The city was the heart of a small kingdom that ruled thousands of years ago. It was a place known for many crafts of luxury items and beautiful weapons. In fact, kings would often travel to this city to have heirlooms made from the precious metals and jewels brought up from the nearby mining quarries spilling with riches. It was a lively place, a major traveling destination on the trading network of old, and most definitely a center of many arts made popular at the time.

With this in mind, it is no wonder why this city became the home of one of the volcanic gods' most prolific forges and why the people worshiped him as the protector of the city. Few other gods could appreciate the crafts as much as he does, so he relishes in the bed of inspiration that he made from the humans. He blessed them with knowledge, wishing to see what things the humans could make, how far they could come, and if they could if at all, surprise him. Sadly, they never did have this chance, as, at the very height of their civilization, the ideas from far-off lands began to proliferate within the small kingdoms. Ideas of the god's place, the conflicts stirring, and the end of days. The prayers that Hephaestus had become privy to ceased ever so slowly, and they turned to curses. As he walks among the rubble and standing pillars of what's left, he can only recall the faint anarchy that had risen when the war in the heavens finally came. Humans coward in fear, while others were given the power even to slay a god in hopes for any side to win this exhausting conflict. And sadly, he was one of the first to die, as a human armed with a weapon he himself designed dealt the final blow. But gods can not die. So he thought that he should spend the rest of his existence as a mere string of conscious force, occasionally taking up vessels to comune with the physical world. But he was not granted such a fate. What waited for him was something worse. His existence, his presence, locked away, his power stripped from him, and what he had coveted as his domain divided infinitely. Hephaestus was no more, and the forge had gone cold.

But he remembers that he had prepared many things in that time of war in case he was ever to lose himself. A vessel, or maybe a weapon to replenish the power he had lost. He doesn't remember; all events from that time were mere blind emotions that he had no way of comprehending. It was like he was a ghost drifting through the familiar events, those events just as ruined as what lay in the thick pact snow that fluttered away from him as he walked. He looked down, seeing that the wound that the human gave him with that weapon still hadn't healed. None of his injuries have, in fact. He shambled along, as he was so used to before, nearly limping and lumbering his way across what used to be a courtyard. The writhing fire within him had dulled tremendously, and he could only feel himself get weaker and weaker. That faint voice that annoyed him before was gone now, nearly consumed to keep him going. His body grows stiffer by the second, the rocky plates that make up his form grinding against one another. Coming off in flakes to litter the ground. Those humans and their cheap tricks have most definitely hindered him, But he was far from defeated. He can not fall to them again. But even so, he still weakens. If they were to come at him, all at once, they might actually stall him long enough so that the last whimpers of his power sputters free, and he is jettisoned back into the abyss.

He looked around for a moment, seeing something metal peak through the snow. Not rusted at all, but obviously some sort of bronze or golden metal. He walked over to it, his form melting the snow as he walked and revealing a metal creature resembling a dog of some kind. Did he make this? The design was beautiful, perfect, so it must be so. He looked around to see more and more such creatures, all inactive and wasting away silently in the frigid ground. He held his hand out in the air, and with surprising effort, was able to breathe some life into them all. Immediately the eyes of these creatures blared as pistons and gears creaked into a new life and sentience. One after another, these automatons rose and took ready, getting and grinding as they scanned their surroundings. They were made for war. Most resembled monsters, while others were merely sets of armor armed with swords ad spears made from the same metal as their own hardened flesh. This army stood by as if waiting for something, and Hephaestus shouted to them all.

"Humans will come to a halt my return," he said, "My creations, destroy a being that shall impede me. Hephaestus will yet rise."

They responded in kind, taking up their positions from where he had come from. HE couldn't sense the humans anymore. Does he lacks the power, or have they retreated? They would be smart to do so, for this army should impede them just long enough so that he can get to this vessel. He turns to the very rear of the city and a path that led into what appeared to be a temple that had gone into quite the period of decay. His own presence melted ice and snow while his might moved away rocks, allowing an actual entrance to his forge. The shrine wasn't the most decorative; weapons and other offerings left to become dust and rubble from the harsh treatment of the elements and pyres still cold. Not a soul has ventured in here in millennia. But this shall be where he is reborn. Temple shall once again serve as a symbol of his power and his purpose. He turned his hands to the entrance he had made. The ground rumbled in response, and the temporary door closed once again-anything to get closer, closer.

Hephaestus stepped down into his forge.

(X)

Lyse led the charge.

They met back at the crater of the ambush, their failed attempt to finish off the god. The effort proved to be for naught, it seemed, and each man and woman left in Moxie's crew seemed a mix of frustration and unsure of what to do next. They had come here to eliminate this threat. But after the showing of power, it left a rather sour taste in everyone's mouth. Was this just some death wish these people have now. How are they, armed with only swords and enough gunpowder for a few guns going to kill something that had shrugged off, not only their efforts but also the immense power of a Frostlandian White Dragon. What purpose do they serve here now?

But Tug was silent through all of this discussion, not commenting on what the other crewmen spoke about. They were looking for action, but this seemed on a different stake than the previous endeavors they had bared witness to. Even the Sea Dragon seemed like mere child's play now. Most were a bit skeptical of what they had just witnessed, wondering if they were getting mixed into something a bit too heavy for them. Ralia, for instance, was amazed seeing such a creature and only lamented that she could not see more. They do not see Dragons very often in Acirfa, and ever since she joined this crew, she had always been the one to be excited over something unique seen on the open seas. So no, this debacle did not concern the Acirfan one bit, and she chastised the other crewmen who gave their second thoughts on the situation.

"So you want to stay here, Ralia?" one of them said out of frustration.

Ralia cocked her head. "I thought you came out here cause you wanted to see some action."

"Yeah, and I did, plenty of it, believe me," he said. He was one of many injured in Mer'Dith, but doing fine after one visit from the Lykosian Knight. "But come on, even the captain's looking pale. So I take that as a sign that we are out of our league."

"If the captain says we leave, we leave," Ralia said defiantly, crossing her arms. "But if she says we stay, we stay."

"I know, but. . . " the crewman seemed to chew his teeth with some thought. None of them had it in them to disobey the woman; that much was certain. Tug, Tug didn't know what to think of the conversation. To say he was a fish out of the water was an understatement for any of them. And he didn't know what to think about these knights, especially the blond one. One would think that being within an inch of death would rattle such a young man, but Lyse barely seemed fazed from experience. Tug looked to where the Silver-haired knight and Captain Moxie were talking, wondering what they were talking about. They had been talking for about an hour now, keeping their discussion from the rest of them. The blade that the blond-haired knight had carried was recovered, and he hung onto their pieces despite their diminished use. Yes, he found it odd that eh lad was not the least bit shaken by the ordeal. In fact, he seemed far more motivated than before.

Lyse looked back to the waiting men and heard some of what they talked about. He does not blame their hesitance; it took all he had to keep from shaking, remembering the feel from that power he had felt striking the god. He still had a shortsword, though he doubts it'll fair much better. Besides, time was not on their side at this moment. The dread and panic in his mind knowing that the god draws closer and closer to his goal, haunted him like no specter. They needed to stop him.

"Gather around now," Moxie shouted. The winds were quite timid this day as if they had been terrified into submission by the god himself. So her words carried far and amplified y experience. Moxie had a very commanding demeanor, not too dissimilar to when Lyse first saw his aunt in Hiras. They did so as told, silently moving along till they had all gathered before the four. Everyone looked like beaten dogs, despite taking no physical punishment. The cold was biting at them once more, the unaccommodating weather o foreign to most of them. Moxie saw this and sighed. "I know, I know. You have just witnessed something worth shitting your pants over. Most of you probably didn't want to be here anyway, and the others are most certainly second-guessing. Except for you, Ralia. We have sailed these seas for nearly a decade together, most of us, and we all have seen some of the worst of this world, so you know that this is something far beyond been that."

"So are we leaving, captain?" one of the crewmen asked, followed y a drone of similar questions."

"No." she went on. "Unfortunately, that choice is befallen to me. That choice will put many of your lives in danger. Some of you may not return from this last march." She chuckled after those words. "But what else is new? The ravens, Dragon turtles, Sea Dragons, and Pirates. What else is new to us, besides the constancy of death that trails our ship our home? These seas are unforgiving, and so too the land itself. And I can only ask you one thing, and that is to follow me into the dangers further."

"But . . . captain," Another of the crewman walked forth. "This ain't like the times before. We always had a chance with what we wanted, and if the worst came, we ran."

"Do you want to run now, Glenn?" she asked him.

"You know us, ma'am," he said with an assured smile. "We follow you. We put out lives in your hands. We ain't wondering about abandoning you; we want to make sure you yourself know the temperature of the water before you jump in."

"Ist that so?" Moxie grinned, turning to Lyse. "Well, knight. Is that satisfactory t you?"

"I am grateful to you," Lyse said. "I can't ask any more of your captain or you except to follow me the rest of this way. Let's show this thing what a bunch of humans can do. Let's show him."

"You seem pretty hopeful, knight," Tug said up to Lyse with a small smile. "Despite being handled like a child by this . . . thing. Are you sure you are up to the challenge?"

Lyse smiled down at Tug and then held out his hand towards him. "Hand me a sword."

Tug looked a bit confused for a moment but complied, nodding to Ralia. She took one of the two sabers strapped to her side and tossed it up to him. He grasped it and made a grand flourish, lighting the sword up with aura as he did so. It wasn't nearly as good as his previous blade, but it will have to do. He still carried what was left of it in his sheath. He took a breath and then looked back down at the waiting faces to hear his reply to Tug. Tug is a wise man. They all were. Despite his status, they see his hesitation. Despite his stature, they see what they have all experienced. He was still new, and he was merely a student of the battle. But he is also willing to learn. And he was done hesitating. Hesitating to save people, hesitating to do what he knows is the only option. Hesitating to choose who he will be.

"I am prepared to do what needs to be done," Lyse finally said.

"Yes," Moxie said. "And I will not say that I am without fear, but that doesn't matter to me, and it sure as hell does not matter to you all, does it? Now, enough of these speeches. Let's kill ourselves a god. eh?"

(X)

Gray opened his eyes slowly upon a masked man operating on an adjacent table across from him. He felt numb, every sense of his body without input, and barely the strength to move his head. But he was alive. How? He died, for sure. He remembers the feel of a blade vividly enter his stomach, the thousands of wounds he suffered. I remembered all too well. He cringed at the thought and did his best to steer clear of it and focused on anything else. Yes, he was alive. They must have rescued him somehow, get help. That means that they are safe. Elena's safe, so is Lyse's mother and sister. They are all safe. He smiled, a painful effort but well worth it. Once more, he is left in this state. What an absolute idiot he is.

As if sensing Gray's movements, the masked man turned to him. He had a peculiar mask of some humanoid growling in the most exaggerated of ways, those beady black eyes peering from the porcelain mask, like a ghost from beyond the thin veil. It seemed to take note of Gray's entire existence instantly and turned back to work on Elena, who was unconscious on the table before him.

"Good, you're awake," came a rusty voice. A bit older than the kind of voices he expects from these doctors. "You only feel a slight numbness, a side effect from the ointment treatment that should be remedied by the day's end. You healed the lesser, left me with that nasty gut wound-"

"Yeah, thanks for the synopsis; how is she?" Gray struggled to sit up. He half expected the doctor to turn and snap at him for moving at all, but he did no such thing, on;y grumbling something under his breath about rocks.

"Certainly in better shape than you, young man," he said. "Dislocated shoulder and shredded muscles aren't too much to fix. The little cuts were gone before she hit the bed."

"That's good to hear," Gray said softly with a smile. "Man, the lickings I will be privy to. I do not envy myself."

"Indeed," the doctor said, standing from beside the table and moving swiftly to a counter of various dried plants and ceramic jars, snatching one of them. "She went through it getting you all here. Carrying that cart. . . only a knight, I suppose."

"Carrying . . ." Gray chewed on those words for a bit. "Where's the girl and her mother? Has that stopped by yet?"

The doctor resealed his jar of salves. "The women? Well . . ."

His sentence was cut short as the door to the common hall opened, and in came Celia, with Massua tailing her. They looked well, better than well, in fact. No doubt they found the local baths and had a fitting meal and all. Celia, despite her stiffness, looked free of her previous injuries. Massua's improvements had to be the most impressive, however. She may not be a knight, but the last he saw her she was skin and bone, starved and all, and barely eating. And she is indeed walking. She even had new clothes, no longer sporting the threadbare pale bed dress Lyse found her in. He felt a small bit of relief seeing them so well off. But his breath caught when he saw what was in Celia's hands.

"How . . . how did you get that," he struggled to stand fully in his bed. The doctor shot him a nasty look but said nothing, allowing them to approach him in bed. Celia carefully placed the sheathed saber in his lap. He was almost wary of touching it, remembering the power that had rushed through him in those final moments.

"It's a fine blade just to leave out there," she said. "Thank you, young man. You have all the thanks I can muster."

"I just held them off. It's Elena you should be thinking," he smiled, clutching the saber. "I should be thanking you for this, actually."

"Well, how about we call ourselves even," Celia looked to Elena for a moment with a gracious expression. "You gave your lives, Gray. That takes courage few can take claim to."

"Thank you, that means a lot coming to form you," he looked to Massua, silently waiting at the door with an airy expression. She seemed far removed from presence at the moment. He turned back to Celia. "So what now? I suppose the cart is in working order and everything. We can't be too far from the border now."

Celia nodded. "Yes, in fact, it seemed we are in quite the streak with Fate. It would seem that King James himself has somehow anticipated our path and called for an escort for us straight to the capital. His generosity and intuition are of the most help."

Gray felt that there was something more to those words, but he lacked anything to process their deeper meaning, so he just nodded. He attempted to move his legs again. Still, they felt numb but a little better. He began to focus on aura to expedite the process even further. It would seem that he still has it in him to move forward.

"So you're leaving now?" he asked.

Celia broke her thinking and looked down at him. "Leaving? What do you mean?"

"I mean, you have an escort, an official one," he said. "You two need to get to the capital as soon as possible, and we aren't of that much use in our state."

"You think this is about efficiency," she asked him.

"Um," he struggled to find an answer that sounded reasonable and failing miserably.

"You two have been vital so far and will continue to be, I'm hoping. I'm not leaving you behind to ride off into the sunset."

"We'll be fine," he said. "Come on; I don't have it in me to argue."

"Good," she said. "In fact, I want you to be walking by the end of the day, you here. I'm not leaving you, but I sure don't like to wait long. Her too. How long till she's an alright doctor."

He grumbled something under his breath before responding. "Given that she's a knight and how fast she has already mended herself, she will be travel-ready in the next two days."

"She ought to do better than that," she said thoughtfully. And without missing a beat somehow, she turned on her heels to Massua. And without even talking, just with the gesture, Massua's back stiffened, and her eyes refocused on her mother. "How rude of me I didn't even introduce you. Massua. This is Gray. A knight friend of Lyse."

Formally, and with a practiced composure Gray rarely gets treated with, Massua actually bowed to him. "How do you do? I am Massua Opal. It's nice to meet friends of my brother. Not as obnoxious, I suppose, but we'll see how that goes."

Celia gave her a searing look. "That's fine, I suppose, but you could have left out the obnoxious part. He did help us get us here; after all, he deserves the courtesy."