s Vilyánur spurred his horse, his riders followed him alongside the wood-elven warriors, retracing their steps back to the site of the crash. Just as they had suspected, the corruption was spreading. The forests were dying and wildlife leaving as the aura of the meteor spread.

"There you go," said Vil, "feast your eyes upon the truth yourself."

Seeing the meteor, the forest-folk had their eyes open in horror. "So that was the truth all along."

"I was right to put my faith in you," said Mey with a smile, "now what do we do?"

"Report to the king," said an elf in the back.

"Very well," replied Mey, "let us go to Silverhearth, albeit it's a long journey."

Vil nodded, following the wood-elves to their capital. At least now our cries will not go hollow, thought Vil. Had he not been as strong-minded as he was trained to be, he'd have abandoned his folk and lunged at Meneldir with an open heart, embracing the friend he had not seen for a year.

"Remind me again, how does a chaos meteor correlate to an attack like this?"

"It was a chaos meteor – a living embodiment of chaos energies."

"Yeah, so?"

"So . . . as it spreads its corruption, all beings living and non-living around it are marked by its taint, a panther might have come too close and gone mad, thereof attacking the traveller."

"Oh, now I see," said Mey, "you have experience with these?"

"I and my friends were deployed in a colony by the deserts of Vaerolia, that is where I learned the effect these meteors have: they can convert entire swathes of land into chaos-wastes, turning every tribe it encounters into a servant of the Dark Gods."

"That sounds ominous, and do you think this could be the herald of . . . something darker?"

"I am unsure, it is common for meteors like these to fall randomly, albeit at times the result of such strikes is a daemonic invasion..." their blood went cold, "...but do not fret, that is but rare, and happens only when the chaos generated overwhelms the world."

"You have a lot of knowledge about things like these, Vil," said Mey.

"Of course, as it would be expected of me."

"I hope this ends here, it would be a shame if we were attacked by daemons now," Mey said with a strange emphasis, almost as if hinting at something.

Vilyánur looked at him and smiled mischievously, "you're right, I hope for the same."

"So . . . what do we do if demo-" Meneldir was interrupted by a fell creek, drawing him to alert. As he looked around, he felt an enemy nearing him – "ambush!" he screamed unsheathing his sword.

The scowling voice reverberated about the trees; something foul was headed towards them. Though it sounded nowhere as threatening, it made many an elf's blood run cold in their veins, freezing as if grasped by the skeletal fingers of winter.

"Brace yourselves!" shouted a knight.

...

Then from the shadows a wolf attacked: a big black beast as large as a pony. A wolf-rider lunged back, grasping the beast in the air and commencing a ballad of fang and claw.

Two wolves behind barked and growled, their eyes neon green and fur as black as night – they were not natural. The archers lobbed a volley at them, but their arrows nimble and cheap glanced off like the wind.

The cavalryman fought bravely, but his spear could not penetrate the beast's pelt, nor could his wolf's teeth leave a wound open. With a roar as fierce as a lion's the wild wolf grasped the wolf's neck into its neck and snapped it, killing the beast and the rider after that.

Another wild wolf charged, lunging upon another wolf-rider. The rider's scream of fear and his wolf's whine of despair mingled with the growl of the wild wolf, inducing fear and dread beyond any they had known. The rider's life flashed before his eyes, only to have clouded the hooves of a high-elf knight. With a clap of thunder, the black wolf fell dead.

"Away, you foul dwimmerlaik!" the knight yelled, couching the bloodied tip of his lance towards the others. The other wolves routed.

"After them!" Sir Glarion and Lord Nixior shouted together, horses neighed and wolves barked as the cavalrymen followed the wolves with haste. Hooves followed paws, cowing the sounds of wilderness with aggressive voices, save for two horses that remained behind.

"Nice to see you can still sense souls around yourself," Mey complimented, "I was almost worried if you got my hint."

"You need not delve yourself with worries of that nature," said Vil, "But they won't be gone for long, we must take off ere they do."

"Yes," Mey shook his head, "I know a place deep into the woods. Follow me."

*****

Vilyánur and Meneldir trotted the old, moss-ridden, vine-covered path, passing between maidens and monoliths of stone, through swarms of fireflies and forest-bees, until at last they reached a clearing: a young, treeless glade under the canopies of elder trees, a closed room of wood and wax.

A minuscule brook swept by the trees, glistening as if laden with diamonds, dispersing the puny sunbeams into rainbows, unnumbered moss-ridden logs lay around which could have served as benches, the grass was soft and smooth as the fur of a wolf pup.

"Are you certain we're hidden here?" asked Vil.

"Dead certain," replied Meneldir, "we are in Anya's Abode – enchanted by my great-grandmother, Anya the Fair, to be concealed from the eyes of all but those who have a pure heart filled with love."

"So we both have pure hearts filled with love?" wondered Vil, "I thought the opposite."

Meneldir laughed. "This is the place she and great-grandfather used to come when they had to hide from those who would have loved to see them separated. I oft come here to hide from my retinue, spending long hours writing poetry and song, reading lores of ancient heroes."

"You sure have good knowledge of hiding spots," said Vil, "...always lurking in the shadows."

"But is that not why you like me?" asked Meneldir, dismounting his horse.

"That's one of the many reasons I like you," replied Vil with a smile, dismounting his steed. Vil looked back at Mey as he looked at him. The glade timeless and ageless welcomed them, the whole forest hushed as the two looked into each other's eyes, nearing each other with a slow pace. The two pounced at each other like lions, embracing with a smile not seen upon their faces for a century. "Oh, Mey, I missed you so much," Vil said with tears in his eyes.

"You were only gone for like a year or so," said Mey, "did you miss me that much?"

Vil kissed Mey on his forehead, "two hundred years of knowing each other and no realisation, and only a year at duty and I realised-"

"Realised what?" asked Mey.

"N-nothing," Vil blushed, "so tell me: what did I miss? Did everything in your glade remain unchanged?"

"I would not say that," said Meneldir, drifting into his memories. "At least your uncle was smart enough to intercept the enemy whilst they were still at their weak; we instead faced the direct wrath in our vales."

"At least you didn't have to toil in the desert for a whole year," Vil laughed somewhat eerily.

Mey cupped his hand on Vil's cheek, trying to feel his heat. "Still as beautiful as I remember," he said, "but I sense a lot of weariness within you."

"Yeah, well. I toiled long and hard in barren wastes, with nothing but a linen turban between me and the scorching sun."

"At least you're safe," said Mey, drawing his head forward to touch his cheek to Vil's, only to have him raise his head high, his seven inches disallowing contact, lost in his own mind. Mey gave him a menial frown, climbing up on him.

Vil picked him up and swirled him around. "Oh, goodness, Mey, you've gotten heavier, or maybe I'm lighter than before."

"Certainly the latter, I can feel your bones. Short on supplies, were you not?"

"Well, as you may know . . . cold deserts are not the best place for foraging."

"Ooh..." Mey embraced him ever so deeply, dropping a leg to the ground to ease on the weight, "...look how badly they treated my best friend, you deserve a long rest, comrade."

"Well," Vil stared absentmindedly into the blank, almost lost. "Some muscle was not the only thing I lost on the campaign," he said, almost whispering.

"What?" asked Mey, drawing Vil's head towards himself, their noses touching.

"Oh, nothing," said Vil, "just, uh . . . recalling . . . enough about me, tell me your story. What happened whilst I was away?"

Mey climbed down and pulled Vil onto the soft grassy soil. "As you wish," Mey reclined back, relaxing his voice.

...

"Tell me, Lord Vilyánur, do you know of the Lay of Lammoch? For that is how our story went, or rather how it would've been had he failed. My father in his insane paranoia to purge the land of doom-mongers and conspirators weakened our kingdom so greatly, and then the daemons arrived.

Ere you scold your hound

for barking at a stranger,

first you must make sure

there is no such a danger.

So aye, I guess he had not in mind that maxim. If I say my father the king likes to have his advisors echo it to him, then there can be no greater lie uttered from my mouth."

Vil laughed. "Not like I can blame him entirely, mass panic can be dangerous after all. It is an ugly affair to get your nation into, and even uglier is the outcome."

"Do not be concerned," said Mey, "the story does have a happy ending, although the price we paid was heavy. And the worst thing is, I don't know if he just ignored the problems or planned to take care of them in secret."

"The latter wouldn't be too out of character for someone as shrewd as him."

"I know, King Arvedui can be a shadowy figure at times, choosing not to reveal his plans to the public unless absolutely necessary, not even to his most trusted it seems. But whatever, at least he saved a great many lives."

"Well, I guess it's all well then; you didn't lose anyone close to you, did you?"

"No, I mean not like I even have anyone except you, I guess that's the good thing about being as solitary as I am."

"I'm glad," Vil smiled. "But I wonder: did you get too lonely without me? If so, I cannot display the regret I feel for that."

"Not like you had anything to do," said Mey, "but anyway, would you like to tell me what you did?"

Vil looked down, as if struggling within. He did not reply to Mey, almost as if he did not want to tell. There was pain in his eyes, and Mey's had concern.

"I mean," said Mey, "if you do not wish to tell, it is alright, I understand."

"No, I can . . . I just . . . it's a bit complicated."

"Vil," Mey smiled, "from what I've known about you: there's nothing about you that's not explainable, especially not if you explain it the way you do."

Vilyánur drew in a deep breath, "it was just that I got to experience what an average legionnaire feels, and can I say – it was pretty overwhelming, if spending a year in barrens was not. Should I say in the words of my friend Murphy:

Oh, gather 'round me, listen while I speak

of the victory whose fruits we did not reap;

haunting my dreams, still there as I sleep

are memories: of where hell is six feet deep.

Ah yes, I still miss him," Vil whispered, covering his eyes, muttering something dark and menacing under his breath, inaudible yet reeking of torment and torture.

"I understand," Meneldir touched his forehead to Vil's, "I know the feeling of nostalgia, it is horrible. Only when you lose something is when you realise it's true worth."

Vil's smile faded and turned to an emotionless expression, he was not angry but not happy with it either, almost in a malcontent state. "Should we return already?"

Mey felt sorry for some reason, "yes, sure."

*****

"Do you have any idea where they should be?" questioned Vilyánur.

"I know exactly where they should be, do not worry," Mey replied. "I caught the scent just as the wind shifted: they're roughly half a mile away from us."

"Your sense of smell is that powerful?" Vil looked at him in disbelief.

"Nah, just joking," Mey laughed, "I can sense their auras. What should we tell them though? We certainly can't say we were gone to . . . eh, you get the idea."

"Tell them we were gone tracking a trail of chaos energies, that would shut them up."

"Very well," said Mey, spurring his horse towards the scent.

For Mey's jungle steed, traversing the rough forest terrain was no difficulty. But for Vil's heavy horse – a steed meant for plain fields, such a road was a nightmare. "Easy, boy," he tried to control his horse, but with little use.

"Pfft . . . domestic animals," Mey scoffed at him. "Walking would be a better plight."

"They're not meant for forests," Vil answered, "but you saw how well they did in battle."

"Of course, I didn't say they're useless, just in this case," Mey said.

Vil ignored him, knowing he had nothing to do about it, instead turning his ear to the forest to hearken to the sounds of the forest instead – far in the distance he could hear strange chatter, they were his knights, he made no mistake.

...

"On your guard!" a wood-elf announced, as Mey heard through the woods. "I hear sounds; nock your bows, warriors."

"Tarry, soldiers!" yelled Mey out of the black, "you won't shoot your own prince, will you?"

The soldiers lowered their bows and spears. "Oh, it's the prince, the prince is back!"

"Indeed," Vil said in a scolding tone, appearing out of the dense thickets like a ghost, "and only if you had a better sense of aura, you'd have stayed with us throughout the journey. Argh . . . and here you say you're used to forest lands."

"Forgive us, my lord," the wood-elves said ever so humbly, except Nixior. "So what now?"

"Nothing," said Vilyánur, "the threats that toiled the land are all but gone, the wolves you were chasing are dead too, I assume?"

"Yes, we killed them all," said a high-elf knight, "that's three deaths, two (or technically one) losses: wolf and hunter."

"Fair enough for the first time, I guess," said Mey, "at least the threat's been dealt with."

"So what do we do now, my lord? Surely we cannot let this go unseen."

"We will go the king and report what we saw," said Lord Nixior, "and Prince Meneldir has to account for his disappearance when he was strictly forbidden from doing so."

"What..." Mey looked at him in disbelief, as if his plight had been busted.

"No questions, my prince. Your father gave an order. You violated your father, our king's law . . . you must account for it, and account for it you will."