Azure Gaze was the capital of the Azural territory, a place that the two Shadow operatives had not been back to since leaving years ago. Phillippe and Vivette, having been shaken slightly by the thought of returning to their homeland, had requested some time from Quinn to return to the villages, or what remained of them, of their respective births. Despite the dangerous situation of being within what could be considered enemy territory, the prince had allowed the pair a week to carry out their personal journey. They would be cutting the journey close, but would make it if they took minimal rest breaks.

For a trained Shadow operative, moving quickly over a long distance was not the most difficult thing to do. They still could not keep up with the pace of a horse, but would still be faster utilizing the combination of the Shadow Meld and Shadow Movement spells. Shadow Meld was the signature spell that allowed Shadow operatives to seemingly merge into shadows, seemingly disappearing or at least obscuring their presence to any observers. Shadow Movement, as it sounds, would allow a Shadow’s melded form to leap between visible shadows within a few meters. In this manner, Shadows could expend some of their arcanum as opposed to their natural stamina to move further faster. This spell combination did become difficult to utilize at night, especially on moonless nights.

Despite these limitations, just two days after leaving the prince’s side, they had arrived at the first of the two villages. This first one on their path had been Phillippe’s home. As they walked through the remains of dilapidated buildings, both Phillippe and Vivette remembered the events of their first meeting.

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Phillippe was running along the sandy beach to catch up to his friends, having completed helping his mother in the morning gather nearby fruits. A bit offshore, he could see several of the village’s men in their gern tree canoes spearfishing at what was likely a school of orme, a fish similar to a mackerel.

It would be fair to call the village primitive, compared to the city that existed a leisurely three days away, but those of the village rather thought of it as all that they needed. They were vaguely aware that there was some noble lord that supposedly ruled their island, and a greater kingdom that ruled that lord, but no one thought about it much. Especially a seven year old Phillippe.

That evening, the village was going to be having a celebration as a young man named Jeire had just returned with a young woman named Seira to be his wife. It was common that the small villages like this one sent out their men to find wives from among the other ones, returning home once they had. It kept diversity going without armed conflicts amongst these self isolated villages. Jeire had even returned with a fresh porwi kill, an impressive feat for a single hunter to accomplish, let alone as young as he was. A porwi was a massive snake monster capable of swallowing a human in a single bite, though they would crush their victims in their coils first, turning them practically into soup bags.

While Phillippe could not wait to enjoy the celebration, in this moment he could not wait to resume the imaginary game he had been playing yesterday with his friends which was comparable to a ‘king of the mountain’ type of thing.

Phillippe and his friends had returned to the village as the sun was setting to find the celebration was already getting started. The porwi corpse was laid out in the center of the village in a figure eight with a large bonfire in each loop. Other dishes were being brought out of the huts by the village’s cooks, admittedly mostly women, while rows of orme were roasted alongside the porwi. The village chief’s chair had been brought out and was near the head of the porwi. Jeire sat on the chair today, a special occasion, with Seira in his lap. Both were smiling and laughing along with everyone else. Several drums were providing a rhythmic background beat to the celebration. And then it all went wrong.

Phillippe was not exactly sure who the screaming woman was, but given that everyone’s attention was drawn to Jeire and Seira, he could only guess it was the latter. What he saw was the happy couple, skewered through both of their hearts by a single sword, slump over as their lives expired when the blade was withdrawn. Nearly fifty men, mostly human, then stepped into the light, revealing that the village had been surrounded. The one who emerged from behind the chief’s chair flicked some of the fresh blood from his blade with a “Pity,” as he watched Siera fall to the ground.

“You know what to do boys!” shouted the same man.

Echoes of terror and pain, mixed with the vile shouts of murderous glee filled the air for the next few minutes. Phillippe ran, at the insistence of whoever it was that shouted for him to do so in the cacophony.

How Phillippe escaped the massacre, he still did not know even years later. The fog of terror prevented him from remembering. And so he ran, caring not about the pain that arose from his feet as he refused to stop.

As the morning sun rose, the seven year old boy was still running. Unknowingly, he had escaped northeastward, and stumbled into the camp of Sengar troops being led by Count Ghele. The appearance of the young boy, covered in blood but wearing the simplistic village clothing, rightly startled the troops in question.

Count Ghele would take the young Phillippe in and questioned him about what had happened. Phillippe said what he could vaguely remember, which pointed the count and his troops in the direction of the village.

Phillippe was brought along with them, which is where Phillippe first met Vevette and Marius. Much like he did, they had barely escaped destruction of their villages.

When the soldiers arrived, numerous bodies lay dead all around. Several husks of huts that had either caught fire or been set ablaze remained, though several mostly intact huts remained as well. In those that were still standing, every one had at least one female victim, which needed little explanation as to the horrible fates they endured before their lives were likewise taken. Though he would never know it, Phillippe’s elder sister and mother were among them.

The soldiers buried the bodies before somehow determining that the murderous pirates had gone back in a northeast direction, though by ship. Phillippe would follow the soldiers, having nothing left to keep him there.

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Two days earlier in another village, much like Phillippe’s to the southwest, a seven year old Vivette was helping her mother prepare a tonic for a sick member of the village. Her mother, the village witch, was well respected as she was the local healer, and because she was married to the village shaman.

“Take this to them,” her mother said after putting some of the tonic in a small waterskin-type pouch.

Vivette rushed out of the hut and across the small village. After dropping off the tonic, she started leisurely making her way home. About halfway, she noticed a group of people charging up from the coast, letting out a roar as they drew closer. These were not men from the village, since they wore average tunics and pants with sturdy leather boots and were wielding swords.

A few of the village men, sensing the incoming danger, rallied quickly to defend the village, shouting for everyone to take cover. Vivette started towards her home, but it was in the direction of the angry men. She hesitated as the angry men and the village men started clashing. She saw one of the angry men duck into her home, causing something inside her to wake up and run towards the dangerous situation.

Vivette stepped in to see her mother squaring off with the angry man. In one hand, her mother held a large knife while in the other she had condensed magic, causing it to glow. Her mother knew very little about the greater magical theorems of the world, and so only had a handful of spells she could use, none of which were offensive in nature. Knowing that she had no chance, her mother was trying to intimidate the angry man by faking attack magic. However, Vivette did not realize this.

“Get him mommy!”

Vivette did not understand the painful look that shot through her mother’s eyes until she felt the rough hands of the angry man grab her forcefully. His grasp hurt, but not as much as the pain that followed when the man stabbed her. Vivette could only cry out in pain as she was then thrown at her mother, who would catch her. Unfortunately, this shattered her mother’s concentration, creating an opening. It was something the angry man pounced on quickly, running her mother through as she tried to shield Vivette.

Darkness was what greeted the young girl when she opened her eyes again. Night had fallen while she was unconscious, made only darker from no candlelight within the trashed remains of her home. Something soft, yet cold and heavy was on top of her. Looking to this something, the image of her own mother’s lifeless eyes staring back was the reward. Too numb to feel anything, Vivette listened to the distant sounding crying and screaming of some of the other women who had not been so lucky yet. It was there that a mere seven year old girl wished for death to take her.

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Count Ghele had finally found the hideout of the ruthless murderers that had come to be known as the Wailing Blood Band. They had terrorized numerous coastal villages over the last several months, leaving only death and destruction in their wake. He had been sent by the king himself after receiving a disturbing report that the island lords, in particular the Azural house, were purposefully ignoring the threat that the Wailing Blood were. And so the Count, while here on the islands physically, was not on record of being here. They had used civilian vessels to smuggle the small troop contingent onto the island, and had been tracking the Wailing Blood now for a week. It seemed that the murderous pirates were finally raiding along Azural Island now.

The Count glanced back at the three children they had found. Somehow each had survived the massacres at their respective villages this past week. He could only piece together parts of what happened from what they mentioned, since they were each traumatized. He could only imagine the horrors they had witnessed personally. Secretly, the count hoped that his own daughter their age, Adelade, never had to experience such things.

“We move immediately,” the count told his second in command, “They have evaded us for too long. They will not harm another village.”

As the troops moved to finish preparations, the count approached the three children.

“Please stay here. We are going to make the people that hurt your families, your friends, and your villages suffer. They will never hurt anyone else.”

Each of the three had blank expressions, leaving the count to wonder exactly how much they understood. It was a moment that the count would later reflect on frequently, wondering if he had made the right choice about those kids’ futures.

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At the site of Vivette’s village, the pair was genuinely surprised. A new community had been built in the same spot, which made the place feel alive. The dark past of what had occurred here was being healed by the new, positive growth. The Shadows stood out as they entered the new village, causing all the villagers to look at them.

A woman rushed over to them and spontaneously embraced Vivette, startling the latter even more.

“The Witch’s daughter,” sobbed the woman, “I had thought you were dead as well.”

Vivette racked her memories trying to identify who this woman was.

“Bee?” she finally asked.

The woman smiled, “You do remember.”

Bee was the villager that Vivette had delivered the tonic to the day the village was attacked. She had no idea how Bee survived, given that she had been immobile that morning, yet here she stood.

“And you have brought a husband!” Bee exclaimed.

“What? No! That is not…” Vivette exclaimed, but she was interrupted.

“We must prepare a celebration!” Bee called out to the village, sending waves of excitement through almost everyone.

So it was that Phillippe and Vivette, both highly embarrassed by the entire situation, were celebrated by the rebuilt village that was Vivette’s former home.

“How should we handle this?” Vivette asked once the two were alone again late that night.

The pair had been ushered to a hut to ‘secure the future,’ but simply sat without looking at each other. By the beliefs they had grown up with, and with the impression that the celebration gave, the two were now considered by the village to essentially be married.

“As the captain of the unit, we must ignore it,” Phillippe said, “But on a personal level, I don’t… mind.”

“Me neither,” replied Vivette.

Thus, future secured, the pair celebrated with the village the next day as well before returning to the prince’s side.