The winter was long and bitter, not merely due to the biting frost that descended upon Albion. Jack had tracked and spoken with every tribe chief, hermit, and wandering trader on Maze's list he could find, all for naught. Those who could remember the night he spoke of had nothing more to offer than the testimony they had given Maze, now dulled by time. It was with a heavy and bitter heart that he acknowledged the stirring of spring that would make his already difficult search nigh on futile. It was time to turn towards civilisation for the first time in months. It was time to turn for Oakvale.

X

The approach to Oakvale was just as Jack remembered it. A flash of movement from off the path drew his eye, and he saw the ghost of a young boy, hiding in the fields as bandits raped and pillaged his home. He blinked and the boy was gone.

A wooden walkway stretched over the path; Jack saw flames licking at its roof and the tavern keeper's wife hanging naked and bloody from its supports. He shook the image from his mind and passed beneath it. A shiver crawled down his spine.

The village itself loomed large before him now, a spectre of his past brought to life. The village centre bustled ahead of him, and a gaggle of children streamed past, intent on a day of fun at Barrow Fields. Red hair streamed behind one of them; a girl. Jack had had a friend who looked just like her. She had been taken as a plaything by a trio of bandits during the raid and the screams they had pried from her lips still featured in his nightmares. The village burned around him, and he gripped his sword tightly. Jack sank heavily onto a bench that was sat against the large tree in the village centre, ignoring the Blue Guard that was watching him suspiciously. He closed his eyes and forced himself to breathe steadily, banishing the memories from his mind. He was no longer a helpless child, and his memories would not control him. He exhaled slowly and opened his eyes.

The tavern lay before him, a hub of activity in the town, its doors swinging constantly. Jack rose to his feet and crossed the threshold, stepping to the side and out of the way of the foot traffic. The tavern was well lit, light streaming in from several high windows sat amongst the rafters. The circular tables that covered the floor were mostly occupied; what appeared to be a dock crew was breaking for lunch.

His entrance heralded a still in conversation as the tavern occupants gave the travel worn stranger a once over, but their interest was brief. Without expensive arms and armour or great renown, he was just another sell sword. He made a beeline for the only unoccupied table, half shadowed in the corner. He had been living off game for months. It was time for a proper meal.

Pie was obtained then devoured in short order. He was cleaning the last crumbs from his plate when a figure detached itself from the bar to approach his table. It was a young woman with brunette hair and a lithe build. Her features held a ring of familiarity, but for the life of him, Jack could not place her. She wore simple homespun clothes, but she took a seat at his table like she was owed it. She met his stare evenly.

“Can I help you?” Jack said at length.

“Jack Bromsson?” she asked.

Jack leaned back in his chair, caught entirely off guard. He hadn't spoken his full name since the night of the raid. Not even Maze knew of it.

The woman smiled at his reaction. It was a sad smile. “I thought so. You don't remember me, do you?”

“No,” Jack said, his tone short.

“You rescued my bear, Rosie, from Elliot on the day of the raid,” she said.

Jack thought back, the memories coming easier than he would have liked. “Elliot...he was the bully. Your name is Lily. You had a younger brother.”

“Elliot saved my life, you know,” Lily told him conversationally, like they were talking about the weather. “Hid me under my parents' bodies and drew some bandits away when they got close. He didn't get terribly far. I thought I was the only child who survived the raid.”

“A Hero rescued me just as a bandit found me,” Jack said. “He got me out of the village. The raid was over at that point.” He didn't feel any of his usual reluctance to speak about the night his home was destroyed. It was...liberating.

Lily eyed the bracers Jack had discarded to eat, and the sword resting against the table. “Little Jack grew up and became a Hero, didn't he?” she asked. Her brown eyes sparkled with humour.

Little Lily. That was what he had called her, Jack remembered with a start. “Always said I would, didn't I? And I was always bigger and tougher than you, so cut out the little stuff...Little Lily.”

Lily poked her tongue out at him through cute pink lips. “Bigger and uglier, more like. Don't know about tougher.”

A startled laugh escaped him. Hadn't they been talking about the raid that killed their families and destroyed their home a moment ago? “Where have you been living?” he asked.

“All over. A traveller took me in and looked after me. Taught me how to support myself,” Lily said. “I still travel with him sometimes. Was life at the Heroes Guild everything you imagined?”

“In some ways--” Jack was cut off mid sentence as one of the dock workers was pushed into the table, jostling the plates and knocking his sword over. The worker was arguing with one of his fellows and didn't seem to notice the irritation he had caused. Jack stood and pushed the man, sending him stumbling. He felt angrier than he should have, for reasons he couldn't divine.

“Oi, what's that about?” The workers, seeing what had happened, closed ranks.

“Shove off you pillocks,” Lily said, beating Jack to the punch. “Unless you're that keen for a dust up with a Hero?”

The workers glanced at Jack, then at the sword he was picking up from the ground. There was some sheepish shuffling, and the two arguing workers were slapped over the back of the head.

Jack shook his head, gathering his gear. Half the tavern was looking at them now. He pulled a few silvers from his money pouch and left them next to his plate, making for the door with Lily at his side. Conversation picked up in their wake.

“Come on,” Lily said, grabbing his sleeve as they exited the building. “There's something you should see.”

X

“They call it the Memorial Garden,” Lily said, standing a few paces back from him. “It was built after the raid.”

Jack stared at the delicately designed iron gates. They were open, and had been open for so long that clumps of grass were entangling their base. He wandered through them, unsure of what awaited him. The graveyard was open, without strict structure, the opposite of the neat lines of the graveyard at the Guild. Lily tapped him on the shoulder and pointed over to a shady cul de sac, before walking off in the other direction.

Four graves awaited Jack as he approached. They were plain, cheap, and not very well looked after. He knelt down before them, peering at the weather worn engravings. His gut clenched as he made them out.

Brom, a woodsman. Dedicated to his family, he fell defending them. A victim of The Burning of Oakvale.

Charlotte, wife and warrior. She fell as she avenged her husband. A victim of The Burning of Oakvale.

Theresa, clever and warm, her potential cut short. A victim of The Burning of Oakvale.

Jack, curious and friendly, his dreams of adventure remain dreams. A victim of The Burning of Oakvale.

Fire sparked in Jack's hand as he ran it over the tombstones of his parents and sister, scorching the lichen and moss from their surfaces. He felt...cold. The graves of his family, himself included, lay before him, forgotten and unremarked upon by the world at large. He tried to summon the anger that had lurked within reach since the raid all those years ago, but found only cold.

He sat before the graves for a long time.

X

Jack returned to the graveyard entrance where Lily was waiting for him, having already paid her own respects. She saw the frown on his face but made no mention of it as they passed back through the wrought iron gates. Jack felt at odd ends—he had no idea what one did after visiting the graves of family. Seeing his own tombstone next to the stone of his sister did nothing to help matters.

“I like to walk along the beach after I visit my parents,” Lily said. “Would you like to come with me?”

“Yes,” Jack said before even really considering the offer. He had still been deemed too young to follow the beach past the village boundaries before the day of the raid.

They walked through the back lanes of the village, and it was easy to see them overlapping the lanes of their childhood; they had been rebuilt so similarly. The village centre was a little busier now in the early afternoon, and Jack's weapons and armour drew some stares. One old timer with ferociously bristly white eyebrows didn't take his eyes off him until they left his line of sight.

A schooner was just pulling up to the dock as they came to the beach, waiting to be loaded up with produce from the bread basin of Barrow Fields. Children swam and played amongst the pillars of the pier. Jack and Lily turned west, leaving the village behind them in short order, following a path through grassy sand dunes. It appeared infrequently travelled, and after some time on it, Jack did not doubt they were the only souls for miles.

The isolation was nothing new for Jack, not after his time searching the Darkwood, but having someone beside him made it different, more intimate. He was keenly aware of Lily's presence at his side, and the shine of her hair in the sunlight, so when she turned off the faint trail for the waterline, he was already turning with her. The beach was sheltered on one wide by a tall cliff and on the other by the sand dunes they had just walked along. The afternoon sun warmed them pleasantly in the early spring coolness.

“I'm going for a swim. Are you going to join me?” Lily said, looking back over her shoulder at him.

“You don't have any spare—oh,” Jack said, as he was introduced to the sight of her bare back. He swallowed.

Lily smiled at him, every inch of it mischievous, and stepped out of her trousers, walking to the water line in aught but her small clothes. Those too were abandoned as she wet her toes in the surf, wind caressing her skin. She half turned back to where Jack was still rooted to the spot, and he caught a glimpse of a rosy nipple. She giggled at his expression. “Hurry up then!” she said, before striding into the surf and diving in. She surfaced a small way out in waist deep water. She flicked her hair from her face, unabashedly displaying her bare breasts to him. He thought she was the most lovely vision he had ever seen.

Jack was shucking his own clothes before she had finished clearing the salt from her eyes. His sword he left sticking out of the sand next to his pouch, his clothes and armour lay a trail to the water. He felt a fain trace of embarrassment as his arousal preceded him, and the knowing smirk on Lily's face told him she had noticed. He waded swiftly into the water, taking in a sharp breath at the coldness, but ignoring it for the most part. He only had eyes for Lily.

She beckoned him closer. He drew near, only for her to pull back again, deeper into the water, smirk still on her face. Jack found himself grinning as he paced forward and she drew away, still beckoning. She began to tread water and he surged forward, his height leaving the water lapping at his chest. Lily allowed his arms to close around her, smiling impishly. He paused, suddenly uncertain as to what on earth he was supposed to do next, but then she placed her arms around his neck, and raised her lips to his. His hands went instinctively to her waist, and she leaned into him. The erect tips of her breasts scraped across his chest and his grip tightened, pressing her body against his own. One hand removed itself from the back of his neck and wandered south, and Jack strangled a gasp in his throat. He returned the favour, and Lily let out a happy sigh into their kiss.

A small wave broke against them, interrupting the moment and leaving them spluttering. Lily snorted in amusement as Jack managed to inhale seawater through his nose. She splashed more water into his face and ducked away into shallower water, backing away teasingly.

“Come on,” she said, “there's a shack just up the beach.”

“Go on then,” Jack said, his mouth moving of its own accord. “Lead the way.”

Lily splashed him again—but this time he was ready. A flex of his Will and a small pulse of force sent the water flying back into her face. As she spluttered, he lunged forward and lifted her over his shoulder, hand resting cheekily on her backside. She pounded his back, laughing, and he carried her through the surf towards the weathered shack further along the beach, pausing only to grab his pouch. The situation he had stumbled into sunk properly into his mind, and a brilliant smile crossed his face.

Sometimes, Jack thought, it was good to be him.

X

The lovers woke just after before dawn, but didn't leave the comfort of the bedroll until the sun had well and truly cleared the horizon. Jack found his trousers and set about making a small fire with the driftwood he found scattered along the shore. Lily watched him from the door of the shack, wrapped in his bed sheet. A hotplate was raised over the fire, and several cuts of vinegar wrapped pork were laid on.

“There's some bread and cheese in my pouch,” Jack said absently, his eyes on the fire.

Lily quirked an eyebrow at him and rose to her feet, leaving the sheet behind. As she turned and went to retrieve his pouch, Jack's eyes tracked her progress. The sashay of her shapely backside told him that his cunning plan hadn't been quite as subtle as he had hoped, however. Still, he couldn't quite find it in himself to complain.

When Lily joined him at the fire, she was clad in her smallclothes. She poked him in the belly as she handed him the bread and cheese, a guileless look on her face. The fare was plain but filling, and afterwards they leaned into each other companionably, enjoying the ambience of the beach. The sun was well on its way to mid-morning, and a return to Oakvale on on both their minds. Belongings were gathered, and Jack gave a great put-upon sigh as Lily slipped back into her clothes. She slapped him rump when he bent over to fasten his laces and danced away from his reaching fingers when he tried to grab her. He grinned at the challenging expression she wore and considered throwing her back over his shoulder and lingering at the beach a while longer.

It was that moment that Lily's expression changed, all merriment falling form her face as she looked past him. Jack turned, but the beach behind him was empty. Then his gaze rose to the horizon, and the pillar of black smoke rising in the distance. In the direction of Oakvale.

For a brief moment, Jack knew blind panic. Then his nerves reasserted themselves and a cold focus descended upon him. “Is the path we took here the fastest path?” he asked.

“Yes,” Lily said. She looked frustrated. “I left my weapons in my room at the tavern.”

Jack hesitated, then reached into his pouch and withdrew the simple iron sword he had left the Guild with, handing it to Lily hilt first. He knew instinctively that asking her to stay at the beach would not be received well.

“I should be able to make it back inside ten minutes,” Jack said.

“Ten minutes?” Lily asked, eyebrows raised. “And if you have to fight when you get there?”

“I'll be fine,” he said. Strangely to Lily, he knelt down on the sand. “Go. You'll meet me there.”

Lily gave him a dubious look before taking off, jogging up into the sand dunes and out of sight. Jack felt a strange pang, and realised that he had been expecting some show of affection before she left. He shook the matter from his mind and closed his eyes.

His time in the Darkwood searching for his sister had not seen him neglect his other goals. With no distraction and an abundance of time alone, he had been free to experiment with his Will to his heart's content. His pathways were stronger, more refined, and the brands on his palms felt more like a part of him than just marks on his skin. He could truly appreciate what a boon they were, especially when they allowed him to do things years ahead of his time – things like combining Will expressions.

His breathing deepened, his focus sharpened, and his Will roared to life. He opened his eyes and took in the world around him. It was grey, lifeless, and almost entirely still. He rose smoothly to his feet and looked to the sky. A seagull was coasting just off the beach, wings beating impossibly slowly. The young Hero grinned and began to run.

X

Jack slowed as he reached the village outskirts. A fire was burning within the village, and the smokestack he had sighted earlier had grown. He knelt down, slowing his breath and focusing on his heartbeat as he looked inwards to his Will. He worked at loosening the vice-like grip he had on it, prising it free like a frozen fist clenched tight around a hilt.

When Jack released the expression, it came undone all at once. Colour rushed back into the world, and he took a gasping breath. It was well he did, as in the next instant his stomach rebelled and breakfast made an unwelcome reappearance, splattering over the grass he knelt on. He retched, clearing bile from his throat. For a moment, his vision blacked out, and he was keenly aware of the distant sound of fighting and the tang of blood on the air.

The young Hero clambered to his feet, wiping the back of a gloved hand across his mouth even as he withdrew a Will fortifying potion from his pouch with the other. He stood on a small bluff looking down on Oakvale to the east. There were figured running to and fro along the village paths, some armed, some not. Jack drew his sword, blood pounding in his ears.

His legs ate up the remaining distance to his childhood home, and he crossed a fallow field to emerge into an empty lane on the edge of the village. The curtains of one of the houses twitched, but he ignored the village peering out from behind them. He turned for the smoke stack rising over the village. There were bandits to kill.

There was a clash of steel on steel, and Jack quickened his pace. It had been close – he would finish the bandits and find out more about the attack from the Guards fighting them. What he was expecting, however, was not what he found.

Two bandits lay dead upon the ground, and standing over their corpses with a bloody sword in hand was a Wiccerman. He was armoured in the same strange grey hide that all Wiccermen Jack had fought had worn, and he regarded the young Hero with a hostile glare. He raised his bloody weapon and took a threatening step forward.

Jack pointed at the man. Lightning crashed, thunder boomed, and the Wiccerman's corpse collapsed, charred and smoking. A feminine scream came from the next lane over, followed by further sounds of conflict.

There was no quick way to cross the row of houses in the way, so he dropped into his wraith form and rushed straight through them, arriving right in the middle of a skirmish. A pair of Wiccermen were facing off against two bandits, and he allowed their weapons to pass through him harmlessly. Then he noticed the woman shielding her teenaged daughter and younger son where they were pinned against the side of a house by the fight. He sheathed his sword and raised both hands, palms out, to either side. He dropped his wraith form, pulsing his Will in the same instance, blasting a wave of force from each hand. His foes were knocked from their feet, and the young family seized the chance to get to safety, the mother shooting him a look filled with gratitude as she hurried past.

Jack redrew his sword and beckoned mockingly to the four men just getting to their feet. The Wiccermen rushed him, and Jack darted forward to meet them. He ignored the axe coming down for his neck, his blade finding its owners throat. The axe passed through his suddenly insubstantial form, and he stepped through the dying Wiccerman to get at his fellow. The man paled at the sight of his glowing blue form, but managed to parry his first flurry of blows. Jack lashed out with his free hand, open palmed, and a narrow cone of force blasted forth. The Wiccerman was knocked sideways like a ragdoll. His neck twisted at a sick angle as he landed, and he did not get up.

The young Hero turned to face the two bandits who still stood where they had gotten back to their feet after being thrown. Their weapons were drawn, but they made no move to attack. Jack conjured a crackling ring of lightning in his gloved hand, and the bandits exchanged a glance. A moment later, they turned tail and fled.

Jack watched them flee, surprise allowing the lightning to fade from his hand. He briefly considered striking them down, but found the thought distasteful, even against his hatred of bandits.

A nearby door creaked open, and the woman who Jack had just rescued poked her head out.

“Thank you,” the blonde woman said. “You saved my children's lives, Hero.”

“You're, er, welcome,” Jack said. He scratched the back of his neck. “What's happening here? Where are the Guards?”

“Still in the village centre. A lot of people were caught in the tavern when the attack started,” she said.

“Why did they turn on each other?” he asked. He could hear the clamour of battle drifting over the village.

“They didn't! The bandits ran into town just as that strange ship arrived, but they weren't raiding – most of them, anyway,” she said with a bitter twist to her mouth. “I think I saw Twinblade, the leader of the bandits, and he took the fight straight to the ship that burnt out the dock.”

“The bandits are defending Oakvale from the Wiccermen?” Jack asked, astonished.

“For now. Those bastards have been raiding us for far too long for me to trust anything they do.”

“They won't be raiding anyone today,” Jack said. His grip tightened around the hilt of his sword.

“Good luck, Hero,” the woman said. “Beware Twinblade. The man has a thirst for blood.”

Jack nodded his acknowledgement and started for the village centre as the woman slipped back inside her house. She offered up a quick prayer to Avo for the young man. He would need it.

X

The centre of Oakvale was a study in mayhem. The general store and the dock were burning. A thin line of Guards were arrayed along the front of the tavern, defending the villagers trapped inside, as a swarming crowd of bodies seethed and pulsed against them. Bandits and Wiccermen struggled against one another, and their blood stained the earth red. The bandits outnumbered the raiders in fighters – but also in corpses on the ground. The candle of his rage began to burn brighter.

Jack caught sight of a giant of a man who could only be Twinblade in the centre of the melee, his enormous blades cutting a bloody swathe through the raiders as well as the occasional unlucky bandit. His swings had torn great chunks from the tree, generations old, that marked the centre of the village. The giant's scarred visage roared with delight as he fought, his braided goatee splattered with blood. Jack reckoned him to be a head taller than Duran and twice as wide.

A flash of red hair caught Jack's eye. A small slip of a woman was dancing through the mass of fighters, wielding a sword similar to his own. She wore a red top with no sleeves and a dress slit to just above her knee, but it didn't seem to impede her ability to cut a Wiccerman from throat to groin at all. She stopped in her tracks as the battle lulled around her, and seemed to look right at him – but that was impossible, as a band of cloth was wrapped around her head, covering her eyes. The moment passed, and she danced away again, blade flashing.

One of the Guards, a Blue, took a blow to his shoulder and was pulled back to safety by his fellows. Villagers emerged from the tavern to carry him inside and the remaining Guards spread out, but their line was beginning to strain under the pressure. If they broke, the tavern and all inside would be reduce to the same state as the store, a burning wreck.

Jack's Will thrummed in reaction to his anger, and his form flared blue. He blurred across the square towards the tavern, coming to a stop behind the Guards. He raised a clenched fist and summoned lightning. It boomed again and again, chaining between Wiccerman and bandit alike as he cleared a space in front of the tavern. The stench of ozone and burnt flesh forced the Guards back, and they fell in behind him. The lightning ceased suddenly, and eyes across the square turned to the glowing ethereal form of the Hero standing before the tavern. His ghost-like form became solid once more and he stepped forward onto the carpet of corpses he had created. A rumbling snarl broke the silence of the square, and many of the men present would have sworn it came from the sword the Hero was holding at the ready. The Guards formed up behind Jack, morale rising. They braced themselves. Skorm would have his glut today.

Jack pointed, lightning crashed, a Wiccerman died, and battle was joined once more. He charged into the chaos, a red haze descending upon his vision as he vented his fury at both this attack and the raid of his childhood that had cast such a pall over his life. He saw his sister, wandering the battle looking as she had on the day he had last seen her, and he surrendered to his rage completely. After that, he remembered very little.

-- his blade spilled the intestines of a Wiccerman as he lashed out with a whip of fire in his other hand, leaving horrific burns across the torso of a bandit--

--two Wiccermen charged him while his sword was stuck in the body of a bandit, and he blasted them back with a gesture and a wave of force--

--a Red Guard fell, his foes pressing in to finish him, but then Jack was there in a flare of blue, blocking their attacks and giving the Guard time to regain his feet--

--Twinblade roared to his men, ordering them to rally to him and get clear of the young Hero that was killing all that came before him, uncaring if they were Wiccermen or bandit--

--the Wiccermen were being pushed back to their longship, their dead left where they fell, as the remaining bandits pressed them on one wide while Jack and the Guards pressed the other--

--his vision turned grey and pain lanced through his chest as he raked the deck of the longship with lightning as it pulled away from the beach. He collapsed to one knee and tried to reach into his pouch for a potion, but his arm wouldn't obey him--

“Easy there, little brother.”

Laboriously, Jack raised his head. The blindfolded woman he had glimpsed earlier knelt before him. Her red hair stood out as a vibrant splash of colour in a grey world. He blinked, trying to comprehend her words.

“Theresa.” A new voice, it sounded like a rock troll chewing gravel. The huge form it belonged to stood next to the blind woman, looking down at Jack. “What are you doing?”

“Giving a birthday present. For all the ones I've missed.”

“Theresa?” Jack asked. His voice rasped like sandpaper on stone. This woman couldn't possibly be...

“It's me, Jack. I never did get to eat that chocolate you gave me,” she said. She lay her hands on his face, feeling his features. “You look exactly as I dreamed.”

Jack struggled to raise his free hand, using his sword to support himself. His strength deserted him, and his sister-his sister-took his bare hand and raised it to her cheek. Green light shone out from between his fingers, and he could feel the same energy pulsing where her hand cupped his face. It filled his vision, building and building without clear purpose-and then his Will pathways were forced open and flooded with energy. He screamed, and Theresa screamed with him. Her eyes glowed green even through the blindfold and Jack knew his own eyes shone with the same light as it overtook his vision completely.

Images crossed his mind's eye, incomprehensible without context; three menacing figures striding out of a great darkness, a towering spire, three heroic beings turned to stone, a sword aeons old and drenched in oceans of blood, and an Eye peering out of the dark void and into Jack's very soul.

The visions stopped, and Jack found himself standing once more. He was incredibly energised, his Will pathways coursing with power. The world was bursting with colours and smells, but Jack only had eyes for his sister. He stepped forward and enveloped her in a crushing hug, one that she returned. He felt a jolt of surprise as he realised he was taller than her.

“I hope you're ready for the next part,” she said in a murmur as they broke apart. “Watch his blades. He's quicker with them than you might think.”

Jack turned away from the shore and the smouldering dock. The Bandit King was directing his men as they looted the bodies of the fallen. The Guards had placed themselves back in front of the tavern; they looked nervous.

“He won't be quick enough,” Jack said.

They turned for the square, looking eerily similar as they walked in step with one hand on the hilts of their swords. Those watching, bandit and villager alike, thought about the strange green lights they had seen, the familiarity between the Hero and the bandit seeress, and they wondered.

Twinblade stepped forward to meet them as they approached. “You didn't tell me a Guild puppet would be here, Theresa,” the ex Hero said.

“This one was always coming. Better you meet him here and now than in a year’s time when he leads three of his friends to our camp to slaughter all they find,” Theresa said.

“This runt?” Twinblade said, running a dubious gaze over Jack. “Must have done a lot of growing in the next year.”

Jack eyed the big man, a familiar anger in his gut. It wasn't burning as hot as it once had, but it was still there, and he knew how to fight big men.

“Bah, not matter,” Twinblade said. “There's only one more thing to sort out,” he turned to the tavern and raised his voice to a bellow, “and that's the reward for defending this pissant village!”

Villagers filtered out of the tavern, some nervous, other outraged. All were shouting, and Twinblade was forced to clash his wicked blades together to silence them.

“Not quite the answer I was looking for,” Twinblade said, grinning widely to display blackened teeth.

Jack tensed, and would have stepped forward but for Theresa's hand gripping his elbow. She shook her head slightly. Not yet.

“Feck off ye bastard!” An old man with ferociously bristly eyebrows shouted. “Ye already took a granddaughter from me.”

“Did she have a sister?” one bandit jeered.

The old man gave an enraged shout and started for the bandit, walking cane raised aggressively. He was held back by a Guard and a villager who might have been his son. The bandit laughed and grabbed at his crotch, gesturing obscenely.

“My boys will take their payment one way or another,” Twinblade said, enjoying the spectacle immensely. “Oakvale has burned once before, it won't be any trouble to stage a repeat performance!”

Theresa's hold on Jack disappeared, and so did he. He blurred across the square to appear before the bandit that had taunted the villager, grabbing him by the hair atop his crown. He conjured a fire in his flesh and blurred away as it took hold, coming to a stop before the Bandit King.

“Bandits burn just as easily,” Jack said, his voice heard by all, even over the screams of the burning bandit.

Twinblade began to laugh, a low rumbling sound from deep in his gut. “The little Hero thinks he can stand against me?” he said. Despite his laughter, his eyes were cold, and he watched Jack with a predator's gaze.

“I was born here,” Jack said. “No washed up has been who couldn't hack it as a Hero is going to burn Oakvale down while I draw breath.”

Twinblade's eyes narrowed dangerously at the insult. Bandit and villager alike took a step back, and a ring formed around the two men. Jack met his foes' stare, lifting his chin in challenge.

The Bandit King clashed his blades together again. “My babies have already slaked their thirst, but I think they can still stand to fit one more morsel down!”

Jack knew that Twinblade was an opponent that put Duellist to shame, but just couldn't bring himself to care. The ex-Hero was the embodiment of the spectre that had hung over him since his family was destroyed, and now, he was going to kill him.

“I'm going to melt your 'babies' down to scrap metal for ploughs after I kill you,” Jack said, and that was the end of civility.

Twinblade's footsteps reverberated through the packed earth as he charged forward, swords held aloft. Jack hurled a bolt of lightning, only for it to be blocked by one of the massive blades like it was nothing. The other blade swept across, faster than it had any right to, and Jack was forced into his wraith form, lest he be cleaved in two. He shot forward and loosed another bolt of lightning at his foe's unprotected back, but the man was already turning to catch it on his blades.

The Bandit King sneered at Jack. “You're out of your depth, boy! I'm no untrained thug, helpless before your Will.” He raised his blades over his head and drove them into the earth.

Twin furrows erupted from them, heading straight for Jack. He let them come. Spires of rock shot up from under him and would have run his through had his form been physical.

“You were saying?” Jack asked.

“Neat trick,” Twinblade said, scoffing. “What do you wager will tire first, my sword arm or your Will?”

Jack considered the question. His Will was humming through his body and eager to be unleashed, but there was no doubt Twinblade's strength would outlast it. A piece of advice both Maze and the Guildmaster had given him on separate occasions after losses to his friends came to mind – fight smarter, not harder. He grinned, sheathing his sword. “Block this.” He took a deep breath.

His Will roiled in his lungs, and he stretched his jaw wide. A torrent of fire spewed forth, and Twinblade was forced to hunker down behind his swords, making a shield out of them. Villagers cheered as Jack continued his attack until he ran out of breath. He quickly took another, but then Twinblade was in his face, having thrown himself forward the instant the flames ceased.

Jack bent over backwards to avoid the questing tip of one blade. He felt it brush against his gorget, and he kept going, turning his bend into a flip to avoid the second blade; his Will was too entangled in the firebreathing expression to drop into his wraith form.

His flip took him right to the edge of the ring that had formed around the fight. A bandit at his back pushed him towards the charging Bandit King just as he cleared his pathways, and instead of an off balance Hero's torso, the dark blades pierced only air.

The young Hero watched Twinblade turn towards him, face blank as he considered the newly discovered drawback of his firebreathing expression. It was the most involved expression he had aside from his wraith form and his quickening ability, and he would hesitate to use those two together. He shelved the thought for another time.

Twinblade's face and scalp were reddened and burnt, his knuckles blistering, but his torso was untouched. Still, Jack noted the rivulets of sweat trailing down his foe. His lips twitched in satisfaction.

“Don't know what you're smiling about, Guild puppet,” Twinblade said. “I'll have your head next time.” He pointed at his throat.

Jack frowned, feeling at his gorget. He swallowed as he realised it was cut clean through, and his hand came away smeared with the faintest hint of blood. Ignoring the cheering of the bandits, he blurred forward without warning.

Twinblade blinked as his young foe appeared before him, sword still sheathed. He swung down, intending to split him scalp to groin, only to have a ruined gorget thrown in his face. Blinded, his blades met no resistance, and then an enormous force hit him in the back, knocking him from his feet, and one of his blades from his hand.

Jack lunged for Twinblade's prone form, sword sweeping free with a joyous howl, and he felt the grin of a balverine settle upon his face as he went for the kill. Twinblade thwarted him at the last moment, twisting to avoid impalement. Jack's blade sunk into the earth instead, and Twinblade lashed out with a heavy boot, catching him in the gut and sending him flying.

Gasping and wheezing for breath, Jack rose to his feet in time to see Twinblade grinning over at him as his hand fastened around the Hero's sword, still stuck in the dirt. It looked tiny in the Bandit King's massive fist, and Jack snarled at the sight. His enemy, holding his sword – the link that had formed the first time he had lifted it came roaring back to the fore, and his Will pulsed down it.

Twinblade swore violently and flung the sword away, clutching at his scorched and blackened hand.

“You like my sword, Bandit King?” Jack asked. He began to circle around to where his sword lay.

“You're got some fight in you for a runt,” Twinblade said. He began to match Jack's pace. “I'm going to enjoy bleeding you dry.”

“Still think you can with only one blade?” Jack said.

Twinblade held his injured hand down at his side, trying to suppress the twitches and tremors running down it. “I don't need any blades to crush your skull, boy.” He stuck the sword he still carried into the ground and raised a meaty fist.

Jack reached his sword, and returned it to its sheath. “come on then,” he beckoned, goading the bigger man.

For a moment, Twinblade looked like he might abandon his swords and his sense – but then he snorted, grasping his sword again. “Nice try, Hero,” he said. “Want to try again?”

“Your stalling technique needs work,” Jack said, and he hurled a bolt of lightning.

The ex-Hero blocked it, as Jack expected, but then he was inside his guard. His sword flicked up, seeking the bigger man's throat. Twinblade lashed out with his injured arm, forcing Jack into his wraith form. Jack dropped it the second the blow passed through him and stabbed forward, staying with the big man as he attempted to create space and bring his huge blade to bear.

There were a flurry of blows, neither combatant able to land a hit. Jack allowed every blow to pass through him, while Twinblade dodged and parried with an agility that his size belied. Finally, there came a blow that Jack didn't anticipate, forcing him to block the heavy strike with both hands on his sword. Twinblade grinned down at the straining Hero, putting his full weight into the struggle.

Two things occurred to the King of Bandits at the same moment. Jack was looking at him victoriously, and one of the hands gripping his infernal sword was pointing at his heart. Sparks arced, something smote him a mighty blow upon his chest, and then he was staring up at the blue open sky, a curious ringing in his ears. He almost felt like he was floating.

Jack stared at the fallen form of his enemy, a hush falling over all present. He felt strangely empty, the sense of victory he had been expecting absent. He approached Twinblade, the thump of his footsteps loud against the silence. He looked down at the man, noting with surprise that his chest still rose and fell. A lesser man would have been killed outright.

“Whas yer name, 'ero?” Twinblade slurred, the muscles in his face stiff.

“Jack,” he told him. He knelt down at his side.

“Jack. Thas a good name,” the big man said. “End me and be done with it. I'd do the same for you.”

Jack paused for a long moment, watching him. At length, he nodded. “Thank you for saving my sister's life.”

“T'was the right thing to do,” Twinblade said. He was already fading. “Tell her I said—no, nevermind.”

“I know,” Theresa said, kneeling at his other side. She turned her face toward her brother. “Goodbye, Twinblade.”

Jack placed his hands on Twinblade's temples and focused his Will. Lightning sparked and Twinblade, Scourge of the South, breathed his last.

The siblings rose to their feet, and Jack turned to face the bandits still standing in the village square. Some looked nervous, others angry, and all were demoralised.

“This is the part where you run away,” Jack said, staring them down.

The bandits shifted uneasily, trading glances amongst themselves. The surviving Guards moved up to stand at Jack's back, and a moment later were joined by the villagers who had armed themselves with everything from bottles to wooden planks. The old man of the ferociously bristly eyebrows was holding his cane menacingly.

The bandits broke and ran.

Cheers erupted, and Jack was swarmed by grateful and awestruck villagers. Theresa had already slipped away, leaving him to the tender mercies of his newfound fans. Markus the Bard was there, strumming his lute but not even attempting to make his voice heard over the jubilation of the crowd. More villagers were streaming in from other parts of the village, their neighbours telling them the good news. Two Guards lifted him up onto their shoulders, and he nearly overbalanced in surprise. He ignored a sudden bout of nerves and raised his sword to the crowd. They let out a great cheer, seeing only the triumphant Hero and not the teenage man. Lily caught his eye from the back of the crowd and winked at him, blowing him a kiss, and he grinned.

A great bullhorn of a voice rang out, cutting across the celebration. “Let the good Hero down you louts, there's still work to be done!”

Jack was lowered down, and the two Blue Guards threw up hasty salutes to the White Guard that had spoken.

“Sir!”

“See to our wounded, and put any surviving bandits out of their misery,” the White Guard said. He was a burly man, and had held the centre of the line that had protected the tavern wielding a wickedly sharp axe. He turned to a pair of Red Guards. “I want this village clear of corpses before nightfall.”

Jack stepped abck, allowing the Guards to carry out their tasks. The villagers milled about, the events of the morning sinking in now that their celebration had been interrupted. There was a tap on his shoulder, and he turned to see the elder who had tried to go after a bandit with a walking cane.

“You're Jack Bromsson, aren't ye?” the elder demanded.

“I am,” Jack said. There was no point in denying it.

“I knew it!” the old man said, crowing. “I saw ye yesterday, but Mabel never believed me. I'll bet gold to coppers that that red headed lass was young Theresa! I knew some of ye had to have survived.”

“What do you mean 'some of us'?” Jack asked, tone sharp.

The old man blinked. “Well, tykes, kids. For a long time after The Burning, we didn't think a child under ten summers had survived.” He looked troubled. “Some still say they were targeted.”

Jack's jaw clenched as he thought. This was new. Maze had never mentioned other children being killed or going missing; perhaps he had never even considered them? “Barty, right? You owned the warehouse behind the tavern,” Jack asked the old man.

Barty's face crinkled with a gap-toothed grin. “That's right lad. You earned yourself a Name yet?”

Jack shook his head.

“I wager ye will after this little outing!” he said with a cackle.

“Perhaps,” Jack said. His hopes were high despite his words. “We should organise everyone, help the Guards clear the village.”

“Right you are Jack,” Barty said. “Mabel! Agnes! Barty Jr.! Git over 'ere...”

Jack strode over to a Guard who was dragging a bandit's corpse out of the square by its feet. He took its arms, sharing the load. There were a lot of bodies to clear.

X

“...he slaughtered the bandits, he defended the poor.

Stood up to the King, he gave him what for.

All Albion will know, we've got his back.

The Hero of Oakvale, the man they call Jack!”

As the last note faded away into the evening sky, Markus bowed to the cheering crowd from atop the makeshift stage. It had been erected in the village square under the tree after all the bodies had been cleared and the blood washed away.

Seated on one of the many benches that had been brought out from the tavern, Jack buried his tomato red face in his hands. Sooner or later his friends would hear that song, and they would never let him hear the end of it. He accepted another mug of ale from another well wisher and tried to pretend he liked the taste. The next Will expression he created would be one that turned ale into something more palatable, like cat piss. Or vanished it entirely.

The party around him was in full swing, illuminated by coloured lanterns strung from the tree to the building that surrounded the square. Not even the burnt remains of the general store were dampening the cheer. Lily was nearby, chatting amicably with a Trader called Oak. The only shadow over the evening was Theresa's absence; he hadn't seen her since she had slipped away after the battle.

A gaggle of children ran up to him, distracting him from his thoughts.

“Show us again mister, show us again!” they chanted.

“Show you what?” Jack asked, feigning confusion.

“Magic! Magic!”

“A magic trick?” Jack asked. “But I don't have my deck of cards.”

“Not magic! Will!” One of the kids who Jack had already shown off for said impatiently. She had clearly had enough of Jack playing the straight man on the magic vs Will debate already.

Several adults drifted closer, eager to see some 'magic'. Jack held out a gloved hand and concentrated. “You mean like this?” A trio of small fireballs orbited his fist in a hypnotic display. He flicked his wrist and they shot off into the bonfire that had been built on the beach, kicking up a flurry of sparks.

Most of the kids oohed and aahed, but the freckled girl who seemed to be their ringleader crossed her arms, unimpressed. “Show us something new!”

“Something new?” Jack mused. “You mean something like--” his form flared blue and he blurred off his seat, coming to a sudden stop right in front of them, see through grin stretched wide, “--this?”

The children screamed excitedly and scattered, each carrying an incomprehensible tale of excitement back to their parents. Jack returned to his seat in good humour. A moment later, Markus joined him.

“Enjoying yourself, Hero?” the Bard asked as he snagged Jack's untouched ale.

“That song of yours is going to haunt me,” Jack said.

“I know,” Markus said happily. “Catchy, isn't it?”

“Too catchy,” Jack grumbled.

“Your deeds today will make you famous, you know,” Markus said. “You shouldn't have even left the Guild yet and you're already saving villagers and defeating Heroes twice your age.”

“Twinblade wasn't a Hero,” Jack said.

“But he fought like one,” Markus said. “Bards across Albion are going to be blackmailing and threatening each other to be the first to tell your story, and I've beaten them all to the punch.” He rubbed his hands together gleefully. “I'm going to Name you, if you'll accept it.”

“If I accept it?” Jack asked. “You think the story is that big?”

“You underestimate the scourge Twinblade has been on these people. Heroes have Quested for his head before. He killed them and those that hired them,” Markus said. “You were born here, orphaned in The Burning and returned just in time to stop it happening again.”

“This story is going to make you fat and rich, isn't it?” Jack asked, amused despite himself.

“Like you wouldn't believe, Hero. I might even make in coppers from the tavern floor what you make in gold from Quests,” Markus said, before sagging. “I just have to think of a Name. All I have for you so far is 'Ghost', but that's just so bleh.” He threw his hand against his brow dramatically.

“Ghost? For my Will expression?” Jack asked, and Markus nodded. “My friends call it my 'wraith' form.”

Markus blinked, a slow grin starting to cover his face. “Oho. Ohohohohoho. Do excuse me, Wraith, for the great Bard Markus, first of his name, has a ballad to pen.” He jumped to his feet and rushed away, hat knocked askew on his head.

Jack glanced at the lute the brightly dressed man had left behind.

Markus came rushing back. “We are going to take care of each other very well indeed Wraith, very well indeed!”

The newly christened Wraith shook his head in amusement as the Bard sprang away once more. Wraith. He could get used to that.

It was better than Chicken Chaser, that was for sure.

X

When Jack woke the next morning, he was alone in the private inn room. Lily's comforting warmth was long gone, as were her possessions. The iron sword he had given her was leaning against the end of the bed.

He stretched, not in the most joyous of moods. They hadn't promised each other anything, but he would have liked to say goodbye. Still, it was hard to stay despondent after achieving what he had the previous day. He struggled from the bed, seeking the clothes that were strewn from doorway to bed. The mid-morning sun shone in through the open window. It was time to leave.

Only a few revellers from the previous night were up and about as Jack emerged from the tavern, the Guards amongst them. All nodded respectfully to Jack as they passed him. The respect felt nice, and he accepted it with greater ease than the adulation of the night before. The dock workers were up and staggering about, too hungover to do more than grunt at him as they tried to puzzle out how they were going to deal with the schooner anchored just off shore with a burned out dock.

“Finally up and about brother? I see some habits never change.”

A rare open and honest smile spread across Jack's face as he turned back towards his sister. “Theresa. You disappeared yesterday.”

“The party was dull, ale is a foul drink and the Bard...well, 'The Hero of Oakvale' has some promise,” she said, a faint smirk playing on her lips. She pushed off from the tavern wall, and began to lead them down the path that would take them out of the village.

“I don't want to talk about that,” Jack said, still smiling despite his grumbles. He eyed his sister; there was a bandage on an arm that had been uninjured the last he saw her. “Where did you wander off to after the battle?”

“I returned to Twinblade's camp, looted it of its greatest treasures and took control of the more useful bandits who managed to survive the day.”

“'Took control of'?” Jack said. Old anger began to stir. “Theresa-”

“No Jack,” Theresa's voice cracked like a whip. They came to a stop under an overhead wooden walkway. “I was not raised in the sanctuary of the Guild. I did not have mentors and friends. I had a single protector who viewed me as a resource and an army of rapists and murderers that had to be deterred by force.”

“Then we kill them,” Jack said. The old fears and nightmares, of Theresa captured and at the mercy of bandits, threatened to surface and he forced them down.

“And where does that stop? Do we wander Albion eternally, searching for bandits to slay?” Theresa asked. “No, Jack,” she said, softer this time. “They are my tools now, and will do as I bid.” They began walking again.

Jack blew an agitated breath out through his nose. Had this discussion taken place even two days earlier, he would have pushed the issue. The battle, and his defeat of the Bandit King and most of all his sister alive and well before him had tempered his feelings on the issue. He would never hesitate to put down a bandit that crossed his path—but no longer did he thirst for it.

A thought occurred to him. “Why do you need such tools?” he asked.

Theresa turned from him and stared out over an empty field. It was the same field he had hidden in during the raid. “Because the man who razed our home and killed our parents is still out there,” she said. She reached for the blindfold she wore, undoing the knot that held it in place.

Jack's breath caught in his throat as Theresa turned her gaze on him. A milky, sightless eye and a scarred, empty socket stared out from his sister's face.

“He was the last thing I saw before he sliced out my eyes in front of mother. I'm going to make sure I'm the last thing he sees before I return the favour.”

“Who are they.” Jack's voice was controlled, but the pale light of his Will flickering within his eyes was not.

“You know them. They are renowned, after all.”

“Tell me their Name, Theresa.”

“He finds you when you're sleeping, and when the daylight fades. The Void is in his keeping, the one they call 'Of Blades'.”

Jack rocked back on his heels. Jack of Blades. The Reaper of Bloody Harvest. Slayer of untold numbers of monsters and Heroes. More renowned than Maze, yet less was known about him than of Scythe. He was the Hero that the people of Albion both celebrated and prayed would never turn his gaze their way.

“This won't be easy,” Jack said. His fingers beat a tattoo on the hilt of his sword.

Theresa refastened her blindfold around her head. “Anything worth doing rarely is, little brother. But tools will make it easier.”

Jack grunted in acquiescence to her earlier point. “Allies will make it easier still.”

“Your three friends will help, but at the end of every path there is only you...and him.”

Jack eyed her, taken aback.

“My dreams were always more than just dreams, Jack.”

Jack leaned against the field fence. “So...I have to become strong enough to defeat the Jack of Blades,” he said, trying to wrap his head around the concept. He had come across many mentions of the man in his idle research into past Heroes, but had never entertained the idea of coming into conflict with him.

At that moment, the distant character of Jack of Blades met the nebulous driving force behind the destruction of his childhood home and became one. His heart skipped a beat and his Will went utterly, perfectly still. He let out a breath.

Jack of Blades was his enemy. Jack of Blades had killed his parents and destroyed his home. Jack of Blades would die by his hand.

Theresa watched her brother intently, unhindered by her lack of eyesight. To her senses, he blazed like the sun.

“I'll talk to Klessan, Whisper and Duran,” he murmured. “We've been coasting, really. We can push each other harder. What will you do?”

“I have questions that need answering. Why our-” she hesitated for the briefest of moments “-village was attacked,” she said, turning away. “Search for knowledge about Him.”

“I'll ask Maze about him,” Jack said. He was starting to feel-not optimism, but not like they were faced with an impossible task, either.

“Maze?” Theresa asked, very still.

“My mentor,” Jack said. “...he saved my life after the raid and took me to the Guild.”

“Ah,” she said.

Jack fell quiet, remembering the last time he had stood beside Theresa in this spot. One of his neighbours had been killed right where he now stood. Impulsively, he wrapped his sister in a hug. “You'll travel with me through the Darkwood, at least?”

“...our paths are alone now, Jack.”

Jack took a step back and looked incredulously at his sister. “And Dad called you the sensible one.”

“I am the sensible one,” she objected, suddenly sounding a lot more like her age.

“'Our paths are alone now Jack',” Jack mimicked. “I've spent years thinking you were dead. You're Avo-touched if you think I'm letting you wander off into the hills.”

“You're being unreasonable,” Theresa said.

“I'm being unreasonable?” Jack said. He raised his eyebrows.

Theresa crossed her arms.

A thought occurred to Jack, and he grinned deviously. He reached into his enchanted pouch, rummaging around for what he sought without taking his gaze form his sister. He had been saving this for a special occasion.

Theresa stiffened as she realised what Jack had withdrawn from his pouch. Rustling baking paper, the pull of a ribbon being untied, and then the unmistakable scent of chocolate wafted past her nose.

“Mmmm,” Jack said, chewing slowly on a small piece of chocolate.

“You ass,” Theresa said. “Give.” She held out an expectant hand.

“I dunno, sis,” he said. “I couldn't share my stash with just any--”

Theresa lunged forward, outstretched hands seeking her prize. Her little brother knew not what he had unleashed.

Jack squawked in alarm as she barrelled into him. This was not at all what he had planned.

X

A short time later, the two siblings departed Oakvale, heading for Barrow Fields, and beyond that, the Darkwood. They were in high spirits, and each held half of a block of chocolate in the tattered remains of its wrapping. Reunited at last, their goal was clear. Jack of Blades would know fear when they came for him.

To the south, miles off shore, a longship filled with battered and wounded Wiccermen was limping towards home. They carried tales of the glowing trickster demon of legend, and of the fertile land he protected. The masked man cowled in red had lied. This far away land held far more worth taking than a single fortress, and take it they would. For their Lords. For their Gods.

For the Void.

X x X

Elsewhere across the sea on an untamed island known as Witchwood, a sleepy hamlet was stirring, smokestacks rising high above the evergreens that towered around it. High in one of those trees, a great beast looked down on the village, knife-like claws sunk deep into the wood to keep itself in place. White fur rustled in the breeze, and steaming breath fogged the air before its powerful jaws. Its stomach rumbled. After a long hibernation, it was time to feed.