Dazzled by the awe he sees, the reflection of its glory glimmering in his eyes, the boy looks upon a meteor shooting through the atmosphere of the world, the wind cold even in all the equipment he's wearing. Nahshon ponders, the sight of green and blue flames like a piercing arrow in the sky, he hastily mounts his horse, racing to higher heights, through a valley and up into the mountains, his horse stops as it can go no further, the boy looking at steps that reach into the clouds, man-made he can tell, but supernatural he senses, he embarks the rest of his journey on. The clouds swift at his presence, he ascends, mesmerized by the view he claims, nearer to the sky more than ever, to the sight of this shooting star closer, and accompanying its magnificence, the boy is spooked, looking up at the luminaries that fill the sky, an entire star cluster, filled with stars of many different colours, and among shining the brightest, are four stars he awes at, as then he hears chanting among these stars, the many voices like a great army, a legion.

Atop this mountain, his fingers numb even in his gloves, he then looks below, the view equally as bizarre, a dance of swirls of fire the colour of blood, one of these swirls shot up into the sky like a great pillar erected, into the heavens where a new star is formed, its brilliance red among these stars. The chanting grows louder, and to Nahshon's comprehension, he watches as these stars move, an appearance set, like he was witnessing the formation of a council, the four brightest stars at front, three of them tagged blue ones behind with the fourth tagged with the red one, and billions of smaller stars surrounding them. Sounds the banter of horses, his eyes open, his mouth dry, the smell of cinnamon by his nose. The ambience of his surroundings begins bleeding into his ears, the feet of soldiers, their conversations, swords and armour clanging, and the shore in the distance. He gets up, yawning, looking out his tent, Ezek approaches him with two cups of steam floating from them.

"Morning, princess. I guess I don't have to kick you out your sleep," Ezek says, sipping his tea, Nahshin taking his, the steam on his face breaking him into a small sweat. "It's the next morning. I sense we'll be moving soon, so we might as well get some fresh air before you we move out again"

"Yeah...thanks," Nahshon nods, taking a sip of his tea, he does so slowly, the tea still burning the tip of his tongue, with Ezek curious, looking at his arm fully healed, remembering that it was not fully healed by the potion he had taken, their peace disturbed by a group that comes.

"Hey," Nahshon gulps, greeting Isabela, her hand brushing her hair behind her ear, joined by Bjørn and his new acquaintances of red skin and the other of spiritual presence.

"Oktai. Jargal," Nahshon calls.

"How pleasant. You remember our names," Jargal chuckles, Oktai looking down, his eyebrows raised, gulping.

"Are you alright?" Isabela asks, her hand placed on the boy's chest.

"Yeah. I was just tired..." Nahshon tells her, shy to the touch of her hand. "I was worried about you. You've been awfully quiet"

"Hmm..." Nahshon sounds, looking up at Oktai, a man suddenly not as outgoing as before.

"Come on, then. Spit it out," Jargal presses the man, the group witnessing as Oktai takes a knee.

"I have failed you. I had not been by your side throughout this war," He says, head bowed, Ezek smirking, curious about what his deal is. "I looked for you, but I could find you..."

"No worries, friend," Ezek interrupts him. "We all had to watch out for ourselves. Don't feel too bad"

"Yes..." Oktai sounds.

"You conjured a storm amid the battle. I heard from the others that you suddenly started screaming with your sword lifted. How did you do that?" Bjørn questions, Nahshon looking down at his hand.

"...I don't know. It just felt...peaceful and...I know it was me who did it but at the same time...like it was something else, and I was also somewhere else"

"Somewhere else, you say? Hmm...that's a strange thing to say. Like where?" Jargal questions.

"...Everywhere," Nahshon states, a surprised look on everybody's face, Bjørn reminded of another friend, of Adrian, their pack comes to a halt, as they hear a soldier telling them to gather around.

Out in the gray morning, they come out, it's breakfast, the soldier calls them to, porridge and sandwiches, the set getting each getting both, but Isabela not taking part, Nahshon looking towards the castle, pondering on what will happen from here on out, Isabela joining him on his sightseeing.

"It is amazing. A pack of women, men and monsters built that castle. How long have they been here, I wonder?" She ponders, her silver hair in the wind, in awe to the eyes of the boy.

"Long enough for them to cause all this chaos, it seems," Nahshon states, looking at each other. "It's good that you changed your mind; helping the cause"

"Yes. I am glad I did too. These people and their creations will be put to Justice. And soon Verencia will be back to peace"

"Hmm. Can people truly ever come back from these things?"

"Yes, but only with time"

"I see..."

"Why have you come, Nahshon?" Isabela asks him, Nahshon almost reluctant.

"I'm not even sure anymore," The boy looks towards the castle. "I keep wondering the same thing. I guess I feel like I owe it to the king, he helped me with my first sword and sum of money, after all. And on the other hand, like I need to push myself to the end of it to find out"

"Hm. Have you ever read 'The cursed reverend'?"

"No, never heard of it," Nahshon answers.

"Hmm. I had taken you for someone who reads a lot," Isabela smiles, Nahshon flustered, his hand on his forehead.

"I mean I do, but...I haven't had the chance to do so these days," Nahshon replies, a little embarrassed, knowing he reacted awkwardly.

"It's the story of a man, a reverend whose faith was especially firm in the gods; every day he prayed, he sang in worship, spreading the gospel amongst his people. He was admired by many," Isabela starts. "But one day, the life he had went to chaos; everything he was, began crumbling around him; firstly the death of his wife, killed by monsters. He had asked the church for their assistance in bringing about justice, but they refused him, they abandoned him, they even painted him as a madman, and of course, because he was carrying around the skull of his deceased wife"

Closely Nahshon listens to her voice, this story a strange one.

"He began questioning his faith; why have the gods forsaken him? Why have they become so cruel to him? Why was his wife taken from him? Through the land he wandered, down a path of darkness, he observed all manner of evil. At the end of this story, there he met the monsters that took his wife and he asked 'My wife, why have you taken her?' and they answered 'It is in our nature. We could not help ourselves for it is how we were made. To hurt'. Then he was alone, as after that discussion, the monsters. And even then, he held on to himself and his morals. He kept going. But why? How strange this story has always been to me because in the end, even with clinging to his codes and beliefs, still considering the gods, he died broken, isolated and still believed to be a man who had just simply given in to his insanity. He found no peace, But I began to recognise: It is not about the way he died or his cruel fate. What this story teaches, is that hell, in truth, is not a place you must find yourself sitting in, or running away from. Because beyond that cursed land lies your answers, and if you want them, if you seek to gain the knowledge you so desire...you must go forward"

"Hm..." Nahshon sounds, chilled by this story. "And his answers? Did he get what he was looking for?"

"Yes...that, after the death of his wife, he truly...truly was alone," She answers, Nahshon nodding, Isabela giggling at his face looking depressed. "I guess that is enough of that sad tale? Now, it seems you have more questions from when we left off at the hospital"

"Well...yeah," Nahshon chuckles. "You're a vampire, right? So how are you able to stand around in the sun? Are all Vampires like this?"

"No, only a rare collection of us," Isabela says. "The goddess jacqawin cursed us to walk only under cover of night and the shadows. I on the other hand...was born lucky. My blood is special..."

"Hm. Is this something you're supposed to be telling me?" Nahshon questions, yet not feeling the need to ask anything else, afraid she will close their conversation like the lat"

"I have no reason to hide anything from you, Nahshon. You can be trusted, I know this. You wouldn't do me any harm," Isabela smiles, Nahshon averting her eyes, the boy quiet, as they look towards the castle.

Arwyn, his hair in the wind, he meditates, standing by the view of the castle at front, footsteps awakening him from his practice, Vernon puffing his cigar, the commander smiling.

"Your beard is growing out. It fits you," Vernon compliments him, Arwyn chuckling.

"Yeah well, not like there's much I can do about it right now. With shaving, I can't tell the last time I've had a proper shower too," Arwyn vents, sighing as his eyes go to the ground. "We've lost a great number of soldiers, commander. Some of them, I...I looked into their eyes before they passed. I've never seen eyes so terrified before. It's almost like I could tell what they were thinking, the pain-the understanding that their life was coming to an end...they were wondering if they made the right choice of coming here. Their friends and their families afraid they'll never see them again. A lot of them were probably warned not to come here...many of them have never seen war. How...how did you deal with this, commander? The great depression?"

"You just have to keep moving forward, Arwyn. We have to make sure that their lives lost will not be in vain. It's what I like to tell myself. Keep moving forward..."

"How many of us left?"

"With the numbers dead, and the injured, not many. Half of what's left has gone back home," Vernon tells him. "However, that should be enough. With the lightning show that occurred, and the effects of our sword. they've dwindled drastically...it is just for us to find out what's left is in that castle"

"And what of me, commander? Though they stayed, a lot of these soldiers are on edge, and being inside the enemy's territory will only make them worse. What should I do here?"

"You're a captain, Arwyn. I've known of your genius since your school days. Do what you do best," Vernon tells him, a gentle hand on the knight, patting his shoulder.

The castle, silent, with no movement of the enemy, the Verencians make their way into the castle, this silence eerie, uncomfortable as through within its walls they reach into the building itself, watching every direction, every corner, below and above as they go deeper in these black walls, the soldiers obviously suspicious, all their weapons drawn, Arwyn looking at the other captains, Victor and Arnaldo, thinking of what they could be planning, as this captain knows that they've definitely walked into a trap. And right he may be, as above, an unseen corner, a sister of darkness watches, as around the soldiers, crawls something in the shadows cast.