The afternoon sun had started to burn orange, the sky turning amber-gold. Randy's family and the lone Barry had been traveling for the better part of the day. The road they walked on was well-traveled, having only a small number of potholes. The trees were far apart from one another so that it didn't feel cramped. Winter's grasp had started to recede, snow melting away to expose the hidden green or naked branches. Birds made their song, providing a pleasant backdrop against the cold. In short, it was a pleasant start to spring.

Barry, Randy, and the knife-thrower's sister traveled on foot beside a donkey carrying a wagon. On the donkey rode, Randy's mother, a meek-looking elder whose words stung like venom. The wagon itself was filled with Randy's family's belongings—bundles strapped down by cheap rope and coil. Pots and pans clattered, sending a few birds into flight. In the wagon's spare space, rode Randy's father—an old man with the stern look of a displeased boulder.

The Barry had been talking with Randy while the rest avoided chatting with the stranger. They looked at him with a mixture of fear, awe, and… hope. The conglomeration of emotions made Barry feel uncomfortable. Fear and awe were understandable, he was a mage. Hope, though. Hope was strange. Sure, he could protect them from a few turn-coats or bandits. But, what happened if he couldn't or didn't? Could they really bet on him being an altruistic fellow?

"I still can't believe you lied about having a wife." Said Barry, his tone wry and light. Though he didn't genuinely trust Randy, he put on an amicable front.

"I mean, you disappeared in the dark and then appeared with a hand at my throat. Anyone would've said anything. Man, you were like a Wraith." Said Randy, smiling sheepishly, his hand rubbing his neck. "The part about the priest was true, though. He paid me upfront and was probably going to try and do something afterward. Those eyes—they looked so twitchy…

"I know I've apologized dozens of times, but still. Sorry—for the knife thing. But, hey, at least we have a heavier coin purse! Serves that bastard right."

Randy leaned closer to Barry, whispering.

"When we reach Charliestead, we can get some company. If you know what I mean."

Barry and Randy snickered in unison. Those that dealt in violence for coin were drawn to each other like corpse-eaters—necrophages—to the battlefield. Combat and spare coin ignited their spending on flesh. Independent of gender, those that lived by the blade came back hungry for more than just food.

"You were there when the priest shot those flames at me, right?" Asked Barry, receiving a nod, he continued. "He lied through his teeth, saying all was well and whatnot. I couldn't even see his face—that would've probably made it easier to see the lie. But what I could see was more than enough. The honeyed words were at odds with his spirit—the thing was tense for a fight." Barry shook his head.

"Huh, so there's actually such a thing as a spirit." Said Randy. "How'd it feel? His spirit, I mean."

"It was like… an invisible whirlpool filled with snakes. The skin of his spirit was turbulent. I swear he said 'scorch' before shooting those flames of his."

"Oh, he did." Said Randy. "That bastard was silently chanting something foul… How did you take those flames of his?"

Barry caught the hungry glimmer in Randy's eyes. He had to keep up appearances for now, but telling too much about his magic could be disastrous. A little bit of detail, but just vague enough to not mean anything. That should work.

"My spirit is like a dark lake under the stars." Said Barry. "The twinkling stars spread along the surface. I can reflect that light backward or take it into the depths, and bring it forth whenever I wish." To illustrate his point, Barry Evoked a small candle's worth of star-fire into his open palm. The tiny mote of light floated above his hand, its yellow-white incandescence flickering.

The small flame danced and swayed, making Randy's mother and sister exclaim "ooh" s and "ahh" s. The wonder evident on her face made Barry feel better. His powers had been looked upon with fear and disgust back at the town. But, at that moment, his powers evoked wonder and curiosity. Barry swore he even saw a sliver of awe in the eyes of the stone-faced elder.

Randy's sister, Elina, approached Barry, her eyes filled with wonder. She was around the same age as Randy, both of twenty winters. Both she and Randy were of slim builds, their eyes brown and hair red—a rarity this far south in the Corners.

"It's so pretty." Said Elina. "Does it burn?"

"It… only does so if I wish." Said Barry. "Here, you can hold it if you want."

Barry's intrinsic knowledge of his powers took sway. He marked his will onto the fire, passing it to Elina. It felt remarkably like warning a child not to do something. And like any tyke, it was tempted to disobey. But under his watch, it wouldn't dare.

The candle's worth of starlight floated above her hand without burning her.

"Can you light a campfire with this?" Asked Elina, her brown eyes reflecting golden light.

"Aye." Said Barry. "I think so. Haven't actually tried it. Along the way to Charliestead, we'll find out soon enough… It's gonna be dark soon. Let's go look for a good place for camp."

Barry pulled at the thread that connected him to the flame, consuming it. The star-fire was blown out from existence as he made his hunt for camp.

Barry had found a decent place for the night not too far away from the road but not too close to warrant unwanted attention. The would-be campsite was relatively dry, being the least mushy ground Barry had found. The mage cleaned away the fallen leaves and debris. Randy and Elina looked for wood as the stern-faced elder unloaded bedrolls and canvas. Randy's mother looked through their provisions for the night's food.

Barry dug a small depression into the ground, surrounding it with rocks and warding the campfire from the wind. He took the wood from Randy and Elina, building it as a small pyramid. The two siblings had been happy to find just dry logs, forgoing kindling and tinder all together. Don't need any dry tinder or kindling when you've got magic. Thought Barry, letting out a small chuckle.

He looked down to his gloved hand, willing the mana-forged clothing to unravel—the midnight leather unwounded into squirming tendrils, melting into his shadow limbs.

Barry evoked star-fire from the depths of his Shadow. Stars made their way onto the shadow-skin of his arms. They twinkled with the light of the night sky. Whenever I do this, I get a bit tired, and my energy wanes. Huh, kinda like running or using my muscles. I'll try to get essence from somewhere else.

Barry closed his eyes, plunging himself into darkness. Luminous essence appeared around him like stars in the night. I have a suspicion that I should avoid that vibrant red. It feels too… right. The rush is too good for there not to be a side-effect. And because Emi warned me about it being actual 'fell magic'. Well, not entirely.

Barry pulled at the torrent of essence underneath his feet and in the air, siphoning it by use of his Center. The stars upon his Shadow Limbs brightened as he fanned the Star-fire that danced upon his hands. He formed a condensed flame, packing it with the energy from his surroundings. Essence went into the void at his Center, dispersing through his Shadow, until it reached the evocation.

Emi told me to try without any words to test my limits. I can always expand and improve upon them, but not without knowing the edges of what's possible.

Barry forwent his incantations, testing his magic. It was much harder to consciously pull ambient essence with will alone. The words and whispers seemed to guide Barry, imbuing him with the instincts needed. It was like walking or breathing, merely existing without the need for self-awareness. When he took the reins of his power, it was like being aware of his breathing. The instincts faded away under his conscious sight.

Barry touched the campfire with his hands, the celestial fire blackening the wood. He mentally pushed at the evoked flames, making the wooden pyramid erupt into dancing yellow and amber. The stars faded from Barry's arms. Shadow essence tailored itself into cloth and leather, forming back into sleeves and midnight gloves.

The campfire swayed in beautiful citrine and white. Barry could feel that the fire was 'alive' like it was his spirit. It was a whirlpool in the invisible tide, ethereal winds tugging on the skin of his Shadow. The flames ate away at the ambient essence like hungry flies to a carcass. If I can feel this, something else might as well. It should've caught real fire by now. I'll retake that essence.

Barry pulled at the threads of the essence, weakening it before he devoured it with the void of his Shadow. The once citrine flames slowly turned to the typical amber hue, losing not only color but also volume and height as well. The starlight pyre died, leaving a common campfire in its stead.

"Awwhh," said Elina, "why'd you take away its color?"

"Oh," said Barry, "it could've attracted some magical beast. If I can feel it, something else might as well."

"Ohhhh, I see…" Said Elina, tucking a ruby strand of hair behind her ear. "Randy hasn't said much about you, and we haven't gotten much of a chance to chat… If you don't mind me asking, where are you from?"

"Nowhere, really." Answered Barry. "A small no-name village with less than a hundred people. Well, I guess it would be a 'hamlet,' not a village. Gods, Emi battered that bit of fact into my head… The hamlet itself was to the northern fringe of the Corners."

"Was?" Asked Elina. "Did something happen to it?"

"Oh, no. It just feels so… distant. Far away from now. From who I am. It's barely been two winters since I left home, but so much has changed."

Barry's thoughts went back to his home. How had his father and mother fared after his departure? How would they react with his new-found magic? Emi had hinted that Barry's lineage had been magical—no newly awakened sorcerer had such refined and complex powers. Emi was baffled that Barry felt almost no backlash nor drain upon using his magic. It was as if he was fully integrated. His limits had been properly set, forgoing any self-damage that usually happens with a newly-minted sorcerer.

A sorcerous bloodline. The thought left a bad taste in Barry's mouth. How could he be of a magical bloodline? His parents were as common as they could get. The only other way for that to be was infidelity... Besides, he was the copy of his pa—a tall, lanky fellow with a beard and hair the color of fresh wheat. He had the same color as his mom's eyes—a green that varied its luster and brightness depending on the light.

As much as the questions plagued Barry's thoughts, he could not bring himself to return to his tiny hamlet. Battling would-be assassins in the dead of night, dueling undead monstrosities, and eating magic fire seemed easier than confronting his parents. He hadn't even said goodbye, leaving under the cover of the Twins. The whitemoon had been absent, leaving behind its dark twin. For whatever reason, the blackmoon was forever darker than the night sky it inhabited.

That past night was still filled with brilliance, thousands upon thousands of stars glittering in the void. Whenever the whitemoon had disappeared and left behind its twin, Barry felt a pang of guilt. The memories always came back to sully his mood come a voidmoon.

Barry shook his head, dispelling his thoughts of home and doubts of parentage.

"Anyways, how about you?" Asked Barry. "What's your story?"

"Me," said Elina, "I'm a famous magician if you haven't yet realized. Living in the middle of almost nowhere with invisible powers."

"Ha," Said Barry, "and I'm a… magic cripple. Gods, that isn't that far off. I don't actually have any real arms."

"What?" Asked Elina.

"Here, lemme show you."

Barry dismissed his fake sleeves and gloves and pulled his shadow limbs back into his spirit.

"Oh, gods… You are a magic cripple!" Said Elina, erupting into laughter.

"It was like your arms turned to snakes and crawled into your stumps." Said Randy, cringing. "Gods, that was creepy."

"Com' on," said Barry, "it couldn't have been that bad."

"Oh, it was, my friend." Said Randy. "Barry, the magic cripple with snakes for arms."

"Oh, I'll getcha for that." Said Barry, manifesting his limbs as serpentine semblances of themselves. He chased Randy with his snake-like arms while the rest of the group laughed. Even the forever-grim elder spared a small chuckle.

Barry "accidentally" pushed Randy to the ground, dirting the man's clothes.

"Alright, that's enough." Said Barry.

The mage reformed his shadow limbs, extending a hand to Randy.

"I'll take first watch." Said Barry. "You lot can sleep. Randy, you'll switch with me at midnight. I don't need much sleep anyway."

Barry's vigil had gone by as fast as an old man on his crook. The crackling of wood and howling winds stood awake with him. And when the Blackmoon reached its apex, he woke up Randy to take watch. But Barry was restless, deciding to take a walk, he went into the dark night.

Barry walked till the light of the campfire had disappeared, taking to the shadows of a leafless oak. His form blended into the night. His Shadow ate away at the night essence in its vicinity, creating a layer of black mist around him.

The darkness was nothing to Barry anymore. It was even proper darkness. Instead of the black that shrouded shapes and forms, he saw everything in greys and blues. The stars above his head glittered like gems ground into a thousand grains of sand.

As he sat on a sturdy branch, Barry reminisced about his time with the band. The Band of Bastards. Gods, it was such a common name. There were at least five different mercenary groups with that same name roaming the Four Corners of Kedwen. They eventually changed the name to the Red Sparrows just to differentiate themselves from the rest of the lot. The name itself came one morning to them when a singular Kedweni sparrow with ruby red feathers had been found with its wing injured. They nursed it back to health and let it embrace the firmament freely once more. Just like the legends. A red bird, feathers the color of scarlet flame.

He remembered his training with Stregor, learning how to care for an axe with Deoch, and hunting with Rodrick. Drills and weapon's training left him sweaty and humbled. Stregor could beat him with a simple willow switch, leaving behind welts on his skin. The axe just fit perfectly into his hand—the sheer amount of time he held onto its handle had molded it to his grip.

It felt so strange not having an axe anymore. Ever since the battle, he'd grab at his side, looking for it. He didn't feel any phantom pain with the loss of both his arms. But, if anything, he did feel it for his axe. To Barry, there was no better weapon. He was of low birth, and no smiths would make a sword in such a small settlement. An axe was reliable and much more than just a tool for violence. It could cut wood and be used to butcher a carcass… With a lot of effort, that is.

Axes could suffer a lot, needing very little maintenance. Deoch hadn't needed to teach Barry much on how to maintain an axe. Some rendered oil and cloth warded off rust from the axe-head. And Wyrdseed oil protected the handle.

Though Barry was grateful for all that they had done for him, he couldn't shake away the hollowness. He would never see them again. He remembered their last moments with visceral clarity. Their deaths were etched onto his memory, but Barry had yet to have any nightmares. The lack of them unnerved him. Deoch was cut in half, guts spilling out. Stregor had been ripped from his left side to his right shoulder, ribs sticking out like grotesque flowers.

It was all so horrifying, and yet, no dreams had come. Nothing. It was like a wall had been erected, warding off the memories from infesting his dreams. Barry felt he could almost touch it when he closed his eyes. The hurt was sectioned off, waiting…

Barry combed through the battle countless times, trying to find some other way he could've saved at least one comrade. Though he told himself it was to become better, to prepare, he knew it was not the case. Not truly. He dwelled on his failures, descending into them as if they were a pool. It felt so comfortable staying there.

The memory of Rodrick rushing the undead giant came to the forefront of Barry's thoughts. He simply stood there, watching it unfold. Paralyzed. Coward…You could've done more. If you had rushed that thing first…If. If. If. So many 'if's. No certainties. Would I have stirred my Shadow from its sleep? Or would I have simply died? No way to know. No certainty.

The branch on which Barry sat started turning grey, its brown desaturating into the hollow offspring of black and white. Small flickers of darkness danced upon the crevices and grain of the branch. The flames were barely perceptible against the black of night.

Rodrick… You saved me. I still remember that bet. 'The one that saves the other's hide is gonna get a night of full drinks the next time we stop at an inn'...

Barry let out a small chuckle-turned-sob. He couldn't tell which it really was. The wall that warded off the pain started to crumble.

His eyes slowly darkened, turning into onyx orbs. A purple nebula breached their surface, coloring his eyes with the color of the stars. He had no sclera nor iris, only purple nebula.

Gods, I can't even remember his voice anymore. It's been less than a few turns of the Twins since then… How could I forget his voice? What kind of friend am I?

The wall shattered like a cheap clay plate. It didn't even just shatter—it turned to dust as Barry let out sobs. He hadn't cried this badly since a boy, water pouring from his eyes in streams. He felt so weak. So useless. For all the power that he had gained, nothing could be done. The past was set like mortar.

His tears reflected violet radiance. Two violet orbs floated in the darkness.

The branch cracked, breaking in two and sending Barry falling to the ground.

Time slowed as he fell, the wind forming waves upon his dark blond hair. Shadows bled from his skin like mist, slowing his descent.

Barry landed softly on his feet. He didn't look for the branch, even though it was heavy enough to break his spine. He knew it wouldn't hurt him. He knew what had happened to it. He knew of the dark flames that had entirely eaten it away. They were like festering locusts. They were decay that ate at all, turning everything to dust. Barry hoped his hollowness could be erased from the world as the branch had been. But, that was a fool's hope. That was not what he truly wanted.

He would hold onto those painful feelings and emotions. Even if it hollowed him out. Even if it made him feel so lacking. Even if his dreams would now be forever haunted by that slaughter.

He was the only survivor. His comrades had no one to remember them, to know that they died fighting. And so, he'd hold onto them.

Barry knew he could not sleep. Not tonight. He could only bet on exhausting himself until sleep was truly inevitable.

And so, he covered himself in the shifting essence of shadow, prowling the dark in search of… Something. Of what, he did not yet entirely know.

He was a blur of black against the twilight, creeping slowly through the treetops. The branches were sturdy, and the wind had since blown away any and all snow. The ground was too mushy to not make noise. Walking on the floor below would be the equivalent of trampling through like an unwieldy buffoon.

Barry had been careful, but not careful enough. He put a boot-covered step on a weak branch. It snapped, sending him to the ground in a crackle of sound. His Shadow Limbs reacted in a blink, dividing into coils of darkness and grasping onto the branches above. Barry hung from his arms with his feet on the trunk of a tree. A smile made its way on his face, being provided by the welcome distraction.

Huh, this is just like Grasping Darkness. But, I didn't need any words or incantations. Emi was right; the words weren't truly needed. They were guidance and not necessity… Gods, I really wanna try and swing with these now. Barry's lips wrinkled into a wry grin.

He unclenched his grasp on the treetops above, bathing himself in dark mist to slow his descent.

When his feet touched the ground, he started chanting.

From a trunk comes splitting tendrils.

Barry's Shadow Limbs coalesced back into two, bunching up and expanding like the string of a bow ready to be let loose. They tensed.

Above and below.

The pressure built.

One is of the darkness and the other the light.

His Shadow Limbs swelled even greater than before.

Reach for the sun, and shadow shall follow.

His smile grew bigger and brighter.

Grasping Darkness.

Tendrils of viscous shadow shot out like snakes, making no sound as they struck the branches above. He was flung forth like an arrow through the trees and branches and into the sky. Barry spat out more than a few leaves and knew he would have a few bruises by morning.

The view was worth it, though. It was worth all of the inconvenience. The sea of evergreen and bare wood stretched out before him as he flipped through the air high above the treetops. The giant mountains that boxed in the Four Corners held the sea of green and grey.

The air was freezing on Barry's skin, prickling him with invisible daggers. The wind tore at his eyes. His lungs burned white. And yet, he grinned like a mad man.

After a few moments airborne, Barry started to fall. He bled dark mist through his skin, wrapping it around his limbs and body to slow his plunge.

He was still falling dangerously fast and quite high when he felt his energy wane and his Shadow flicker like a candle.

Gods, no. Not now.

He pulled at the essence around him. All that it could give, he took. And still, it was not enough. In the midst of panic, Barry felt a beckoning inside his Shadow. It was a small thing that made him wonder if it was real or imagined. But still, he listened. The last time his Shadow called out to him, it had saved his life. Why not heed its call again?

He closed his eyes, spreading out his limbs as he started to gain dangerous speed.

Barry felt a strange feeling at the base of his skull, where it met his spine. It was the most unusual thing he had ever felt, only being able to describe it as 'a gate being opened'. Behind that gateway was a wellspring of power so vast that it could blot out the sun if it had been day.

He tugged at the font of power, manifesting more black mist to slow his breakneck descent.

Barry felt a cold bead of sweat fall down his brow onto his eyes as he breached the bare treetops. He let out an exacerbated breath as his feet touched the sweet, sweet ground.

Now, what. Was that?