As Henry and Cyrus pushed themselves through another stone door, they felt the volcanic heat return to Scarlet Mountain. With the golem vanquished, the icy spectral cold dissipated and made way for natural temperatures. Around them, they saw the small boulder heads of rockblins strewn across the floor, now transformed into mere rocks.The darkness and corruption from the bloodstone no longer flourished and they had reverted back to their natural forms. All that remained in the tunnel were torches and glowing cave paintings lighting the way. For the first time, Henry and Cyrus shared a bit of levity in their conversation as Henry cleaned his sword. As he removed the blood stains with a rag, Cyrus gazed intently at the sword, causing Henry to ask, “Why are you looking at my sword?”

“Does your sword have a name?” Cyrus awkwardly interjected.

“Uh no, why?”

“All the knights in my storybooks name their sword after the feats they’ve accomplished.”

“Well,” Henry said, a bit calmer. “My sword does have a name. It’s technically a sixth century, iron forged blade for the House of Celine. As you can see there’s a little insignia engraved on the hilt and…”

Cyrus let out a snort. “That’s so boring!”

“Boring?!” Celine exclaimed.

“You should call your sword the Great Stone Cutter,” Cyrus said making a dramatic pose. “It makes gravel grovel before it!”

“Uh well,” Henry said awkwardly. “I concur, but I’ve never understood naming your sword after just one feat. When you’re an accomplished knight like myself, it’s hard to give your sword just one name.”

Henry held out the freshly polished sword with a bold grin. “My sword should be called the Great Stone Cutting, Beast Punishing, Wood Chopping, Hilt Dwelling, Back Scratching, Shelf Reaching, Marshmallow Toaster!”

Cyrus rolled his eyes. “You don’t really understand much about knight lore do you?”

“Nope,” said Henry, still sporting somewhat of an idiotic grin. “I’ve learned about knighthood from real knights, not storybook fantasy knights.”

“Really?” Cyrus mumbled with a smirk. “Learning about storybook knights might help you be more chivalrous to nobles.”

“What?” Henry responded. “I didn’t quite hear that.”

“Oh ok,” Cyrus said, pointing to the end of the cave. “We’ve survived. I hope the Moonlit Village is nearby. I am dying for a tavern buffet.”

“Nope,” Henry responded. “It’s still half a day’s journey.”

“Are you kidding me?” Cyrus stomped the ground, kicking the boulder head of a rockblin. “Where are we going to sleep? What are we going to eat? Archibald was carrying all the food!”

“We have the wilderness for both,” Henry responded, and he began to mutter under his breath. “As long as a certain rake doesn’t burn it all down.”

“What did you say?” Cyrus said, stopping his angry jig.

“Oh nothing,” Henry said with a relaxed smile. “We’ll find a suitable clearing, and can set up camp there.”

The two walked on the opposite side of the mountain. The trees were a lot less thick, allowing Cyrus and Henry to see the stars of the night sky shine like a tapestry of diamonds on black velvet. A chill better suited for autumn lingered in the summer air and shadows crept around them. Though he wasn’t very perceptive of nature itself, Cyrus could immediately sense that things weren’t right in the land.

Tiny animals rustled through thickets tangled on the ground, avoiding the shoes of the two teenage adventurers. After a good fifteen minutes, they found a clearing where the moon’s glow brightened two thick logs. They lay adjacent to each other with enough space to build a fire between them. “Perfect,” Henry said with a relieved smile.

Cyrus had been dragging his feet behind the young knight, and it didn’t take the royal analyst to understand that Cyrus was throwing a major fit. He scowled, growled, grumbled and frowned like a blond haired bull frog.

“Just gather me some fire wood, and I’ll do the hunting,” Henry said. “I hope you like Anything-I-can-stab surprise!”

Henry quickly hustled away, not wanting his own mood to be affected by Cyrus or the dismal cold. He left Cyrus to sulk about, thinking only of his stomach and not sleeping in the cold. Cyrus looked down at his clothes. They were heavily stained with green eyeball elixir, soot, ash and his own sweat. His cape was torn; he felt it reflected how beaten and worn down he was. He began to walk in the opposite direction but didn’t realize the root in front of his foot. He tripped and landed face first in a puddle of thick mud.

“ARGH!” He screamed, thrashing about the puddle like a beast taking a mud bath.

He slumped to his feet and wished so badly he could be treated by the royal hair dresser and have cosmetics applied to his royal face. He wanted nothing more than to go home, and instead of collecting sticks, he just bummed around the forest feeling sorry for himself. A half hour passed before he decided to head back to camp empty handed. On his way there, he gazed in a puddle and saw his mud covered face. A dastardly thought entered his head. “I think I’ll pull a prank on Henry. That’ll brighten my spirits.”

He grabbed a small twig and broke it into two. He then opened his mouth and stuck the two pieces in. “Makeshift fangths,” he said lisping with the pieces in his mouth.

In the clearing he saw Henry sitting in the moon light. Trout were speared on his sword, and he sat there calmly, taking in the smell and waiting to cook them. Cyrus crept around the thicket surrounding the campsite. He made sure to rustle the brambles a little so Henry would get unsettled. Henry sat up and looked around. “Cyrus? Is that you?” he asked in quiet voice that was vastly different from his normally boisterous demeanor.

Cyrus made a gravelly hissing sound as he moved through the brambles. He knew that Henry wouldn’t grab his trout speared sword unless absolutely necessary. “CCCCEEEEELLLLINNNNEEEE,” Cyrus hissed. “CCCCEEEEEEELLLLLLLIIIINNNNEEEEE I’VVEEE COME FOR YOU.”

Sir Celine turned pale and held his heart. His body shivered. Cyrus could tell that what he was doing struck fear into the young knight. He rustled the bushes even harder. “CEEEELLLLLLIIIINNNEEE IT IS US, THE EVERBLOODS. WE’VVVVVE COME FOR YOU.”

Henry immediately grabbed his sword and held it while frantically shaking. “Y-you know I’ve waited for this moment, you i-i-nhuman bastards.”

Cyrus, sensing the suspense had gone on long enough, jumped out of the bushes and screamed “RAR!”

Henry recoiled in horror and dropped his trout covered sword. The pupils of Henry’s eyes nearly rolled back in his head from fear, but all of a sudden, Henry with a vulnerable face quietly squeaked. “Cyrus?”

“Who is this Cyrus you talk about?” Cyrus said swooping his cape with a deepened voice. “Vah-hah-hah I am an Everblood.”

Henry immediately grabbed his sword and shoved it right at Cyrus’ flabby neck. Henry’s eyes were filled with tears and fury and his lip trembled uncontrollably. “Leave!” He screamed at Cyrus. “Leave or I’ll cut you in two for what you just did!”

Cyrus immediately fled back into the thicket, leaving Henry to stand all alone. Cyrus puffed hard as he jogged at his slow pace. His heart was leaping. He didn’t expect Henry to be so hostile towards him. He thought they were getting along and Henry would have appreciated his joke. But now he had nowhere to sleep or even sit. He skulked a bit more, rustling the leaves as he dragged his feet in the cold air. He was getting really tired too. It was the middle of the night and way past his bedtime. “Ugh…stupid Henry…” he muttered.

He began to curse the young knight until something crossed his mind. If he had just collected firewood and brought it to the campsite, he would have been enjoying a nice roasted trout over the warm glow of a fire. “Maybe it’s not too late,” he said to himself.

He started locating pieces of fire wood on the ground.

There was a good amount too. Many trees seemed to be dropping their branches and leaves like crazy. This sudden autumn was not good for them. Cyrus gathered as much as he could and pressed the branches up to his chest. With some more huffing and puffing, he headed back in the direction of the camp where he heard heavy sobbing. He nearly dropped his firewood when he heard it, but instead he ran back to the camp to see Henry burying his head in his hands. Cyrus dropped the firewood at Henry’s feet causing him to look up. Tears and further blushing stained his fair, tanned face.

“Here’s your fire wood,” Cyrus said. “What’s wrong?”

“You may think it’s a joke,” Henry said, his voice still vulnerable. “But nothing in this world scares me more than Everbloods. And what you did was so messed up. You are such a rotten person.”

Cyrus felt the sting of Henry’s words, but for the first time, he felt he truly deserved them. Cyrus sat down on the log across from Henry.

“You’re free to tell me about it,” he said. “I promise I’ll listen. I know I don’t usually do that. Does this have to do with what you saw at the sanctuary?”

“Yes,” Henry’s high voice croaked. “That carved face in the sanctuary belonged to the monster who killed my master, Sir Lance Celine.”

“I didn’t know that…” Cyrus muttered.

Henry’s history reflected in his eyes. “My master was a good man and a retired knight whose wife died before they could have any children. When I met him, I was a twelve year old beggar who attempted to rob him at sword point, not knowing his status. He stopped me, but rather than kill me or turn me in, he told me to follow him if I wanted to train in the way of the sword.”

“That’s…so good of him,” Cyrus said in amazement.

“He raised me for a whole year and not just as a pupil but as a son. He asked for nothing in return but one thing: That I follow the knights’ code and I live, fight and die a good man. I swore with my sword at my breast I would. I’d become the best man I could.”

A look of sadness and resignation came over Henry’s face. “I had never been more happy than that year. But two days after I made my vow, he died.”

“The Everbloods came?” Cyrus asked.

“Yes. A man wearing a dark robe and a white mask broke into our manor. I could see his red eyes shining through the slits in his mask just like the statue. I knew as soon as I saw him that he’d come for my master.”

There was a grave expression on Henry’s face. “The Everblood was a skilled swordsmen and matched my masters technique, but being an Everblood, he had the advantage of being immortal. My master still stopped every blow--and even stabbed him--but the fiendish creature just whispered a few words and impaled my master right back.”

Cyrus gasped and leaned forward into his cheeks. Henry’s story of love and terror had captivated his young mind.

“The creature faded and my master in between his last breathes spoke to me. He told me he knew things about the Everbloods that they didn’t want anyone to know. It seems that through centuries, humanity began to learn the flaws of the Everblood’s immortality and one human who achieved higher enlightenment knew their well-kept weakness. The Everbloods couldn’t find this person, and no one but my master knew of them.”

“So he doesn’t know where that person is?” Cyrus asked.

“No…” Henry said softly. “All he knew was this person was a wizard who achieved higher enlightenment. When I enrolled in the knight’s academy afterwards, I vowed to find that person and use their knowledge to kill his murderer.”

“And then you met Princess Trinity,” Cyrus exclaimed.

“Yes,” Henry said, a knowing calmness returning to his eyes. “But that’s a different story, one a mischievous scoundrel like you doesn’t need to know.”

Cyrus sat silently for a moment. He thought about Henry’s upset and his role in causing it. He held his hand out and with a bashful look on his mud-stained face, he said, “I’m sorry I scared you…I just didn’t know your story.”

Henry’s eyes shot open in shock. He gently touched his face and smiled softly. His voice almost spoke in a gentle coo. “That’s the first time you’ve ever shown humility to me. “

“Hey, I can show that. I would have normally sent you to the barracks for yelling at me. But I actually think you’re pretty alright.”

Henry sarcastically raised his hands, extorting an imagery deity. “Well thanks O’ merciful prince.”

Henry softly sighed and his sardonic face turned gentle. “But seriously, thanks for understanding and apologizing. It means a lot to me.”

Henry looked at Cyrus. The prince’s face turned white, his stomach growled and he slumped off the log. “You’re welcome…” he groaned, “but my hunger pains are finally starting to get to me…..blood pressure…low…need trout…now.”

Henry took one glance at the aching prince on the ground, laughed and began to kindle the fire.