If making the trek up the steep path to the cave had been arduous, coming back down it awkwardly due to the excitement made it more difficult. However, at that moment, nothing could take away the smile on Ronan's face, an enthusiasm that made his skin crawl, and those fierce beats in his heart.

He had found history for the books; The confirmation that it was possible to summon them in the vast world of Artia meant something unprecedented. While it could not fully answer the meaning of their origin, it could establish new terms and hypotheses in much more concrete ways.

So many years of vain research had been spent that when he finally came upon an acceptable certainty far more significant than he had hoped, he felt it had been worth it.

As he galloped through that forest of tall trees and a fauna that made itself felt with its different squawks and noises, his body soon conceived the pain at every movement on the saddle of the horse again. But, even so, he didn't hesitate to get to where Samson was going to wait for him; even if that man wasn't a researcher or archaeologist, he was a person who had done a lot for him by taking care of the pair of Marked Kids. That, in his eyes, made him a friend.

Caring for one of his own quickly earned him Ronan's friendship.

The Marked man soon came along the paths; the farmer pointed him to a hut in the middle of the forest. His gallop startled the animals roamed there, especially the chickens, which flew a few meters away from him. On the site was Samson's wagon, full of wood.

A man peered cautiously through one of the windows, and soon Samson was peeking through the door.

"Haha! You're still alive!" exclaimed the farmer with cheers and a laugh.

"Oh, I'm more than alive!" replied Ronan as he climbed down from his horse. "I feel like I'm entered again!"

"I'm glad for that!" replied Samson quietly, unable to understand his meaning.

Ronan walked over to where the farmer stood, who invited him into the cabin. The marked man cheered, and despite his pain, he moved with such vitality that he seemed unstoppable.

"Ronan, this is Igvar," the farmer pointed out to the place's owner.

Igvar stood near the fire of his chimney, eyeing the man with long blond hair who had entered his hut with suspicion.

"Greetings, traveler," the woodcutter said with a marked distrust in his tone. "What did you go to the hills to do?"

Ronan entered and soon gave a respectful nod to the place's owner. On the one hand, the marked man made the mistake of not having told Samson to use another name with him. On the other, he also forgot to ask him not to mention where he was going.

Clearly, he had to improvise.

"Oh, that," the marked man hesitantly exclaimed. "I tried to follow the trail of some bandits who assaulted me several nights ago. Someone said they might be around, so..."

"And they were there?" asked Igvar, turning his back on the guests as he stoked the fire in the fireplace. The cabin was messy, as if there had been a lawsuit that apparently never ended for the owner.

"That's right."

"Why didn't you take this big guy?" asked the woodsman. "His presence alone was sure to scare them off."

"Oh, that's because I wasn't interested in threatening them," Ronan indicated, watching Samson and showing his distrust of the situation. "I just wanted some of what they took back. Just one thing, the rest they could keep for themselves."

Igvar watched the man, soon stoking the fire again.

"I see you've finished loading the logs..." said Ronan through his teeth, denoting the moment's awkwardness in his voice.

Samson nodded, watching with a smile that also denoted discomfort, feeling embarrassed at the situation.

"I expected you to show up soon; I stayed talking with Igvar," the farmer explained. "He's a lifelong woodsman. It's a shame what happened to him..."

"Oh, is it about the broken barn out there?"

The burly woodsman sighed, thus venting his annoyance, "If only that were all. They attacked my house a little while ago."

"Bandits?" asked Ronan.

Igvar stood up and turned his look to the man. The two could see each other in that look, and each wore a haggard face.

"Demons."

Ronan soon changed his look of discomfort to bewilderment and disbelief.

Ronan soon exclaimed dryly, "It must have been terrible..."

Igvar turned again to the fire, tossing in another log to warm the hut that way.

Ronan became alert.

"They showed up about a month ago; one of them killed my best friend. The other one charmed my wife and made her plot against us..."

Ronan remained stoic, but his tone of voice was becoming more bitter.

"It must have been a terrible situation."

"It was," the man snorted and soon began stabbing a couple of logs into the fire while gritting his teeth. The man was filled with hatred.

"What happened to your wife?" asked Samson, wary. He watched as Ronan seemed to have shifted his posture to the woodsman.

The woodcutter sighed and stuck the metal rod with which he was stoking the fire into a log, "I gave that traitor her due and then handed her over to those White Flame fellows."

Ronan, still severely wounded, was silent. When he heard that part of the story, the same one Idda had told him in reverse, he tried to pounce on the man. As he spoke, the Marked man reached into his bag and slowly pulled out his silver, ornate dagger.

Ronan took a step forward, but a broad, strong hand soon grabbed his arm.

Samson watched the situation in horror and couldn't help but hold him. Pleading and silent, the farmer shook his head and asked him not to do what he had in mind.

Soon, a group of horses could be heard in the driveway, and Ronan took advantage of the noise to put away his sharp weapon.

"We have to go," Ronan exclaimed. "Nice to meet you, and I'm sorry to hear about your wife. I hope she's in a better place now..."

The man made a raspy noise with his voice and waved goodbye to them.

Ronan hurried out of the cabin, being followed by Samson. Outside, the rest of the woodcutters were there. Ronan watched them vaguely but noticed how a couple of them limped. It all seemed to match the stories Fynn and Yue had told him. The marked man frowned and gritted his teeth.

Once Ronan approached his horse, Samson stopped him.

"By Lithal, what was that?"

Ronan revised his horse's saddlebags as he moved to the other side of his mount.

"What was that?" said Ronan with a snort before muttering. "That fucker gave his wife to the White Flame. The girl helped Fynn and Yue and gave her up like a poor girl is given up by her parents to a brothel for some money. We found her in prison and gave her a better life. Miserable, he should get a little of what he-"

Samson held up his hand.

"Calm down, Ronan," the man said. "If what you say is true, let him sink for his actions. I know him, he never led a good life, and now, he seems to be leading an even worse one..."

Ronan sighed and soon looked away as he pursed his lips in indignation; that big man was a born pacifist, while the marked man was quite the opposite; he was always direct and overpowering.

The ride back to the farm was silent at times. However, a question brought him back to his senses.

"So... what did you find?" asked Samson.

Ronan opened his eyes wide, then turned to Samson. Quickly, he gave a snort and smiled.

"I found an answer, Samson," Ronan said with satisfaction. "Maybe it wasn't the best answer. Maybe, I was expecting something else entirely. But it was an answer, a perfect one."

"What is that answer?" asked the farmer.

Ronan opened his lips to answer but soon let the air out of his lungs as he settled the words in his head.

"Well, to sum up, what happened......"

Samson watched him expectantly.

Ronan then clicked his tongue and said, "Well, let's just say that I was responsible for Fynn possibly entering this world."

"Do you say you caused Fynn to appear in that cave and live here?" asked Samson, dumbfounded.

"That's right," exclaimed Ronan.

"So, does that make you her father?"

"What?" asked Ronan, letting out a dry laugh, which soon brought another and another.

The Marked man's eyes widened, for in that farmer's words, an uncomfortable truth was forming.

Ronan felt his words heavy as he spoke, "I think..."

Then, the two were startled as a bird appeared fluttering around them. With Samson on the wagon and Ronan on his horse, the two watched as the bird circled around them several times.

Ronan cleared his vision and saw that it was a paper bird like the ones he used to send letters and messages.

"What is that?" asked Samson.

Ronan held out his hand, and quickly, the bird flew to it.

"A messenger bird," Ronan explained.

"Like the one you made?"

Ronan didn't hear the question but paid attention to the bird. The bird was made of paper and seemed to fail to open to display the message. Then, the bird opened, but from it let out water that ended up dripping through the marked man's fingers.

"What's wrong?" asked Samson.

Ronan noticed that the paper was empty.

Trembling, Ronan brought his hand to his nose, then to his lips to smell and feel with his lips the dripping water.

The smell was of saltpeter, and the water, it was salty.

That thought, more painful than his wounds and shocking than the lightning that had struck him, made him scream out in despair.

Something happened to the children.

Ronan was startled, to the point of nearly falling off his horse.

What had he done?

Without hesitation, and despite Samson's pleas to calm down and remain at least a night's rest at the farm, Ronan quickly threaded his way east, ready for a long ride.

Before leaving, Ronan used his cunning to write a new letter with that paper. This time, to his friend Kyrus.

What had happened earned him the hatred of Erna, who insulted him to the point of wishing she hadn't treated his wounds. The woman's red, tearful face made him feel even guiltier.

That clear day, which had brought him immense joy, was soon overshadowed, as usual, by a mistake he had made.