The last few days for Massua Opal had been somewhat of a blur. She remembers the knights found her amidst those dead bodies, hiding in a ball and muttering incoherently. Her eyes were wide with fright and horror, signifying how little she has witnessed any real battle. Who knows the condition that this girl had to suffer within that box. Those were words she heard them say as they loaded her on a horse with the female Arkoudan knight and took her to the nearest city to question her further. All her time within that box, she never truly felt broken. She had hoped that she would find a way out, or someone would come to save her. Well, someone has. And if all things do go well, she may be on her way home. But she did not think about such hopeful topics. Her mind was still on the blood and carnage. Even when she tried to focus on anything else, it was always just outside her memory of that young man falling before her, blood pooling under his dead eyes that stared blankly through her; they got her something to drink and eat, asking her all the while for anything lending to who these hooded men and women were. She could only tell them where she was from and what they had said, which wasn't much to go off.

She feared that Garath would find her. From the fierceness and tenacity that he showed even to the most minor of offenses she made, she also feared that he would indeed do justice to those promises. This did not permeate her mind as much as thoughts of death, but it made her skin crawl, thinking of a hulking bear crashing through the hills like a dreadnaught accompanied by soulless pale skin warriors with curved sabers in hand. Not even the splendors of a city, the first city she has ever seen with her very own eyes, could pull her from her thoughts, nor shake her closed composure. There was pity and understanding in the Knight's eyes as they rode, as she did not pry too much, promising that she would ask the harder questions once they arrived at the Knight's quarters in Vulben. Vulben was a strange city to encounter when exiting the rocky hills of the Arkoudan countryside. The woods and forest once again took root as the mountains became more prevalent and present. One of the smaller ones, the one the people called Vulben as well, was rich with silver and coal mines, which was the main reason the city exists in the first place.

The town was low and sturdy, not many buildings peaking the skies and staying mostly under a few stories high. Even guild houses stuck to their neighbors' wooden and thatched styles, and courts made from the polished stone mined straight from the mountain. Everything has that sturdiness like they were built in case of some major event or earthquake. The only exception was the taller tower, square-shaped and with a circular slapped roof. This resembles more of a defense tower than a building, With an archer's nest built on the very top and various levels. The orange tiles stood out from the crisp blue sky, stone and wooden exterior called a presence to itself unrivaled. This was indeed the Knight's quarters, a station for knights to meet and trade information to other such locations throughout the clans, also providing a place of rest in the place of an inn. The people themselves resembled the buildings, men and women with thick arms and legs, years of labor and hard work, mining and forging and lifting and pulling. Most worked only in trousers and pants with shirts tied around sweaty foreheads.

However, the constant motion was halted as people stopped and stared at a train of soldiers, most they saw leave the city but a few days ago return bloody and dazed, half their numbers and seemingly shaken. Even the Knight seemed out of it, staring ahead and not even taking the time to greet any of them. They just went straight to the knight's quarters with a dirty and disheveled girl on a horse with hands practically tied to those reins. One or two knights did come out to see them approach but did nothing till they arrived. The soldiers soon dispersed, carrying that solemn stare with them throughout the city, most simply parking near the stables silently. One of the knights, a decently built man near his older years, walked up to the women.

"What happened?" he asked. "Where are Inscanus and the others."

The knight unmounted. "We ran into traffickers. They were trying to smuggle this girl here into Arkouda. Things turned bloody rather quickly. I've never seen anything like it. Although we had nearly ten times the men they did, they fought with equal footing. Inscanus has taken troops to track them down, captain."

The captain considered this, pondering for but a moment till nodding to a sage at his side. "Send trackers after them. We will not take this plight lying down. I want each of these men hanged for what they've done."

The sage nodded and immediately sprinted with blinding speed to the opposite end of town. Finally, the captain looked down at Massua, who looked upon the ground to find her entire world there.

"And who might you be, my dear?"

She seemed to snap back to understanding, lifting her head so her eyes poked through the ragged strands of unwashed hair. Seeing the crest of Arkouda on his chest plate seemed to stir something in her, motivation perhaps.

"M-My name is Massua Opal of Liontari," she spoke in a stringy voice, barely keeping from cracking. But her fragility was quickly taking root the more she tried to talk. "I-I tried . . . I tried. . . they took me away . . . I"

The female knight placed a hand on her trembling shoulder to comfort her. "It is alright now. We can talk later if you wish. We want to know more about how you got into this position. You are in the protection of knights now, so do not fear."

Massua nodded and allowed the knights to take her into custody. She will be safe here. The only more fortified locations in all of Arkouda would be the palace further east in the capital. A knights Inn would be more than capable of defending itself against nearly any assault that could be thrown at it. It housed over a hundred fine warriors of different Ilk. Dozens of Thirians and knights and enough resources to last a year without stepping foot outside its walls. Massua has never seen any structure like it. The closest was the training grounds for the knights she and her friends would look at the boys and girls training. But even that was dwarfed by what she saw. Everything seemed geared towards defense. She saw two archer's nests flanking the door and facing the main road. The door itself was narrow, not allowing for more than two people at a time. Sixteen guards stood as sentinels guarding the room. They took her past the waiting room and storage spaces and directly upstairs to what appeared to be quarters for someone. Inside was bare, with only a sword or two decorating the walls, a large table and a bed nestled against the furthest wall beneath a window.

"You can stay here," the female knight said. "I will be talking with the mayor before asking you any questions. If you need anything, send someone for me. My name is Marry."

"Thank you, Ms Marry," Massua bowed her head out of respect. "I owe you my life."

The knight smiled at that. "You can say that once I get you on your way home. Surely there is some guild out there in need of some work."

(X)

Not too far away from the city of Vulben, in the rocky side of the mountain of the same name, Garath was fuming with anger that vibrated the ground around him. He had to flee. Flee from a troop of low warriors and two knights. Perhaps if they stayed and fought, they could have killed every last one of them. But no way would that child make it out unscathed. The knight that chased them was tough, but an ambush with Makhai backing you is more than enough to take out one and any support he may have had. Their corpses decorated the mountainside, and no doubt monsters were catching the scent all ready to finish off whatever was left. The only thing taken off the bodies was some of the cloaks and the knight's sword, which dangled from one of the Makhai's belts. But still. If they were behind schedule now, this would surely bring unfavor to the Prime Noctus. He doesn't understand why this girl is so special, but he will not live to regret it if he comes back without her.

Soon, another Makhai arrived running up the mountain. The cloak she wore made it difficult to see him in the dead of night, shifting sometimes and stiff others, mimicking the swaying of branches or foliage as he passed them by. He could barely even smell him, his scent indistinguishable from the dirt he walked on. His face was covered, all except for two vacant eyes that stared into Garath's as he approached. He was a member of the stealth unit after all. Would be a waste if someone like him could sense him.

"So, where is she?" he grunted.

The Makhai stood as still as death, but his words escaped in low tones. "She was taken to the mining town just further east. She is housed in the Knight's quarters there, third room on the second floor. Two guards as stationed in her room, and there is a barred window, but that is all."

"We will get her back," Garath told them. "The only other option left is death. I will not let some little girl get the best of me. She will pay dearly for this."

"The Prime Noctus did say unharmed," One of his scouts said. "She will need to be in prime condition."

"If she wants her alive she can put her back together herself!"

Garath growled another deep and guttural drone that escaped him. It was not enough to portray his anger, no matter how silent he was. He was going to find a way to make her pay. Anything. Perhaps slaughtering that boy knight will be enough. But either way, he will not fail the Prime Noctus. He was promised power if he did what he was told. That was a deal made with the previous Prime Noctus. But then there was rebellion, and a new seat was chosen. He thought his hopes then were squandered, from the rumors he got from others about how she behaved. But when approached, she promised the same, and more. Possibly more than Umerius would have given him. He was not going to let that promise go. Not now. Not for one little girl.

(X)

By the time the sun had set, Massua had downed two full plates of ham slices, peas and corn, and onion. It was heavenly compared to the dried crackers and pond water she was handed during her travel here. She took a long sigh of comfort as she cleaned the plate, leaving only bones and stray peas left to survive. She didn't even care for etiquette, her hands covered in the fat and grease, and the napkin unused during it all. The cooks here were admittedly far better than her mother's and did not care if she had seconds. She was still anxious to see the Knight again. Two plates of food had certainly opened her up for conversation now. But in the meantime, she did have a lot of time to think.

She was not as much of a scholar as her brother, more of a talker. So not having anyone to talk to did bug her. She doubted the stiff statues standing outside her door would be much more conversation than actual statues. Leaving her to her thoughts was dangerous now. She knew that. She did not want to think. She didn't want to think of anything. Not of Lyse. He may very well be dead for all she knew. Dead, along with everyone she ever knew. Perhaps there was no Broken Arrow. Just a pile of ash and rubble and blood. Her mother and father, slaughtered. Despite their efforts, they shared the same fate. It was hard to wrap her head around the reality that her mother had done what she did. Why didn't she reveal at least that of herself? The way she fights. With all the questions that Massua had asked her, surely she would have told her such a simple thing. Her mother is Thirian, would that make her so? She hasn't really asked that but now more than ever it invaded her mind. Was her father a knight? No, that would be impossible. The man was too tame. All the knights she knew had that fire within them. That fire she sees in her mother. What if she also had that inside of her as well. She could be a Thirian. It's said that if the bloodline is too diluted, it can be difficult for Thirians to give birth to other Thirians. But still, there was a possibility. And besides, she is sure she remembers her father turning men into mangled corpses in a flash of light.

When the night finally took hold, her anxiety climbed as well. The memory of those flames also climbed inside her mind, the thoughts of smoke making it hard to breathe or concentrate. She felt light-headed, so she laid upon the bed till it eased. It did not, however. She felt light and fatigued, despite the huge dinner she had. She did not feel the energy to move, only to think and think about what had occurred up into this point. Her entire life somehow made it here. She cried silently, looking up at the ceiling, playing the images in her head and hoping that it was all just a dream, some twisted nightmare of some hag for whatever reason. Her parents may very well be dead. Lyse to. Her friends. That nightmare was still there, waking and present, walking around and moving like the evil entity that it was. That fear, that nightmare, is what attracted things akin to it. What made her easy to spot when it came down to it. A nightmare was indeed walking towards her now from the very shadows that came from a well-lit room. She whipped the tears away to look out to the night sky, the two moons beaming down upon her. She wondered, for a moment, if she truly was the last Opal in the world. There is no steps to follow, anymore.

The sound of a distant scream shocked her from her daze, nearly jumping onto her bed screaming. Was she dreaming? No, that was real. It was all too real. The next scream that came was louder and closer and was more terrifying than the last. She heard commands being shouted amongst the two guards, and she knew something was seriously wrong then. Her first instinct was to grab one of the loose swords dangling from the wall, which she did. However, as she stood there, waiting, staring at the door with a short sword, she knew that there was no way she could fight them. Not her. She could feel the sword rattling in her grasp, no matter how still she tried to force them. She was too weak. Too unskilled. The Thirian would tear her to shreds if she ever tried to get a scratch. The sword almost cluttered out of her hand, and she found herself shaking and stumbling back, trying to do the opposite.

Pick up the sword and fight, she screamed at herself. Pick it up damn you.

But she couldn't. As the symphony of screams grew nearer and nearer, the sounds of blades closer and closer along with shouts, she knew that she would die if she tried to fight. It was instinct more than logic, a need to survive over the reality of the situation. She looked behind her to the windows, bars almost as thick as her arms stood sold amongst an iron frame. She immediately turned on her heels and clutched her blade in both hands. She saw her brother do this very same technique countless times in training. Clutching the blade, and allowing aura to pour into it. He made it seem simple and easy. He makes everything seem simple and easy. But if he could do it, she can as well. But the glow was faint and slow, not even enough to light up the room. But it was all she could muster, and her hands became shakier with every second she held it. She raised the blade overhead to strike at the bars. There was a loud ringing as the edge of the blade contacted and bounced off. The only thing left was a scratch, barely deep enough for a fingernail to be caught. The bars was indeed solid iron, but this did not stop her. She swung and swung again. Every scratch she made with more and more determination. Deeper and deeper the scratches went. Then shallower. Each swing began to lose, and less progress from the last scratch she made. She wasn't even an inch through the first bar when there was a large crash outside her door. Pounding.

Before she could move, the door crashed open, a man stumbling through the door shambled to his knees and to his stomach. It took her a second look to see the stab wounds riddling his body like spots on a leopard and quickly pools of blood began to form under him. His neck had a large gash that spurted out darker blood every few seconds. His eyes strained to look at her, but as he tried to talk, only lowly gurgle and sputtering could be heard, and the blood flowed faster. His companion laid limp in the hallway slumped against the wall and a chest seemingly crushed inward and several broken limbs, a sword hanging loosely from his fingers as his breath ceased before her. Massua backed up further, standing on the bed and back flat against the barred window. Then, there was a larger impact, and a crash. A shadow passed over the door frame before crashing into the wall next to the other body. It was the knight, Marry. Her face bruised now, and her armor half-ruined by a series of deep cuts that broke the skin. Blood seeped from her left arm, and her free hand was clutching a blade. She struggled to stand, visibly shaking from her effort, but the blade she held was glowing nearly like a star. She seemed focused on whatever enemy was before her, but there was loss of light in her eyes, a darkness that she Massua recognized. Like her mother, when she told her to run. Then, she noticed Massua, and her expression became frantic.

"Massua, run. Run!" Marry charged back, another larger crash issuing to shake the whole building to its core. The blade in Massua's hands ceased its glowing and instead hung in clenched hands as white as snow. She grew pale as she clutched the blade to her chest. A sickening flutter in her stomach. The candles in the halls snuffed out as darkness took the room like day to night. The stars and moons outside her window that showered their silver beams dimmed, and the shadows grew more lively and confident beneath her feet. Massua swore the air colder than it should on an autumn night, and her legs were shaken even more as her eyes were glued on the door. She first saw the body, the limp mass of armor and flesh that resembled Marry just moments before. But the skin was cracked and unnaturally grey. The eyes had gone black and void, bark blood seeping from the empty cavity. A gaping mouth full of rotten teeth lull on a twisted neck. The neck, held by a thin bony grasp with haggard nails and skin like paper. She heard the soft footsteps of Thanatos as he stepped into the doorframe, his robe covering everything but his hands, one held the dead body of Marry, and the other a scythe that should only be reserved for culling crops, but fit comfortably in his nimble fingers.

She saw no face. Nothing human about this figure besides it's motions as it drew nearer the door, dropping the body it dragged and putting all of its purpose on Massua herself.

"Girl," the voice echoed in her skull, her eyes hurt just staring at him, leaving her to gaze uneasily at his feet. She stumbled back as more words bombarded her. "You are chosen. You are gifted."

"Stand back," Massua weakly raised her sword, but before it could even be shoulder level, a hand was wrapped around her neck and she was lifted up, grasping for the sword as it clattered to the ground. It wasn't enough to choke, but he had her restrained in an instant. His hands were cold. The coldest thing has ever felt against her skin. Her nerves felt like she had an intense ice bath and was abundantly lethargic. Her breathing became slower, and she lost all fight in her limbs.

"Such spirit," his raspy voice noted. "Good. You'll need that."