Sitting around the campfire, Michael stared at the crackling fire with an absent mind. His surroundings seemed to blur as he focused on the words of his affliction, the memories of suffering he had experienced, and lastly the pain that burned in his chest every time a certain name was recalled. Gwyneth, the daughter of High Marquis BurnFlame, was shorter than he was but had an unmatched grace to her movements. With sharp features, supple cheeks, button nose, and a frame to die over, she was the epitome of natural beauty.

He had been in love with her and her fiery passions, but the pain she caused him through betrayal is a wound never to be healed; forever to ache and irritate his very soul. It was simply the price paid for unconditional love at its peak. Closing his eyes, he tried to block out the voices that whispered to him of great evils. Of hurting everyone and everything that even looked at him wrong. The whispers tried to coat and mask their words behind a sweet veil, hiding the rot and mold that festers in their wake.

He focused on a distinct feeling, a nudging push that guided him through the dark fogs of deceit and lies. Searching, he found it where it constantly floated in absolute stillness, always there to support him. In the farthest recesses of his mind stood a glowing ball of gold and pure whites. It would help him escape the whispers.

Reaching out to it, it pulsed a bright color, nudging him to a insistently chattering voice he recognized. A clear path out of his own mind, who would have thought he would need the blabbermouth to accomplish a task meant for the quiet and reserved.

“- then we rushed to the gates and… Ruthar? Are you listening to me?” said Agata in a single breath. Somehow not needing to breathe even once the entire time she rambled on about what she did every day of the three months he had been captured.

“Agata, you know better than to ask that,” replied Michael, a smug smile on his face.

Eye twitching, a frown that would freeze hell over twice graced her face. Agata had a chubby face and hair as dark as The Dragon’s River. With a cute expression to match, Michael could not help but laugh at his confidant. Balling her hands into fists, she seemed ready to tackle him to the ground from their seated positions around the large fire.

Looking at Bialo, he made an expression begging for some help. But in return all he got was a shrug and a polite,

“It is not my place to intervene,”

But, as quickly as her anger had come, it faded as she released a heavy sigh and the flames that had started to coat her hair. A small nostalgic smile grew on her face, but was quickly hidden behind a pout.

“Ruthar, stop bullying me! You never focus when I am speaking, then again what can I expect from someone with a goldfins attention span,” said Agata with snark and a triumphant smile. Raising a manicured eyebrow, she gave a silent challenge of words they were so accustomed too. It helped, if one could actually believe, in the Academy and in the noble circles.

“Not much to pay attention to, blabbermou-”

An arrow crashed into a pot Agata had raised in the last moments. Piercing it, Michael had a front row seat of the shiny metal as it was only centimeters away from his face. Turning his head slowly towards Agata, he saw her face darken like a storm that suddenly came rushing in to block out the bright and cloudless sky. Unlike before, the reaction was much more violent as flames exploded off her body coating the magical leathers she had custom made for her.

Cursing, he rushed to get to his feet and behind cover as his Honor Guard worked in practiced movements. Within a few seconds he was hidden behind multiple shields as he searched for Agata only to find her out of the encirclement standing next to her father and Jax. As he stared at her, fear welled up in him. He was afraid she would get hurt, or even die.

The whispering voice volume rose multiple notches. Taking advantage of his lapse of focus. Showing him hundreds of scenarios were Agata was hurt, captured, or killed. The nudging presence at the back of his head was ever present, but its effects were minute in this moment of anxiety and stress.

“Agata!” he screamed her name, hoping he could catch her attention. Grabbing on to the shoulder of one of the few Honor Guards, he tried to hoist himself up far enough to catch sight of her but was quickly grabbed by the soldiers around him. Looking back, he could not help himself but speak with indignation lining his voice. The whispers told him he was their superior, who were these ants to touch him.

“Young Master, please! Come down, we’ve lost you once. We will not allow it to happen again, no matter how capable you think you are,” said a guard Michael could not even recall.

While he was prepared to command them to move, the man’s desperate voice spoke volumes to him. Leaving a pause in the momentum the whispering voices had for the guiding light to intervene. It brought back the memory of the pain filled voice in Bialo’s words as he warned him of the days he would have to experience. Staring dumbly at the man in full-plate armor, his family's design coating him from head to toe, he allowed the guard to pull him away.

Though his body was limp, his memories, no Ruthar’s memories, continued to pour into his mind. This time it was of hours upon hours of each and every single day of Ruthar training, learning, and perfecting his war-craft. Spasms shook his body as he raised his head. The very least he could do was to witness the battle that was taking place. He had to watch as these men, all whom were destined for much greater lives, wasted everything for a young adult less than half of their age.

It hurt, even though it was little. But, the little of pain, in the chest, in the emotionless world was as vast as an ocean compared to a lake. It was their and he knew exactly why. He watched as a battle was about to begin. Completely surrounding them were countless decrypt and rag covered men and women of various ages. A few were even non-human, a surprise that they were willing to work with anyone that didn't look like them.

Staring back to where Bialo and Jax stood, he noticed a man walking forward. With red tattoos, covering his entire face and down under the poor leather armor, and a mohawk matching them in color, he made for a fearsome opponent. Swinging a massive war-axe around like it was nothing, he approached the two with complete nonchalance.

“Yo, Let’s make this quick, ya? Give us the treasure and ye can leave without a single scratch, ya?” said the bandit leader with a mocking voice. Coming to a halt a few meters away, he tried to look past the hulking Jax, only to be denied by the ringing of Jax’s massive sword unsheathing.

Stepping forward, Jax seemed to grow a hundred feet tall and half that wide. A blue aura covering him entirely. Underneath that visage, he walked towards the man. A cold descended upon the battlefield as his aura covered around him like a transparent fog similar to a heat wave.

“You dare attempt to harm My Liege?”

Rumbled Jax with more emotion than Michael thought possible from the man. Walking forward, he did not stop, even at the familiar twang of multiple bow string, just waved his sword forward and blowing them from the air before they reached him. In the aftermath, the gust of wind had raised the dirt around them, giving him a bit more cover as he finally reached the bandit leader.

Making him look like an abstinent child, Jax looked down at him and swung faster than Michael could have caught with his eyes. The bandit leader had tried to take the initiative, but was split in half before he took his first step forward. It took a long second, time seemingly stopped to witness the beginning of a massacre, but the dead body of the bandit slowly split in half. Sliding down at an angle separating the two parts.

“None shall escape my wrath. None shall threaten My Liege any longer! For three months I have been seated idly, but I have been set free. The world in its entirety will burn before My Liege gets a single scratch from you lowly scum!”

What ensued after was a traumatizing event that left Michael frozen in his spot. Jax had blurred and cut down every single person that held a weapon in the wrong direction. None were spared, none given mercy or clemency. All the while, he watched it all with unblinking eyes.