"Move!"

Marschal felt a rough hand shoving him forward, sending his face landing into the cold, leaf-cluttered forest floor.

The Paravellan and his present company had been wading through an ocean of trees and greenery for the past three days. During the day, a symphony of wildlife noises encompassed the intruders on their journey. When the sun set, the noises were replaced by a different ensemble of birds, insects and other nocturnal denizens of the forest. Throughout the trek, sunlight struggled to pierce the canopy, leaving the group to navigate through a dim umbrella for most of the way. That lack of solar warmth hadn't gone unnoticed as the forest chill warred with Marschal's physical exertion from walking and climbing the challenging terrain.

Now, as Marschal pushed himself off the ground, he could see the rest of Kollo's men labouring forward with bodies that were acclimatized to strenuous exercise. Their venturing footsteps carried them onwards, paralleling a hillside that sloped down into a cliff edge that dropped off into a raging river below.

"How can a Paravellan be so useless?" said Walter. Or was it Walton? Either way, Marschal could almost hear him shaking his head behind him. Ever since his threat on the beach, Waltey's relentless treatment of his charge only hindered Marschal's already strained movement. With no help from Walto, Marschal slowly shifted his legs beneath his body to push himself up to stand.

That was when a small shape hovered before him at eye level.

Marschal looked up to meet young brown eyes staring down at him with an expressionless face. Centes was his name, if Marschal recalled correctly. A curious little fellow that spurred questions in Marschal's mind. However, their gazes weren't locked for long before the Paravellan felt himself lifted up by the back of his collar and forcefully righted up, only to be shoved again to continue walking.

As Marschal's feet took a few steps forward, he could hear light footsteps pattering alongside his tired gait. The Paravellan actively ignored his puny companion despite feeling the boy's eyes boring into him. After a few more minutes of walking, Marschal eventually conceded and glanced down at the small banditling from the corner of his eye. It was clear the boy had noticed Marschal's shifting attention as he seemed to have taken it as his cue to interact with the prisoner.

"Are you really a Paravellan?"

Marschal could only offer him a blank stare before inhaling a deep breath and expelling it while looking ahead, away from the boy. Clearly, that was the incorrect response as a rough hand cuffed the back of the Paravellan's head.

"The boy asked a question," Waltue ordered. Marschal reciprocated the strike with a cold glare over his shoulder, which only elicited a lazy grimace from the bandit. The Paravellan then turned his focus to the child, who returned Marschal's scathing eyes with an unperturbed look of his own.

Realizing how inconsequential his regard was, Marschal tore his gaze away and surrendered to the boy's question. "...Yes. I am."

"So, you know how to fight?"

Marschal's ears caught Walton's scoff behind him.

"...Not particularly," Marschal answered.

"I thought all Paravellans knew how to fight."

"Well, you thought wrong."

The Paravellan didn't know what to expect, but witnessing the boy's head slightly drop while walking off ahead caused Marschal's brow to furrow. His eyes followed the boy nearing the slope that edged their current path. The Paravellan didn't know what to make of the scruffy-haired child picking at the ferns and plants that sprouted from the top of the steep decline. When Marschal eventually decided that the boy was doing nothing of interest, he turned his attention back to the leaves, dirt and tree roots shaping the way before him.

Suddenly, a stick struck Marschal's face with a smack. Without thinking, his hands fumbled with the stick before it landed on the ground.

"I think you're lying," said the boy. Marschal faced him to see a pygmy warrior wielding another stick like a duelling blade. "I think you can fight."

Marschal offered him another blank stare as the boy positioned his footing in the fashion of a trained blade master. He was internally impressed with his stance. The boy would have thrived in a Paravellan habitat...

Too bad.

The Paravellan dropped the stick and continued walking forward, away from his challenger. However, he only took a single step before a sharp, stinging pain travelled up his arm. Marschal flinched back and rubbed his upper arm as the boy readied his weapon for another strike.

"Fight me."

Again, Marschal refused him. He walked off.

Suddenly, Marschal felt a rough hand clench the back of his neck. "The boy wants to fight." The Paravellan could hear the smirk in Walta's voice as he dragged Marschal back and threw him in the boy's direction.

However, the bandit exerted more strength than he should have. The momentum from the toss sent Marschal spearing into the young boy with an impact that pushed both of them off the peak of the slope.

His world began to spin around him while his body tumbled through a swarm of stinging branches, slapping leaves and rough earth. Marschal's screams were indistinguishable from the boy's cries as they descended down the steep gradient.

When the forest around him finally ceased to spin, Marschal was eventually able to manoeuvre himself onto his hands and knees. When he looked up, he could see more sky than he could see trees which would have been a refreshing sight were it not for the imminent threat of sliding down to his demise. The Paravellan dared to glance beneath him, only to see the forest floor suddenly vanish into a cliff drop below him. A raging river roared softly from within the deep chasm like a taunting whisper of death's embrace.

A whimpering cry caught Marschal's attention.

He could hear a faint sob over the cliff edge while two small hands struggled to grip for dear life. "Help me!" the boy pleaded, "Please!"

Marschal carefully and slowly climbed down the slope to reach the dangling boy. Sections of earth and rock shifted underneath Marschal's moving weight, threatening to deliver him into a fatal plunge. When he finally reached the boy, Marschal offered out a hand...

...before stopping himself halfway.

The Paravellan looked up to see the rest of the forest hugging the slope peak above. Kollo and his men were out of sight but he could hear them shouting in the distance. The climb up would be difficult. But not impossible.

As he turned his gaze back to the frantic child fighting to survive, Marschal precariously leaned over to better peer at the hanging boy. When his line of sight crossed over the edge, he was met with wide eyes looking back into his own.

"P-please," the bandit's son begged.

The son of Marschal's captor.

He knelt over and looked down at the child who returned his stare with an expectant look and a faint smile. When the Paravellan made no move to help the boy up, Marschal could see the moment when the young face comprehended the situation of his fate...and who it belonged to.

The boy shook his head. "No. I don't want to die-"

Suddenly, Marschal grabbed hold of the boy's hands which prompted a sigh of relief.

The Paravellan lowered his head to whisper in the boy's ear. "We never do, kid. We never do."

With those soft words, the boy turned to face Marschal. "What-"

He didn't get a chance to finish the sentence as Marschal removed the boy's hands off the cliff's edge.