Arbor stood within the new cell made for Langsley. The body of the knight dangled from chains strapped to the ceiling, a hole still through his chest. Strains of red liquid stretched from one blood vessel to the next as if flowing through invisible tubes, keeping circulation in the body. He watched as the torso slowly stitched itself back, muscles growing where it had been ripped away, lungs slowly taking shape.

The omniknight raised his head to the dark elf at the doorway before him. His cold lips moved, but with barely any function left in his nerves the words couldn't form and the emotion from the corpse was a horizon long stare.

Arbor drew a breath, shut his eyes, and turned away, no longer able to watch the mangled body of his former companion. He stepped out of the cell, closing the door behind him which locked in its place.

“Why did you do it?”

He looked to the end of the corridor where Trini stood, sword at her side. She wore a loose yellow dress tied haphazardly at her waist with a white cloth. Her eyes were sunken and red, as if she had not slept and cried.

“This is your nadir,” she emphasized. “I cannot see how you could sink any lower.”

He chuckled deprecatingly to himself. “You'd be surprised.” With a sigh, he asked, “Are you here to kill me?”

Trini spite back, “I asked you first.”

“For the same reason you wanted your father dead. He's evil, powerful, and have an unknown ability, well - not so unknown now, which he used to create an empire of suffering.”

She shook her head, confused. “I don't understand.”

“He's powerful, Trini. Look at what he did to Ierba, to Aramas! Do you really think I could have fought him and survived?”

Her breath was cold with exasperation. “But you weren't fighting him. Ierba was. You just needed to help.”

His eyes looked away to a dark mould patch on the wall. “Guess you should have followed the old saying. Never trust a dark elf.”

“Hogwash!” Her uncharacteristic exclamation drew him back. He had never heard her raise her voice before, even in the heat of arguments. “This has nothing to do with your race. You're just a coward. Too scared to take risk, to fight for something bigger than yourself.”

"You're the one who paid."

"The money was just an incentive. What I was betting on was decency."

They fell into silence. As always, she was right. He was scared of Atro. After finding out the truth of the man's Soul Arm, it would be insane not to be afraid. But when faced with the wall of choosing courage from cowardice, he fled. It was the same reason he let Raven and Enthes escape in the end.

Eventually, Trini unsummoned her weapon in a flash of magic. Despondent, she stepped aside and opened the path.

“Leave,” her calm tone returning. “You have yet to betray me at least, so this will be my parting gift.”

“We should leave,” Arborior suggested. “Just you and me. Your father's too strong to fight. But we can leave.”

He could see her pause for no longer than a second before a glint of anger crossed her eyes. She slashed up, summoning her sabre again with a wave of cutting wind.

Arbor slammed his body desperately against the wall as the wind blade slashed by him, ramming into the cell door at the end of the corridor with a ringing smash. The gust exploded and threw him forward and off his feet. He managed to recover clumsily onto his knee, drawing his dagger just in time to parry a downward slash.

The sea elf's dress fluttered and danced waves of sunflower before his eyes as her flat kicked into his chest, sending him flying onto his back. He grunted, attempted to stand, but found the tip of her sabre digging surgically into the skin at his throat.

“I am not a damsel for you to save!” Trini bit down her lips, a fiery glare in her eyes.

I see...

What?

We were both wrong.

Arbor tried to interject, but his voice scratched the metal, and he felt the sting. Her sword arm was stable and unflinching, and she shifted it ever so slightly with control to make sure the cut was not too deep, just enough to silence him. It was a feverish move of finesse, and he realized just how much he had underestimated her will. She cut down and aside, generating a burst of wind that threw him against the wall. Her sword found its way to his chin where she forced the blunt spine of the blade to push his head up at her.

“I am Tri-Ni-Ty of the Cold Winds, subservient to none. You are but a momentary dalliance, and a trite cog in the gears of my life's work. Do not get ahead of yourself.”

Her weapon vanished in sparkling wind as she turned away, her walk gentle and poised without a sound against the cold hard ground even after she turned the corner and out of his sight. Arbor sat where he was against the wall, his head dizzy from the confrontation. At his peak with Zen, he was no doubt stronger than she was, yet she showed no fear throughout their time together. Trini had not literally slapped him, but she might as well have punched his heart, for it ached ashamed.

As he stood to his feet, his mind faded to black.

What's happening?

I started drinking.

Flashes of images from darkened bars and empty rooms with empty bottles cut before them in slides. Every moment they viewed, a train of emotions and turmoil rammed into their hearts as memories returned.

Then, they were in a library with a book of rare plants. It was one of many advance alchemical textbooks dark elf soldiers learnt as they progressed through the ranks, the page stopped on Veruvian Memoria. A flask untouched for hours sat next to them as the wax from the candle dripped to the bottom of the candelabra. A thirst scratched at their throats and their hand reached for the flask, taking a sip.

Black again.

What happens in between?

How should I know? Even I can't recall something neither of us remembers.

I never took myself for an alcoholic.

You're not. I am.

They were standing on the edge of an icy river. The fur of their coat ruffling under the stars of the night, as cold northern sea winds blew. In their hands wrapped in a leather bundle was a set of spears.

“You're sober for once.” They turned to the woman in a blue fire coat walking to them.

Arbor replied, “Seems important for me to be awake for this.” He passed the woman Ierba Langsley's spears. “I've confirmed it. They've become Soul Arms.”

She took the package from him. “And are you sure you want to give it to me?”

“You inherited Aramas's flames. If you were anything like the original Lionheart, then you're the only person on Tearha I trust with this.”

The woman nodded hesitantly. “Are you certain? This is an incredibly powerful weapon. Once I leave this universe, I'm not coming back.”

“Yes. No one else can know where these Soul Arms disappeared to.”

Her brow raised quizzically. “You'll still know.”

Arbor shook his head. “Not for long.” He took a swig of his flask.

You hid them?

I guess.

Why?

The same reason I let Raven and Enthes leave.

They were back in one of The Aerena's many rooms. Sitting opposite them was Atro, with Langsley's puppet body standing guard next to the man. A servant poured a bottle of rum into glass cups between them. Neither picked up.

“You came back,” Atro noted. “Have you reconsidered my offer to join my employ?”

Arbor picked up his alcohol, but swirled the clear caramel liquid in its container instead of drinking it. “I came back for my prize. If you recalled, I left without asking for anything.”

“I'm afraid that statute might have expired.”

“Veruvian memoria extract.” The words rang Atro's curiosity and the man leaned in as Arbor continued. “Don't worry, it's for me.”

“Amnesia drugs. You want to forget?”

“Everything.”

He watched as the sea elf scanned his expression. He could almost hear Atro's calculative gear rumbling as the man tried to piece two and two together.”

“You're not a man who can't handle a little guilt.”

With spiteful sarcasm, Arbor said, “Oh, how well you know me.”

Atro ignored the remark. “You must be hiding some tasty, juicy information. What makes you think I won't just squeeze that out of you instead?”

The dark elf was prepared for this line of negotiation. “Because one of those juicy bits I might let slip is information on your Soul Arm.” He looked to the ever emotionless Langsley. “I'm sure that's not something you want accidentally left to the wolves.”

Arid gazes clashed between them as Atro calculated the risk and reward. The man looked angry and gave a verging snarl. But it broke into a hearty laugh as the arena master swiped his glass off the table. The two clinked their cups as the deal was sealed.

“We have an accord. Goodbye Arborior Winterwayn. It's been interesting knowing you.” He motioned his servant to get the deal ready. “Now, let us drink.”

Black.