IV. Disharmonia

The forest was unnaturally silent, seeming to swallow up all sounds as the group prepared for their raid. It was eerie, confining and expansive all at once; Fiora could not wait to be free of its confines. She shrugged on a scale mail coat the elves had made to replace her cuirass. She was woefully under-prepared for the battle. The sole of her boot was coming off, her greaves were falling apart, and the studded leather skirt she wore was hardly effective, as experience had shown. Regardless, she was determined to do her best.

“Fiora, I need you to stay back and cover Alice.” Aichlan said.

Fiora felt her heart sink as she hastily stood at attention. Ever since they started travelling together, she got the distinct impression that Aichlan did not much care for her. He was a noble from Aes Sidhe at heart, he likely thought all people of Sorn were lawless idiots like the rest of Silex. Still, she had proven her worth once before, and would not be denied the opportunity to do so again.

“I can fight sir.”

Aichlan paused to look her over briefly. “I should hope so.”

Fiora clenched her fists as she felt the blood rush to her face. He was mocking her.

“With all due respect sir, if this plan is to meet success, you will need every available sword on the front.”

Aichlan smirked and took a step forward. Fiora shrank back, aware that she may have overstepped her boundaries.

“Rather bold of you Lieutenant.”

Fiora bowed her head. “My apologies my lord, I—”

Aichlan held up his hand and shook his head. “Stop apologizing. Bold is a desirable trait.”

“Thank you, sir…”

“How long have you been serving?”

“Two years.” Fiora squeaked.

“And you’re commissioned?” Aichlan asked pryingly.

“I attended a year of college previously.” Fiora forced her gaze back up to his. “For business and finance management.”

Aichlan raised a curious eyebrow. “Are your family merchants?”

“Tailors.”

Aichlan nodded as he stared off into the woods. “I know you can fight; I just need you to fight smarter.”

Fiora bowed her head. “Yes sir…”

“You were trained by a bunch of old men who studied in the fencing schools of Marquez and Catharone,” Aichlan said knowingly, “none of them had actually seen combat, had they?”

Fiora cracked a smile. The sword instructors became such precisely because they wanted to avoid combat. Between the bandits and Duvachellé constantly encroaching on their borders, there was a reason every citizen, male or female, was required to serve for a time. She had no idea that this information was so widespread however.

“Figures.” Aichlan spat to the side and ran his hand through his shock of ebon hair. “War is not a game or sport to be scored with finesse and posture. It is savage and primal, something no human should subject themselves or others to. That being said, every strike should be made with the intent to kill.”

“I understand.” Fiora said.

“I should hope that you do. We have no healers should you get sloppy or make a mistake. You will either have to mend the hard way or not at all.”

Fiora straightened her posture. This was finally her chance to shine, to prove that she wasn’t just dead weight.

Aichlan looked her over once again. “Try and get some rest, we leave once it gets dark, or rather, darker. You’ll be with me.”

Fiora crossed her arms over her chest in an X, the Sorn salute. Aichlan pounded his chest once with his fist and briefly held his hand out to her in a half-assed salute of The Order before turning to continue his inspections.

* * *

The advance party, or scout team as it most likely was, had set up an impromptu base camp in an artificially-made clearing amidst some ruins, bathed in moonlight and camp fires’ glow. The camp was divided into two—regular soldiers in the center and the special troops spread out in the surrounding wood line. The second camp lay hidden, disguised as underbrush, and men slept in the nooks of upraised tree roots. Aichlan stumbled over a sleeping man’s pack as they approached; he stood with bated breaths as the man turned in his sleep but fortunately did not wake. He slowly exhaled and counted at least six soldiers hidden in the dips and ruts of the forest floor and another four perched in the trees. Ashe tapped his shoulder when she spotted movement in the bushes; it seemed that every other man pulled over-watch for his immediate neighbor. Aichlan ordered his group to back off quietly and reassess the situation.

The main camp was full of tents and infantry with a few heavy defenders. Trackers and snipers made up the perimeter. The set up was likely meant to fool any would-be attackers; fortunately, Aichlan was familiar with such rudimentary ruses. In the main camp, sixteen men pulled a roving guard. At least they pretended to. He still did not believe that his operation was discovered, but it seemed like they were putting on the show for someone.

The call of a bird, foreign to that region and hour, went up shrilly. A pair of soldiers on guard stopped and returned the call before continuing. Shortly thereafter, a female sniper climbed down from her tree and hastily crossed the camp towards the largest of the six tents in the clearing. He waited several minutes, but she did not return.

Aichlan cursed to himself as he reworked his strategy. He had expected a camp similar to his own—he had not counted on campfires and moonlight. Though he could not alter the plan too drastically, he would do as much as he could and hope Eth and Kielan were able to adapt. The only bright side was that he could see everything going on in the camp yet remained concealed from sight in the outlying wood. The same however went for the snipers hidden in trees and men hiding in the underbrush.

Eth had taken the west, Kielan the north, and he had taken up position to the south; their enemies’ presumed direction of travel. Aichlan wished he had a way to communicate with them, but did not want to risk stumbling over a sleeping sniper again. They had agreed to move on his signal, all he could do now was adapt and try to overcome—such was the way of the battlefield. It was an ever-changing canvas of carnage and utter chaos, confusion, and fear turned to anger when the option of flight is removed and men were left to fight. He smiled; in some ways, he was an artist. Ashe placed a reassuring hand upon his shoulder; he took her hand in his own and squeezed. Weapons were drawn and equipment was checked a final time.

A rustling in the nearby foliage caused Aichlan to duck back into cover, fearing they had been discovered prematurely. He drew his sword, and Fiora placed hers to the intruder’s throat as he emerged from the foliage in the rear of the group. Aichlan sighed in relief, if it had been anyone else, the intruder would have been dead already. If this man was an enemy agent, this could prove to be advantageous.

The curious man swore under his breath quickly raised his gloved hands. The moonlight reflected off of his silvery eyes, giving him a sinister appearance as he smiled superciliously and lowered his hood, his silver hair catching in the moonlight. Aichlan instantly suspected a Morlock, but they were not common outside of Ithania and Thiudoricus, both quite some ways from this quiet corner of Sorn.

“Whoa, whoa! I’m just passin’ through, friend! Didn’t mean to interrupt your little war party here! So, by your leave I’ll just be on my way…”

The man was too cocky, his Elysian crass, and he had the shifty eyes of a criminal. Aichlan was ready to give Fiora permission to slit the man’s throat when another figure burst from the bushes, cursing loudly in Elysian as she hopped on one foot.

“Oww! My toes! Blasted roots!” She cried as she swiped at nothing.

She seemed utterly oblivious to her surroundings as she pulled foliage from her pink hair. She continued to stumble through the brush several meters away, close enough to draw attention towards Aichlan and his team, yet too far away to do anything about it without giving away their position.

“Fuck me runnin’…” Ransom swore, smacking his forehead in disbelief as Clarissa continued towards the camp.

Looking up to see the lights of the campfire, she squealed in delight and quickened her pace. Aichlan frantically motioned for someone to silence the woman as she raised her arms and inhaled deeply ready to scream for some would-be rescuer. Sara jumped up and stalked over to the woman, snapping a twig beneath her bare feet, the pink haired woman shrieked and turned to face the startled elf. Another elf named Finn leapt up to tackle the woman, but was knocked to the ground when struck by the woman’s scepter.

“What the hell is the meaning of all this?” Clarissa demanded.

By now, guards were running over to investigate, and those hidden in the forest were taking up defensive positions. Aichlan frantically motioned for the woman to be silenced with his sword.

“Would you shut the hell up? You’re gonna get us all killed!” The Morlock called in a harsh whisper.

“Ransom!” The woman screamed in anger, stamping her bare foot and flailing the slippers she held in her hands. “You abandoned me to die in this dreadful—”

Finn scrambled to his feet and clamped a hand on the woman’s mouth. Not willing to be silenced, she elbowed him in the ribs and stomped on his bare foot.

“You bastard! You tried to fucking kill me!”

“Clarissa, you stupid cow, shut the hell up!” Ransom shouted in response.

By this time, Aichlan’s group was discovered, snipers let arrows fly and men sprang from hiding in the bushes. All possible chance at surprise had effectively been pre-empted. Aichlan glared at the woman, as she looked around, frightened and confused. He swore and turned to the task at hand.

“To hell with it all!” He shouted as he charged into the camp.

Alice shot several fireballs into the camp, signaling the attack as a company of soldiers charged over to meet them. A hail of flaming stones and logs shot into the camp from Eth’s and Kielan’s camps.

“I hope you can fight!” Fiora yelled to Ransom as she shoved him into the fray.

“Not unless I’m well compensated!” He ducked a sword blow and thrust his dagger under the attacker’s arm, pushing it in until the soldier stopped twitching.

“But I guess I’m tied with you lot now anyway, aren’t I?” He shook the blood from his dagger and drew his sword. “What a bad run of luck.”

* * *

Aichlan stormed into the chaotic camp, searching for a kill. He spotted and made eye contact with a soldier and advanced. The soldier charged over, screaming in Xanavien, Aichlan slashed twice in the blink of an eye, disemboweling an infantryman as he closed in. The soldier gasped and dropped his weapon; Aichlan used his body as a shield against a sniper’s arrow before kicking the corpse from his blade. He blocked an incoming blow and shattered his opponents jaw with his cestus. He continued on his warpath to the camp and clotheslined a passing soldier. Aichlan pinned the startled man by the throat with his boot before he plunged his sword into the man’s abdomen. He spat at the corpse and searched for his next victim. A soldier that witnessed his savagery turned to flee, but Aichlan was on him in moments, taking the soldier down with a wild swing to the clavicle. He wiped the blood from his face on his sleeve, turning just in time to see one of the man-hunters from the forest engage him.

Aichlan blocked and exchanged several blows before running him through, raising his sword to block another strike before the first opponent hit the ground. Aichlan shoved his opponent and knocked her off balance, sending her to the ground with a strike from his sword pommel. He paused a moment before ramming his sword in the woman’s chest. He briefly had a sick taste in his mouth, but rage filled him and any foolish ideas of chivalry were swept away.

During a brief lull, he scanned the battlefield. He spotted Fiora and was relieved as she was handling herself quite well. As instructed, Alice stayed in the rear launching a varied array of fire and lightning magic to keep things chaotic, he hoped that their enemies wouldn’t pick up on her patterns. The elves, as usual, succumbed to bloodlust and charged through the clearing hacking and torching any and all in their paths.

Aichlan spotted Eth as he knocked a foe into a tree and flung two others into tents with his massive sword. A soldier leapt onto his back and Eth effortlessly tore him off and tossed him like so much refuse. As Aichlan ran over to aid, Eth picked another soldier up and flung him into the air, scorching him before continuing on his way to the officers’ tent. Aichlan slowed and stopped, searching again. He spotted Cetius, who was handling his staff with ease, despite his advanced age. He ducked as a bolt of lightning crashed nearby.

Aichlan had lost track of the woman, Clarissa at the start of the battle. If she was indeed the nun the Bishop was looking for, he had to find her before she wound up dead. The crack of steel upon bone caused Aichlan to spin and nearly cut down Ashe.

“Do ya always stop an’ watch in the middle o’ battle?” The soldier at her feet wore a massive dent in his skull as his brain matter seeped out.

He felt like a novice, allowing himself to become distracted at such a critical juncture, but as commander it was necessary to survey the field. Nodding his thanks, he took off after Eth. It was possible he ran into the woman or at least heard her.

* * *

Eth cleaved a soldier in half from shoulder to hip as he vainly held up his wooden pike shaft in defense. He then swung his blade, sending an arc of flames at an approaching squad. Eyeing the officer’s tent hungrily, he sprinted through the ranks, knocking soldiers around effortlessly with his colossal blade. Despite his bloodlust, he did notice that each of the men wore an odd symbol painted on their faces. The soldiers screamed as he ran by, maiming them, one and all, as he became drenched in their blood. Leaping into the air, he plunged his sword into the back of a fleeing soldier; landing with the sickening crunch of shattering bones and the whoosh of deflated lungs as he impacted on the hard ground.

Clarissa’s scream caught his attention; he didn’t recognize the pink-haired woman who was being backed into a campfire by a group of soldiers, but didn’t feel it right to let her to that fate. She hurled rocks, pots, helmets and anything else laying around by the fire at her attackers, but to no avail. Though Eth didn’t know the woman, she didn’t seem to be an enemy either, which was good enough for the time being. Bounding over to her, he swung his blade like a club as he skidded to a stop; the force of the blow cleaved the man near in two and sent the carcass flying.

He skewered another soldier, lifted him over his head and slammed the corpse to the dirt before he wrenched his blade free. He then torched the soldier’s remains for good measure, and turned his attention to Clarissa. She was a pathetic sight: she had fallen to her knees, legs splayed out besides her, her brown eyes full of tears, and her lower lip quivering.

“Who tha devil are ye?” Eth asked a bit less harshly than his usual manner.

“Y-y-you sa-a-a-aved me-e-e-e!!!” Clarissa bawled as she wrapped her arms around Eth’s waist.

“Get the ‘ell offa me!” Eth barked as she buried her face in his abdomen and blubbered wildly.

“No! No, no, no, no! Don’t leave me ‘ere! I can’t walk!” She pleaded as she clutched at him. “Please, brave warrior! You’ll ‘ave to carry me to safety!”

“Ge’ off it! Ye’d bloody well learn tae crawl, lassie!”

Clarissa wailed louder as Eth dragged her along, trying to remove her vice-like grip.

* * *

Outside of the fiasco at Nole, Fiora had never been involved in an actual battle before, only in training exercises and the occasional duel. Sorn had been at peace for years, the only threat to their nation was Duvachellé and its mysteriously expanding borders, but that was a battle the King wisely fought within the council chambers, given Duvachellé’s military superiority.

A screaming soldier charged at her and she raised her sword to block. She stepped back, allowing his momentum to make him stumble. She countered with a horizontal slash, but he managed to deflect it and responded with a strike to her torso, which she nimbly avoided. She lashed out with a vertical cut, her blade sliding off his armor and into the dirt. Fiora backhanded her attacker in the face, sending him back a step before she raised her sword to block his counter.

Aichlan’s words of advice rang in her ears as she deflected an overhand strike and slashed her opponent’s throat, “War is not a game or sport to be scored with finesse and posture. It is savage and primal, something no human should subject themselves or others to. That being said, every strike should be made with the intent to kill.”

She drew her blade back and stabbed it into the man’s neck with a savage yell. It was a glancing blow, but it managed to take off the soldier’s helmet and leave him stunned. She raised her sword and hacked at him repeatedly until she was satisfied that he was dead. She stood up, trembling and breathing heavily. Aichlan’s words suddenly made much more sense.

Alice’s spells crashed around her and Fiora snapped back to reality. She charged into the fray, singling out a soldier and engaged him. Using all her strength and leverage, she shoulder-charged him, knocking him back several stumbling steps before she brought her sword up and around, decapitating him. He fell in a geyser of blood, and another stepped into his place. She screamed and ran him through his unarmored stomach with her sword. The blood of the first covered her, and she felt the warm, slick feeling of the second’s vital essence covering her hands. As her opponent collapsed into a dead heap, Fiora was barely able to withdraw her blade in time to avoid tumbling over with him.

Fiora stumbled forward, gasping for breath, nearly collapsing from exhaustion: it seemed the enemy numbers were greater than initially estimated. She took a deep breath as she leaned against a tent pole and franticly searched for an ally. Instead, she spotted an enemy and readied her sword for another fight. A sniper’s arrow found its mark in her thigh as she ran to meet the enemy, taking her down. She screamed as she rolled over and clutched the fountain coming from her leg. The wound was bad; the arrow had pierced the bone. Fiora tried to use her sword as a crutch, but collapsed with an agonized cry. She gritted her teeth and muffled her screams as she rocked, clutching the wound. She heard the footsteps of a soldier stalking upon her, and instinctively rolled over as a sword struck the dirt where she had once lain. Fiora looked up in stunned horror; the gaping wound across his throat was in fact one she had inflicted just moments earlier.

* * *

“Ge’ tha hell offa me already!” Eth yelled as he continued to struggle with Clarissa.

“No please! You ‘ave to protect me!” Clarissa screamed as she scrambled to keep a grip on the struggling elf. “Please, please, please, please! I’m just a nun! I don’t know ‘ow to fight!” She wailed as Eth dragged her across the battlefield.

Cetius shot several orbs of brilliant light from his staff; they shined with the intensity of the sun as they slowly floated through the air. After hovering for several moments, the orbs detonated, like an exploding star. Two of the blasts went off in the midst of several soldiers, instantly reducing them to ashes.

“Sister Clarissa!” He called. To his surprise the woman looked up.

Upon seeing him, she released a very grateful Eth and charged over to him, stumbling in her blind haste.

“Bishop Leucetius! Thank the Dawn—!”

She shrieked as a soldier fell dead before her. She stood quivering, unsure if it was safer to return to Eth or continue towards Cetius.

“Help the woman over there!” Cetius yelled, gesturing to Fiora, who was crawling away from the fray.

Finally realizing his meaning, Clarissa nodded and took off towards Fiora.

A soldier with a great slash across his torso stumbled over to Cetius, dragging his pike, eyes glazed over in death. Cetius held up his staff, illuminating the target in a spotlight that grew steadily more brilliant until the soldier was veiled in blinding white. When he lowered his staff, the bleached bones of his attacker collapsed in a heap. He gasped for breath as he too nearly collapsed. If it weren’t for the light of the moon and stars, he would have been consumed by the very power he drew on for defense. He stumbled away from the battle, feeling drained, if such measures were the only way to put down their enemy for good, they were indeed in a great deal of trouble.

* * *

Fiora was pale and nodding in an out of consciousness when Ashe Arrived. The arrow had struck a main artery and she was hemorrhaging fast. Ashe didn’t want to pull it out, lest it make things infinitely worse, but she couldn’t properly wrap the wound with it still jutting from her thigh. Clarissa screamed as she dashed across the battlefield to collapse next to Fiora.

“Who the fuck are ye?” Ashe demanded.

“I’m a nun. Bishop Leucetius sent me—” Clarissa blanched as she inspected Fiora’s wound. “Ew. Why’s it bleeding so much?”

“If ye aren’t going tae help then get the hell oot a here!” Ashe snapped back as she shoved the nun aside.

Clarissa recoiled and rubbed her shoulder as if she’d been mortally wounded. “Alright, jus-just take dzat out.” She stammered, pointing at the arrow.

She was reluctant, but Fiora was already fading out of consciousness. Ashe forced a thick stick between Fiora’s teeth and placed a hand firmly on her thigh. Fiora nodded weakly, and Ashe began working the arrow out.

Clarissa took a deep breath and closed her eyes. She started to glow; her expression was that of tranquility, as if the battle were worlds away. She took on the look of someone under water, with gentle currents bobbing her hair and clothing as her scepter levitated before her. Fiora bit down on the stick, her muffled screams still audible over the clamor of battle. After much twisting and pulling, she removed the arrow and Clarissa clamped her hands over the ensuing fountain of blood, enveloping Fiora’s wound in a pale, twinkling starlight. The woman had taken on an almost ethereal appearance as the wound closed beneath the light of the scepter and Clarissa’s touch. It was as if the wound were undoing itself, making her skin as smooth if not smoother than it was before being injured.

Ashe looked up to see an approaching soldier. She held out her palm and shot a lance of fire at him, just barely knocking him to the ground before he was upon them. To her horror, the man stood back up, his flesh burning. She leapt to her feet and struck him with her hammer, sending him crashing into another warrior who also refused to stay dead. She heard a cry of pain and spun back around. Fortunately, the nun and the knight were fine, but off by the officer’s tent, Aichlan and Ransom were engaged with ten previously felled soldiers. She swore, preparing to rush to his aid, only to remember the nun and Fiora.

“Take care o’ her, I’ll be right back!”

She was already halfway there before Clarissa could even respond, leaping over soldiers and debris in her haste.

* * *

Aichlan deflected a sword thrust as Ransom finished off the attacker by jamming his dagger into the once dead soldiers neck. Another corpse rose as Aichlan spun around to finish its counterpart. He could have sworn that that was the third time he’d killed that particular enemy. More and more felled combatants rose as he and Ransom fought their way into a corner.

“Who are you anyway?” Aichlan grunted as he dueled with a tenacious swordsman.

“Ransom, sword for hire, and a recent free agent if you’re interested. Yourself?” he whipped around, slashing several across the chest and abdomen with his sword dagger combination.

“Aichlan, Order of the Dawn. And I’m afraid I haven’t much money at the moment.” A partially decapitated soldier began to rise, and he finished the job.

“Well, I certainly expect compensation for all this, especially if I end up dead ‘cause of you.”

Despite the situation, Aichlan laughed heartily as he stabbed another of the recently felled combatants. “And I suspect you’ll rise like the rest of this lot and exact payment then?”

“I just might!” he laughed nervously. “Wouldn’t you?”

Aichlan dodged a slash to his throat. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

Cetius waded his way over to Aichlan, not bothering to kill his opponents, merely shoving them out of the way with his staff.

“Aichlan,” he called breathlessly. “The rites of passing must be performed lest our foe continue to thwart any efforts to dispatch them.”

Ashe made her way over; she had several cuts and a bleeding gash upon her forehead. “What sorcery allou’s the deid tae rise again despite thair haid’s crushed by hammer an’ flesh seared by flames?”

Fiora fought her way over, leading Clarissa by the hand as Alice continued to rain fire and lightning from behind the trees. The group formed a circle around Cetius and Clarissa as he explained the plan. Several of the wounded took refuge within the circle and received healings from the two clerics. From the look of the opponents, all had been killed at least once during the course of the raid. The steady rain of dismembered soldiers and geysers of fire showed that Eth and Kielan were handling themselves well enough.

“We have to hold a funeral.”

Aichlan cocked his head and gave Cetius an incredulous stare. “Like, last rites?”

“We can’t interrupt this service for the duration, Aichlan.” Cetius continued, ignoring his doubts. “Therefore, we are unable to fight. Should something happen, we’re all fucked.”

Aichlan was again shocked at the bishop’s choice language, but nodded his acknowledgement; they would serve to protect Cetius and Clarissa. Ashe gave orders to those able to fight as undead made their way over. Aichlan took up a position next to Fiora as she fought off a man whose lower half had been severed, his entrails dragging behind him.

“We shall do our best,” Aichlan said as the two embraced the Dawn.

A pale ghostly light enveloped them, growing in intensity as a wave of undead crashed against the circle of defenders. Ashe and the other elves did their best to burn down approaching arrows, but some found their marks regardless.

Alice screamed suddenly, and the hail of magic cease, and Aichlan cursed as panic gripped his heart. Without second thought he took off towards her, but was thwarted by a wall of undead. With a cry of frustration and rage, he cleaved through one only for another take its place. He rammed his boot into the chest of the undead and tried to force his way through the throng, but took a nasty cut to his sword arm in the process.

“Damn it!” Aichlan swore as he decapitated one of the soldiers.

There was no way for him to reach her. Panic set in as he frantically searched for a way to get through. Intellectually, he knew it was folly to sacrifice the safety of the group for just one, but he had sworn an oath of sorts to her. He took several deep breaths as he attempted to find an alternative. If she were to die, he would never be able to forgive himself.

“Go!” Ransom yelled. “I’ll cover your end!”

Aichlan didn’t have time to question Ransom’s motives for helping him, nor did he particularly care at the moment. As he took off the choir of two began their requiem.

“Beatus!” Cestius boomed. “Nos o liberi, illius!”

“Fatalis regnum, ut universitias of pacis quod tripudium.” Clarissa sang; her voice angelically soft and sweet as honeyed milk to the ears.

The power of the words thundered in Aichlan’s ears as he fought his way back into the forest. The haunting chant continued, growing louder as he continued to fight his way to Alice. If the situation weren’t so dire, he’d have been impressed by the beauty of the somber hymn.

“Exsisto miser corda—”

“Liter quod, transporto!” Cetius broke in. “Nos vestry diligo ut qoud tribuo—”

“Lux lucis, exsisto, nobis, totus!” Clarissa sang as Cetius bellowed.

“Silentium!”

Aichlan heard nothing of the battle going on around him, his head was light and he had the sensation of being underwater. All he heard was the rhythmic and booming chant. An arrow struck his sword arm as he blocked an oncoming blow. He broke it off clumsily and tried to continue, but his shoulder was suddenly wracked with pain as his wounds sustained in Arlien reopened.

“Nos vestry, diligo!” Sang Cestius.

“Ut qoud tribuo silentium!” Clarissa’s sweet voice caused Aichlan to feel weighted and tired.

“Super, Elysium! Ager!”

Aichlan struggled for breath as he stumbled and fell to the ground; his sword was knocked from his crippled hand. The haunting funeral chant invaded every aspect of his consciousness.

“Somnus, meus, parvulus,” Clarissa’s voice took on an operatic quality as she held the note. “Vestri, iter, itineris! Super, iam.”

He crawled blindly in the direction he’d been going, though the reason was forgotten. The world was a blur of colorless terrain and shapeless figures, the shuffling feet were unrecognizable as either friend or foe, and he couldn’t have cared less. A fireball crashed noiselessly besides him as he continued to claw his way forward. Images of his life flashed by in vivid clarity before turning foggy and fading away, in tune to the rhythmic throbbing pain and his slowing pulse, he was overcome by a sensation of being cold and wet. He couldn’t tell if it was because of his own blood that undoubtedly covered him or the rushing waters of the River Tear again. Had he even left the river to begin with?

Kielan swooped in before him and lifted Alice in his arms, fighting off several undead. Aichlan recalled their first meeting upon the riverbanks, Kielan’s sword pointed at his throat. He recalled playing chess in the dining hall of Fort Arlien. Lyle’s nervousness regarding the Arlien knight he was smitten with. He remembered the panicked messenger bringing word of immediate invasion. Standing in formation upon the Azalea fields and seeing the swarm of Xanavene swoop down upon them like a raptor would a rodent. The green hills stained crimson with the blood of his men. Finally, he saw himself holed up in the fort, waiting for death and having it arrive.

He vomited blood and whatever else remained in his eviscerated stomach. A cold panic gripped him as he struggled to claw his way forward. There would be no second chances this time around. He wished he could see Renata one last time with his ragged breath. He tried to conjure up her image, but could only manage a ghostly outline of her features. He had forgotten everything about her, the sound of her voice, her scent. It was as if she were a memory of another he’d heard second hand.

His thoughts turned to his own mortality and his impending death for a second time. Would he be mourned this time around? Would the elves throw him an elaborate funeral procession? How would Ashe handle his death? He thought of her soft, tanned skin, her wild flame red hair and dark green, sincere eyes. He saw her infectious smile and regretted not holding her in his arms, to return the love she obviously had for him. He felt guilt, but was unsure of the cause, was it for betraying Renata or not being with Ashe? It seemed he’d remain conflicted, even in death. He smiled as he felt the sensation of being lifted into the air and lost consciousness.