But you, your presence on the battlefield always managed to surprise me, to motivate me to fight harder and better. I wanted to have the satisfaction to take you down, not simply because it would mean our almost certain victory, but because I wanted to know what it felt like to be in the shoes of one of the great Heroes, I guess. I never did, in the end. Still…"

He saw the ghost of a somewhat wistful smile spread on her lips and elbowed her gently.

"Hey, in a way you did. Or do I have to remind you of the state I was in at the bottom of that pit? I didn't get those by tripping over my feet…"

Her eyes found his as he pointed at one of the places where her blades had dug deeply into his flesh. She turned her head to look at his back. He almost jerked back when her fingers found the exact spot and traced along despite it being covered by his shirt. All she gave for a reply was a thoughtful hum.

---

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A Hero’s Retirement

[nextwarden]

Echoes

Echoes of the great battle that had been raging for a few hours now still came to his ears. His breathing was ragged. It was difficult, what with the blood that was threatening to invade his lungs if he let go of his focus for even a single moment. His mind, which had been in overdrive since the moment the dark sunset had draped the skies with night robes, now felt empty and blank. He was sitting up against cold damp stone, his back straight despite the bloody scars that marred its surface. Each of his limbs cried out in pain and his bones ached; he had fought bravely among his comrades, pushing back wave after wave of vicious demons that poured out of the gates onto the battlefield. When they had finally reached the main gate he had entered alone, recovering enough thanks to the support he had always received in times of need, pushing himself to the limit for this one last, ultimate effort. He had found her just as battleworn amongst the ruins of the old throne room. The great Demon Empress was wearing red that day, perhaps by choice, perhaps by consequence. It suited her devilish features well and after an offhand compliment, returned in kind with a knowing smirk about his unkempt hair, their weapons had clashed, his bronze spear against her curved blades. He, the Hero of Dawn, and his companions had clashed countless times against her, the Empress of Shadows, and her subordinates, each time coming out stronger and braver. Unfortunately, for each encounter and experience gained, so had the enemy gained strength and boldness. Taunts had riddled the jousts, cuts and scars had marked each clash, pieces of their souls - if her kin even had such things - ripped and melded from one to the other in the most painful of ways. This was different, however. This was it. The Great Fall. Either of the allied forces of humankind, or of the demonic combine. One of them had to die, or both of them would. This was the end and death was the only way to conclude the great epic that had begun all those years ago.

He had been a simple man, living a simple life, not young enough to experience the throes of that fated life of romance that befitted every character of his favorite stories, but not old and wise enough to have accepted this reality yet. So when the blinding seal had come to fetch him as he wallowed on another of those evenings stuck at work he had not even blinked.

In exchange for his help in going against the forces of the evil Demon Empress they would grant him power, riches and any reward of his choice. After more than thirty years of a somewhat unfulfilled life he had been thrown into the body of a teenager again. It had had its fair share of nice moments, he had been happy with his loving family and had his fun with his friends; his bland work life had been balanced by a multitude of entertaining hobbies, and he had had a few relationships which had shaped him into the person he was. So all had not been bad. A bit lacking, perhaps; he had had dreams and fantasies about riches and fame, powers and magic, romance and adventure since his most tender age. Yet such was life as he had learned. In short, it had been bland, but the good kind of bland if one had to say. The one where you'd spend hours in front of the computer watching videos, reading escapist fantasy, while eating chips instead of getting a good night's sleep because you'd gotten so caught up in the universe and the characters' lives to do anything else. He had laughed, he had wept, he had been angry, frustrated, passionate, patient, lost and depressed, surprised, unsure, even scared at times, but he had lived. Or at least that's what he'd thought before. Before being summoned, before starting to learn about this entirely new world, this beautiful dangerously wild world of fantasies, magic and bloodshed.

Over the years, after beginning this epic quest that had been thrust upon him, he had learned that perhaps he had not lived as he wanted but he had lived nonetheless. Age and wisdom, come with more years than he had believed he would get or need, had made him stronger and more eager to discover what life had in store for him. It had somewhat disillusioned him too. He had been betrayed and disappointed a number of times by comrades and enemies alike, appalled and disgusted by their actions, madly enamoured with their restless relentlessness, and perhaps, were he to be perfectly honest, even a bit aroused. Although that last part he had kept mostly to himself. Mostly. He had wanted her and she had not rebutted him, but life had gone another road, that of duty and camaraderie. It had been both decided and necessary, painful too, somewhat, but necessary. And he had grown because of that, or so he wanted to believe. So he hoped. He had evolved at least, if anything, evolved into the person he was now. Both the fights of the war against the Demon Empress and her armies and the encounters with comrades and subjects of the allied Kingdoms had forged his will and his strength. For years he had been at the vanguard of humanity's advance and for years he had been content with that. It was dangerous, it was a bloody path, but it was the right one (probably) and more than that, it may have been thrust upon him but it was one he had chosen to embrace nonetheless. Despite those twelve long years of conflict he had not grown disillusioned - he always had been a little, anyway -, he had kept the fire of hope lit and burning within him and others. What he had to admit though, was that he had grown weary. Tired of the conflict that seemed to never end despite his best efforts. Not that he wanted to give up, but the hope, nay, the desire for respite had grown within him like a vine, hanging onto most of his thoughts and an increasing number of his actions. He yearned for peace, for a time of unknown yet great length during which he could just rest and do as he pleased without fear of consequences for the whole of the world.

That had been one of the ultimate motivations behind the attack on the fortress. That and the fact that they had managed to gain the upper hand in the previous conflict, pushing the demon armies back. He felt ready, so did the other armies of the alliance, it had to be now. So they had attacked as dusk fell upon the world.

The battle had been harsh and long, the four kings and the fell riders had come to meet them with their troops. The heroes of humanity had risen to the challenge and as the two armies clashed the Empress herself had joined the battlefield. Things went back and forth for a time, as it always did when demons were to be fought, and somehow, after clashing repeatedly, he and the Empress found themselves separated by a great salve of magic. She retreated deeper within the ruins of the old palace. Apparently the Grey Guard went to her pursuit for when he reached the center of the palace himself there were traces of battle and the Empress was on her guard. He jumped at the occasion and as they clashed swords he couldn't help but admire her flawless execution and the tempered deathliness of her attacks. For the longest time they exchanged blows mindlessly and he almost found himself having fun. He realized too late that the Grey Guard and the Empress's elementors had joined them and were clashing against each other. Spells and magic flew everywhere, turning the already damaged arena into a trap-riddled hellhole. Not that it clashed much with the rest of the Fallen Citadel, the Empress's long-standing place of residence.

Somehow the two groups of supporters managed either to thin out their numbers, or perhaps did they drag each other out and away from it over time as the two fated individuals eventually found themselves free of constraints once more, unleashing their full power for the ultimate time. Had he said it out loud he might have been called crazy but he realized he truly enjoyed exchanging blows with the indomitable existence that was the 'greatest threat to humanity', as the Alliance had referred to the Empress since his arrival. She was tall, her dark ashen skin contrasted with her golden eyes, her hair of raven black seemed to flow with purpose as she swung her blades. She was smart, quick and strong, and her presence was of the most impressive kind he had ever witnessed. Even Uxxi, the dark rogue assassin catkin who had joined the Hero's Party halfway through, in all her scalding cold wrath could barely compare to the chills he felt each time he encountered the path of the Empress. Each and everyone of her attacks were designed to snuff out life once she got serious. He was fast enough, however. Time and training had polished both his body and his mind; it had given him claws as sharp as the Empress's in terms of battle prowess. He evaded, paried, and returned each hit in kind, glossing over the grazes that accumulated over his body as if they were nothing - and they were, in contrast with the fate of the world, in this ultimate duel, they were not important. This time it was either her or both of them, any other conclusion would be a failure.

On and on they fought, as the echoes of battle drew nearer and stronger. Something may have been happening, they would have not noticed. He knew he couldn't and didn't want to, his focus was on her and only her. The others could be dealt with in many different ways, she had to be his. Only by the hand of the Hero would the Empress fall, that was what they had repeated over and over, to engrave this mission within his mind. Engrave. A nice word for it; he felt it now more than ever, it would have to be engraved indeed, nothing else would seal the demon armies away from the world.

As fatigue accumulated and night bled over them in darker and darker tones, the fight grew fiercer, the attacks more powerful and each other's determination was steeled by the knowledge that this was the end. No taunts were exchanged this time, there was no room. All was said in the eyes and the sneers, the blows and the powerful auras that clashed against one another.

In the end, he did not know exactly what did the trick. Something had happened at some point, perhaps their attacks had clashed too quickly and strongly and their auras had been amplified by one another. He could not say. There was a booming explosion, a bright-dark ominous light and a wave of pain and fatigue. He felt the world collapse under his feet and fell. When he came to, he was lying on the cold hard ground within the darkness of what seemed like a pit. His armor had been torn away, his cape and brooch were missing. Even the reassuring presence of his spear missed from his hand. As a matter of fact, his hand too, along with his arm he realized, were missing. The taste of blood filled his mouth. His survival instincts quickly went into overdrive and he focused on the only thing he could do: breathing. It was hard, he could tell he had somehow crushed most of his body, his bones were broken, his muscles torn, and his lungs were slowly bleeding in and out. His aura was focused on preventing more damage and keeping him alive until his natural healing ability could do the job but a single gurgling breath told him it might be too late. He would be dead long before his body would recover by itself, and that death was approaching with steady steps. He knew not how long he had but as he tried to look around he noticed the pit was so deep he could not see any light coming from any direction. He could still hear the distant echoes of battle however. Struggling against himself he sat up against the nearest wall. His mind was screaming at him to remain unmoving but he knew she was there and he wanted to face her as the Hero he had tried to show everybody he was. She chuckled as he groaned from the pain of moving.

"Still kicking, huh…?"

This was the first time since the battle had begun that he had heard that depth-riddled sound. Strangely, it felt almost reassuring. He was still alive and his purpose was yet to be snuffed out from him.

"Seems so," he replied with a liquid cough.

Damn, he cursed silently. Was this ever going to end?

---

PREVIOUSLY | NEXTLY

A Hero’s Retirement

[nextwarden]

Crushed

"Beuyarglpfff."

Or something like that.

It was the most accurate transcription of the sound she could think of. The movement had been as powerfully graceful as ever, barely making a sound. The man had unfortunately been mid sentence when he'd taken a revolving kick to the face. He'd subsequently taken a table, two bystanders and the outer wall smack down into the same face - not that he'd have had time to change it in the midst of the action even if he'd tried… yet, considering the damage done, it did feel as though he was a new man when he emerged on the other side - before hitting the dusty ground so hard she was sure he'd begin sprouting if left alone long enough. Yes, she was perfectly aware they were in one of the driest parts of the continent, but with the amount of blood, snot and tears he produced, it seemed sufficient to make up for it.

"Me being felinefolk does not automatically entitle you to a free voucher for a catcall session. No matter how amazing, fine, or sweet I look, is that clear?"

She saw the rogue's tail swish angrily as she turned around. There was no answer. Not that they'd have found anything intelligent to retort had they not liquefied on the spot. Uxxi had such an effect on men, it seemed. Fymna had been an involuntary witness more than once. Voluntary only twice, but they'd deserved it. Trying to possess what was not for mortals to have was a sin, after all.

The air in the tavern had gotten heavy, one of those crackling atmospheres before a storm. She put a hand on her teammate's shoulder, gently making her presence known. She felt the lean yet strong muscles ripple under her palm, Uxxi was ready to go for more. Yet the taller woman seemed to calm down at the touch, as she tended to do more often than not when the priestess and her gentle ways were involved. Her fur settled and she concealed her fangs. Satisfied, Fymna took a step towards the counter.

"Apologies for the trouble and the damage, we'll leave now. I hope this is enough to compensate you."

The scowling host's sour expression at the sight of the fair-haired maiden morphed into an understanding one when his eyes landed on the bag of coins. He gave her a nod as he took it. Unfortunately, not every patron seemed to be as understanding as he was. A brave soul rose to the challenge, visibly unimpressed by the priestess's small frame and gentle aura.

"Hey!" It was a scrawny man, not quite drunk but not quite sober. "You can't just leave like what after dipping that lad, he wasn't even…"

Whatever he was about to say next seemed to die off in the unimportant realm of his mind as their eyes finally made contact. The Angel's Smile, the others had taken to call it. Seeing it was like floating to the gates of Heaven, they'd said. Of course, how one got there was not left to imagination, Fymna's own mother had seen to it when teaching her about one of her greatest weapons.

"Yes?", she asked, inviting him to go on, her voice oozing sweetness enough to drown.

He did not. Good of him. She turned around and with a simple motion of the head towards Uxxi, walked out of the fine establishment where they'd managed to enjoy a short yet welcomed respite. And not a second too late it seemed. A skirmish had just taken place and a customer had even suddenly soiled themselves. Ah, the ravages of alcohol. And men. She barely managed to repress her sigh.

"Ice cream?", Uxxi stretched into yonder as she voiced the offer, her tail and her claws extending in the most fascinating of ways.

"Gladly!", Fymna replied, securing her grip on her staff as she forcefully marched straight on.

---

PREVIOUSLY | NEXTLY

A Hero’s Retirement

[nextwarden]

A Weapon of Choice

The Sword, always the Sword.

The Holy Blade of Caspian was by essence the weapon of the Hero. For generations past it had served the side of light in pushing back the forces of shadow. It was a grand artefact of immense power and value, one that many wished to have the opportunity to wield once. He'd seen the smiles all on those who'd laid eyes upon its edge and heard the cries of wonder of the few who had had the chance to take it into hand. Yet it had never sat well in his own. He had realized early that he much preferred the longer shaft of Arédil. Why that was, he couldn't say. It wasn't as if he had been a fierce ass-kicking lance wielding spearman in his previous life or anything; if he had barely waved a kitchen knife in a mildly threatening way that had to have been it… Yet as soon as he had touched the bronze surface he had had a feeling, and that feeling had been confirmed when he'd let his aura loose within it. His heart had been set then and there. The Holy Sword was not to be his weapon, despite all the protestations of those around him, those who knew better, those who were older and wiser, stronger and perhaps more able, those who would have given their lives up in an instant just to be its wielder.

...

He'd shout at them to vent his frustration if he were allowed to, but he'd made a promise. No talking back to those wiser than him nor to other students, no looking for trouble. He'd never really looked for it, it just had a knack for finding him. If there was one thing that had changed the most compared to his previous life, it was the attention he was getting. From friends and foes alike. Too many well-intentioned people, too many idiots and sleazy bastards. Catching a break was proving much more difficult than he liked. In the past he'd never had to worry about this so much. He was there, his presence was known, but they'd never seen a target in him, for whatever reason that was. Perhaps he had a sufficient size yet one not too big to pass unnoticed. Maybe he'd been good-looking enough to catch the eye but not too long and not so much as to make jealous nitwits feel threatened. He couldn't say for sure but that was the only logical explanation he'd been able to come up with. He'd been normal until now, forgettable yet content with his life, almost happy. That cosmic rearrangement had cast all that balance into the blazing inferno of his new life.

He'd made progress with his aura, he'd managed to master the second tiers of fighting techniques, and he'd even become fluent enough in both the royal Khamkan, the language of the Capital and by extension the whole kingdom, and in Sohiri, that of the Alliance, to hold advanced conversations without such a pronounced accent as in the beginning. It had taken him a few years to get there but he was on track now. That was the problem, it seemed. He was getting too good for their liking. First he'd been too weak, incompetent and with no talent whatsoever, not even a shred of potential in their eyes. So he'd worked, trained, and managed to rise and overcome the barriers that stood in his path. It had taken time and dedication, perhaps a little bit of luck too: he'd always managed to find things he was sufficiently interested in to try to be good at.

Recently, though, the business-pleasure ratio had greatly shifted towards the business end and his enjoyment had plummeted quite a bit. They had always insisted on his ability to master both the bastard blade that had long before been Caspian's in two handed combat as well as in one handed, either alone or with a shield, and he had born through it in order to be able to hold his ground in battle. Mostly it had been with branded weapons, not the actual Holy Sword, it had been too early for him to be entrusted with it; his annoyance at that prospect had faded away over time. He understood their reasoning and he himself realized he did not feel ready for it. Swiping, thrusting, hitting, parrying, deflecting, stepping, breathing, focusing his aura, he'd done all he could to learn and master those with or without the aid of the legendary weapon. Only then could he truly be strong, Quintus often repeated.

"The Sword amplifies the wielder's abilities, it does not create them out of nothing."

So he had. This had led him to become recognized for his actual competence as time had passed and more and more tasks had been thrust upon him as they'd begun truly relying on the hero they saw within him. He'd learned to fight, to obey, to command, to strategize, to maneuver politics and traps with just as much agility, and to eventually begin voicing his own will. That was the reason he'd crossed paths with the spear: he'd pushed for a focus on the dungeons that popped all over the lands, with which he had specialized in dealing. One of such had been an old abandoned underground temple in the jungles of the coast near the east.

There, dusty and untouched for more than eight centuries, he'd found Arédil, the old spear said to have once served the hand of a warrior capable of leveling a city by themself. It was long, almost taller than him, and heavy, made entirely of bronze, and engraved in many different runes and patterns all along its shaft. Even the blade of the point was finely carved  out to give the metal two different shades, one darker along its border and one lighter its center. Whether it was true or not was unknown, the legends regarding the spear were widely considered as such: legends. Unlike the Holy Sword which was revered by all, Arédil had quickly been evaluated by the most qualified in such domain as a relic of the past, one to expose in a second rate manor's gallery. They hadn't therefore denied his request to keep the artifact with him, it had been considered his spoil of war, and nobody had asked for it since. Only the high mage of the court had asked to have a look at it, but upon studying it more closely and realizing it held very few properties that appeared useful - its sturdiness and the fact it came back to one's hand by expanding aura made it a good weapon, but not one of the greats - he had returned it with a curt thank you.

It hadn't been immediate, rather a surprisingly smooth and willing transition. Lug had been training channeling his aura through his weapon, working on power and precision. The dull and repetitive nature of such training, especially with a single weapon such as the sword, had grown on him and, in his free time, which was not much, he'd taken to playing around with Arédil, for lack of a better word. He'd practice thrusting it, twisting it in his hands, twirling it around his body as he slowly attempted to dance around with it. It had been awkward and unproductive at first, yet fun. However not everyone had seemed as taken by it as him and soon he'd been asked to refrain from doing so. He'd not listened of course and the remarks had gotten more direct.

"Why are you still bringing it with you?", "Isn't it inconvenient to carry around?", "You should focus on your shield technique if you have time?", "Bronze is such a strange choice for a weapon, so unrefined…", "What a dull colour, as much as its point…", "What do these carvings even mean, anyway?", "Be careful, you're going to hurt somebody eventually.".

So he wasn't very dextrous, true. But he wanted to try. And try he did. On his own, once the training grounds were empty, in the evening. Until one such evening, one of the generals, an old man he had not much attachment nor fondness towards, had come to check upon him. They'd clashed a few times about Arédil already, directly or indirectly, and he had no wish to have that argument again, so in a desperate attempt to conceal the spear, he'd discovered its ability to dematerialize in a subspace pocket. That had, of course, attracted the attention of said general, but a hasty yet simple justification of him training his body had sufficed since the spear had been nowhere to be seen.

"Do remember to rest, hero. Wielding a weapon such as the Holy Sword requires strength and focus," he'd heard the man say as he left, seemingly satisfied.

After that event he'd only practiced at night, away from others. At least once he'd discovered he could summon and send away Arédil at will. It made a noise each time, less if he focused more. He did enjoy the cracking, so he wouldn't focus unless he wasn't alone.

It had taken him months to truly become proficient with the weapon but once he had, he had trouble letting go. It wasn't simply more fun, it felt more right, it felt like an extension of him, such as the training swords or Caspian's blade - when he was allowed to wield it - had never felt, not even once. He also had to admit, having it at a crack away at all times felt reassuring and being able to basically fly was something he would give up for nothing. He still had some practice to do on that part to be able to sustain it long enough. That was sort of the problem with Arédil, it was a good weapon but it was needy in terms of aura, it consumed quite a amount, one that an untrained êrson wouldn't be able to bear. He did have an almost endless pool of it, so... 

They must have seen something had changed in him as nobody seemed entirely surprised when he whipped it out in the middle of battle with a resounding crack after his steel blade broke. No surprise but judgment. Yes, it had been useful, efficient perhaps even, but why not simply take another blade once he'd pushed back the enemy? He hadn't bothered to reply, giving a noncommittal shrug. The next battle he'd not even bothered to take a sword with him, neither had he for the next, nor the following ones. They'd seen but said nothing, his battle prowess with Arédil had equaled if not surpassed that which he'd shown with a sword, even Caspian's Holy Sword. That last fact must have not pleased them, either that or they felt threatened by his cool moves on the battlefield. They'd begun insisting he use the Holy Blade more, had basically pushed it upon him at all times. The Hero had to have the Holy Blade, how was he to defeat the Demon Empress without it? Had they listened, or chosen to see, perhaps they'd have understood that fame or power weren't equal to actual ability, but that would have probably made them painfully aware of their own position.

The first clash with the Empress, Arédil in hand, had served to show them he was on the right path. She'd been surprised, pleasantly so from what he had gathered - a change in their dynamic had apparently been welcomed - and had acknowledged his ability. They'd tried again a few times after that but his growing power and reputation with the spear had already spread beyond the area of their influence and they realized they were losing control over him. They'd tried to get to him through his allies, to which he'd responded by effectively making the Holy Sword an object of display: he'd wear it during parades or for any official business, and even take it out on occasion. Notably for a duel with the prince. But during any battle it was with Arédil and no other weapon - despite perhaps ones that he'd pick up here and there when he needed it. He was a spear wielder, perhaps not the most proficient in the beginning, but soon one of the strongest they'd ever seen. That was the nature of his curse as the Hero, he was powerful. And so was Arédil by his side. Perhaps they'd been relieved when they'd found the sword safe and sound in their possession after that final attack on the Citadel. Relieved that he had chosen a second rate weapon, and surely convinced that the situation would have played entirely differently had he brought the Holy Blade of Caspian with him and used its magnificent power to slay the Empress instead of relying on a simple bronze shaft. But then again, what did they understand of magnificence? They'd not even realized despite it staring them in the eye since the beginning of this conflict...

---

PREVIOUSLY | NEXTLY

A Hero’s Retirement

[nextwarden]

Pride

The Ever Monarch. The Great One. Night Incarnate. Such were the names that had been given to her over the long and bloody years. An indomitable existence, a fierce advocate of shadow and cold dark silence, humanity's greatest threat. She had not been the first and, as was the Will of the World, neither would she be the last. Over the years, the decades, the centuries, over the many millennia of existence there had been a number of dark lords and many more attempts to bring humanity to its knees and to cause its downfall. Many attempts, so few successes. And even as the armies of twilight had marched over all that was under the sun, heroes had always risen from the ashes to take back what had been stolen. From dust to dust, from ashes to ashes, her predecessors had been beaten back, only to return stronger. So it had been for her too. The Demon Empress had slept for over a century after being sealed away, waking up only to see the world threatened by its lasting peace. It had been arduous but the Legions had been risen once more, lands had been ravaged, lives taken, all in the name of eternity and its quiet rest.

They had tried to stop her before, not once but twice. Frustratingly so, they had succeeded both times, sealing her away to rot in the half-space that was the void prison. The first time it had been her loss; too young and immature she had tried to follow in the footsteps of her ancestors and reign unchallenged both over the ashen lands of the undergrowth and the overworld. Her ascension had been blindingly fast and powerful but so had been her demise. Her power had been contested among her own and her abilities had fallen short in front of the great Hine, the savior of the human race and queen of Autumn and her absolute strength. Banished to a netherworld, one not entirely here and not entirely there, in between others, she had reflected and bidden her time. The second time, long after Hine's death - as she had learned upon returning to the world - she had corrected her mistakes, strengthening her forces and solidifying the support of the ashen clans. She had refined her technique and simplified her strategy: all had to be conquered. Had it not been for a dumb stroke of luck and an ill prepared plan paying off in the least satisfying way of all on the humans' part, she would have succeeded. But of course they had to try their hand at such unstable magic and they had to succeed unfailingly… Sealed away a second time, though for a much shorter span than the previous one, she had once again bidden her time, waiting for a gap in the threads of her prison. It had come in the form of assistance from her own people, who had searched tirelessly for a way to bring her back. Once free again, gaining their trust and support had been an easy task, they had seen her potential and her efficiency, they had understood the stroke of pure chance that had befallen her. All were willing but not all were prepared, as she soon understood. Undertrained, unprepared, unfocused, the might of the demon armies had withered in her absence. So she did what she had done best before and waited, patience was key. For decades they prepared and she refined her skills, strengthening her mind, her body and her aura, until they were finally ready to strike once again.

Lying dormant as such for so long, they had taken the humans by surprise and vanquishing them had been easy and quick. Soon they had taken over half the world, then two thirds, then… Well, that's when things got slightly worse. The Alliance of kingdoms had enlisted all their forces and had united under the banner of the Hero. After so long, after so many hardships and after single handedly pulling the forces of the ashen lands back up to their former might, her plans were possibly on the verge of being thwarted once again. Whatever she attempted from then on was either too slow for her taste or entirely backfired on her, pushing her goal further away. But the Empress had had time to think, to reflect, and she knew that victory was on her side this time. That Hero might have been strong, he might have matched her every move and played his cards with intelligence, but he had made a grave mistake in challenging her: he had awoken the dormant dragon. He had put the fun in funeral, as one might have said, had they had the guts to do it when she was around. She found that the challenge motivated her to reach peaks of power she previously had thought inaccessible. Each of their encounters would find both of them more powerful and more eager to show it to the other. He was the same, she could feel it in his changing demeanor each time their paths crossed on the battlefield and she could hear it in the words of her generals when they made their reports, whether defeated or victorious, they feared him more when she was around.

Years had passed and the burning desire of victory had only grown more intense within her, yet she had also found at the same time the tediousness of battle and all the preparations and commitments that were asked of her were getting heavier on her spirit. So much was asked and demanded in return for far too little time to put her plans in action each and every time that it dampened her will to use the forces at all at times. She knew it would be her defeat if ever she thought herself arrogant enough to believe her power alone would suffice, yet some days it was so tempting. To go all out until the end, without a care in the world, to bring it all out of her, out of him, and settle this once and for all. Perhaps that was what had motivated this half madness, perhaps it was indeed the right move, she couldn't say until she saw him appear from between the large columns of the old temple of the ruined citadel. She had made the decision to give the humans a last stand, all in on both sides and through careful manipulation of information and a strategic placement of her troops, they had been baited into what was to be their last battle. An all out assault on the part of the Alliance and a fight for the ages to defend the Citadel on the part of the armies of demons. Everything was set for them to prevail but the humans did not know that, at least that's what she had thought. Apparently however, from what her spies had just notified her of, they had seen through part of her plan and yet had accepted the bait on the Hero's demand. That fool had apparently been determined to end things here and there if that was her desire too.

She fought him with everything, so much had been accumulated in her soul: rage, excitement, pent up frustration, exhaustion, desire… She wanted it to be over and to be able to breathe for a while- no, not just for a while, for the longest while one could ever hope. All of this and more came out during their fight, and true to himself the Hero responded hit for hit, blast for blast, taunt for taunt. He was there at each corner, waiting to surprise or waiting to be surprised, despite outside intervention and the battle that was raging around them, he was all eyes on her and so was she. And the Empress of Shadow, despite all her shortcomings, was grateful for this. Whether he had intended to be or not, he had been the pillar on which she had been able to lean these past years, the constant in this grey world of duty and responsibilities. If he was there it meant forgetting all of that, letting go of this weight and of all the cares for the sword that hung over her head, it meant she could just live in the moment and enjoy this final fight, this ultimate challenge. Perhaps that had been her mistake? Thinking that he was like her. Perhaps it had been what had gotten her in this situation. She had presumed despite knowing that presuming was being ignorant. She had let her anger get the better of her, a resentment she had never thought she could have felt for anything other than those that had sealed her away, stronger than for Humanity itself. It had only taken a few words and that look on his face. Not pity, not fear, but fatigue. Fatigue in front of her. Fatigue of her.

"Shouldn't we stop this?"

 How dare he…!

…

There was no light but her eyes were made to see perfectly in the deepest veil of night so as soon as she came to she noticed him. Well, came to was perhaps a strong way of putting it. She hadn't lost consciousness after all, she simply had been slightly disoriented by the impact. The blast and the fall along the depths of the pit had warped all her sense of balance and of direction but the hard landing and the damp coolness of the cave had helped clear her mind.

She couldn't say if it was truly the fight, or the fall, or that jagged piece of stone that had pierced her flank, but she felt positively exhausted. More so than she had ever let herself admit. She was tired and wanted only one thing which was to lie down and forget all that was happening above. But his ragged breathing and the faint sounds of battle still raging at the surface kept her awake.

…

After what seemed like an eternity, during which many thoughts passed through her heart - perhaps he was breathing his last breath, perhaps this was the end of this everlasting struggle, perhaps  she would finally be free, perhaps… - she finally felt him stir and rise against the wall. Chasing those unwanted and surprisingly misliked ideas, she forced a smirk.

"Still kicking, huh…?"

She couldn't quite see his face as he was not facing her directly, but she knew he too would be smiling. That had been the case ever since they had baptised their bitter rivalry in steel and blood.

"Seems so."

His voice was still strong but the liquid cough that came with it said otherwise about his physical state. He was badly wounded, his lungs most probably, from the way he struggled to breathe, and surely everywhere else was in pain. She knew for a fact that his healing factor would kick in eventually, but for the first time she saw a possible future where it did not. If he was too badly wounded and if time ran out too quickly for him, he'd live his final heartbeat long before his body could begin to recuperate. That was the reason why the priestess's presence in his party was such an annoyance, she came in to compensate this weakness of his with her great healing magic.

"You seem to be doing great too," she heard him comment.

Somehow he too could sense she was at her wits end about the situation. She was exhausted physically, emotionally, and her aura was depleted and scattered. Her blades were somewhere near, she could feel them, but she had not the energy to grab them nor raise them against him, whether to attack or defend herself. If she was patient, perhaps… But wouldn't he too have the probabilities of a chance of some sort by waiting? Yet he was slowly withering, mayby, just maybe… So was she, however. Biding time was her best bet but was it safe? She couldn't tell. She tried to feel her flank, perhaps she could do something about that damned rock, and felt the blood that had not yet flowed out of her drain from her chest as she touched it. It wasn't a rock, it was that damned spear. Planted deeply in her flank, it pierced her from one side to the other. How had this happened? How had she been so careless? Her perception must have been screwed if she did not manage to feel it so near her. She attempted to focus once again, perhaps her weapons were also close by - their proximity would ease her mind if anything else -, but found nothing. The images of the last few seconds before black out came back to her. She had cut through his flesh the instant the fall had distracted him and had managed to catch his weapon in the confusion. Yet how could she find herself in such a position? She must have not handled it carefully enough as they fell... Piss be the Heavens! She had doomed herself. The great Demon Empress, Lord of Cold Nights and Shadow, skewered by her own hand. What a fitting end to her laughable tale…

"Never better."

The edge to her words was her only lifeline and she would be damned - ha! - before she let it go and drowned in this silence she felt rising throughout her being.

…

"I'm tired, you know."

He broke the silence this time. She still couldn't tell if he was trying to buy time or not, those heroes always had something up their sleeves and he wouldn't be an exception. But even still, it was better than nothing to have someone to interact with at that moment, even if it was to exchange taunts and such.

"Well we've been fighting since night fall after all…", she replied.

It had been hours since then. How many she couldn't say exactly, but dawn couldn't be far away. Dawn. Damn! She hadn't thought about that. If the Sun went up, it might be bad news, the hero's power was linked to it after all. Maybe that's what he was aiming for? But how? They were in a cavern at the bottom of a pit so deep that no light came from above… She could barely hear the distant echoes of battle even with her sensitive hearing.

"No, I mean, of all this… The fighting, the bloodshed, being on edge constantly…"

What came next she couldn't despite her best effort say if it was a sorrowful sigh or simply the wind passing through the fissures in the wall stone. Somehow, however, it dawned on her that perhaps his earlier words had not been mere wishful thinking.

"Is that what you meant earlier? When you said you wanted to stop."

He remained silent for a while before letting out a snort.

"I knew you had misunderstood something. So that's why you were so forceful afterwards…"

She saw the smirk on his face as he finally deigned to look in her direction.

"But yeah, that's what I meant," he continued before she could let her irritation out. "Don't you think it would be nice to put an end to all this?"

"I…", she hesitated.

Of course she did. She had been wishing and striving towards her goal, towards the endgame, for so long now that it had become part of her, yet she was ready to give all that up the second it meant she could take it easy and leave this pressure for good. If only she had been more decisive, if only she had taken him out when she could, if only… if only she hadn't been having fun. Emotions, always emotions. Dragging her down and back. If only- Yeah. If only. How merely with ifs one could remake the world in their image and still have room for dessert. But she had had her ifs, she had had her opportunities and yet...

"Yeah…"

She felt her eyes well up and tears of so many things gathered at the corners of her eyes as she uttered this single word.

"Yeah, I wish. I feel so tired, exhausted by all that is asked of me, all that I ask of myself, all that I do and am so poorly rewarded for. I- I wanted it over with. I don't even know why, it's not like I have much waiting for me once it is, just…"

"Just to be done with it?", he asked with a cough.

The warm smell of iron came to her nose and had she not been so exhausted it would have surely been enough to make her jump and rip out his throat. Surely.

"I get that," he said. "I guess it's just not for us, huh... Well, it was fun while it lasted at least."

"If only I had tried a bit harder…" she pounded the ground, leaving a small dent, "instead of 'having fun' as you say."

…

"So you are… serious?"

Her eyes were trained on him.

"Yes. I mean, why else do you think I've been keeping this up?"

"I don't know… for humanity's sake maybe?"

"Don't you think they should learn to deal with things themselves? They did quite a good job annoying us while we fought so I guess they could if they really wanted to."

Silence.

"But they keep relying on us, and it's getting tiresome."

She nodded, still unsure of what she wanted or if he could even see her.

"So yeah, why not. They wouldn't know the difference, we'd get to breathe a bit and… I don't know, I guess it'd be somewhat fun to not be entirely alone."

She couldn't quite read the look he gave her. Perhaps because he couldn't see her in the pitch black atmosphere of the cave and his eyes were somewhat unsure of the exact location of hers, or perhaps it felt too real to be believed.

"You would suggest something so foolish so seriously? Truly?"

"Tell me you haven't thought about it at least once. Tell me part of you isn't considering it right now?"

"If it's only to 'breathe a bit' as you say, it's too little a reward."

"Then let us make that as long as we want."

"And how exactly do you propose this to be done?"

"You remember the battle of Urnath?"

She blinked for a moment, unsure she had heard well, and then she laughed. It hurt but she didn't care, it was too funny to pass up. When she calmed down she saw the weak yet playful smile on his face.

"I see. Very well, say it works, what then? We will both be dead before the sun comes up anyway."

"Maybe. Maybe not…"

His expression turned wistful as he pointed towards his pouch. She frowned before focusing on it. Oh.

"Is that what I think it is?"

"Used at the right time it could keep both our lives and get us out of here safely. Well, mostly. With a bit of help."

"You truly plan to… help me? Even if just to get you out of here. You'd do that instead of waiting for your allies? I thought you were here to make sure the job is done."

"The job is to stop you from conquering the world and putting an end to humanity, right? Then just promise to let this go and the job'll be as good as done."

"I could break that promise."

"And I could learn to juggle."

"Do you not care?"

"It's not that I don't care, more that I, somehow, find myself having perhaps not faith but trust in you. I'd dare say I've come to know you well through our encounters and I trust what I know. I feel the same want from you, and I believe I am not wrong. So if you say you will, I'll believe you and that'll be that."

"You are a fool."

"Maybe, yes. So are you."

"And we would escape our fate together."

"Yes."

"What then?"

"Peace."

"Together with you? I don't believe it."

"If that's what you want..."

She saw his smirk.

"I- wha-"

Oh she so wanted to tear him apart now. Oh how she wanted to accept this sweat deal which was too good to be true if only to rip him apart the second they were out of this hellhole.

"Sorry," he chuckled a wheezy breath, "you know how I like to tease. Appologies, I didn't mean to mock your intentions." He paused and she huffed. "Yes, together, why not. An old friend of mine has told me of a place, far away from here, where no one lives. One with a nice, quiet garden and a view on the sea. It's a bit run down and would need some tending but, if you'd be okay with that, if you would be okay with me, then yeah, the offer stands."

Was he really offering what she thought he was offering? More outlandish yet, was she seriously considering it? It was something. Perhaps it could even... She huffed once again. Yeah, perhaps.

"They'll shame your name."

"I do not care much for it. I'd deserve it too," he retorted. "They'll curse yours."

"I guess. If they ever learned that…"

"If they ever did, what of it? We are their power, do you really think they would dare?"

She laughed again, she didn't know what kindred spirit had taken her to laugh so much, her sides were seriously starting to hurt now. Perhaps...

"Alright, I'll bite."

"Really?"

"Are you that surprised?"

"Somewhat, yeah. I had a feeling, a wild hope, that you might, but… may I ask why?"

"As you said, I too am tired of all this. And I am surprised that you have prepared yourself for such an eventuality and are ready to push this far, it makes me curious. I can't help but wonder why. Plus, who knows, it might even be fun…?"

He only grunted for a response, closing his eyes and pushing his head back against the cold wall. For a while he did not move nor did he speak. She almost thought he might have finally passed, but as she was about to speak again he opened his eyes.

"Okay, here's what I propose…"

---

PREVIOUSLY | NEXTLY

A Hero’s Retirement

[nextwarden]

New Dog, Old Tricks

“A mut? Seriously?”

The look he shot at her, peering over his glasses, said worlds more than his words.

“Hellhound, to be exact,” she corrected, her lips raising at his frown.

It was light and bright, partly because of the electric colour his eyes always displayed, partly because of the amused glint she could see reflected in his gaze. Far too much to be any cause for a storm, in any case.

“I never took you for a dog person.”

She heard the judgement in his voice and knew the decision which would be made if he were to have his way; still, she elected to ignore it, considering it's stupidity.

“Well, color me surprised, considering every other way you did…" Her smile turned to an amused smirk as he sputtered a mouthful of his cold beverage all over the well written words. “It’s not something I would’ve been shouting on rooftops anyway. The timing was never quite right, what with all the screeching and wailing in the Citadel,” she sighed.

The large ruby eyes were closed in a content daze as she scratched under the large canine creature’s chin. It had four, two vertical sets on each side of its head, all as keen as the blades of her swords, made to seek and pursue its prey to the ends of the world, and beyond. Yet now as helplessly closed as those of a napping cat. Which meant only harmless as long as no prey's scent came within a valley's width of its nose.

“His name’s Vaud. Well, as far as can be humanly pronounced,” she added when he’d stopped coughing. “He’ll be sleeping on the porch or in the living-room, if that's okay with you."

They’d agreed on multiple rules since the both of them had moved into the seaside house. Chores were to be equitably divided, decisions about changes to be made to the layout of the house and their living quarters were to be taken with the other's consult. Quarreling was authorized but no actual fighting outside of the pit. Nothing had been decided in terms of pets or companions, however. A loophole she was very interested in taking advantage of at that very moment.

"Mmmh."

A non-committal nod. Better than nothing but still not a definite answer.

"Is that a no?"

She'd moved to his side, lounging near the low table, and rested her head on his shoulder. He used to flinch at that kind of thing but the uncertainty had long faded away. She had to admit she missed it sometimes. Vaud had followed suit, lying down at their feet, its head towards her as it let itself fall prey to respite. She saw the cool eyes flicker to its short yet thick and curly black fur.

"No…", he put his pencil down before extending a tentative hand, slowly passing his fingers through the fur, waiting for a reaction.

It came in the form of a half-open eyelid and a relaxed huff with the large hound-like creature slightly adjusting its position.

"He seems to like you."

"But do I like it?"

"Ah. You're more of a cat person, true."

He tsked, his jaw rippling with irritation before giving her a shove. She knew it to be falsely exaggerated; it was light, his shoulder brushing against hers more than anything. It would have been somewhat deserved, she'd been the one to taunt after all, but it was too good an opportunity to pass on.

"I feel needlessly attacked for what was a simple friendship."

"Sure…"

She let her words drip with sarcasm. She knew he knew her spies had picked up on his old habit, but having had the opportunity to stroke such fur and mess about with the tips of sensitive ears, she had come to understand why. Still, despite not warranting such taunting, she enjoyed it too much not to.

"Well, for your information, it was quite… satisfying, if I may say," he replied with a huff. He cast another sideways look. "He seems friendly enough, and docile."

She gave him a nod in reply. It was nothing definitive, but if anything it felt like progress. Then he smiled at her, a contained yet amused curve to his lips she knew far too well.

"I do like his fur," he offered before turning back to his book. "Reminds me of you," he added.

There it was. The low blow in response to her teasing. She made it known with an elbow to the side, earning her a half-chuckle half groan. He did flaunt an unconcealed passion for her bed or post-shower hair, whenever she allowed the world to witness it long enough. Not that he disliked the result of her daily efforts to reign it in through intricate braids, on the absolute contrary. It was she who had somewhat of a longstanding dislike for her wild mane. His delight was evident in the looks he gave her. Now was not exactly an exception even if diluted in mischievousness. She let out a sigh. It had to rain that day, and their new companion had to be happily affected; of course he would choose such an opportunity to strike.

"May I consider the matter settled, then?"

"As long as it is understood that my food is my own, yes. Friends of mine dear are friends of mine own."

She hummed contentedly at the weight of his head on her own.

---

NEXTLY

A Hero’s Retirement

[nextwarden]

A Million Years Before

Nothing. Something. Never. Now. What. Why. All are the same. All are before. Then comes the now, big and bright and bellowing. It comes from whatever was there before, whatever was left of the previous ones, whatever was destined to be in the next. Maybe there was none before, maybe there was none until now. Yet Now is here. It would be here to stay but almost as soon as it is, it must depart for After comes. How Now remains in the after is a question no answer can hope to enlighten. Perhaps it was also before and thus must be after. Now remains and yet it leaves, it comes and goes, never moving. The pull is first, then comes movement followed by waves light, then heat beams and finally sound overshadows them all for an instant before letting its elder, Silence, soothe it back to sleep. Place, where, space. Time, when, flow. They all trickle in, slowly, one by one, many at a time, none moving either faster or slower than the other, and come stand around the great bonfire that marks the beginning of their feast. They stand and dance and sit and laugh and float and sing and then remember the gravity of the morning. Night has friends now. Dawn and Day and Eve. All dancing with. Night likes it. For once the dance is fun and not lonely.

…

Ten thousand years before

They're the first of their kind. Born from ashenstar and darkwater. They rise under the moon and, once their drowsiness fades, walk the world. They see what is to see as day comes: oceans and plains and forests and mountains and deserts and beaches and lands of ice and deep caverns and high skies… Eventually they meet others. They watch, listen, smell, learn and exchange.

When the first departure comes, it doesn't hurt that much. The pain is not in the flesh. Very little is, for them anyway. They think about it for a while and decide to try again.

Same result.

Feeling alone they rouse comrades and invite them to walk with them.

…

Nine thousand nine hundred and ninety years before

A push to one side means a push from the other in response. Where They walk, the Will must follow. And it does. Through the eyes of the prime brave, young and shiny, ready to make wrongs right.

Maybe it is not needed. Maybe it is. It has decided to be, so be it.

…

Four hundred years before

The fire is spreading, far too fast. Something is not right. The lord must have stumbled again.  No matter, she must be kept safe and they vow to do just that. They fight against it, against the world and fate; they feel they are fighting against the Will itself. Perhaps it is true, perhaps not. Who would they be to care? The world may try as hard as it will, the fire burns as hot and wild as it will, the tides may turn around on them, but their mission makes them smile to the face of the gods that have thrown such trials upon them. As long as she beats their salvation matters not. And she beats on. They know it despite their own discordant tempo withering away long before she is found. They know because if they don't, then all means nothing and in whatever reality can all mean nothing if she is present in it? They know because just as the Will is, she is too. They know when they meet, they know when they fall, they know when she appears, they know now, and they will know long after. She is, therefore they know.

…

Thirty years before

Wake. Eat. Move. Work. Return. Eat. Sleep. Repeat.

The cycle is endless. It is not disagreeable, although uncomfortable, unfulfilling.

It has not been since the beginning. The bleak days were sparse then. Everything was softer, warmer, more vibrat. Everything was exciting and waiting to be seen, known and discovered. Now they are more frequent. They have not taken over yet, but he fears they one day will. That they will rob what is left of its taste, of its melody.

Is that all there is? All there is to it and everything else?

If there was more he probably would. If he could. Could he? Without time, money, without soul, there is nothing that can be done. If only…

If...

…

Thirteen years before

They rise from the deep pits at the behest of the small creature. They are content to be out and about so they obey. They do not doubt much but when they do it means nothing. Even less than nothing. There is not much to doubt either way. Yet they think- hope? that maybe there is more to doubt about, more to think about than the orders, the missions, the taking. Perhaps they can untake? Perhaps they could run still when it is not necessary? Perhaps they are not what they are? Not entirely anyway. The others don't ask what there is to ask, maybe they shouldn't? But they… they want? Despite the cries, despite the pain, despite the narrow darkness they are set upon. Sometimes they wonder if just beyond the trees there might be no more trees. And other times they know there are. How could there not be? But what if they could go look? What if they could see? But they know. They know they can't.

…

Eight years before

She does not measure it yet but she is already welcomed with smiles and love, so much of both, mirth in myriads of colours and chants and scents and warmth under the touches.

She giggles the first time she opens her eyes - they are big and round and bright, full of promises. She doesn't cry or wail, she giggles. And that is a good sign.

…

Now

Their paths are finally set to meet. It knows. How it knows, many scholars would argue with vastly diverging opinions. One of the foremost being that a house cannot know anything for it does not exist, it is not alive in the ethereal sense of the term, for a house is but a materialistic construct lacking a soul made by those who have. And maybe they would be right. They would probably be right. A house is not alive, it exists but does not exist. And yet, it does. For a long time it has existed in this world, many winters and many summers, many springs and autumns, many a family, many a child, many a farm and a garden and a tide. Many manys. Each, it has experienced with pleasure and interest and, if one were so bold as to qualify it thus, love. It has not a heart and yet its hearth beats to the rhythm of the laughs and the wails, it echoes each step taken, it remembers the Life. And with all of those, lost to memory and time, it has come to understand some of the ways the threads jingle, to read the drops of water that pass along in the endless and deep river.

The hands that placed its beams and rose its walls have long gone but their imprints remain, the coarse warmth and the reverence linger. They are what made it into what it is now, what passed those memories far down into the future.

How exactly it came to be, it cannot say. It remembers things, things written into the threads, things it has experienced, things its body remembers from before. Like the others before itself, in the forest, old and peaceful, under the sun and the rain, in the cold and silence, rocked to lull by the gentle songs of the birds, home to many and a place to rest for all. It remembers and sometimes regrets. Parents and siblings and friends; old ones, even older than they had been; young ones, unknowing and full of energy, vibrant colours all around and the sleep of winters when they all huddled and drew warmth from each other in the deep cold. It regrets, sometimes, a life that had been good. Yet it does not so much lately. Not since the rooms have become lively again, and the cracks are cared for, not when warmth has come back, both in the hearth and in the hearts.

The new flames which burn in it are strange. Mismatched and of colours it has rarely seen before. Sometimes they flow easily, soaring in the air, others they crackle threaten to cool off. Yet they lick the wood without ever consuming it, the fire burns but does not consume. It would never have believed had it not felt the threads binding them all. How such apparent differences could be rendered non-existent before the simple act of caring. And care they do. They are broken, each in their own way, each at their own pace. They blind in the light and conceal in the shadow, yet they are alway found. They have been found, never to be lost again. As mismatched as its rooms have become over the many rise of the Sun. They are mismatched and broken, they are lost and weary, and by all accounts, it should not work. Yet it does. And those who do not see why are fools, it thinks. For there is so much to see, in the glints of the eye, in the careful warmth of the hand, in the loving thrum of the voice, even in those moments when the thread strains against itself the care is never thrown. Not from his mouth, not from her claws, not from the soft fur, not from the delicate giggles. They are mismatched but they have found their fit, and it can't help but be content, for even if none ever knows, it does.

Eventually, though, they do. And never again will it be the same.

…

Long after

When even the last grain of sand on the beach does not remain, then and only then does what someone had once called a home be forgotten. A calm house by the sea on the edge of the world. Remarkable not by its grandeur or its richness, but by the soothing warmth it managed to exude. One that had been for far longer than any inhabitant of the region had been able to remember, one that had stood far longer than any had imagined. One that had been built and forgotten, almost destroyed yet repaired. One that had, one early winter morning, under the soft sunlight and the quiet breeze, found a new breath. And one that had, another early winter morning, simply vanished. How? Why? Whereto? Those who might have been able to enlighten had gone with it. Leaving an empty space in its stead, only filled by the ghosts of memories long passed, yet as vivid as the day they had bloomed. The house by the sea was gone, but the home remained ever warm.

—

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A Hero’s Retirement