Cleo stood pacing angrily in front of Wymonds tent. She still could not believe the gall of that man! Walking in on her so suddenly, only to then insult and beat her?! And here she thought he was a civilized city man! Honestly, the gall! Thinking about the incident, something popped into her head. She hadn’t heard the words ‘knife-eared’ in a long time. Even remembering the phrase made her sick to the stomach. Letting out an exaggerated sigh, Cleo stopped dead in her tracks.

The man… what was his name again? Right, Kosian. Kosian was just walking towards the main cluster of tents, his little brother at his heels. Both were dressed in white doublets with slightly puffed and slashed shoulders, knee-long breaches which gave way to white hose and long riding boots. The younger brother had his hair tied in a messy tail, with long strands of light brown hair hanging loose, framing a slightly hollow face with light blue eyes. The older had his hair combed straight and back, revealing his slightly more rigid but still round face, with those light brown eyes and clean-shaven chin. Also unlike the younger, he wore a sleeveless fur coat that reached his knees, a common sight on any well-to-do merchant. Cleo also noticed her dagger, carefully tucked behind Kosian’s silver buckled belt. ‘If he isn’t just some proud merchant’s son, he’s doing a bad job at showing it,’ Cleo thought, before suddenly stepping in front of him and his brother. Raking her hair with her fingers, she mockingly smiled at the two of them.

The little one looked at her questioningly and grabbed hold of his brother’s coat. Kosian didn’t even bother to stop. Instead, he just sidestepped her, heading towards Wymonds tent. Feeling anger flare in her, Cleo spun on her heel and shouted out. “Kosian Noca-whatever! I challenge you to a duel!”

Suddenly, everybody in the camp stopped dead in their tracks. There was a deathly silence, before everyone spun to the two of them, making a small circle around Wymond’s tent. Cleo immediately heard bets being placed on who won. It made her sigh. ‘Mercenaries,’ she thought. Kosian slowly turned to face her. He simply glared at her. Turning to the rest of the men surrounding them, his gaze turned more sorrowful and angry. He let out a silent tsk. Smiling, Cleo drew her machett, aiming its single-edged blade towards Kosians neck. Kosian looked at the sword, then at Cleo, looking her up and down. A small annoying smile bloomed on his face.

“I guess even women try to compensate,” he said. Before Cleo could even get his meaning, the smile vanished from his face “I have neither the wish nor the reason to accept your challenge. Now, if you’ll excuse us…”

“I invoke the right of the Promise!”

Loud whispers and mumbles started spreading through the onlookers. Some of the betters even started shouting louder. From what she heard, most were betting on her Strangely though, Kosian only looked at her with a confused expression. ‘It can’t be,’ she thought ‘does he…’

“I do not know and do not wish to know of this ‘right of Promise’ you speak of. I refuse you. That is that. Now, if you’ll excuse me…” Kosian said, turning around to walk into Wymonds tent.

At that exact moment, Cleo thrust her sword at his head. In an instant, the sound of steel grinding against steel reverberated through the camp, as Kosian deflected the blow away from him and his brother, making Cleo teeter a bit. He turned to her, anger flaring in his eyes. Cracking his neck, he looked around at the already gathered crowd and exhaled.

“Fine,” he said resolutely. Taking off the long coat, he smiled at his brother, who was standing as if turned to stone, fearfully looking at Cleo. Giving him the coat, he asked him to keep it safe for him, pointing to the circle of men. As the little boy retreated, Kosian unbuttoned his sleeves and rolled them up to his elbows. As he did, Cleo finally noticed his weapon – a pair of brass knuckles, one for each hand. Unlike some Cleo had seen, these weren’t outfitted with any spikes. Just two, simply made, steel brass knuckles. Fitting them onto his fingers, Kosian made a gripping motion, probably making sure they fit. Looking at her, he took another deep breath.

In an instant, he became something different. His expression, his stature. Even the air around him changed suddenly. Putting up his arms, he crouched slightly, thrusting his right legs knee forward and started to lightly bob up and down, as if jumping. Cleo huffed as she got into stance. ‘Both hands on the grip. Blade facing forward. Right foot back. Left foot forward, slightly bent. Wait,’ she thought, remembering Wymonds lessons, ‘Left foot slightly bent, hands level with hips. Yeah. That felt right!’

And there they stood, each waiting for the other to move first. Putting all of her weight on the left foot, Cleo suddenly took a step, bringing the razor-sharp point of her sword forward. She watched as Kosian, moving so fast his eyes left gold-like traces, sidestepped her blow and threw a jab at her wrist. The sound of clanging echoed, as the knuckles connected to a steel buckler. Cleo felt relieved she was fast enough to pull it out. Adapting to the situation, she quickly changed the sword's direction, swinging it at Kosians neck. Dodging it, the man got close and threw another jab. Cleo blocked it with the buckler and immediately threw out a poke. Barely dodging it, Kosian quickly grabbed her overstretched hand at her wrist and just above the elbow, throwing her to the side. Teetering for a moment, Cleo quickly got on her feet and got back into her defensive stance. As she did, Kosian swung at her, his hand outstretched. Blocking, Cleo felt her hand get numb from the blow. ‘This isn’t working!’ Cleo thought, seeing as Kosian sidestepped her counter swing. Throwing the shield to the side and suddenly grabbing the sword with both of her hands, she charged him from below, the point of the sword aimed at his heart. As Kosian dodged the blow, Cleo suddenly stopped. Putting all her weight in her hands, she swung at him horizontally, the blade primed to make a long and deep scar on his chest. A clang. Looking, Cleo felt her eyes widening. He had blocked the blow. The sword was stopped, stuck in between two rings of the knuckles. Kosian looked at her, his eyes full of focus. Suddenly, he moved his hand downwards while also pulling it back. Cleo felt as the weight of the sword, carried by the knuckles, made her slowly fall forward. First, she felt her knees touch the ground. Then her body. Finally, her face. Quickly trying to stand up, Cleo felt something cold on her neck. Looking back, she saw Kosian, her sword in his hands, looking at her. She knew that look. She had seen it countless times before, whether in the city or on the battlefield. And she saw it on him too – the face of a man who was looking at trash. Trash that isn't even worth dealing with.

Suddenly, his face changed. He looked at her coldly, with contempt, but the slightest pointing of the edges of his lips did peek through that cold exterior. Lowering the sword, he offered her his hand. Cleo looked at the hand, then at him. She felt herself smile as she grabbed it.

Some of the men around them sighed in despair, with only a few revelling in the joy of gaining so many laurels. Cleo even noticed some of the men glaring daggers at Kosian. Dzerimo, a short Iberi man, even spat in his direction and snarled at him with that deformed face of his. Strangely though, Kosian didn’t seem to care one bit. He merely fixed his sleeves and bade Pietre come closer. Cleo noticed how the boy looked at her sword with sparkling eyes. She smiled at him but noticed as the boy's smile faded and a sort of fearful expression replaced it. ‘Strange,’ Cleo thought.

Putting on the fur coat, Kosian carefully took off his knucklers. He hadn’t had much practice lately. This was actually, rather fun. If insufferable at how much time he had to waste. Suddenly, he felt a hand on his shoulder. A heavy hand. Turning, he saw Manguid, smiling at him with his canine teeth. He held a large pouch that was jingling with coin in his other hand.

“Half of this is yours, you know?” he said, holding up the pouch. “Barely anyone betted on you.”

“…Thanks,” Kosian answered half-heartedly. The coin was the least of his worries now.

“I’ll split it evenly and give you the other half,” Manguid said, walking away, whistling a strange tune through his teeth. Kosian turned on his heel towards Wymonds tent, annoyed at the hassle he had to deal with just to give back a simple dagger. Walking, he suddenly noticed Pietre standing still. Following his gaze, he saw Cleo, who was talking harshly to one of the men, a short Iberi man. He noticed the boy’s eyes slightly sparkling. Sighing, Kosian squeezed his shoulder. “Let’s go, Pietre.”

The boy nodded but kept looking at the knife ear. Seeing him look on as she walked away, Kosian felt strange. A sudden stab of… something. Shaking his head, Kosian grabbed Pietre’s hand.

Cleo wiped the sweat off her brow leaning on the tall axe. Looking around, she saw most of the other men, each hacking away at their part of the road. She also noticed that she had gotten considerably farther than anyone else. Proud of her work, she sat down on the stump of a small mappe tree and took a big swig out of her waterskin. As she felt the pure liquid run down her throat, something flashed in the corner of her eye. Quickly turning, she saw Kosians brother. The little boy stood concealed in the sparse shrubbery, hiding behind the sapling of oak, his green white tunic making him stand out like a sore thumb in between the blooming trees. He was glancing frightfully around him and at her. Cleo returned his gaze and immediately noticed his eyes. They almost seemed to be forcing themselves to shine. Cleo knew that gaze. She remembered seeing it on many a downtrodden beggar on the streets of Vepari. The gaze was that of a man who was lying to himself. Still, there was hope in it. A faint hope. Looking at him, she wondered what did a boy have to go through to gain that sort of gaze so young. In truth, she wanted to know: how in the world did these two brothers gain the ire of the Faith. Wymond had kept strangely secretive. Still, the fact that Faithmen were after them made the brothers the most hated people in the camp. Cleo remembered some of the men even suggesting to Wymond to just give them to the Faith, keeping their money, plus getting the assured bounty the two probably already had on their heads. What surprised Cleo even more, was the fact that Wymond refused. ‘If he did that, then Kosian may as well be some prince of an Allmanii dukedom or the son of a wealthy phoenixian banker,’ Cleo thought.

Smiling at him, Cleo motioned for him to come closer. The boy jumped a bit and tried to hide even more in the shrubbery. Watching him, Cleo looked around. Finally, she found what she was looking for – a small mappe flower. It was rather large for this time of year, with five long blue leaves, protruding from the pink pistil. Taking the five leaves, Cleo tied them just above the pistil, making the flower resemble a wind chime. Checking if the stem was intact, she spun the flower by the tied end, letting it go. As it slowly fell to the ground, the flower spun, as if dancing with the wind. Landing on a small pebble, it kept spinning. As the wind picked up again, the tied flower took off, flying in between the small branches of saplings and shrubs. She smiled with a mischievous smile at the boy, who watched with bated breath as the flower danced in the air. Watching it disappear somewhere in the underbrush, Pietre slowly approached Cleo, sitting down a bit farther than arms reach from her. Taking a mappe flower, he, surprisingly, copied Cleo perfectly. She watched slightly shocked, as he expertly tied the petals, letting them flow along with the wind. ‘It took me an entire day to learn that,’ she thought with a kind of disappointment. Still, there was something strange in the way he did it. Every time he tied one of the leaves to the others, he would flinch, moving his hand away suddenly. Like he was bitten or pricked.

Pietre kept making the small ‘wind dancers’, carefully placing them on the ground.

“Why did you attack brother Kosian?” he suddenly asked. Crossing her legs, Cleo rested her head on the palm of her hand and sighed, watching as he continued to make the dancers.

“It’s in my nature, lad. You missed one,” she said, pointing to one leaf hanging loose on the flower Pietre was currently working on. He looked up at her with questioning eyes, before turning back to the flower. Cleo looked at him with shock. ‘Do the two of them don’t know?’ she thought. A faint smile appeared on her face as that thought entered her mind.

“Tell me, lad, what do you know of elfs?”

Pietre stopped making the wind dancer. Slightly nodding his head, he raised his head.

“You’re all cousins of the Great Slavers. You rose against them to help us… My brother doesn’t like you. He says that there is… ‘bad blood’ between our family and your kind. H-He told me I shouldn’t speak with you…”

Cleo nodded understandingly. She wasn’t at all surprised. Bollardia had on many occasions suffered incursions and raids from the elfs of Bretagne. Still, she wondered what this ‘bad blood’ was specifically. Looking at Pietre, she sighed.

“What’s your name?”

“Pietre.”

“Alright. Listen, Pietre. Us elfs aren’t like the other races. We have… a need. A sort of wanting. It’s difficult to explain it in ways you would understand. Hmm…” she sighed, sitting down on the ground closer to Pietre. The boy flinched and was seemingly ready to get farther away, but calmed himself, remaining. Cleo smiled awkwardly at him. “Okay, let’s start from the beginning: you know how long ago, elfs were cousins of the Urians, right?”

Pietre nodded his head.

“Well, they did something to us. Maybe in trying to make us more like them, they cursed my ancestors with something the elf's call ‘The Forgotten Promise’. This, promise, makes it so that every elf has a base desire, a base need, to prove to everyone that they’re the best. From a young age, every elf chooses a craft, a skill, a hobby, and tries their damnedest to prove to everyone that they’re better. Take me, for example,” she said, gracefully pointing to herself. “I have trained since childhood to use the sword. Unlike pureblood elfs, the desire for me isn’t as strong, but it is there. I yearn to prove that I am the best sword fighter in the company. It is in my blood. When I meet another warrior, I have an irresistible wish to prove to him that I am better at him. No matter how long it takes…” she smiled as she finished. Looking at Pietre, Cleo continued. “No matter how hard I have to train, no matter how much it’ll hurt, I’ll keep going. I’ll keep going, until I prove to him, to myself, to others, that I am stronger than your brother.”

Pietre looked at her. His eyes sparkled in amazement and wonder. He looked at his hands. Cleo only now noticed a string of prayer beads which were neatly tied around his wrist, the symbol of the Faith dangling lightly. Staying like that for a long moment, Pietre finally clenched his hands and looked up at her. The hope in his eyes had become just a bit brighter. Picking up all the wind dancers, fifteen in total, he stood. As the wind blew harder, he suddenly let all of them go. The dancers flew through the air, spinning and swirling as if Dames and ladies at a ball. Watching all of them, Cleo smiled. Standing, she took up the ax.

“Run along now, Pietre,” she said, winking at him. The boy looked at her for a moment with strange, frightful eyes, before nodding and dashing away, disappearing behind the bushes.

“A strange boy,” Cleo said to herself. Spitting into her palms, she took up the ax and swung it with everything she had. The small sapling split in two as if it wasn’t even there.

Pietre ran as fast as he could, trying to avoid the little devils that hung or danced on the leaves as best he could. He had hoped making those wind dancers would’ve calmed them, as he watched as they jumped and danced in the spinning lotuses. Trying, as always, to not think about the hellscape through which he was forced to run, Pietre noticed he had run out onto the road. The few men that stood around, mostly taking a break or sharpening their tools, frightfully turned away from him. He tried not to look them in the eye. As he walked to where his brother was, however, he felt a tingling on his spine. Turning, he squinted his eyes, looking towards the already cleared road. Something… glinted. Pietre stopped dead in his tracks. Something else glinted. Then another. And another…

“They’ve come for me,” he said out loud, a tear running down his cheek.