“Where's your father?” Nadier asked Trini.

The latter directed both him and Ratface into her room, closing her door behind them. “He's...” she paused uncomfortably. “He's storing Langsley back in his cell. He'll be back soon, which is why you should both leave.” She gestured to the secret tunnel that had been left opened.

But Nadier had more questions, and he was going to push his luck on the matter. “Wyghan,” he began. “What is it? And why is it the only pages missing from your father's book of Soul Arms?”

She glanced to her door and a rare look of nervousness crossed her face. “I don't know. I never peaked at his work back then. By the time I started, it was already missing. All I know is that it's a Soul Arm of the old deep.” There was a tremble in her voice. Regardless of how strong she portrayed herself before him and the public, she was genuinely scared of her father, and the idea he may return soon. “Now, you have leave before he returns.”

Frustrated but understandingly, Nadier nodded, making his way to the secret passageway.

“Where's them pages now?” Ratface queried from behind.

“My old self took it.”

“Ya' had it in ya' hands?” Ratface exclaimed as they shimmied down the tunnel he came from. “Ya' know where they at?”

“No,” he bluntly replied.

““No” he says! Just “no”!” the dwarf was beside himself at the revelation.

“Calm your tittles, my dear,” Trini advised, her playful calm returning as she was left behind in her room to close the path behind them.

The dark elf and dwarf pushed opened the hidden exit and stepped out into the sweltering furnace room. It was empty, and the crackling of fire and expanding of pipes was a good dampener for noise. It was opportune, as Nadier had noise to make.

“He's really making life tough for me,” Nadier cursed his past self.

Ratface looked confused. “Why take that page?”

Nadier shook his head. “Maybe-” he began conjecturing. “Maybe it's something At-Tro-Pos is after. A Soul Arm's a weapon. Something to make him stronger?” It made little sense though. Even if their enemy was after the weapon, it was not like Arbor was in any position to go out searching for it, yet he said it was key to defeating At-Tro-Pos.

“It's been two hundred years,” Ratface bounced back. “Why would Atro keep a page empty like that?”

There were too many variables for his comfort. “I don't know,” Nadier admitted. “Maybe he already found it. Maybe he didn't want others to know what he was looking for. Maybe it meant nothing.”

He was not enjoying his overuse of the word 'maybe'. It would be a lot easier if his memories could all return at once instead of playing this centuries old game of hide-and-seek with himself. Taking a deep breath, he began to think. Their search of Atro's residence provided less information and more questions. The man hid his game close to his chest, and Nadier had the feeling the missing page on Wygahn was some key information required.

It would help if he had a direct link to his past. Raven comes first to mind. As a dwarf, she had the longest lifespan of all those he once knew. Yet Ratface was billed as the last dwarf, meaning there were likely no others of his kind there, Raven included. Enthes would be pushing past 400 years now, old for her race. It would be improbable for her to still be fighting within The Arena.

“Aramas,” Nadier noted. He was the one the dark elf has the least memories of. “He's someone form my past. Find out who he is,” he instructed Ratface. “Start with the gladiators we know. But be careful showing yourself.”

“Aaramas,” Ratface repeated. “They an elf of some'ing?”

“Human,” Nadier corrected.”

“Hate to break it to ya', but any hummies would be dead by now.” Ratface stretched, his magic circuit glowing as he prepared to transform and leave.

“We just need to find out who he is. He wasn't with the rest of us, yet we brought him along. There must be some reasoning behind it.”

Ratface shrugged. “Alright then, ya' the boss.”

Skin waved and ruffled as Ratface's body gave way to the diamond fur. Nadier had been watching the peculiarity of metamorphosis, and the one observation he was now sure of was that the dwarf was less shrinking, and more as being absorbed into himself. The epidermis did not tighten as one would logically assume, but visually be fused into itself, disappearing. The rat's beady eyes scanned Nadier for a moment before turning its attention to the room. It found a hole into the walls' corner and scurried to and through, leaving Nadier by himself.

He contemplated his next move. As far as links to his past goes, Trini was an information well that had run dry, or at least, refusing to give him more than what she wanted him to drink. Perhaps he should return to his cell. Ierba's illusion would be running thin right about then.

“Ierba...” His eyes shot wide opened. “Langsley.”

There was still another connection to two hundred years ago. Whether that link could still be considered alive was another story. Could he make it to Langsley's cell in time before Ierba's magic ended? It was a risk. He could wait. But it was a rare opportunity to glimpse what happens to Langsley after Atro 'releases' his services.

Nadier, in his disguise, left the furnace room in quick pace. Wide strides carried him across The Arena floor while a mental map directed him towards where the jail was. The main foyer was bustling with shouts and screams. Upon reaching closer, the dark elf found a crowd of guards, rushing to-and-fro with stretchers of wounded hunters and soldiers. Lumps blanketed by white sheets across the floor counted the dead at close to a dozen. Whatever expedition they had left on clearly cost them greatly.

Atro exited the door that led down to Langsley's jail cell. Dried blood splattered the entire left of his person and coat, though he looked annoyingly unharmed.

“Well done everyone!” the master of the land exclaimed. “We'll be making money out of this yet!”

There was a reluctant cheer from his posse, but Nadier was not staying behind to find out more. If the situation were as important as it seemed, he would find out in short due time. He passed by Atro, close enough to smell the cold blood stains and taste the stench of ashes from charred portions of his coat. But the two did not cross gazes.

Unlike previously, the walk to Ierba's dark corridor flew by quickly, and soon he found himself fearlessly braving the dark pathway up to the cell door. It was heavy, with a key hole in the middle of a handwheel. Picking the complicated lock would take too long. However, there was a Judas window chained by a simpler lock which he quickly opened. He only needed to see what was happening inside. He lined his eyes up to the peephole and viewed in.

Within, the body of Langsley hung chained, a large gash had his left shoulder dangling from the rest of his body. His right leg was charred black. Nadier could see through the wounds the lungs within, expanding slowly, then deflating, pushing out air. Despite all the injuries, not a single drop of blood was left around the walking corpse.

Then, for the first time, Langsley's head rose and their stares crossed. “Ar...bor...” There was life in his eyes, though that strong spirit that made the man strong in life was already beginning to slip away.

“Ierba...” Nadier's stunned mutter escaped. He collected himself, for their time might be short. “What is Wygahn?”

“Wy...gahn... caused... this...” Ierba's attached left hand curled into a fist. “Fault... is... Ar...bor... you... SNAKE!” The man yelled coarse.

Nadier had barely any time to react. The moment Langsley magic circuit glowed white to the view of an explosion of light engulfing his view took about but a blink. The impact of the magical blast slammed against the door and seeped through the peephole. He managed to turn his head away as the blast punched his face, knocking him off his feet and slamming the elf into shadows of darkness.