The whispers kept Leor from good rest. He would hear them ever so faintly, inaudible voices of men, women, and children. Sometimes they sounded like muffled screams or mournful cries. At first, he thought it was Hendrick or the slaves, but it became clear it wasn’t them when the voices sang even when they slept. The whispers echoed louder at nightfall or when he was alone. And now, he felt the brunt of both.

He swung the greatsword, practicing his slashes and training his body to memorize the steel’s heft. Slaying the mad knight revealed a great weakness. With each swing, the greatsword would pound the earth and force Leor to bounce with the impact and it took him more effort than he’d like to admit to steady himself. If he failed to master Gerald’s weapon, it would prove to be fatal. So he practiced wielding it as his mentor had taught him.

Kill only if necessary. His mentor's words rang in his head. He relived the moment when the greatsword cleaved through the mad knight’s flesh, the hot blood splattering on his face. It had to be done. I had no choice, Leor told himself. But a sense of guilt still squeezed his chest. What would his mentor say of his actions?

Then a rustle interrupted his thoughts.

Lisa and Yola emerged from the brush, both wearing the cotton robes they scavenged from the outpost. The two stood in place for a while and squirmed with the words that lingered on their tongue, Leor saw. Once their bellies were full and Leor had proved himself as a proper sword and shield, the slave women had begun singing a much different tune than when they first met.

“What is it?” Leor said at last. “Is something wrong?”

Smiling gently, Lisa sauntered closer and untied the sash that held her robes together. She let the sleeves slither off her shoulders, revealing her natural self to him. Yola mimicked her in a much less graceful fashion. The moonlight displayed everything — their womanhood and supple breasts, the lashing scars raked across their pale bodies, and the insignia of the slave traders, the great kraken haunting the ocean’s horizon, branded to their pelvis.

Leor gulped. A fire burned in his cheeks and his groin. He thanked the night for masking his face. “What are you doing?”

Lisa groped his hand so he could not escape. Her bronze locks rested atop her breasts, shimmering in the light like fresh morning syrup. She flashed him a somber smile. “My lord, may I tell you my tale?” She did not wait for his answer. “All my life, since the day blood flowed from my womb, I have been nothing but a whore. A slave to the desires of the highest bidder. My parents are long gone and so is my sense of self. I prayed to the lords every night to release me from these shackles so I may finally rest. But an answer never came.” Her hands tightened. “Until you, my lord. I never had a man fend for me as you do, my lord. Never had a warmth in me that was filled with love or compassion. . . Champion or not. I truly thank you. I’ve known nothing all my life but to please a man. So I beg you, my lord. Allow me to service you. It is all I can offer as thanks.”

A knot tied his throat. How was he to answer when his actions were not for their sake, but for his own selfishness?

Yola pressed her much smaller frame against Leor’s other hand. Her short black hair combed to the side so he could see the conviction in her usually vacant eyes. She nodded to Lisa’s words. A daring notion since Yola was a quiet girl, small and anxious. She’d often avoided looking at him and hid behind something — mainly Lisa — when spoken to.

“Yola feels as I do, my lord,” Lisa added, her voice choking back tears. “Forgive her silence. She was once a young girl of innocent smiles and blissful hope until it was beaten and raped out of her. . . She had done her best to keep strong but use after use proved too much for the poor girl. The men broke her and her will to utter words.”

Leor’s heart sank at their stories. How could the Gods allow such misfortune to befall these poor women. . . to the slaves. . . to Ceri? Nonetheless, he steeled himself and refused their offer. His heart only sought to save Ceri; Lisa and Yola would have to wait. He slid free from their grip, covered them with their fallen robes, and gave a slight smile. “I’m sorry. . . to both of you. My heart and mind lie elsewhere. I cannot accept your gracious offer.”

The women looked disheartened at that as if they had failed in some grand challenge.

Leor sighed heavily, unable to alleviate the weight in his chest. “If you truly wish to show me your thanks, then fight. Live on and fight. As my mentor taught me, don’t expect someone to come and save you as I have. The only person you can rely on is yourself. The both of you are slaves no more.” Ceri’s words echoed through his lips. “You are free to choose the fate you desire.” He waved them off to bed before he continued his swings.

The greatsword fell with a heavy swing and gashed open the skull of a cinder wolf. Leor bounced when the steel slammed into the dirt. Damn. If he had Inazuma and Ikazuchi, the likes of these beasts would be nothing. A gray blur dashed at Leor while he was reeling back the greatsword.

Before the jaws could snap down on him, a black shadow speared it to the ground. A tumbling barrel of ash, shadow, and dirt wrestled in the undergrowth. Blood painted the furs of the two wolves but it was Yoru who pinned the other. The wolfling ripped the throat out of its prey and howled victorious. Leor worried if the wolfling — no, Yoru was much too large to be considered that; the wolf stood as tall as him on its hind legs now — would shy away from killing its own kind, but the concern was unfounded. A beast has no kin.

“Good boy, Yoru,” Leor said, sheathing the greatsword and wiping his sweat with the rag Yola offered.

The edgewolf shook the blood from its black fur and ran to his side. Its silver eye always glistened whenever called and rubbed behind the ears.

“My lord, are you alright?” Lisa said from his right as she inspected him for wounds. “You’re looking rather tired from the endless battle.”

Yola tugged on his sleeve and kept her gaze low. She still had trouble looking at him even after that night.

“She speaks the truth, Sir Leor.” Hendrick stood by the horses and others. He slid the edge of his broadsword flat against his leathers, wiping the blood from the blade, and flashed him a wry smile. “Not enough rest lately?”

Líada whispered something to the giant’s ear and the both of them snickered. Pons remained saddled and scowling.

“That’s enough.” Leor’s voice commanded silence. “Merchant, you know the lands here. Is it common for the beasts in these parts to house such ferocity?”

“Not to this extent, I’m afraid. Maybe a pack or two. But this marks the. . . fifth? Perhaps you beyonders got them riled up.” Líada cocked her head at him. “Though I must say, you’re quite handy with a sword, aren’t you? You fare better than those lousy tin cans who crumple at the slightest misfortune. . . and not to mention, the oversized mutt you tamed. A scary duo, the two of you.”

Hendrick reined Pons’ horse closer and handed Leor a canteen of water. “My lord is the Champion after all.”

Leor glared at him as he swigged a mouthful. They had been traveling with Líada as their guide for only a few days, but the giant and the merchant seemed to already be friends. The two of them did most of the talking, mainly between each other, laughing and drinking bloom berry mead, a staple drink amongst haze dwellers. Try as he might, he couldn’t help but wonder what they whispered to one another when there was only silence and death around them.

“What’s the point in this chatter? On with it now. The host ain’t far, right?” Pons groaned. Even after being well-fed, the old slave was unrelenting in complaints and uselessness.

“It must be oh so hard for you to sit on your ass,” Hendrick said, his voice heavy with jests. “Would it kill you to hold your tongue for once? The horses proved to be of more use than you.”

Pons leapt off the horse and shoved Hendrick, then jabbed his fingers at the giant. While the giant and the old slave had their bickering, Líada pulled Leor away from his caretakers, far from earshot of the rest. “My good friend, I advise you to remain wary of that old fool.”

Leor glanced at Pons standing strong before Hendrick. “What do you mean? He looks as lively as ever.”

“Celiran is unlike the realm you come from. It does not take weak folk kindly. And I have little doubt the fool lacks the stomach,” Líada shrugged, then whistled for her mule. “Well, not that it is any of my concern. Just a cautionary tale.”

The haze was but a gentle layer beyond the thinning forest where daggers of sunlight pierced through the clouds. Below the ridge, they saw Fort Greymir, the old keep of the Golden Stag built atop a meager hill. It was forefront to the high road to Solaris, the ancient city just barely visible through the clouds.

Líada pointed at the droves of knights entering the front gate. “The beyonders you seek are within those walls. They arrived days before and had been holed up here since.”

“How are you so certain?” Leor squinted at the merchant. Could she truly see through the headpiece?

“Why, a good merchant has vast stock for every customer. Information being the most valuable.” A smile pursed her lips. “And I got eyes and ears all over Celiran.”

Covered eyes and the same mischievous tone did little to help him read her. “What do you stand to gain from telling me this?” he asked, knowing full well her response would be flawed.

“Simple. We both want to access the old city. I am a feeble merchant who knows the way but I have no means to defend myself. While you have shown your ability with the blade. A trade for a trade, is it not?”

“Why do I need your help reaching Solaris when there’s a clear path to the city?”

“You’re welcomed to that too, but I’d advise against it. That road isn’t meant for strolling anymore.” Líada searched her robes and presented him with a folded parchment and an unfamiliar silver coin with a widow on it. “Take these. A map of Celiran and a favor owed to me by the lord of the fort. I marked where to meet me if you choose to take my offer.”

Puzzled, Leor unfolded the parchment and took a quick gander. The map showed the lands between the Wall and slightly beyond Solaris. The meeting spot was just short of Solaris outer wall, marked with a red ‘X’. “Meet you? Not planning to join us?”

“Not until the meeting point. I have obligations to take care of.” Líada saddled her mule. “We’ll meet in the sewers, beyond the old kingdom’s limit. At the main flood gates. Oh, right. Seek that lord. . . what was his name again? Michael? Yeah, that’s it. He’ll help you get to the sewers. And keep it a secret, will you?” With a crack of a whip, the merchant trotted off deeper into the woods.

He would have never thought entry inside Fort Greymir would be easy, but this was confusing enough to be a letdown. By the time they descended, the river of gold and silver had emptied into the compound. The knights that stood guard at the gates were frozen like statues, yet their heads turned as he walked by. No doubt they were from the Order with the Rays of their house carved into their helm and breastplate, but their once silver-and-gold armor was now tarnished with spots of brown. Dirty like dried mud. Much like the shriveled and faded lands beyond the woods.

Dead ash trees uprooted the fort’s paved roads and grew inside collapsed stone buildings. The dilapidated graystone walls, archways, and bridges were bleached and infected with ivy weaving through the stone’s foundation, the teal towers faded and crumbled, and banners of the old lord — the head of a white stag before a shining sun — withered with time.

Eyes pricked him from all sides as they walked the main street, where the timbered storefronts and markets had rotted. The women clung close to him, stuttering their steps and keeping their faces buried behind his back. Small wonder why. Other slaves watched them cross the streets with an escort of knights while they were whipped into clearing the rubble. Leor glanced all around the fort and there was not a single woman amongst the working slaves. Perhaps that made Lisa and Yola uneasy.

The Order nested in their makeshift towers and between the crumbled walls of the ruined barracks, where they bathed in the soothing sunlight. Some glared at him as he passed by and spat; Others slumped where they rested with their weapons drawn, mumbling prayers to their lord; A few shrieked when they saw the edgewolf casually roaming the streets, and all had dark circles beneath their eyes, the color drained from their flesh. A pitiful sight for the stoned-face knights of the Order.

The Yonchins gathered in the open space of the keep where a statue of Lord Greymir and a majestic stag stood as a centerpiece of a dried fountain. He found Yui face to face with the sharp-tongued Yonchin woman from Lichtwerth. Though their faces were lax, Leor could sense their lordess’ fire seething through their skin. He must have been staring for quite some time since Yui found him in an instant, but she did nothing but smile and wave before returning to her conversation. That was more than enough of a sign to avoid her.

Then a tremor shook the fort, shaking the rubble and felling a nearby building. Leor shielded Lisa and Yola from the debris with his cloak. When the smoke cleared, a squadron of knights, sellswords, and warriors from other houses rushed to the cathedral square that overlooked the road to Solaris. Black rods blemished the open fields and ruined settlements like a coat of thorns. The pastures were now tarnished with dirt mounds, craters, and desert soil. Where the stone wall and parts of the cathedral had been blasted open, the crowd watched the skies and Leor followed.

A Runner galloped through the air, weaving past black, column-sized arrows. The arrows crashed and exploded when they hit the earth, sending shockwaves with each landing. The knight and his water stallion made it only half a league before being shot out of the sky. Horrified gasps came from the Order. Though not everyone felt a heavy heart. Leor saw a few Arindians snicker at the Licht Order’s failure.

The wall cracked beneath Arthur’s fist. The lord’s lapdog turned and saw Leor standing in the back, then scattered the onlookers with a single glare before stomping towards him.

“To the cathedral. Now.” Arthur said as shouldered him.

The door to the cathedral was grand in size and made of ancient oak. The statues of the lords of Tridon had fallen through the walls and onto the steps leading to the cathedral, their marble pieces scattered across the floor. Even the insides were not safe from the clutches of overgrowth. Vines coiled up the columns and the chandelier that hung eerily by a single rusted link.

“Leor!” A familiar voice called out to him. The dragonslayers parted their wall of black steel to make way for Alden. The Pontiff gripped him firmly by the shoulders. His warm greeting was a welcomed one and Leor couldn’t stop his smile from breaking through. “I’m glad you’re alright. Alden’s eyes widened at the sight of the edgewolf wagging his tail. “Yoru, is that you? Was he always that size?”

Leor returned a firm squeeze. “I’m holding strong. Yoru has been quite the help. Oh, and they too have proved —.” He turned to his party and found the women had their heads planted on the floor while the men gave a simple bow.

“Y-your Grace, It’s an honor to be in your presence,” Lisa said, her voice muffled by the floor.

“Oh, sweet child. Rise. No need to be so formal. A friend of Leor’s is a friend of mine.” Alden laughed. “Besides, it's quite embarrassing so please stand.” He turned back to Leor. “Where have you been? It took you a long while to get here.”

Images of flesh stringing apart filled Leor’s mind. “We ran into some trouble on the way here,” he said cautiously.

“Your troubles are shared. The houses have suffered a great deal, I’m afraid.” He motioned Leor to Arthur who paced beneath a ripped Greymir banner while another knight offered counsel from the comfort of a timbered throne. The counsel must be terrible since the knight had his attention glued to some ancient text. His face was scrawny and a tad wrinkled, but it was gentle. Gold dangled from his ears, choked his neck, rimmed his spectacles, and tied the ends of his brown curls. The contrast between his looks and the position above Arthur piqued Leor’s interest.

“Who’s that?” he said to Alden.

“The lad in the chair?” Alden’s voice was thick with disbelief. “I guess you are unfamiliar with the houses after all. That man is Michael the Fourth Pillar of Light. He is of the same standing as Arthur.”

Leor’s eyes widened. “What kind of man is he?”

“I’ve met that man only a few times, but he seems like a witty fellow. Always has his face in his research. A man who thirsts for knowledge if you will.” Alden glanced about and leaned in for a whisper. “But the strange thing is he was part of the first expedition team. He claims the others went on ahead while he stayed to study the remnants of Fort Greymir. Only days after did Solaris fire artillery.”

“Enough,” Arthur shouted. He dented one of the iron benches with a hammered fist. “I will not hear it from a coward. You will march with me to Solaris. Lord Gwyn has commanded us so!”

Michael sighed, still reading his text. “Oh, young Arthur. Our king has given me a different task. I told you your plan would fail yet you refused to hear me out. And what would you have me do? Hold your bags? I’m not like the rest of you. I may hold the guidance of light within me but I lack the skill to wield it.”

“If you were to use the powers granted to you, maybe you’d be more versed in the art.”

“I use the gift for science. Your knights would be nothing if it weren’t for the blessings I embedded into their gear. Even your brother knew as much.” A heavy silence filled the high ceilings. Arthur turned his glare to Leor and the unfamiliar faces. A fire erupted in his crystal blue eyes.

“Who let these slaves join in these private affairs? Get these eyesores out of here. Seize them and put them to work in the mines.”

Knights rushed to drag them away. Leor froze and lowered his head. He dared not look, but his ears refused to deafen. The carpet tore with their clawing, Lisa cried out to him and begged him to not let them take Yola. The mute girl’s muffled whimpers screeched the loudest like metal on porcelain. He bit his lip to the point of bleeding. I told you don’t expect someone else to save you. I can’t. . . I can’t help you. Ceri comes first. . . Then she popped into his head. He remembered the morning after they spent the night together and the scars along her back, how sad she looked when she spoke of her impurities. What about the scars on their backs? He could almost hear her ask. And their impurities? Damn it all.

“Stop!” Leor drew the greatsword. “Release them, now.”

In an instant, silver knights of the Order surrounded him with weapons pointed. He waved his sword to space the knights back and readied himself to strike when a book clapped shut and bid silence.

“Oh? The lot of you dare raise your weapons in the presence of Lord Alden?” Michael raised his hand. Bronze-spotted knights stormed in and outnumbered the silver knights by three heads for each silver. “Arthur, I trust you have enough wit to know what to do.”

Arthur growled at the other Pillar, stared at him for what seemed like an eternal silence. He clicked his tongue and had his men disperse. When they were free, the women ran to embrace Leor with eyes full of tears and words of desperate gratitude. “Arthur, leave. Go cool off somewhere. I wish to speak with the purblight in private. Oh and apologies, Lord Alden. That entails you as well. You and the purblight’s companions may wait in one of the second floor chambers. Careful on the way up. The stairs are terribly old.” How did he know I am a purblight? The lord’s lapdog cursed on his way out and the room cleared until Leor was face to face with the fourth Pillar.

Now that they were alone, he could sense a certain weight to his presence. A heaviness yet warmth he could not describe. A ruby eye stared at him from the center of the Pillar’s breastplate, his armor a pristine silver-and-gold with a pearl cloak clasped across his neck and draped over a single arm.

“I applaud your bravery, sir. . .” the Pillar said once he finished studying the purblight.

Still wary, he kept his senses sharp. “Leor. Why did you intervene?”

“Forward. I like that. To be frank myself, Arthur is a bit. . . rumbustious. Especially when he’s compared to Lord Gabriel, his brother. Everyone knows that. An easy weakness.” The Pillar laughed.

Leor took note of that. “By the sounds of it, he’d best you in battle. Wh —”

“Easily too if I might add. But the brawl would not end without heavy casualties on his side as well. He may talk like a child but he’s not that big of a fool. He knows he can’t risk losing any more men and having that tacked on to his shortcomings to his brother. And he knows that I know what thoughts conjure in that tiny brain of his.”

In all truths, Leor was confused but he did not let it show on his face. He paused to think. Something was still amiss. Michael had no reason to help me. Was he to be trusted? It couldn’t simply be out of spite for Arthur, could it? Líada’s words rang in his head: A favor is repaid by favor.

Leor swallowed his doubts for there was no point in reading minds. “Tell me, o’ Pillar Lord, are you a man of your word?” He flashed him the silver coin.