"Don't try to make excuses," the pain of Ronan's wounds soon made that overload of pain the reason he could fall asleep as, between gasps of agonizing pain, his body succumbed to the treatments he received. In the end, his eyes finally closed with a constant distrust around him of being discovered.

What followed was only more fuel to the fire of his torment.

The dream plane vaguely transported him back to his memories; once again, he was in the Triumvirate Palace in Adhaz.

The marked man was going through the imposing arcades of that white palace with several golden domes. He was moving around inside the place, watching the guards in pristine armors and tabards with the triangular symbols representing the warriors of his kin who were guarding the area with spear and shield in hand.

The place at times was somewhat incoherent, but Ronan, at that moment, couldn't discern between reality and a dream. Everything was so real to him, especially what would happen.

Quickly, Ronan stepped through a double door of immense proportions and came face to face with the Triumvirate of Adhaz. The immense room, much larger than usual, was nearly empty, with reddish marble floors and several white columns bearing the banners of each mark. In the center was a huge circular table, where the three triumvirate members were expecting him.

"Lord Ronan, I am glad you were able to attend our audience," exclaimed a female voice in that room.

When Ronan reached the table, he looked at the one who had spoken to him. Their leader, Itzala, was the one who was greeting him, a stout woman with braided grayish hair who was out of keeping with the pomposity of the place in leather armor and a belt full of daggers.

"You can still drop the formalities, Itzala," exclaimed Ronan, "I know very well why I am here..."

The man's words fled from his mouth without him being able to control them; at times, they sounded like whispers, and at other times, like echoes.

The woman lowered her sapphire-eyed look and soon showed discomfort at the situation.

Ronan then turned to look at the other two members of the table.

"What happened now?" asked the trickster.

"You already know the answer, Ronan of Vilna," the man at the table sentenced with his words.

Archmage Buzen, an elderly-looking man in robes, ornamented with the symbols of his spells, watched Ronan accusingly from his position as he rested both hands on the table in front of the map of the continent of Aeton.

"You know the evidence is almost nil, what he did..."

Buzen spat, "That boy's been trouble from the first moment he set foot on Adhaz."

"He's gotten out of control, Ronan," Itzala argued, "You know what he's capable of, you know what's in his head; He hasn't fled to Efran yet just--"

"Just why?" exclaimed Ronan, annoyed. "Is the reason he hasn't fled because he plans to kill us from the inside? Because he wants to kill you people in your sleep?"

"Ronan," the last voice from the compound boomed. That voice felt like a hammer hitting an anvil in the marked man's head.

The marked man, who once held a high position among the marked ones of Adhaz, averted his gaze quickly.

The last person to speak to him was Rawani. The orc woman wore an armor that declared her the leader of marked warriors, a silver breastplate with the symbol of her people on the chest. It was also ornamented with hunted animal skins and symbols native to the orcs. Her countenance was that of a young girl of her lineage, long black hair braided and decorated with various jewels of her people.

Rawani continued, "You won't be able to contain him forever. The boy is dangerous; he killed several of our people-"

"It was an accident," interrupted Ronan.

"Was it?" quickly replied Rawani.

Ronan could barely look into her eyes or even look into her face correctly, but he felt her heavy eye on him.

"You know the sentence for what he did..."

His heartbeat increased, for Ronan knew very well that Tyloh's sentence was nothing less than death.

As if a flame went out, the scene faded in front of him, and from the darkness that had formed, what he heard now were dozens of screams coming from the dungeons of the palace, where traitors, criminals, and monsters housed them.

The scene brightened again, and Ronan could see from a distance himself with a contingent of soldiers in front of Tyloh's cell. The door opened, and soon the soldiers could be heard rushing at the boy to get him out of there.

"Don't touch me! Don't touch me! Ronan, get them off me!"

Ronan could see himself standing there, stoic and with no expression on his face. Then, he watched as the soldiers of Adhaz's guard dragged Tyloh blindfolded out of there.

The struggles of the ragged and battered boy were no problem for those fierce warriors.

Ronan tried to move forward to where he was standing and found himself staring with cold eyes at the men taking his apprentice away.

"Ronan! I don't want to die! help me!"

Tyloh pleaded for his life as his voice echoed through that hallway like a thunderous echo.

"Ronan! Save me! Save me! you said you would save me!"

Tyloh's cries were becoming distorted, incongruous, and meaningless as he repeated them louder and louder and faster.

The last thing he saw was the door closing at the end of the corridor.

And brutally, Ronan awoke to a crash that made him shudder.

Still badly wounded, Ronan reacted quickly to a scream from a person, who soon rushed at him.

The marked man who had been struck by a magical lightning bolt had no time to rest, much less to discern after that dream where he was.

Finally, he could focus his gaze; he could see that man full of bandages and bloodstains lunge at him, holding a knife a short distance from Ronan's neck. Soon the blond man was seen on the ground, kneeing the man a few times to get him back away from him.

The knife's edge went up and down a short distance from his neck. Ronan could see in that man an expression of infinite and irrational hatred.

Then, he looked at his belongings arranged on the side of his bed and, without hesitating, the man quickly slipped his hand into his traveling bag and pulled out his dagger, which he promptly buried in the man's neck.

The man gasped, and blood began to pour out of him; at the same time, Ronan could finally pull that man out of him.

"What was going on?" was the first thing Ronan had time to think, but it wasn't until he got the man off of him that he realized he wasn't the only one being attacked.

The cathedral was on fire.

As far as he could see, priestesses, badly wounded guards, Lastrel citizens, and even the bandits who had raided the city were acting deranged, killing each other.

Ronan had to again dodge another onslaught from a badly wounded city guard who tried to run him through with his sword on the ground.

The marked man managed to get it off him quickly, given that the man's wounds were even worse than his, and with a simple fist strike, he knocked him down. Then, with difficulty due to his pain, he got up from the ground, and after taking his most valuable belongings, he tried to get out of there.

"Ronan!" he heard the unhinged sound of a familiar voice. "I know you're here!"

The man's nerves were being tested; that voice only meant that Tyloh had survived the collapse of that building.

The man looked everywhere, searching for his former student; he saw blood, death, and mayhem, but none had Tyloh's authorship.

Placing his traveling bag around him again, the man wielded his dagger in an attempt to escape from that place.

His skill would again be tested there as he had to dodge death, evading swords, scratches, and unhinged people to save himself. Numerous times he recoiled from stunted attacks by men and women whom, with no other choice, he had to kill to make his way through.

So innocent, they were all innocent; they had all fallen into the hands of the madness that his pupil provoked.

Crossing through fallen timbers of the place, Ronan, over a couple of madmen trying to attack some priestesses and other civilians who had not yet been affected, stabbed them in the back. The people screamed in despair but soon noticed that the badly wounded man had no intention of killing them.

"Get up!" shouted Ronan during the chaos, grabbing one of Lithal's priestesses by the arm.

The girl was hysterical, scared to death, and would not listen to Ronan's questions.

"Is there another way out?" the man shouted several times to that girl.

The girl soon burst into tears from terror, and Ronan had to set about fighting another group of crazed people who would attack them. Luckily for him, the citizens, still with reason on their side, helped him.

Between blows with wood that they improvised as clubs and Ronan taking advantage of his sharp weapon, one of them had an idea.

"Let's break the stained glass!" shouted one of them civilians.

Even with the unconscious reluctance of the priestesses, they had no choice. Therefore, as they piled up some emergency furniture, beds, and nightstands, Ronan and a couple more civilians repelled the deranged ones.

The stained glass exploded into pieces, and several parts fell to the floor, allowing the smoke that was accumulating to have a place to escape.

In this way, Ronan helped the people escape, but he soon found himself immersed there again.

When it was his turn to get out, a huge figure appeared and dragged him back inside.

That man slid him across the floor, and Ronan barely had time to react when that man's barrage of blows and cuts arose.

One of Tyloh's bandits, crazier than the others, pushed him towards the fire between his blows and Ronan's attempts to dodge him.

The man was bungled and full of blood, indicating that Ronan was not his first fight there. Still, he stood up to the mad monster and made several cuts and a couple of stabs as his foe tried to grab him.

Ronan stepped back, very close to a call spreading through the cathedral's west wing, and saw how his stabs had been almost useless.

An unhinged voice stood out from the others.

"Ronan... think... fast!!!" the voice shouted.

Just like that, the battered man threw himself to the ground, and it was then that he saw a bolt hit that mad monster in the head. The maddened man hardly understood what was happening, but just like that, and between tremors, he fell on the fire.

Ronan was coughing from the smoke, and when he came to, he was taken with the culprit of that disaster; also, the man's face was troubled, for he was not the only one in front of him.

At a distance not far from him, Tyloh, bloodied and dusty, held the priestess who had been caring for him with the knife in hand.

"No..." exclaimed the Vilna man almost in a whisper, "Tyloh, let her go!"

The boy watched his mentor as he cupped the girl's face with one hand.

"Look, Ronan," he exclaimed in amusement and with bulging eyes, "She looks just like Evandra. Isn't she amazing?"

The girl was breathing agitated, scared to death, and with the constant prodding of Tyloh's knife in her neck.

The girl began to recite her prayers, "Matriarch, I commend my soul to you, and may you have mercy..."

"Look at her, Ronan; she is imploring mercy from her god."

"Tyloh, let her go!" cried Ronan with a threat with which he lost his voice.

"Or what?" exclaimed the boy, pressing his knife to her throat. "You'll put me in another goddamn cell?"

The girl was still quoting her prayers, trembling and sobbing, "I-I pray for my soul, and for those I have helped, I will join you..."

"Shut up!" shouted Tyloh at the girl, causing her to cry disconsolately. Soon, she saw that her former master tried to move forward, but he again fastened the knife to the girl's neck.

"What the hell do you want?" shouted Ronna simultaneously, trying to bring Tyloh to his senses, "Look what you did! How many people are dying! The church is going to fall on us! Tyloh, react, dammit!"

The boy put on a neutral countenance, terrified to see his eyes so vast.

"You think I want something from you?" the boy asked. "I want nothing from you, Ronan. Nothing but your pain."

Ronan pleaded with his former student, "Don't do it, have mercy..."

"Is that what you want, Ronan?" asked Tyloh.

"No, wait-"

The girl knew her end before Ronan did, which was when she closed her eyes. The man wanted her to live, and Tyloh would make him suffer.

In one deep, bloody cut, the mad trickster's knife gouged that girl's throat, which began to leak gushes of blood in no time.

Ronan screamed with despair and pain as he saw her die, for not only did he see that girl's death, but he also imagined for an instant his former beloved in a similar situation.

Without thinking and imbued with adrenaline, the marked trickster ran towards his former pupil; he ran with his worn-out boots through the fire, the corpses, and the death around him.

Ronan lunged at his former student, and a battle of blows and slashes ensued with speed and fury. At that moment, neither acted as Ronan had taught Tyloh. The cunning in that fight had been blinded by the rage and hatred they had for each other.

Even when both were battered, the adrenaline and hatred allowed them to strike each other with shocking violence; they could grapple against each other and withstand the deepest cuts.

Ronan took a stab to his abdomen from his former student. He grabbed his student's wrist, who was trying to pull back the edge of his weapon in his stomach.

The marked man held his former student's wrist firmly as he struggled with him. He gritted his teeth, and his tanned skin was redder as he struggled.

Finally, he managed to break free from the struggle he was making against Tyloh, and with his other hand, Ronan punched him in the face with such force that he could hear the boy's septum crack.

Tyloh fell to the ground stunned, and Ronan, by inertia, removed the knife from his belly. Then, while holding on to his wound, he did not hesitate as he lunged at his pupil.

On the ground, Tyloh was at a disadvantage, and at that moment, he used his talent.

Ronan watched as his eyes began to glow with painful intensity.

Soon, an even more tremendous amount of screaming and crying began to be heard, and images welled up in front of his eyes for brief moments.

The marked man closed his eyes and, blindly, tried to reach out with the knife to his pupil.

"Let go of me!" shouted Tyloh. "Why did you do this to me, Ronan! It's all your fault! Your fault!"

Ronan removed his hand from his wound and pressed his bloody hand against Tyloh's face.

"It's your fault!" yelled Tyloh repeatedly. "you are the monster! Only you! you!"

Ronan gathered all his strength, and once he was on top of his former student, he quickly brought his hands together and, with a cry of pain, stabbed Tyloh in the heart.

The marked man saw his student in the eyes, full of tears, like his own, and he felt that painful discharge of madness that the look of that boy provoked.

The boy tried to avoid the stabbing by holding his former master's arms, but on his face, where there was fury before, there was soon fear.

The boy's mouth began to fill with blood, and with his last breath, the boy reached for something in the pocket of his leather bib overalls.

Ronan gritted his teeth as tears fell from his face, a look of fury still came over him, but it wasn't until Tyloh stopped resisting with his hand that he saw what he was reaching for in the pocket of his armor.

The marked man saw one of the rattle spheres he used in his training, which he had thrown at him.

Ronan saw his student, then hugged his head. Tyloh's wide, dead eyes were lost in the void as the marked man sobbed silently, hugging the boy tightly.

From one moment to the next, the chaos of the madness Tyloh had caused subsided, and then, a different one began, one of dread at being burned to death inside the cathedral. Men and women were breaking the stained glass windows and doors to get out.

For one last moment, Ronan didn't want to separate from his student, not as he had done all that time. The guilt and the pain would follow him from now on with more strength than before.

The battered man closed Tyloh's eyes with his trembling hand, placed the rattlesnake sphere in the boy's hand, and placed it over the wound he caused him.

Before leaving, he also observed the body of the priestess Tyloh had murdered; the poor girl was yet another victim of his pupil. She was yet another victim of his.

The man pulled her away from the flames. He then clasped her hands together before finally jumping through one of the stained glass windows.

Then, Battered and sying, Ronan escaped from that inferno. But, he could not stop, for now, he must run from there to the stables where his horse and those of Fynn and Yue had been left. With any luck, he would still be there and take his horse to flee north again to the caves he was to seek.

Ronan would not travel alone, for from that moment on, he felt that death would be with him.