General Ahri stood inside Ronan’s underground fortress, Fort Sena. It was an old abandoned fortress, and the council had seen it fit to be used as a testing area and soon to be factory. Chandeliers hung on the stone walls, the only provider of light source for the knights inside. Ahri stood in a large cave that had been dugout. The golden tube sat in the center of the cave, surrounded by sorcerers. They had managed to dent the golden casing but were still unable to open it and obtain the scroll inside.

“Begin!” Ahri ordered.

The fire elementalists released a torrent of flames towards the tube. The tube began to glow red for the heat, and the elementalists stopped. The augmenters stepped forward as the elementalists stepped back. They raised their giant war hammers and swung down on the tube. They continued to pound, and the sound of metal smashing on metal echoed throughout the entire cave. The red glow on the casing disappeared, and the augmenters stopped. Ahri went to check on the tube. The case had continued to dent, and the gold coating had broken, revealing a crystalline inner case surrounding the scroll.

“Again,” Ahri yelled. They were close, but every second they wasted on trying to crack the tube was wasted not learning and building their new weapons.

Commander Alzam watched the prisoner that was bound on the table. He lifted a hand, signaling his men to stop pouring water on the cloth that covered the prisoner’s face.

They removed the cloth off of Nevan’s face, and he coughed, spitting water out.

“Where is the scroll?” The Commander asked.

Nevan laughed and choked. “You’re running out of time, aren’t you? I bet the knights of Ronan would’ve got that scroll opened by now.” He coughed water out of his body again.

“Do not play games with me,” the Commander angrily said. Whatever the Commander had done to the prisoner, the prisoner had laughed at his face. Normally, the way he had treated the prisoner would be a violation of Akar’s law, but his General did not seem to care under these circumstances. ‘No, pain wouldn’t work,’ the Commander thought to himself. He needed something more, something more agonizing than pain itself. Alzam nodded to the knight that held the cloth, signaling her to resume. Alzam could hear the prisoner’s laughter muffled as the rag covered his face.

Alzam left the room, closed the door, and turned to the knight who stood outside. “Summon the visioners,” he said to the knight.

“How many, Commander?”

“All of them.”

Elnor sat at the dining table in her estate after having tucked Hua and Safia into bed. Mrs. Sari came carrying a tray with two glasses of tea.

“Staying up late again, Madam Elnor?” the housekeeper asked, settling down the tray on the dining table.

“Finding it difficult to sleep, I’m afraid.” Elnor sighed and took a sip of her tea. “It worries me,” Elnor continued. “War is coming soon, and if I don’t survive. What would happen to Hua and Safia?”

Mrs. Sari raised her eyebrows.

“I know,” Elnor said to the housekeeper. “I don’t mean any offense, but you are old Mrs. Sari. I can’t expect you to have the physical capabilities to protect them if it comes to it.”

The housekeeper smiled at her madam. “Then it means you have to return, does it not?”

“I’ll try my best, but every battle, it seems we are getting more and more desperate,” Elnor closed her eyes.

The housekeeper, not knowing what to say, did not respond.

Elnor frowned to herself. “I think I need some fresh air,” she said, standing and walking towards the front garden to sit on the bench she sat on every night. She had been at home for more than a few weeks now. Hua and Safia had heard of the news of the upcoming war and had asked her to promise them that she would return. Elnor did not know if she could keep that promise. She stared at the night sky, seeing the bright light of the stars among the dark.

Commander Alzam watched his filthy prisoner squirmed. The prisoner was forced to stand, his arms chained to either side of the wall. The prisoner’s eyes stared at the walls, seeing something else as the visioner worked on him. The visioners were forcing the prisoner to relive the worst moment of his life, and Alzam had taken pleasure as he heard the laughter of the prisoner slowly filled with sobs. Whatever the prisoner was reliving, it was breaking him. ‘Finally,’ Alzam thought.

Nevan sat by his sister’s bed, the vial of blue liquid in his hands. He lifted Nalia gently onto a sitting position; black veins covered half of her body.

“Nalia,” Nevan spoke softly. “You need to drink.”

Nalia opened her eyes weakly and saw the vial close to her lips. She recognized the blue liquid and panicked. “I don’t want to die,” she cried softly, shaking her head.

Nevan caressed his sister’s head, holding in his tears and guilt. “No, no, no,” he whispered. “This is just for the pain.”

Nalia looked at her brother with swollen eyes. “You promise?” she asked.

Nevan smiled gently at her, “I promise.”

She nodded and allowed him to pour the liquid down her throat. Nevan watched as she swallowed the whole vial. Her eyes began to close sleepily, and his chest began to hurt. “I love you, my sweet sister.” He repeatedly whispered those exact words until she no longer breathed. Then the defenses that he had placed to kept his guilt and sadness broke, and he cried onto his sister’s dead body. “I’m sorry.”

Nevan screamed inside Nalia’s bedroom, surrounded by the empty chairs, as he relived the memory over and over. He continued to cry as a force pulled him through the bedroom door.

Alzam heard the laughter turning into screams. Not the cries of a man who has achieved glory or triumph; they were the wails of a broken man. Alzam smiled at the change and ordered the visioners to stop. The prisoner’s vision returned to the present, and he began to cry like the pathetic man he had become.

“Where is the scroll?” Alzam asked.

“I don’t know,” the prisoner whispered.

“More lies. Very well then.” Alzam signaled the visioners to begin again. It was another one of the prisoner’s tricks.

Nevan seeing the visioners about to begin again, struggled against the chains. “Wait, please!” he shouted. “The capital! Sutra! That’s where they’ll bring the scroll!”

Alzam frowned. “Lies,” he said. They had received reports from their spies in Ronan’s capital, and there were no potential sightings of the scroll there. ‘The prisoner was still buying time, hoping for someone to rescue him,’ Alzam thought. The visioners began to transmute tenaga.

“I don’t know then!” the prisoner begged. Nevan, feeling his mind beginning to drift away, shouted. “Please, don’t make me go back in there!”

Alzam did not respond.

“Please! I DON’T KNOW!” Nevan yelled before he was dragged back into his living nightmare. He watched himself kill his sister, over and over again. ‘Nirvana, please take me back. Please save me.’ He begged to the place that had once helped him as he held Nalia’s body in his arms. But Nirvana did not answer, for she would not allow her prodigal son to return.

A few hours later, Nevan opened his eyes as he felt a spoon touched against his lips. He saw the peasant girl standing on a stool so she could reach him. “You need to eat,” she said.

“I don’t know where the scroll is,” Nevan spoke softly through his tears.

“Open your mouth,” she said gently. Nevan followed and swallowed the gruel. “They won’t believe you,” she continued.

“But I truly don’t know,” he replied.

“I believe you.”

“You do?” he looked up to her.

She nodded. “Will they treat me better in Ronan?” she asked him.

“For certain,” Nevan answered.

She stared at his eyes and considered for a while. “All right then,” she finally said. “I know of a way we can escape. Can you run?”

“Yes,” he answered back.

“I’ll come back in a few hours. We’ll have to be quick.” She placed the bowl down and picked up the glass of water, allowing Nevan to drink.

Nevan stared with new hope at her. “Thank you,” he whispered.

She only nodded and left the room.

Nevan could not tell how much time had passed, but the door opened, and the young girl stepped in. She shut the door gently behind her. She held a key in one hand and had to use a stool to reach the cuffs around Nevan’s wrists. Nevan fell to the floor, his legs having not been used for a prolonged period.

“Shh, you need to keep quiet,” the girl said softly, helping him stand.

“How did you get past the guards?” Nevan asked.

“They're celebrating the birthday of the Garuda. Most of them aren’t on duty.”

“How long have I been here?” he asked, slowly making his way towards the door, where the girl was peeking out.

“A few weeks,” she replied.

“It felt much longer.”

“That’s because you’re sleep-deprived. And haven’t seen the light of the sun.” She turned back to him and placed a finger against her lips. “Hush now. The sooner we leave, the better.”

They snuck through the hallway and only saw a guard as they climbed the stairs out of the dungeon. The guard was asleep, still clutching an empty mug in one hand.

“Follow me,” the girl said, leading their way.

Nevan breathed in deeply, inhaling the fresh air. He saw the high walls of a fort surrounding them. “Where are we?” Nevan asked, following the girl.

“In Crogar, what was Lukar’s capital.”

Nevan tried to recall the map of Lukar that Elnor had told him to learn.

“This way,” the girl said, waving her hand to signal him to keep following.

Nevan heard the sound of knights dancing and celebrating from the outer courtyard. They moved through the edges of the fort. The girl stopped when they reached the stables. She bent down and removed planks that covered a hole in the walls. “Through here,” she said and crawled through.

Nevan followed, and once he was outside, he eyed the moon and the topography. They made their way through the forest by the fort, and Nevan could still hear the sound of the knights celebrating. “Which way to Ronan?” he asked.

“That way,” the girl pointed towards the direction of the moon as they moved deeper into the forest.

Nevan stopped in his tracks. “Liar,” he whispered angrily.

The girl stopped and turned to look at him. “What?”

“Liar,” Nevan growled a little bit louder. He had seen the mountains and forests and had recognized it. Ronan was in the opposite direction than where the girl had pointed. He had also heard the sound of the celebration- it wasn’t getting any softer.

Knowing her cover was blown, the girl pulled out the whistle from around her neck and blew it. The screech of the whistle flew through the forest. Nevan rushed to her, knocked her down, and grabbed the knife she tried to unsheathe from underneath her rags. “Liar!” he shouted as he mounted on her. He stared at her eyes.

Caught by his anger due to being betrayed, he realized it was too late to stop himself. His thumb had pressed deep into the girl's right eye, and blood began to spurt out of the socket. He saw tears coming out of the girl as she screamed. He got off of her and stared. The girl could not have been much older than Nalia, and he felt disgusted at himself. She was just a child, a peasant, and would have most likely been forced to do it. He heard the sound of Akar’s knights coming from the distance and fled.

Commander Alzam saw the girl clutching her bleeding eye in the forest. “General Sitiari!” he shouted as he ran towards her. “Healers!” he yelled as he saw the damage to her eye.

“I’m fine!” General Sitiari shouted. “Go after him!” she pointed to the direction the prisoner had run towards. “I don’t care if you have to kill him!” Her plan had gone astray. They needed the location of the scroll. And had decided on a last desperate attempt to destroy any hope of escape the lying prisoner had left. They had failed.

“Yes, General!” Commander Alzam said and left to give chase. “Find the prisoner!” The knights that had been waiting quietly inside the forest for the failed ambush left their stations to search for Nevan.

Nevan ran through the forest, transmuting as much tenaga as he could to his legs. The boots of running knights were not far behind him.

“Over there!” a knight, spotting the escaped prisoner, shouted.

Nevan’s destination was not far away, and he forced his tired legs to continue running. He was slower than he would have liked, his various wounds slowing him down. He screamed as he felt an arrow pierced his shoulder, but he managed to keep himself on his feet. He yelled in pain again as another bolt stabbed his back. A little more, just a little more, and he would make it. Arrows and bolts flew around him. He dodged to the side as an ice shard came screeching towards him. He could feel his legs beginning to give out, but he forced them to keep moving. He could see the edge of the forest now, and his heart pumped harder to circulate his depleting blood.

Nevan could hear the galloping of horses behind him as he made it out of the forest. “Come on!” he shouted to himself. He jumped over the cliff as a spear grazed his side, down into the river below. He broke the surface of the raging water, and his foot slammed to the rocky bottom of the river. He kicked the surface and pushed himself upwards. His head poked out of the surface, and he inhaled. Waves of water immediately crashed into him, carrying him downstream.

He slammed into a rock on one of the river banks and held on. He pulled himself out of the water and lay down face-first onto the rocky soil. He regurgitated and let out the excess water that he had swallowed. After a short rest, he pushed himself up. The sky was bright now. There was not much time to waste, and he needed to keep moving.

Sir Trinitas and his squire, Rotan, stood guard by the gates of Fort Darah. It was their shift tonight, and they brought a stool with them to sit on. It was peaceful out here, in Ronan’s eastern front; the swampy terrain did not make a suitable battleground for attackers.

“Sir!” Rotan pointed towards the road. A man was limping towards them. “He’s injured,” Rotan said to his superior when he saw arrows and bolts stuck on the man’s back.

Sir Trinitas eyed the approaching man and unsheathed his blade. Rotan, seeing his superior pulling out a weapon, did the same. “Enough! Don’t move any closer,” Sir Trinitas yelled to the distance. The approaching man groaned but did not stop and continued to approach instead. Trinitas saw the man raising a fist as the man got closer. Trinitas did not see any weapons, but he readied himself for an elementalists attack. “Rotan, ring the bells,” he ordered his squire.

Rotan went inside the gates and rang the bells. Knights began to move and shout as they readied themselves for an attack. The approaching stranger fell and covered his ears as if the loud noise pained him. He threw something small at Trinitas, and it fell to the swamp near Trinitas’ foot. The knight bent slowly, keeping his eyes on the fallen man. Trinitas picked up the thrown item and widened his eyes when he recognized it. “We got wounded!” he shouted as he rushed to help the fallen ally.

Rotan was first to come out of the gates. “Sir?” the squire asked as he jogged to his superior.

Trinitas showed the sigil of a Knight of Ronan to his squire. “Help me carry him inside.”

Rotan recognizing the sigil, helped lift the injured man inside.