-Maddox-

The streets erupted in chaos. People began to run away as arrows flew into the crowds. Those that fell amidst the chaos were trampled by others desperately trying to escape. Bodies fell near Maddox, arrows riddling their bodies. Blood began staining the white cobblestone, and screams echoed over the water of the river and the sea it emptied to. Further up the streets, where the violence was not focused, the people began to panic as well and the crowds began to move inward, towards the main hall of the city. Maddox did not have time to react beyond throwing himself behind an overturned fish cart.

“Varia!” He roared, but he did not see him, nor hear him answer his call.

The arrows ceased finally, and Maddox was able to take stock. Blood ran into the mortar that sealed the stones together, dripping through the cracks in the wooden dock and down into the water below. Many were dead, some of the men they traveled with were among them. He could not see Halan, nor remember if he was struck or if he got away.

He turned his head, drawing a deep breath as he did. “Halan?” He called out. He was not answered again.

He shifted from where he crouched behind the cart, craning his head out enough that he could see, but not enough that he could be shot. He saw him then, laying half behind a stack of flour. Several arrows protruded from his chest and stomach, one was embedded in his face. He was stood before Maddox when the first arrows began to fly, and turned to face the noise, it seemed.

Maddox stared at him, feeling his pulse rise, his breath hitching. Halan was dead, so soon. Not for anything besides speaking with him. A horrific death, one he saw many times before. It was painful, terrifying, and nothing that others would speak of in grand stories.

Maddox looked down to his hand. He was still holding the bow, but the quiver of arrows lay just beyond the cart, out of cover. He leant his head back against the wood, drawing a breath, then peeked from behind it. He yanked his head back just as an arrow whizzed past his head.

“Shit…” he hissed, then glanced around, taking in what he could see from where he was safe.

The streets were cleared of people, leaving only bodies. At least a dozen, maybe more. Some were alive still, trying to crawl from what would soon become the battle grounds, but most were unmoving. Down, where the dock dipped low to meet the river, were several men and women. The men he traveled with, who survived, were down there as well. They stared at him with wide eyes, pressed against the stone lining the docks. He held a finger to his lips, then motioned with his hand for the survivors to lay down. They did so, though scared, and Maddox finally turned his head up to the sky, drawing a long breath.

“Is Daylor with you lot?” He called out, to who was undoubtedly the elves seeking revenge.

Instead of an answer, arrows slam into the outside of the cart he hid behind. He smirked to himself, flopping his head back against the wood.

Perfect time for you to run off, Varia…

He was not concerned that Varia was hurt. He did not believe that the elves were capable of killing him. But they had Maddox pinned down, and were more than capable of turning him into a pin cushion. Maddox turned his attention towards the quiver of arrows, sitting just beyond his reach, taunting him.

He shifted, scooting towards the very edge of cover and using the bow in hand to try and catch the strap of the quiver. He tried several times, flinching barely when an arrow whizzed past the bow and pinged off of the cobblestone, bouncing into the water instead. He caught the strap, and began to drag the quiver closer, but another arrow flew, hitting its mark and piercing the strap of the quiver.

Maddox chuckled, slowing beginning to feel defeated. Though, Varia was missing. He was likely flanking them now, the sneaky bastard. They were here for him, after all, and Varia was always eager to fight those who felt they were a challenge to him.

“Maddox. Where is your pet demon?” The voice of Elder Zeale rang out through the empty streets, firm and confident.

Maddox rolled his eyes, almost surprised she was here, in what would soon become a thick battle. Once Varia decided to show up, at least. He sucked his teeth, feeling anger pressing at his chest.

“Varia is likely lurking in your shadow. He will kill you, I hope you know, it does not matter how many men you brought.” Varia was never daunted by many men. Maddox knew, no matter how many men Maddox brought to face him, Varia could, and would, kill them all.

“He is weak, as is his demon. We will rid the world of his darkness, here, now.” Zeale declared. She sounded near, but up high. She was likely on the roof with the archers. Wise of her, to not be within sword range of Maddox.

“You are welcome to fight him to find out just how weak he is.” The elves were so removed from the rest of the world, they did not realize that Varia was a threat always. He could be half dead and be a threat. The binding did not weaken Varia, if anything he seemed more surly than usual.

Maddox’s eyes drifted once again to Halan’s body. He was a good man, he helped them for no reasons beyond that. Sparing him from Varia did not save his life.

I want Varia to bleed the elves into the river. I hope it flows upstream so the other elves will see what happens when he is crossed.

“Step from your cover, Maddox, and you will be spared out of respect for Viansola.” Zeale called out again.

Maddox hardly listened, his eyes lifting from Halans body and focusing on the docks instead, where Brom and Sabre had gone. The docks were quiet as well, but beyond the quiet, in the distance, bells were ringing from the manor on the far edge of the city. They were calling soldiers. If they were to fight the elves, they would need to do so quickly. They could not risk someone seeing Varia’s powers, or Maddox’s face.

“Have you seen him, yet?” Maddox called suddenly, sounding far too casual for the situation he found himself in.

“Your demon likely abandoned you, but we will find him.” Zeale called back.

Maddox barked out a loud, mocking laugh, letting his head flop back against the cart. “Varia is no coward, and he would never forfeit such an easy fight.”

As if Maddox’s words came to life, the sound of a sword meeting flesh interrupted any words Zeale may have been saying. Maddox took his chance, darting from behind the cart and rolling to the quiver. He snatched it, nocking an arrow and leveling it on one of the elves standing before Zeale. The elf drew his string back, but Maddox was quicker. He let his arrow fly, hitting the elf center mass. The elf stumbled back, then tilted forward, falling from the building and crashing into the ground below.

On the roof, he could see Varia, with a hostage, of all things. The elf was held before him, a living shield. The elf already had two arrows protruding from his chest, though he was not dead. He was yelling, begging in elven for his life to be spared, but Varia pressed forward, sword drawn and bloodied already.

There was a sizable amount of men on the rooftops, along with Elder Zeale, and on the ground were less than ten, Daylor included. One of the men on the roof rushed Varia, but Varia used the elf in his clutches to knock him back and then down, swinging his sword downwards and removing the elfs head from his shoulders. Zeale held her hands up, in a mock surrender, but Varia continued his march towards her.

That’s when Maddox saw the elf beside Zeale, hunched over a tome, whispering, before her hand was suddenly engulfed in flames. The presence of a mage told Maddox that Zeale took Varia a bit more seriously than she let on, but one mage would not stop Varia.

“I assume you are not interested in negotiations.” Zeale asked, her hands clasped before her properly, even while Varia continued towards her.

The elf in his clutches was dead weight now, his feet dragging, his head flopped back. The arrows that his comrades shot into him did the job, and he was dead, or at least would be shortly. Varia did not answer Zeale, instead he threw the elf to the ground and drew his dagger from his belt, sword in one hand, dagger in the other.

Maddox’s attention was torn from Varia on the roof when Daylor and his men moved in on him, swords drawn. Maddox could not draw Cithrel so soon after binding him with his sheathe, and beyond the bow and an old dagger, he was unarmed.

“You should have never brought him to E’letaesi, Maddox.” Daylor growled, speaking in elvish, his voice low and dangerous. Daylor was a formidable foe, and Maddox was unarmed. Maddox grew up spending significant time with Daylor, watched him grow into the warrior he was today.

Daylor was a young elf, and though they lived for far longer than humans, he was still considered a child when Maddox first met him.

“I had no choice, Daylor. I needed you to bind Cithrel, to bind the demon to Varia, or else they would be unleashed into the world.” Maddox explained in elven, stepping back, his eyes sweeping the ground for a weapon, any weapon, beyond the bow. It would do no good here.

“Assisting him will assure that the demon is unleashed regardless of your intentions. He is not one to turn down power, and the demon will prey on him.” Daylor snapped back.

“No, he will not. Varia is stronger than you think.” Maddox grasped a pike from the body of a soldier who was killed in the volley of arrows and yanked it from his grasp. It was mostly for decoration, and in poor shape, but it was better than nothing.

“I do not wish to fight you.” Daylor said, though he held his long sword before him, his stance wide and aggressive. The other elves lingered behind him, but did not move forward, likely out of respect.

“You can fight me, or Varia. But I will not allow you to kill him.” Maddox responded, sliding his hands down the handle of the pike until they were comfortable. He was not partial to using them, but he could use them. That’s what mattered.

Daylor stared hard at Maddox, then glanced back over his shoulder to his men. “Do not interfere, no matter the outcome.” He ordered, then lunged to Maddox.

Maddox twisted out of the way, barely, spinning the pike behind his back, before thrusting it towards Daylor. Daylor rolled out of the way, graceful for a man larger than most elves. Maddox swung the pike around, then scythed towards him, a wide arch aimed at Daylors neck. Daylor dropped to the ground, under the slice, then lashed out with his leg, catching Maddox in the knee and causing him to tumble backwards onto the ground.

Maddox hit the ground hard with a grunt, but stabbed his pike upwards to counter Daylor swinging his sword downward. Daylor jerked to the side, pausing his swing, and allowing Maddox’s pike to graze his shoulder. Daylor suddenly stomped his boot downwards, catching the pike and snapping it under his weight. Maddox, now on the ground and unarmed, tried to scramble to his feet, but Daylor moved on him, kicking him in the side. Maddox gasped in pain, his wound was mostly healed, but it was still tender.

Daylor stood over Maddox, pulling his sword upwards and aiming it point down at Maddox’s chest. Maddox cracked his eyes, squinting at him, before he lifted his hand, the jagged, broken piece of wood in his grasp, and he drove it deep into Daylors calf. Daylor yelled out, collapsing to one knee, and Maddox scrambled to his knees, throwing his forearm into Daylors neck, dropping him onto his back.

Maddox ripped Daylors sword from his hands, straddling his waist, and then he drove the sword into his stomach, angling it upwards.

Everything was quiet suddenly, the ringing in Maddox’s ears ceased. It was quiet, until Daylor gasped, eyes wide. His hands grabbed at Maddox’s shirt, blood pooling at the corner of his lips. His head fell back against the ground, tears rimming his eyes, shaky breaths leaving him.

When Maddox was a child, and Daylor was considered a child, they would spar often. Cithrel, when he lived, would sit and watch them. Always a competition between them, evenly matched for so long… and then Maddox came into his powers and learned, thanks to Viansola, how to control and wield them. He did not use them on Daylor, only used them as a last resort… Mostly against Varia and his men. Their fights stopped being so even then, Maddox started becoming more skilled than Daylor. It was his blood, his connection to Her, his determination to complete his quest that drove him. Daylor did not have those motivators, he simply wanted to fight. To have his name known. Would it be known after this? Elves lived for so long… would any remember him after centuries passed?

A breeze blew through the port, ruffling Maddox’s hair. The broken pike clattered along the ground, caught in the wind. It sounded so distant, further away than the singing of swords coming from the rooftops. Maddox felt heat swirling in his gut, he felt that warmth spreading up his body and into his face, then his mind. Cithrel was his friend from when he was young, and though he and Daylor spent much of their years together bickering and fighting, they were friends too. Was this the end of all good Maddox knew in his early years? Before war, before his quest, before She spoke to him?

“D-do you remember playing together when we were boys?” Daylor asked suddenly.

Maddox’s lips drew tight, staring down at his old friend. He remembered fighting, remembered Daylor being so jealous of his natural talent. He didn’t consider it playing, he considered it true fighting. At least, as a child he did. As a man grown, he recognized it as what it was. Two men, destined to be warriors, honing their skills together.

“I do.” He whispered, shifting to take his weight off of Daylor, though he left his sword protruding from him.

“Why did you take Cithrel with you… When you went to w-war?” Daylor asked, his eyes fluttering closed briefly. Blood pooled around him, and with each pump of his heart, Daylor paled.

“If you hadn’t taken him, Cithrel would still be alive… he’d still be here, not…. Where ever he is….” Daylor’s whisper was growing weaker as he did.

He was not wrong. Cithrel would be alive, and he would be with the men here, attacking them right now had he not been taken so soon. Maddox would have needed to kill him as well this day, to protect his quest, his friends. Varia.

Maddox breathed out a pitiful chuckle, running a hand down his face. “I did not make that decision for him. Cithrel chose to come, and would not allow me to tell him that he couldn’t.”

Daylor choked out a pathetic laugh as well, blood spattering from his lips and onto his cheeks. “I-I know… He was a stubborn bastard… even now, he is protecting you and following you into battle…”

Maddox did not respond, allowing his hand to rest on Daylors chest, feeling his weakening pulse. Daylor closed his eyes tightly, his breathing ragged. “Curse that damned woman….” He hissed, then opened his eyes, though his gaze was glazed over, distant. “If you dare turn me into a blade, I will haunt you.” Daylor warned.

Maddox smirked, another soft laugh leaving him, but he felt pressure in his chest and tears stinging his eyes. “I will see that you are returned to E’letaesi. You will grow into a tree with your people surrounding you and tending to you… with your mother…”

Daylor turned his eyes to Maddox briefly, then up to the sky. “I miss my mother… I cannot wait until I grow b-beside her…”

Maddox closed his eyes tightly, reaching up to cup Daylors cheek. His breathing became shallow, and his gaze grew distant, far away. They sat for a long moment in silence, with each breath of Daylors growing weaker.

“M-mama… I’m here…” Daylor whispered, gazing up into the sky, at nothing or no one Maddox could see himself. His words were followed by a short breath, then another, and then no others.

Maddox lowered his head, allowing Daylor peace while he left this world. After a long moment, long after the last breath left Daylors body, Maddox finally pulled his blade from his gut and stood with it. He turned to the group of elves, who waited still, loyal to Daylor and his word even while he died. The men lifted their blades to face him, but he did not. He instead inspected them, all of them, and then pointed the bloodied sword towards the elf who appeared to be the youngest.

“You are not to fight me. You will return Daylors body to the forest so that he may grow.” Maddox commanded.

The elf looked surprised, staring at him for a long moment, before looking to the others in his group. The men did not protest, and one gave a nod. The younger elf walked forward, sheathing his sword, though he eyed Maddox warily. He crouched near Daylor, slipping his arms under his and began to drag him away.

Maddox did not watch him go, instead watching the group, and they watched him in return. Once the young elf leaves the yard, Maddox slid a foot back, the point of Daylors sword touched the ground and he braced for an attack.

-Varia-

An arrow whizzed past Varia’s head just as he ducked under a vicious swing of a sword. He dropped low, gashing the man before him across the stomach. When he fell, Varia rose and drove his sword into the back of his neck. His blood splattered over Varia’s boots and the white brick of the roof, slumping down and sliding from Varia’s sword.

There were already bodies strewn about the roof, though the remaining men showed no indication that they would slow their attack. A fire burned nearby, and his cloak was singed from the flames that were being thrown at him from the mage.

Another arrow flew at him, but he drew his dagger up and split the arrow, knocking it to the side as he did. He stepped over the bodies and began to walk towards Zeale and the men she stood behind.

“The demon inside of you has influenced you. Only a mad man would deny the chance to negotiate when in this situation.” Zeale spat to him.

Varia wiped the back of his wrist across his face, scowling towards her. “I am not the one at a disadvantage here. You came to kill me. I will not negotiate nor will I die.”

Zeale sneered at him, attractive features twisting and curling harshly. “You are everything Arcturus. You belong in the ground.”

Varia shrugged a shoulder, unable to take insults from someone who hid away in her forest and did not know anything about the Arcturus he knew, bad and good. “You could have let us leave in peace. Instead, you followed, and now I will kill you and your men.”

Varia paused in his advance, watching Zeale closely. Her men surrounded her, instead of attacking him at once. They were more concerned with keeping her safe than attacking him and attempting to overwhelm him. They must have never faced someone like him, demon or no. The only way they would win this was to wear him down, slowly and over time until he had no choice, but to fall, or to use his powers, which he was not doing. If he was spotted using them, if anyone saw, it could mark the end of his journey home.

Despite attempting to surround Zeale, the elves did not send men in one by one to attack him. Several men moved in at once, swords and daggers drawn. Varia waited until there were only several yards from him, before he ducked to the side when another arrow flew past. He surged forward, slamming his shoulder into one of the elves stomach, shoving backwards and throwing him to the ground. He turned, parrying a blow with his sword then lashing out with his dagger to split another man’s neck wide open. He shoved the body back, swinging his sword and then bringing it down in a fluid motion, severing another man’s hands at the wrist. The mans weapons dropped, and he moved quickly, stabbing his dagger into the side of his neck.

He side stepped another vicious swing, then darted closer to the man who swung at him, driving his sword into his skull. When he removed his sword, he shoved the body backwards, allowing it to fall from the roof and into the street instead. The first man, the one who was not killed quickly, rushed forward, but Varia turned, jamming his dagger up through the soft spot under his neck. His dagger burst from the top of the elfs head, his eyes flushing with blood, before they rolled back into his skull. Varia yanked his dagger from his neck, allowing him to drop, before he turned back to face Zeale.

“Will you continue to allow your men to fall on my blade, or will you fight yourself?” Varia asked, his voice steady even though his breath was labored. He held his arms out and gestured towards the bodies that lay around him.

Even in Nihal, during his long campaign, he would not sacrifice men so. They would attack up until Maddox inevitably showed, and then they would step back and allow Varia to fight Maddox alone. Throwing men at Maddox was throwing them at an impossible wall, unable to be toppled. Varia was the same. She would not win like this, no matter how many men came to her aid.

She did not answer, just stared hard at him. Her men were dropping left and right, and the only one she was not willing to send to their death, it seemed, was her mage, who still stood beside her, hand alight with flames. He would need to kill her soon, the closer he got, the harder it would be to dodge her attacks.

Zeale suddenly barked out an order in elvish that Varia did not understand. The remainder of her men nocked their bows, taking aim at him. Varia did not move, narrowing his eyes at them. He could see a tremble in their hands, fear in their eyes, sweat beading on their faces. They were terrified of him. His eyes slid to Zeale, and he could see that she was also afraid.

Good. They should be afraid.

She did not count on this. She expected to be safe from the battle, or for Varia to be felled quickly, and not fight as he was. She underestimated him. It had been a long time since anyone underestimated him. It was almost amusing. He forgot how it felt, to watch someone slowly realize that he was not weak, that he earned his title through blood and battle.

The arrows flew, but instead of blocking with shadows, Varia dropped to the roof on his belly, allowing the arrows to fly over his head. Once they passed, and the men began to re-nock, Varia was on his feet and rushed into the group. He plowed into a man, ripping his shield from his hand and used it to bash another man in the face. He turned it, then slammed it down several times on its previous owners face.

Through the men he was now in the middle of, he could see the mage. She had her hands up, her lips moving with her spell. Fire grew between her hand and the book she held, and she suddenly let loose a ball of fire. The fire was burning so hot it was white, and flew into the fighting men, many of whom jumped back and to the side to avoid it. Varia sliced the back of a retreating mans knees, dropping him then dropping behind him, shielding himself from the flames. The magic slammed into the man and he screamed. It was short lived, the fire was too hot, and killed him quickly. The ball spun over his chest and face, melting his armor and skin. Varia held the man into it, though his own gloves burned from his knuckles, the fire searing his flesh.

Finally it burned out, and Varia dropped the man, then stood properly. He did not wait, instead he shoved back into the group, trying to get to the mage, though the elves body blocked him. He could not make it through, and instead he swung his sword wildly. One man grabbed his cloak, and Varia shoved his body backwards, bracing himself against him and lifting his leg, smashing his boot against anothers chest. It crunched louder than the clashing of swords. The man he kicked tumbled backwards, falling off of the roof and swan dived to his death. Varia flipped his dagger in his hand, stabbing backwards several times. Once the grip on his cloak loosened, he ripped from him, swinging around with his sword and removing the head of another man.

It was chaos in the small circle of death. Varia’s body moved on pure adrenaline and muscle memory. He stepped over bodies with ease, sliding between the larger elves, slashing true and stabbing skillfully. But he was growing weary. He was not using his shadows due to the civilians who were likely still watching the battle. His muscles were still moving, but screaming in exhaustion, and his mind was beginning to become unfocused. He needed to end the mage soon, before he collapsed from exhaustion.

He broke through the group of men around him, reaching his hand out towards the mage, but he was suddenly yanked backwards. He stumbled, and just barely stepped out of the way from a vicious downward swing of a sword. He swiped with his dagger, slashing a man across the face. The man screamed, one of his eyes bursting. His hand left Varia’s arm, rising to clutch at his face, and Varia jabbed his sword into his gut.

Another man charged him, but once the other fell, then man stumbled over him, falling to Varia’s feet. Varia lifted his foot, bringing it down onto his face and neck over and over until he felt heat on his back. He dove to the side, barely dodging the fire, but his cloak was caught, burning wildly. He wiggled from it, hissing at the burns on his hands, and stomping it into the blood wetting the roof top. He turned to face the mage, but leapt backwards as a sword swung past his face. He was stopped by another swing of a sword, but this one connected with his right bicep, slicing into him even though he ducked low and out of the way. He turned to the man who landed the blow, but another ball of fire stopped his advance.

He felt his anger grow, hearing the elf chanting louder, and feeling the heat growing on his back as her fire grew in her hands. He could hear the magic churning, and knew another ball of fire would be flying towards him soon. He did not even turn around, but when the magic flew, shadows leapt from the ground and washed over the fireball, stopping the physical magic.

Blood leaked from his arm, dripping down his fingers and wetting the hilt of his sword. He could hear Zeale speaking in elvish, her voice high, panicked, but he does not look to her, staring instead at the few men standing before him still. The mage continued to whisper, and another ball of fire began to summon.

Instead of allowing her to push him into a disadvantage, Varia focused his shadows. It was dangerous, very dangerous to use them, but if he didn’t he could very well be killed here. Mages were troublesome, and thankfully Zeale only had one, but the only way to kill them safely was with abilities or other mages. If they were defended by soldiers, then it was even more difficult. He could not afford to allow her to continue attacking him. A spiral of shadow suddenly jutted from the ground, impaling the mage through her jaw and exiting through her temple. Brain matter and bits of bone scattered over the ground, and in an instant the shadow returned to its place below her feet. Her tome snapped shut, and she fell forward, dead.

The elves before him turned their attention to her as she fell, but the moment their eyes left him, Varia moved on them. They returned attention to him too late. One brought his sword down, but Varia allowed it to clash with his sword, and spun to the side, slashing him across the neck with his dagger. He turned, both of his weapons held blade out, and delivered a brutal slash to another elf, across his chest and face. The force of the blow flung the man to the side and he stumbled over the edge and fell.

He swung to face the final man, but as he did the man struck him heavily with an armored fist. Varia gasped, stumbling to the ground, on his knees. He blinked blood from his eyes when the man moved over him, sword lifted high above his head. Varia slammed into his knees with his form, tumbling his foe. He scrambled up him, and the elf tried to lift himself up, but Varia slammed his hand into his throat so hard he heard and felt the blow. The elfs head smacked back against the stone of the roof. His eyes rolled back into his head and his body began to convulse under him. Varia was certain he was dead, but instead of risking him attacking again, he drove his dagger into the man’s ribs, piercing his heart.

He sat there on the man’s chest, breathing hard, and lifted his gaze. His vision was blurred, stained with blood dripping from a wound on his forehead. He realized he was alone on the roof besides the bodies. He ripped his dagger from the body, standing up as quickly as he could, leaning on his sword. Zeale was nowhere to be seen.

-Maddox-

Maddox sat upon the flour near Halans body, gazing towards the elves who now lay scattered about before him, broken, bloodied, dead. There were other bodies now, from Varia’s assault on the rooftops. Between his legs sat Elder Zeale, blood caked onto her face from a blow she had taken from Maddox when she attempted her escape, but she was alive.

The fighting on the roof had quieted, and soon Varia peered below at him, bloodied and disheveled… and so so angry. He climbed from the roof, those icy eyes piercing directly at Zeale. As always, he was attracted to that coldness, though he felt his hand tighten around Daylors sword out of instinct.

“She attempted to flee.” Maddox said once Varia drew closer, gesturing to Zeale.

Varia looked down at her, his face curled in a sneer. “Your men are dead. How does that make you feel, coward?”

Varia’s gaze turned to Maddox then, and Maddox held it. He knew what Varia was waiting for. Permission. And Maddox, despite his anger, did not know how to feel about that. Allowing Varia to kill her, among the many other elves that have fallen on his blade recently, would alienate Maddox from the elves forever. Viansola would once again be pushed into her role as elder, and she would very likely forgive him. There would be punishment required, if he were to return, but it would not be anything terrible. What bothered him was the thought that the elves he had known for so long, like Daylor, would look down on him.

It doesn’t matter. Nothing that happens here matters. All that matters is that I get to Arcturus.

He needed the elves to fight once it was prudent. That was the plan, it was always the plan. Zeale would be a hurdle, as she always has been. He wondered if Viansola allowed this to happen, if she knew Zeale would come, and if she knew the outcome. It was likely she did, and was already preparing to take her place as elder once more.

Zeale turned to Maddox, bright eyes locking with his. “You are our kin, Maddox. If you kill me, you will truly be alone.” She whispered to him in elvish.

Maddox stared down at her harshly. She never considered him kin, always an outsider. Always a burden. She would slay Varia without reason, without cause. Varia’s actions for Arcturus did not affect the elves of Er Rai, not yet. She would have him killed even if his demon hadn’t killed those during the binding. She knew enough about demons and the bindings to know that Varia was not the responsible party. She feared him. As she should.

Maddox returned his gaze to the Demon of Arcturus, watching him. They were kin. They were always kin. He was a burden to Varia, but not without reason. He stopped his attacks, halted his movements, fought him, presented himself as an equal. Varia respected him, found him worthy to stand beside him and to share his bed.

Varias hands were trembling, and Maddox’s eyes swept over his form. He was bloodied and battered, but appeared relatively well, just angry. He was not trembling with fear or anger, but with adrenaline. He was not an ally Maddox would cast aside so easily. He needed to remain in Varia’s favor, keep him stated. Keep him close. He did not needs Zeale.

But he did not want to control Varia. Varia was a free man. He was not a monster like the world thought, he would not cut through any and all people he came across, only those that he felt were in his way. And Maddox would help him reign his worst instincts in, to show him who was truly in his way and who only appeared to be. In turn, Varia would bring Arcturus to heel.

Maddox turned his gaze to Halan then. How many would die to help them? Halan was good, and had no reason to help them besides that. He shouldn’t have died, not in that way. He believed in no gods, but thought that if they did exist, they would allow Halan to see his wife once more.

Maddox slowly stood, nudging Zeale from where she sat before him. She shifted away, crawling on her knees and sitting between the two men. She looked at them, then lifted her chin high. She knew her fate.

“Are you too cowardly to kill me yourself? Will you have your demon pet do it?” She hissed.

“You will not prevail in your quest. Bringing this demon to your side will kill you. He will kill you. You have ended us a—“ Even as she spoke, Varia stepped forward, grasping a handful of her hair and yanking her head back. Her eyes widened up at him, and he drug his dagger across her throat.

Red spilled down her white tunic, staining the blonde of her hair. She convulsed, a gurgle leaving her lips, blood bubbling on them. Varia held her hair firm, forcing her to look upon him as she bled out, denying her the chance to collapse.

“I ended you, and I will be the last thing you see.” Varia whispered, voice low, cold, devoid of all emotions. It sent a shiver down Maddox’s spine.

A tear slid down Elder Zeales cheek, and finally she drew her last breath. Varia threw her body forward, allowing her to lay among the bodies of the men she killed. Varia’s eyes moved to Maddox, and he stepped around her body and stood before him.

Maddox gazed down to her. She twitched on the ground, blood pooling out around her, mingling with the blood of the men she ordered to die. He felt nothing then, just a void, emptiness. He did not feel that way with Daylor, nor Cithrel. Even the men he was forced to kill moments before he felt something for. But not her. She lived many lifetimes, made many mistakes, many which should have ended her before. Varia was the catalyst that would end many lives, worthy and unworthy.

“Are you alright?” Varia asked, yanking Maddox from dark thoughts. His voice held that edge of cold, but there was something else there. Genuine concern.

Maddox gave him a nod, allowing his eyes to turn to him and to take in Varia’s minor wounds as well. He glanced over his shoulder, to where Halan’s body lay. He heard a soft sigh leave Varia’s lips, and felt a hand on his arm. Maddox looked to it, chewing his lip. It was so small, blood and dirt caked under his nails, his flesh peeling and red with burns.

He moved his hand over Varia’s lifting his eyes to his. He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, he heard Sabre.

“You live and have made more enemies, I see!” Sabre called out, jogging towards the pair.

Brom rushed to Varia’s side, stalking around him and inspecting the wound on his arm. Varia lifted his eyes to the sky in annoyance. Sabre gazed at the elves, then his eyes fell to Halan. He crouched near him, placing several fingers against Halan’s neck, though he was clearly dead.

“None new. Did you find a ship?” Maddox asked, stepping to where Daylor had fallen, grapping the sheathe to the sword he claimed.

“Aye, set to sail tomorrow, though I am not sure where the captain fled to during the chaos.” Sabre answered, glancing briefly to Brom when he whispered to Varia in hushed tones to stand still as he attempted to peer at his wound. “What… how?” He asked, his voice softer than it had been, looking back to Halan.

The two of them grew close the past several days. They spent many nights awake, drinking and sharing in stories. Sabre loved stories. He loved to hear them, to share them. He considered Halan a friend, and mentioned once or twice about bringing Halan to Nihal to show him how princes lived.

Maddox looked back to Sabre, and his hand placed over Halans neck. “We should carry him to the riverside, beyond the city, and build him a pyre.” He said quietly. His eyes move to Varia, and Varia nodded, muttering a small word of agreement.

The soldiers swept into the city much too late. By the time they arrived, families returned to the streets, mourning their loved ones and searching for others who were lost in the chaos. No one spoke of Maddox and Varia to the soldiers, though many offered coin, lodging, food for what they saw as the two defending their city. The Captain of the ship returned as well, and though he did not offer Sabre his coin back, he did inform them that they would leave on time, and that he would provide a cabin for the group, rather than forcing them to sleep below deck with the crew.

The evening came, and the city began to repair the damage done. Maddox stood beside Varia, near the pyre, watching Halan’s ashes curl upwards towards the darkening sky. Many other pyres lit the coastline of the river, from others who were killed by the elves. The city mourned, some had even called for a counter attack on the elves. Maddox assured those who did that these elves were rogues, that there would be no other attacks.

They were not alone, nor was it the only pyre for the group they traveled with. Others were nearby. Out of the men they came with, four were killed in the attack. The surviving fishermen huddled near the pyres, making their rounds to pay their respect. Some prayed over the pyre, others wept. Sabre too prayed, though he prayed in Nihalian. Brom stood nearby, though further back than the others, leant against a tree.

Maddox looked to Varia, his eyes moving down him briefly. His wounds were tended to, as were Maddox’s. Both looked a fright, covered in bandages and bruises. His hand brushed against Varia’s, far enough away from the blaze that they were in shadows, but close enough to be respectful. The flames were flickering lower, and Halan’s body was near completely gone.

“I am glad you killed her.” Maddox whispered suddenly, and he was. Though the implications of her death were not lost on him.

Varia did not turn his head to Maddox, his eyes red in the firelight. “She allowed her men to die. She knew they could not win, and brought only a single mage to fight.”

Maddox sighed, glancing briefly to Varia again, before returning his gaze to Halan. “She was a proud woman. Her pride killed her, and her men and many of our friends.”

Varia hummed in response, then nodded towards the pyre. “Halan was not proud. He was humble and kind. He too is dead and returned to the earth. Everywhere we go, we bring death. Nothing has changed.”

Maddox frowned, gazing into the flames even as they burned lower and lower. “Halan knew the risk.” He murmured.

“Is that cause enough for him to be killed? Knowing?” Varia asked.

Maddox lifted his head up, gazing at the stars. It was not enough, no. Halan did not deserve to die. Many didn’t deserve to, even if the risk of death hung around them all.

The night was beautiful. Stars splashed across the dark sky. The moon was bright and heavy, hanging low over them, reflecting off of the river. A hymn rose from the city near, mournful and haunting. He was exposed to death many times, but this time… so much of it. He was tired.

A wave of emotion took Maddox suddenly, and his chest tightened. He felt the threat of tears, though he did not allow them to fall. He did not know why he would cry, he never did.

He watched as above him, the smoke from Halan’s pyre drifted up, curling around the star named Varia.