Ardor stood in front of the door. He hadn't met the medical staff, of the head of them in quite a while. The last time he had visited them was at least one long year ago.

One year... Ardor thought back to the time of the past, reminiscing in his past actions. It was the year his respect in the entire prison began to rise. After muddling along with other guards for days and nights, he began to focus more on his work.

Why? It wasn't because he wanted to move up. No, to say that would mean Ardor was acting against his own will. Rather it was all he had left.

She died back then. Ardor's gaze began to weaken, his previous concentration waning. That person who used to carry marigolds alongside her. She was no longer present.

It began as a chance occurrence during his watch. Back then as a gate sentinel, his job was to watch anyone entering and leaving the army camp, to exercise his powers in defense or against the enemy.

The moon hid partially by the clouds, a single wagon came slowly towards the entrance of the camp. Like any day, he moved from the sentry tower, lowered himself down the 10 foot ladder, checked the arrival, and then return to the loft of the tower until another person came. The job was simple, and because the base was in Alberdan borders there was practically no risk.

As he went down the ladder, he felt no different that day. Besides the tailwind that below from behind his head, he felt usually the same. The wagon was made of aged wood, and was more fitting for a farmer's. The driver reined in the horses before extending a round of courtesies with him.

Unaffected, he asked the old questions. Who are you? Why are you here? What did you bring? Other questions came off his tongue, memorized from tens of arrivals. The moon seemed to take its time to cross the sky, its bright rays warming the ground beneath Ardor's feet.

The driver hesitated for a moment, then beckoned to the inside of the wagon.

"Madam, the guard is asking us of our cause for arrival to the Rosil Camp. What do I say?" In his voice, Ardor noticed a trace of respect far greater than the amount he was given. He didn't bother quarreling over such treatment back then.

From inside, a small set of light steps could be heard as the front door of the wagon opened, a small figure in a white dress coming out. The figure's hands wore gloves on the end which had lace, a letter in her right. Her face was covered, and much of her body, but her words carried a trace of the upper classes.

"If the guards need to, hand him this letter." The young lady's soft voice was heard by Ardor and the driver while the driver received an embossed envelope. Its seal was a shade of pistachio green, and had a few letters of the Alberdan language around the rim. The insignia of seven swords Ardor could not recognize, but felt it was of a high status.

"Sir, here are our papers reserved for the guards. Please read it." The driver dropped to the ground, walking towards Ardor. The letter was held out with a gentle smile across the man's gaze.

Ardor felt a bit odd. A guard gets a personal letter? Ardor manifested his Aura, piquing the interest of the young maiden. She had begun to return to the room of the wagon, but instead sat down on the driver's seating area, looking at Ardor from beneath the hood of her robes. She was thinking of something.

Ardor used the small trace of Aura to detect the makings of the envelop. After his suspicions of the message being a Trap Creation subsided, he ripped away at the letter. The light smell of honey came from the sheet, a strong yet pleasant smell for him. Unfolding the letter, he began to read the contents.

Presumma 9, 1867 LD

To the guardsman of the Rosil Camp,

If you are receiving this letter, then you have inquired into the reasoning behind why my daughter has appeared before you alongside our head driver Michle to your camp. I have sent them to the general of Rosil at his request on fortnight before for a visit to her father.

If you find that this letter seems to be fabricated, you may ask the general himself after presenting this letter to him. I assure you he can attest to the validity of this letter, and answer any questions you may have if able.

I only wish that during the time of my daughter's holding, you take care of her as if she was your own daughter. Anea is a sickly child, and if she is missing a hair of her head, then I can guarantee that the rest of your days will be unpleasant.

Sincerely,

Agatha Marniva

Ardor looked at the provoking letter from Mrs. Marniva, not knowing whether to take into custody the old driver and his passenger or allow them entrance. His gaze fell on the old driver's gregarious smile.

Lifting the Transmitting Creation from his coat pocket, he infused his Aura inside.

"Theon. Theon. Theon!" Ardor repeated the name of the other gate sentinel into the device. He wasn't replied back promptly. He's sleeping again. His brow furrowed, he shouted the name Theon into the device until he heard the sound of a body slumping to the floor on the other side.

As for the driver, his smile had faded after the seventh scream. He didn't know why, but from the guard in front of him, he could tell Theon and the present guard had a terrible relationship.

"Wha?" A dull voice replied on the other side. It was followed by a few yawns, each long than the last. Ardor could hear as Theon rose up and scratched at his hair.

"Open the gate." Ardor's voice had a trace of displeasure as he spoke each word distinctly into the Creation. Imbecile. Always has to sleep on watch.

After five minutes of waiting, the sounds of several gears could be heard, turning one after another. The outside gate was slowly opened, revealing the path to the camp. A short distance away, one could see the organized blue tents set in little groups. In the center was a larger one belonging to the general of the forces, people shuffling to and fro.

The smile of the old driver returned as he bowed to Ardor, then he returned to his position, gesturing for the young maiden named Anea to return inside. She quickly refused, sitting beside the drive on the edge of the coach. Ardor watched as the wagon moved once again under the driver's quick work of commanding the two horses.

Ardor looked at these beasts, astonished by the quality of their fur and the calmness of their breaths. The two steeds were of a tan color, yet ridges throughout their shape gave hints to the power packed within. Ardor had rarely seen such high quality horses before during his time as a guard. They must be nobility. And of a rather high family as well.

Under the accelerating wind, the hood of the young woman flew off her head, revealing her face to Ardor. Their sight came in contact, looking at one another in that one moment. Ardor couldn't explain, but he felt deep inside a peculiar feeling that seemed to grow.

Her fair skin seemed to radiate a glow, a rival to the sun. Her eyes sought attention, a misty gray as she looked back towards Ardor. Hair fell to the backs and sides, her locks of dark hair falling across her temples. She realized the unnatural gaze of the gate sentinel, and quickly covered her face once more.

Ardor could only feel one question bounce inside of his mind. Why does she cover with a cloak?

He had seen many a pretty gem, many a great flower, but to him she was the best of all. His thoughts led from one to another. He didn't know what to feel for her. Or rather, he couldn't understand yet.

The party did not leave for three days, and Ardor asked whenever he could of the arrivals. To his surprise, the always loquacious guards inside carried a slight tinge of desire in their eyes, but stayed silent with a solemn face.

The day they left was not his shift, and Ardor unconsciously made his way to the tent of the general, wishing for his answer. On his way there, another of the guards stopped him, shaking his head.

"I am taking you want to know of the two that came and left?" The guard spoke as he sat down into his chair once more, sharpening the dagger of a nearby soldier with a tool.

Ardor pulled himself a chair, sitting in the presence of this guardsman. His actions told the guard his question was true. He wanted to know who Anea was.

The guard looked at him and sighed, shavings of the dagger's rusted metal falling on the ground. "Her name is Anea. If you think you can make her yours, your wrong, my friend. I am the general's right hand, and he refused me to even be in her presence. She is his daughter, a sickly and beautiful one at that. Too bad the general is looking for a person of the Saint rank. Otherwise, I'd work to keep her smiling as she did before entering the tent." The guard eyed the edge of the blade, a steady glint coming off it.

Satisfied, the guard gave the dagger to the soldier, receiving a payment of two silver coins. He nodded in agreement as the soldier left for his tent. Ardor looked at the guard in front of him, his heart saddened. A Saint? He had just entered the Warrior class, and there was no way for him to become a Saint easily.

This feeling he had for Anea, he didn't fully understand it. But that didn't stop him from desiring to see her again, triggering a growth in his cultivation. His speed slightly quickened after her departure, from a level 1 to a level 4 in the Warrior rank. Sadly, the truth soon came of Anea's passing.

That day, two men grieved at the passing of the young woman. The father. The lover. Although they rarely met, their hearts couldn't remain the same again. The general soon after retired early, a starlet depressed at the lost of his only child. The base soon switched its leader and changed its men, relocating Ardor to the war front. His Aura had never seen another growth again, stuck at the Aura Warrior level 4 mark since the news of Anea's death.

Enough of these thoughts. Ardor shook his head once more in the present day, ending the beautiful daydream he had just moments ago. The moon outside resembled the one from that day, seeming to take an eternity to reach midnight.

Ardor returned back to the door of the head doctor, thumping three times. His anger did not rise as usual, his face carrying a rare solemn mood.

"Is that you Ardor?" An aging voice replied back from inside of the office, the sound of settling papers heard coming from within. The door opened from the inside as the doctor came into view. His face featured a thin beard, his occupational clothing a mess of bloodstains. Weariness filled his eyes.

Ever since the war ended, the army had to deal with various militias and fight the remaining dissent with force. Of course, it was a given that many soldiers would become at least injured in these fights, and with the Darkthorn Prison having a medical team while being the closest building to the Alberdan war front, all of the injured men were sent here in droves.

The doctor had to perform surgeries and amputations were ever his Medical Arts could not heal. At the very least, it would prevent these wounded men from dying after the war. This, and managing his small staff to cover 200 or so injured men was not exactly simple for 10 individuals with at best moderate Warrior skill level. Only the head doctor, Aysen, was that talented.

"Come in, come in." The man gestured for the head of the guards to enter his office, making his way back to the desk.

Ardor took notice of the various folders, files, vials, and medicinal tubes littered in the room. Books on poisons and Aura treatment were open atop a few stacks of books. Not to mention the large desk covered in legal documents dealing with Aura infusions and applications, Ardor felt that trying to get comfortable in the only chair for guests was going to be difficult.

"Well, what do you need? You don't come as often anymore. Stopped getting a refill for that medicine I gave to help with the headaches and insomnia. Did you relapse by any chance?" The doctor examined Ardor, his thumb and index finger rubbing against the sides of his beard.

"Doctor Aysen, I haven't come for the pills. Instead, I have come with an order from the Warden." Ardor was straight to the point as he passed the scroll to the doctor, waiting for the doctor to read.

"Let's see." The old doctor winked a few times, sleep descending on him once more. Ardor couldn't tell how many sleepless nights the doctor used Aura to suppress.

The old man rolled out the long order, reading it from the top down. His graying hair was scratched a few times before his hands came to an abrupt stop. His jaw opened to speak, but he didn't, continuing to read the paper. From the man's eyes, Ardor could see bewilderment and unease fill the doctor's gaze.

"Why does he need so much blood? And 200 prisoners a day? Does the Warden think we have already cured all these soldiers? If we neglect any of them, the army will be ready to gut me. Does he think I just infuse Aura into their bodies, clap, and watch them walk anew?" The barrage of sarcasm and questions carried the rage of the doctor. Who would be willing to work in his place.

"Ardor, do you know-"

"I don't know, Doctor. For some reason he know wants blood. About 200 pints a day labelled and verified by me to be delivered to his office." Ardor lied to the Doctor. I'm guessing the monster wants to do something involving Lifeblood. This is a chance to earn Gryfor's trust then.

Aysen looked at the head guard, his displeasure only growing. Labelled and verified? It's like he ordered meat from me and wants to be sure it's not expired! The Doctor let the Warden's order fall on the desk as he covered his face with his hands.

Ardor waited a moment before the Doctor began to speak. "Alright, I'll see what I can do. But tell the Warden this. We have several injured soldiers and many more on the way. If the Alberdan War Council has me stand trial for any deaths, I'll hold Gryfor responsible for working me like a servant." The doctor gave back the order to Ardor, channeling his Aura to stay awake another day. It's been 6 days. They'll never let me have a minute to rest.

Ardor gave his good-bye to the doctor, closing the door behind him. The windows of the hallway let the moonlight enter, the torches had already been put out for the night.

Mona Aurum is still alive. With that item Gryfor mentioned, perhaps I could even excel past the general with his Lifeblood schemes. I must have it!

A wicked smile plastered on his face, Ardor made it back to the guards' quarters and his own room. The thought of perhaps becoming the next Alberdan legend couldn't help but add joy to his face.

A mortal to carry such an item is such a waste.

*****

Mona looked at the floor, his gaze complicated from what Mithal and the others were telling him.

"All of you were in the courtyard and a guard ordered for?" Mona looked back at Mithal's face, one equally grim.

"They had ordered that a total of 200 hundred prisoners were to give one pint of their blood to the medical team before returning to their cells. As to why, I cannot say. But from the looks of those Alberdans, chances are they didn't know either. All of this was also ordered by the Warden of the prison. This is too strange."

Mithal tried to come to a cause of why they were donating blood. Did the Alberdans run out of blood for transfusions? That made little sense with the vast number of guards present every day. Were they testing something with a prisoner's blood like a covert weapon? Such an idea was morbid, but didn't fit the perplexed faces of the guard who also heard the order.

Reithar and Aeron listened on to the conversation, unsure of what to say. Neither of them had any knowledge about blood as high as Mithal and Mona, so instead they were waiting until the conversation would become more favorable.

Mona thought back to his days under his father. Blood. What use is it extracting blood from 200 prisoners near death by starvation? He had few leads, and the few he had were at best myths passed on by the ancients. Such tales couldn't explain their current predicament.

"Tomorrow, ask around the courtyard of what happened after they took the blood. Make sure to take notice of where they went and what happened to their bodies. What they felt and the intensity. Everything you can." Mona needed as much information as possible in order to conclude what the Warden was after.

The next day would be perfect for understanding what was occurring in the prison. With testimonies from the other prisoners, Mona could piece together more of what the Warden was planning. If a storm was on its way, Mona knew it was best to find out first.

"Reithar. Aeron. It's time to help with Mona's cultivation. On the count of three, infuse all of your Aura into him while creating more Aura." Mithal stationed himself at Mona's right, Aeron behind Mona and Reithar to his left side. They each began to channel their Aura, but at a greatly diminished level. None of them wanted to alert the guards.

"One. Two. Three!" Mithal muttered in order, before his Aura charged into Mona's body in waves. Reithar and Aeron followed in sync, Auras of grey and silver and purple all entering Mona from his back and his sides.

Mona examined his own Aura Core, the sensation of congestion surrounding the region once again surfacing. Using his consciousness, he guided all of the Aura to the Bubble, forming purified Aura. Endless strands glowed inside of his body. These strands joined together into a single section, getting increasingly thicker.

After the thickness of the strand reached the right size, Mona sent it inside of the Bubble, producing a single strand of red Aura. It glowed a strange red light, and avoided the newly cleansed white Aura strands.

Unceasingly, Mona guided all of the trio's Aura into the Bubble, forming flickering strings inside of his body. They gave off a strange sense of power, all the waves of energy coalescing as an invisible pressure his body gave off. As Reithar and the others felt it, astonishment filled their minds. Such a pure Aura! That artifact must be legendary!

Mona guided the second mass of white Aura together into a single strand headed for the Bubble. Like before, another strand of Aura formed, crimson and extremely thin.

As if feeling a connection, the two strands collided, forming a strand twice a thick. Does this mean that as I gain more Aura, the gem of the Aurum Ring will change in color and strength? The knowledge of Aura was exciting, but Mona felt a strange feeling of weakness throughout his body. He couldn't pinpoint its origin. Maybe it's a side effect of the Aura Core again.

Using the red strand of Aura, Mona split his task into creating new white strands and channeling the red bit. As it entered his first Aura meridian, a feeling of power entered Mona's body as the meridian's size grew slightly. The red strand quickly left the meridian, headed for the second in his chest.

Here I go. Mona used his consciousness, bracing his body for any sudden changes. The red strand of merged Aura struck against the Mortal Curse blockage near his heart. In the process, it was absorbed by the blockage while pain seared from Mona's sternum.

The sign of pain on Mona's face moved the three standing beside them. Reithar looked out the cell bar to ensure no guards were near, and then he whispered.

"Mona, are you alright?" His voice carried a trace of exhaustion and worry. He didn't like how Mona was grabbing at his chest, fingers clawing at the center.

Mona felt the pain intensify before finally subsiding. Where his second blockage once was, his second meridian was completely cleared. The remains of the blockage were whisked away to the Bubble, the Orb of Fire gorging on the by-products.

With the second Meridian cleared, Mona felt a bit of joy. He carefully made multiple strands of white Aura from being infused and sent it through the two meridians. After passing through, the second meridian stabilized. The strands of Aura joined Mona's saturated Aura Core, sparking a growth.

The size of the Core grew from a grain of sand to a tiny stone, solid as it levitated in place. It glowed with a pure sensation as it absorbed all the Aura, fortifying the new growth. Mona could hear a buzzing in his ears before it returned to silence.

"Reithar, I'm ok." Mona looked back to the three, his eyes glinting with success. Mithal and Aeron used their Aura temporarily to scan Mona and felt a tinge of jealousy. In three hours, he is an Aura Mortal level 2. That treasure, can it work in both ways?

Mona's advancements won the support of the group, but the Varlier brothers hoped the treasure could help them as well. Even if one was infused with the Aura of ten Aura Gods, pure and clean, it would still have to be refined into Aura strands to join the Aura Core. The meridians of one's body dealt with this task, and their capabilities determined how well those strands would be.

But Mona with the help of the treasure was able to make Aura strands of a quality they had never seen. They would be insane if thoughts of greed didn't arise. Even a Buddha could feel temptations from such advances.

With the new level, Mona felt his previously frail figure straighten in shape and form. Muscles grew where they once were missing, faint outlines above his skin. He had grown an inch taller, and his bones became more dense. His heart lowered in speed, yet his body felt energized more than ever before.

As he extended Aura to sense, Mona felt the distance he could sense with Aura double in size. From his distance, he could at best scan Mithal's body. Anymore was too far.

Aura continued to pour into Mona's body, charging like a hurricane. But the hurricane was a mere light wind compared to the Bubble, which under Mona's control resembled a black hole for Aura. None of it escaped from being refined, forming a glittering sea of Aura strands.

Throughout the night, Mona and the others continued on. Zeal filled Mona's eyes as a thought hung in his mind.

If I can fill my Aura Core again, can't I attack the third blockage in my right knee? And then become an Aura Mortal level 3?

With the support of his comrades, Mona went on, enjoying the Aura infusions to end the Mortal Curse and become a true Aura practitioner unbounded by mortality.

Outside in the distance, another young noble felt livid. The light of the moon gave his face a ghastly appearance as he was surrounded by his men and others.

"Athon, make them leave, or I'll have their lives ended." His words were cold as he stood by his accountant.

A group of young handmaidens stood surrounded by Eric's men. Their beauty shined with the moonlight, making a few men confused of Eric's actions. Their eyes blinked with innocence, as if they were orphans being thrown out an orphanage.

"Please, young master Faulkner, let us stay!" The leader of the maidens cried tears as she begged for Eric's acceptance, her actions winning the hearts of several from the crowd. Eric's brow featured a few lines, his countenance displaying his rage.

These pawns are asking for death.