Corvus’ sleep passed without any further threatening conversations or dreams. He woke up with a fly on his nose, which he quickly shooed and sat up. Cleo was sitting perfectly still on the same log that she had been the night before, her spear resting on her lap and her eyes closed. Curious,

Corvus picked up a nearby twig and flicked it at her. Her hand shot up like a viper, catching and snapping the twig in one single movement.

Her eyes opened with an irritated scowl following shortly after.

“Do you mind?” She dropped the twig and returned to her meditative state.

Corvus felt a small spark of something inside him, that vanished in an instant. He’d have to figure out what it was later. He looked down to his naked upper half, covered in small twigs and several small insects. He swept them to the ground and looked to his shredded clothes.

‘This is gonna take a long time to stitch.’ Corvus complained internally, taking his sewing kit out of his pack.

Threading the needle, he looked up at Cleo, her face perfectly at peace, but her senses poised to kill anything that moved close to her. Corvus decided to throw words instead.

“So what are you? The errand runner?” Corvus asked casually.

“I will cut up more than your clothes, kid.” She countered, without opening her eyes.

“Well, if where you live is so far south, why are you this far north?” Corvus raised an eyebrow.

That made her open her eyes, and she locked gaze with Corvus.

“Information.” She said, coldly. “As you saw, I'm probably the fastest and quietest person who wields death, so I make the perfect spy.”

“And you can’t just read the notice board? It doesn’t take a spy to know that the church is strongest in the capital, not the northern sailing villages. So why here?”

She was silent for several seconds.

“It's more complicated than that. They’re everywhere. Besides…”. She lowered her gaze. “It's personal.” She whispered.

“It's what?” Corvus asked, not entirely focussed on her, but instead on trying to figure out how to stitch what was essentially ribbons.

“Nothing.” She sighed, standing up and stretching. She scanned the surroundings before fixing her eyes on a small shrub several feet away from her.

“Need some privacy?” Corvus asked, raising his other eyebrow.

She didn’t answer, instead creeping forward, making no sound and barely moving enough to be seen. Corvus was fixated on her movements, efficient and silent. He had never been so in awe of skill before.

Then she vanished.

A small gust of wind blew where she once was rustling a couple of leaves beneath her. The shrub began violently rustling, squeaking and grunting. Corvus dropped his clothes and drew a throwing knife out of his belt, reached his hand back, and waited for the rustling to stop. There was a sharp crack. Corvus narrowed his eyes, ready to kill.

Cleo stood up from behind the bush, dead fox in hand. Her eyes widened slightly when she saw the knife but quickly caught her breath and sighed in irritation. She began walking back over, eyeing the knife carefully. Corvus lowered it and returned to his sewing. Cleo never ceased to be taken aback by Corvus’ ease of movement between moods. She shrugged slightly and sat down to skin her prey. There was a nagging thought I the back of Corvus’ mind.

“How do you do that? The vanishing thing?” He asked, keeping his eyes on the ever growing stitches.

“You don’t know? I thought you had one too.” She mused as she began removing the fox’x fur.

When she looked to Corvus, being met by his confused gaze, she sighed at his ignorance. She reached down the neck of her hunting gear and pulled on a small, golden chain. She produced an amulet with a very familiar symbol.

“You’re a Swallow, huh?” Corvus noted, looking down at his bracelet that glinted back at him.

“And you’re not, judging by how little you know about them.” She chuckled, putting the amulet back down her gear. “Did you know that, for example, each Swallow has one of five enchantments?”

She raised a quizzical eyebrow.

“They used to be my armour you know.” Gilgamesh said, appearing out of nowhere to lounge on a small tree stump. “One enchantment for each piece. I never wore a helmet of course. A nightmare to keep my hair set.” He began ranting to himself about helmets and how they inspire nothing but lacking beauty, which Corvus decided to ignore and continue talking to Cleo.

“No. So that vanishing thing is the Swallow? Can I do that too then?” Corvus wondered out loud.

“Maybe, but I wouldn’t bet on it. And the ‘vanishing thing’ is called Feather-Step, get it right.” She chided him. “And since you’re not a Swallow, who did you get that bracelet off?”

“Uhh…”. Corvus searched his memories for a name or face. Instead he recalled a sabre, sailing down , bathed in fire that was seeping out of the steel. “I don’t remember a name, but his sword was on fire.” Corvus confessed.

Cleo spread her arms.

“Well there you are then. Yours is Enchantment. Here.” She extended her right hand, shadows coiling up and amassing a writhing mass of darkness, the tattoos on her arm violently swimming under her skin. Corvus was slightly hesitant, but drew his large dagger anyway and slowly moved the blade into the darkness. The instant that the steel touched the shadows, his bracelet flared to life, shining golden light every which way. The blade absorbed the shadows and turned an inky black colour, that shimmered and pulsed.

Corvus stared at the void that spread out in the dagger, lost in fascination. An idea sprung forth in his mind. He summoned his anchor and held it over his lap, lining up the dagger. He caught a surprised look from Cleo before stabbing downwards, causing the bracelet to shine with brilliant light once again. The shadows spread over the anchor like poisoned veins, seeping into the ethereal steel. The dagger brightened, returning to its reflective state, flashing a small beam of light into Corvus’ eye. He returned the dagger to its sheath and studied the pitch black anchor in detail.

The darkness coiled beneath the surface, like a viper waiting to strike.

Curious, Corvus lifted the weapon and brought it slowly down on the ground. The magic roared to life, rushing out of the edge of the anchor and into the ground, cracking and breaking the earth. A small crater remained below, Corvus and Cleo staring in amazement alike.

“Cool.” Corvus noted, letting his anchor fall back into nonexistence. Cleo nodded in agreement.

“You’ll want to hide that bracelet. People will do more than kill for it.” Cleo’s voice was instructive, with a hint of amusement. She returned to her fox carcass, leaving Corvus to figure it out. He looked at his still-tattered clothes, not really helpful. He was wearing nothing on his top half besides the bracelet and several biting insects that has latched on before he could notice. Then his eyes turned to his armour and gear.

He was still wearing his greaves, but the bracelet wouldn't go around his ankle. There was the same problem with his belt of knives and his holster for Raven. Then there was his bracers. Their smooth leather had the perfect straps to hold it close but not uncomfortable against his skin. It would take a bit of adjustment, but it would be the perfect place to fit the gold bracelet to.

Corvus sighed in irritation. It would take him an hour or two to adjust the bracer, meaning he was that much further from having a shirt again. He didn’t feel cold or exposed but he still felt some wanting for a shirt. He decided to get to work.

The hours passed quietly, Cleo rotating the fox on the re-awakened fire, keeping the skin for herself and occasionally tossing questions about Corvus’ life, which he answered as best as he could with his faulty memory. The rays of sunlight were perfectly vertical by the time he had finished adjusting the bracer to his right wrist, fitting the bracelet into the newly made indent perfectly.

“You really are good with that needle, boy. You should be a housewife.” Gilgamesh jested from one of his various improvised perching points of bored relaxation.

He had not remained still for more than a minute, vanishing and reappearing to tease Corvus or swing his hands at the nearby crows, who occasionally looked around, not realising that a bored Demi-God-former-King was passing his imaginary arms through them. Corvus had found that ignoring him only made him angrier, which was mildly entertaining to watch in the silence.

Then the silence was broken by a snapping twig.

Corvus’ ears flicked, following the sound. He picked up his other bracer and fixed it to his left hand, following the imperceptible rustling of clothes and steel. He stood up and met Cleo’s gaze, who was standing as well, her spear already in hand. With a small motion of her head, Cleo encouraged him to hurry up with the rest of his weapons while she attempted to locate the sound.

Corvus did just that, slinging his knives to his belt and strapping his dagger to the curve in his back. He kept his eyes in the opposite direction to Cleo’s, looking for something that he couldn’t see. After strapping Raven to his left hip, he drew her and pulled back one of her hammers, aiming her where he could hear vague rustling. Cleo joined him in pointing her weapon at the ever growing sounds.

She glanced over to him, noting that he still wasn’t wearing a shirt. She raised a sceptical eyebrow at him.

“At least it won’t get ruined again.” Corvus said, quietly shrugging.

They returned their gaze to the rustling, too big to be forest animals, too many to be any local predator, too small to be a magical beast. Corvus guessed bandits, keeping Raven steady towards the dark undergrowth. The shadows rippled as a shape began to form. Cleo’s grip tightened.

Corvus’ finger twitched on the trigger. The figure strode forward until it was discernible as human. The way it walked and the size suggested that it was male and more muscle than brain, either that or it was holding a very large hammer.

The figure stepped into a sunbeam, the light toying with the darkness. As it turns out, Corvus’ assessment was right, somewhat.

He was a stick of a man, wearing flowing animal skins and scraps of traveller’s clothes as a cape to try and increase his size. He was slightly taller than Corvus, but lacked any of the presence due to his lack of bulk. What he lacked in bulk, though, he made up with swagger, sauntering forward with a self assured smile on his face and a patchwork mess of quilts and different colours, that Corvus assumed to be a flag of some kind, leaning on his shoulder.

He stopped his saunter about ten feet away from them, planting the ‘flag’ to his right. He spread his arms and smiled with so much self-confidence, Corvus wasn’t sure if he thought he was a god.

“Good day, my friends.” He spoke with a measured civility that might’ve been confused for someone of high standard if he didn’t look like a jester that raided a tailor. “That smells divine. Might I join you?”

Corvus and Cleo glanced at each other, debating who should talk first. Corvus took the torch.

“Sorry, not enough to go around for a group.” Corvus shrugged, keeping Raven trained on his chest.

“Group?” The man tilted his head in mock confusion. “It is just me.” He was a terrible actor, then again Corvus wasn’t sure if he was trying or not.

“We might be able to feed three, but not all seven of you.” Corvus said, his voice level and indifferent. Cleo shot a confused glance out the corner of her eye.

The man’s smile vanished and was replaced by a picture of shock.

“H-How did-ya…how did you know?” His regal and formal tone broke before he coughed and tried again, trying to bring his smile back to little effect.

“I can hear you breathing.” Corvus threatened.

“Really?” Cleo and the man chorused, both staring at Corvus in confusion.

“No. Lucky guess.” Corvus hit his palm against his forehead, this was the least exciting mugging that he had ever heard of.

The man regained his composure and turned his gaze to Cleo.

“And you, madam? Is there any way I can assist you? I promise I am better than your husband there.” His arrogance was sickening.

Cleo’s face went slightly pale, her eyes boiling over with murderous rage and grief. She closed her eyes, taking a breath.

“One. No thank you. Two. You’re not my type. Three. He’s not my husband, in fact he’s young enough to be my son.” She spoke methodically, barely containing a deep-seeded fury.

“Nonsense, you are still young are you not?” He spoke with charm, as if he had experience with women, though his clothes suggested otherwise.

“I’m 42.” She spoke directly and harshly, the green in her eyes flared.

“Really?” Corvus and the man spoke over each other, both staring with confusion and surprise at Cleo. Her skin lightened with blush and she scowled at Corvus.

“Sorry.” Corvus apologised then turned to the man. “Listen, pal. Either you lot come here and attack us already or leave. Just make it quick either way.”

The surprise never left his face but his smile returned.

“We wouldn’t dream of hurting such a lovely lady as her, but if you insist on dying then we’ll gladly oblige.” He grinned, snapping his fingers. At that moment, arrows and bolts burst from the undergrowth, all flying towards Corvus.

He smoothly drew his dagger into his right hand, dodging the first arrow, he caught the second and third on the blade of his dagger, flinging them aside. The fourth sailed passed him harmlessly, while the last two hit his stomach and chest.

The man grinned, before realising that Cleo took the moment to feather-step to him and drive her spear through his heart. He coughed up blood and fell to the ground like the dead weight he was. There were several cries from the undergrowth as the other bandits abandoned their hiding spots to get a shot at Cleo.

A large man swung an axe at her head, which she skilfully deflected and simultaneously slit his throat with a swipe of her spear. She melted into the shadows to avoid the spray of his blood, which dyed the forest floor a deep crimson. Three more bandits appeared, crying for their fallen comrade, drawing daggers and stolen blades to fight a disappearing foe.

Cleo sprung from the shadow of a tree launching her spear through the nearest bandit’s chest. The man clutched at the point that now extended from his chest, desperate for life, before losing it and collapsing. Before the rest had even turned around, she had her concealed short-spears in hand, sending the first through the head of the woman on her left, who tried to raise her axe in defence but was sluggish in her grief.

The final of the group of three cried out a name, that was lost through his tears and his rage when he stabbed his dagger down to Cleo’s chest. She sent her other short-spear through his wrist and used it as a lever to twist his strike wide. She silenced his screams by extracting her first weapon from the visceral remains of the woman and sent it through the man’s heart. They crumpled to the ground in silence, a tight-knit group of friends dying in moments.

Cleo stowed her weapons back in their concealed sheathes behind her shoulders and tugged her spear free of the first man’s chest. She turned around to see a boy, no older than 15 aiming a crossbow at her, tears in his eyes and fury on his face.

Cleo raised her spear in defence but a shot rang out through the forest, and blood began seeping through the boy’s shirt. He collapsed, the life draining from his eyes and his crossbow firing into the dirt. Corvus had Raven raised, one barrel smoking, where the boy once stood. He looked to where the last bandit was standing, dumbfounded by the speed of the slaughter.

Corvus began casually walking over to the terrified man, who fell over in his attempts to flee. He began crawling in terror, whimpering as he curled into a ball beside a tree. He looked up at Corvus, who was standing over him, Raven pointed down at him. The man’s eyes were spilling tears and his trousers were sodden from more than his crawling.

“P-Please! I-I have a f-family! I'm b-begging you!” The man whimpered, barely coherent through his cries.

Corvus looked him dead in the eye, not breaking his gaze for a moment, before raising an eyebrow.

“And?” Corvus asked, irritated. The man’s eyes widened in terror.

Corvus pulled the trigger, silencing the man for good.

Cleo eyed Corvus as he reloaded Raven and casually walked away from the massacre. She walked over and fell into step beside him, still glancing at him. He noticed her gaze and returned it.

“What?” Corvus raised an eyebrow.

Cleo’s face didn’t move for several seconds of walking. She finally asked.

“Could you really hear them breathe?” She was squinting in skepticism.

“Who knows?” Corvus shrugged. “Come on, before the food burns.”

They made their way back to the makeshift campsite, ate the slightly blackened fox silently, and packed up what things they had. They had a long journey ahead of them.