"Contestants, please return to your starting locations! There is a fire in the forest!" Andreas announced through their radios. "The hunt is paused for the time being! I repeat, please, return to your starting locations!"

Daniel was almost fuming backstage, yet he sucked it all in as the other organizers walked in.

"Sir, what should we do now?" They asked.

"Let us first assess the damage, then talk, alright?" Daniel forced a smile.

"Alright, sir."

"Now, please leave. I must make some arrangements."

As the men left, Daniel took out his phone.

"What the hell is going on?" Daniel was ready to snap something in half. "Fynn, where are you?"

"They, they broke the drum." Fynn stood alone, watching the embers flicker in the fireplace.

"What?" Daniel yelled into his phone.

"That kid came out of nowhere. He screamed at my ear, shot coins, and it was over." Fynn jumbled in his words.

"Oh, for the love of-. I knew they would be here."

"They must be out there somewhere." Fynn looked out the window.

"Let me check." Daniel's eye rolled around as he concentrated. One of the lights caught a glimpse of Norman and Ándras in the snow. "Yes, I see you now." He said with a sinister smile.

"What are we going to do?" Fynn asked.

"Your part is already over." Daniel shook his head.

"Maybe we should try again somewhere else? We can still get out."

"Fynn, for the love of gods, get your act together. We are Medrawds, through and through. The blood of the great knight Lanslod runs through us. If we come back home empty-handed, there is no future for Clarent. We need this, and we need it now. The even funds get us to 250 000 Wads. If we find the fox, we might even double that. Think about it, Fynn, not just reversing the debt, but we can fund the project."

"Right, you're always right, Dan."

"Then get a move on. It will take me some time to reorganize here, so call up those four."

"The ones you got? Sure."

"Tell them to work for their money." Daniel cut the call.

After a few short calls, three figures walked up to the cottage.

"Good, you're all here-" Fynn walked outside. "Wait, where's the fourth one, the Jackal or something?"

"Hunting, I would guess." Said a woman in a vivid frock coat and a dark case in her hand. She concealed her lean face under a white festival mask as her dark curls popped from the sides.

"Then, please excuse me for a moment." Fynn turned a corner and stomped the ground. "Darn it! We paid good money for these people! What am I going to tell Dan?"

The three waited patiently until Fynn returned.

"Well, a slight inconvenience, but let's continue." Fynn straightened his jacket.

"Then," A man in striped clothes smiled. "Who is our target?" An identical man with checkered clothes continued. The two stood uncomfortably close to one another as if you were seeing double.

"Three people. I think I got a picture or something." Fynn took out his phone.

The assassins looked closely at the pictures and memorized the faces.

"Understood." The woman nodded. She looked over to the two men. "Say, how do you want to do this?"

"We would rather," The first one started. "Work alone." The other ended.

"Good thinking." The woman smiled.

"As per their whereabouts, the kid ran...near from here, and the other two Dan spotted that way," Fynn explained.

"Which one do you two want? I am fine with whatever." The woman asked.

The two men glanced at each other. "It does not matter to us." The first one shook his head. "How about we throw a coin?" The other said, taking one out.

"Playing with fate, I like you two." The woman winked her eye.

"Heads: The two, Tails: The kid." The first one said. "It's your throw." The second flipped the coin to her.

"Generous, aren't you?" She threw the coin in the air and caught it, holding it under her other hand. "Oh, would you know?"

"Also," The smiling man pointed in the shadows. "Could he have that?" The other asked.

"Huh? I don't care, as long as you take care of it before morning." Fynn shrugged.

The dust settled on the burned battlefield as the alarm rang through the forest. Only one figure stood, though barely. It was Isao, leaning onto his glaive. He looked down at Ándras, smacked against the tree and barely breathing. His body was a bloody mess, barely held together with healing.

"Still alive." Isao sighed.

"Then finish it." Ándras coughed blood.

Isao looked deep down into Ándras' defeated eyes. "For this time only, I will prolong our agreement as warriors. If I were to consume your soul, I would want to do it only once I have witnessed your full glory. Until that day, I will walk away."

Ándras dragged his body to the ground. "Wait for me, gods damn it."

Finally, his strength ran out, and he was left dying in the mud, growing ever so cold. Slowly yet surely, the ground and water froze. His mind drew blank, and the sound of wind escaped from his ears until nothing was left.

"...Ándras!" A voice called out. "Ándras!"

His heavy eyes opened just enough to see a figure running toward him.

"Andras, what happened to you?" Norman asked.

"Norman, I am sorry." Ándras groaned. "I went all out."

"In any other situation, I would have said told you so, but first, I need to get you patched up." Norman checked his wounds.

"Can't heal more. I used up all my mana. If only I had some sunlight..."

"You're going to bleed out before the sunrise." Norman took off his jacket. "You'll need this, or you will freeze."

"But you..." Ándras could hear Norman's teeth clattering.

"I'll be fine." Norman gritted his teeth. Suddenly, his radio rang.

"Orel?" Norman answered.

"Yeah, what the hell was that?" Orel said, running.

"We got ourselves a little situation here. Ándras is down, so we need to retreat and treat him."

"Okay, I'm coming there now."

Orel hopped on the snow, skipped over the branches, and slid down the slopes as fast as he could. He was still wary of his surroundings if someone or something appeared, but it was something else.

A quivering tune, sliding from soothing elegance to hurried and urgent snaps gracefully like watching a swan take off.

"Welcome to tonight's exclusive show." Viola walked in, playing violin with her cheek pressing against it.

"Who are you?" Orel stepped back.

"Viola Fedele," Viola bowed gracefully. "Though names are supposed only to be told after the performance."

Orel noticed that Viola did not carry the numbered plate of a contestant on her. "Are you with them?"

Viola smiled. "Let's just say our meeting was not up to fate."

With the bow in her hand, Viola slid it across the strings, producing a lovely melody, smooth as nectar.

"Heartstrings." She chanted, lighting up the violin in a reddish glow.

The wind picked up and scattered snow around. Orel found himself in his room at home. He ran to the living room, where uncle Deras and grandma Ymir passed the time.

"Oh, Orel, you're here." Deras noticed.

"Would you be a darling and chop some firewood? You don't want grandma freezing to death during winter, would you?" Ymir said.

"No, why am I here? I need to go." Orel looked around.

"Where are you going?" Deras asked.

"To Väinölä." Orel ran to the door.

"You still believe those stories?" Deras raised an eyebrow.

"What?" Orel stopped.

"Darling, I read those to you in your picture book. Aren't you a bit too old to believe in fairy tales?" Ymir asked.

"Uncle and grandma would never say that." Orel grasped the door. "And I can go wherever I want."

"What do you think you're doing, mister?" Orel's mother, Tuja, opened the door for him. She had just come home.

"I'm going off." Orel walked past her.

"Fine then. Abandon us, just like your father."

The words stopped Orel in his tracks.

Watching from afar, Viola smiled with a sinister smile.

"Looks like I struck a cord."

Meanwhile, Norman tried to carry Ándras to a checkpoint. Their pace was slow, and their strength was waning. Norman could hardly hold the weight, yet he had to. Ándras could not look him in the eye as he leaned on him.

"I'm sorry, Norman." He said.

"You better be sorry when we get through this." Norman sighed before stumbling. Standing up felt like a hurdle, yet it was the more appealing option than being left lying in the cold snow.

Yet, as his face lifted, two sets of feet appeared before him. The first one offered his hand.

"Thanks, wait-" Norman recoiled.

A punch landed square on his cheek. It hit like a ton of bricks, thanks to Ward. Norman fell back into the snow with a bleeding scratch.

"Who the hell are you?" Norman looked up.

"The Trojitý brothers," The first one said. "At your service." The two smiled to their teeth.

"At my service? What kind of joke is that? You work for those two, right?" Norman stood up.

"Certainly, we are," The first brother said. "But, we are glad to have found such a strong mage," The second continued.

"Like."

"A."

"Norman!" The first one charged forth.

A large man ran from the woods and grabbed Ándras. Norman glanced away and received another punch.

"You don't play fair, don't you?" Norman asked.

"We are assassins," The first one said. "There are no rules to our game." The second continued.

"And who's the third one? A long-lost stepbrother?"

"That is none of your business."

Norman noticed something off about the large man. His skin was pale, and someone did something vile to his throat as it gurgled the nastiest of sounds.

"I see. Who's the Psychomancer that raised a zombie?"

"Do." The first one struck again, yet Norman blocked it.

"Not." The second one came in.

Norman stepped back, but the two were quick in their steps.

"Call." The first one followed him.

"Our." The second one caught up.

"Brother." The first one grabbed Norman.

"That!" The second dropkicked him.

Norman flew to the ground, tumbling in the snow. He could hardly breathe from getting kicked in his chest.

"That thing is your brother?" Norman coughed.

"Miro died young." The first one walked over. "If it wasn't Milán's Spark Harvest."

"Or Michal's Switcharoo." Milán pressed his boot against Norman's face.

"He would have died." Michal crossed his arms.

"But that's all in the past." Milán smiled.

"And if we beat you to death." Michal cracked his knuckles.

"We might get him a good body." Milán rubbed the shoe harder against Norman's face.

Yet, before he knew it, Milán flew to the side like being hit by a truck. Michal had only time to realize as the same thing had happened to him. Norman could not understand. It was Ándras, well and good, standing tall.

"Ándras? Your wounds. What happened?"

"Too little time to explain." Ándras picked him up.

Truly, there was no time to think as the two brothers stood up from being struck around like bags of potatoes.

"How is he up?" Milán asked.

"Milán, look!" Michal pointed.

The corpse was hammered to a pulp. Even if the spirit inside demanded it to move, it could not gather enough force.

"Miro!" Milán gasped.

"Spark Harvest!" Michal chanted with an open palm.

Though the body did not move, Michal could see a glowing, see-through specter rise from it and hover next to him. He knew it best, as he and Miro were identical, more than he and Milán. The same rough, strong hair and slumping eyes looked back at him in disgrace.

"Sorry, Michal," Miro whispered in his ear.

"It is not your fault. Rest for now." Michal nodded.

"Norman," Ándras whispered. "To be honest, I got barely enough mana to keep standing."

"Sure, let me handle this." Norman wiped the blood off his nose." I'll beat these amateurs without any spells."

"You hear that, brother?" Michal asked.

"Yeah, forget the new body," Milán grimaced.

"These two will be delivered dead only," Michal's eyes were shot red.

Much like Ándras, Orel was struggling to stand.

"You were able to go against your mother?" Viola asked with surprise.

"She would never say that to my face." Orel heaved.

"I did not create those words. I merely picked them from your mind."

"...Everyone thinks a bit too much sometimes, don't they?" Orel gritted his teeth.

"Fortitude is good to have, but it is nothing on its own." Viola played a more heavy, loud tune. "Dynamics Forte Stampa."

Orel slammed against the ground. Lifting himself with his hands, he could barely keep his face from dropping to the snow. The heavy chords pressed him to his knees. Orel fought against it, yet there was no defense against sound.

"What do you want from me?" He asked.

"Don't be mistaken. I am not here to finish you off." Viola walked closer.

She sat on Orel's back with her weight. "I have an offer."

"Offer?"

The combined weight of the spell and her weight made Orel almost faint.

"What is it?" Orel was ready to drop.

"Stay away from Tobias."

Orel's concentration broke, and with it, he fell down. Viola stood up at the right moment and stood next to him. The spell was still pushing him, only now against the cold snow. Orel could not bend his joints to stand up. It felt like being stuck between two rocks.

"If you do not want to be crushed, answer me."

"Who are you?" Orel struggled.

"That was not an answer." Viola pressed her heel against Orel's back.

"What do you want from master Tobias?"

"What did I just say?" Viola pushed the heel deeper into Orel's muscles.

"If you are his family or whatever, I can see why he doesn't want to come back." Orel tried to push a smile onto his face.

"First of all, that is not his choice," Viola twisted the heel.

Orel let out a cry. Though the end was not sharp, it felt like being stabbed by a knife. Even then, he couldn't give up.

"Secondly, I merely serve the family."

Orel fought against the pain. "I'm not the reason he's here. He came here by his own decision. You should know that. If you want him to stop, talk to him yourself, coward."

"Brave words for someone lying on the ground."

"Yeah, he taught me some bad habits."

"I can see why he chose to go with you." Viola sighed and raised her foot. "Listen here; we never met here, and thus there was no conversation between us. You understand?"

"Sure, sure." Orel huffed.

"Good. Then, I have another question."

"I'm listening." Orel nodded his head as he stood up.

"I still need a proper answer from him, but let us say that I could not reach him until the following day. Are you able to reach the realm in that time?"

Orel went silent. Viola looked down, expecting the somber face of defeat. Instead, she felt almost blinded by the look in his eyes. Like Norman before, she saw the fire raging behind those shining grey eyes, pushing a smile on his face even in the deepest of troubles.

"Of course, I can," Orel answered.

"Hmph, fine," Viola tried to keep herself from smiling. "I will see your proof in the morning. If you fail, I will be taking master Tobias back home immediately." Viola walked off.

Fynn sat on a bench, watching the lingering embers in the fireplace as his phone rang.

"Yes? "He answered.

"How were they?"

"The assassins? Well, they seemed alright. But one of them never showed off. Must have run off."

"Darn. Well, at least the others were still there, weren't they?"

"Yeah, the twins and the girl with the mask."

"What?" Daniel snapped.

"Didn't you hear me? Is the connection good?"

"No, not that. I didn't hire a woman."

"Wait..." Fynn realized. "Then who is she?"

"Damn it all!" Daniel smashed something. "First one runs off, then this..."

"You okay?" Fynn asked calmly.

"I'm coming there. Right now." Daniel grunted.

"Wait, what?" Fynn stood up.

"I'll handle this myself." Daniel ended the call.

"Dan? Dan?" Fynn was left asking.

Daniel put on his dark mantle and left the private tent without saying a word.

"Where are you going, mister Medrawd?" One of the staff saw him getting away.

"I am taking a walk. I will be back soon enough." Daniel waved them off.

"If you say so." The staff was left scratching their heads.

Once out of sight, Daniel released a dozen balls of light around him and then sent them searching ahead.

"Flicker flare." He chanted.

As he walked through the forest, Daniel stumbled into the ANHA team, who were on their way to the exit.

"Mr. Medrawd? What are you doing here?" One of the hunters asked.

"That is sir Medrawd to you," Daniel answered snidely.

"Huh? What was that? Don't try to think you're all high and mighty just because you're the organizer. You think we're just going to let you do anything you want around here?" The hunter tried to grab him.

"Flashbang." Daniel directed one of his orbs to the group.

A blindingly bright flash made the hunters scream in agony without sight. Daniel bore no mind to the suffering and walked along as they graveled on the ground, yelling slurs at him.

"Stop me if you can, but you certainly couldn't." Daniel continued forward.

The last thing that flashed in the man's eyes was the fierce glare in Daniel's eye. The colors burned in the smoldering fire of spite and ambition. Whatever the eye caught in its gaze, it would not let go unless he made it his, or else it would burn down.