“The dangerous thing about Brium is…” Argrave trailed off as he stared out over the city of Sethia, standing atop the mound of sand that had been built by the Sand Courser.

Argrave had chosen what he thought was the ‘right thing.’ He’d endeavored to liberate the city from the hands of the Vessels, even if it did create some uncertainty and loss of time. Yet now… Sethia was the worst he had ever seen it. ‘Heroes of Berendar’ never had an outcome with such devastation, such loss of life.

“What is it?” Anneliese interrupted Argrave’s thoughts.

Argrave shook his head. “The dangerous thing about Brium is that he always fights as though the opponent is stronger: cautiously, with contingencies. All the desperation of a cornered rat. Guess that was something taught by being surrounded by two powerhouses—silver and gold.” Argrave kneeled down. “Those damned southron elves… I’d ask what they’re thinking, but I know. Honor and glory.”

“Argrave,” Galamon called out. “Skyward.”

Heeding Galamon’s words, Argrave looked upwards, scanning the blue sky marred by drifting black sand. A gray wyvern cut through the air at them. Argrave stood, readied, yet it began to slow.

Durran’s wyvern gripped onto the side of Argent, using wings and legs both. The claws against metal creaked unpleasantly—sounded like nails against a chalkboard, almost—yet the creature did stop.

“Hey,” Durran called out, shouts rising above his wyvern’s labored breathing. “I’ve got a trade for you.”

“War profiteering?” Argrave returned. “Hardly the time. I’ve got things to do.”

“Heal my leg,” he pointed down. “And I’ll take you to the skies.”

Argrave furrowed his brows, looking to Anneliese. She nodded and whispered, “He is being serious.”

Argrave turned his head back. “We want to get near the fight with Brium.”

“Gods above…” Durran shook his head. “Fine. I’ll land near the bottom of this mound—come quickly. Think I feel my damned leg bone pushing against the armor.”

Argrave flashed a thumbs up, then turned to move. Behind, Durran’s wyvern soared through the sky. Powerful winds assailed them, loosening sand, and Argrave slipped. He collapsed to his back and started to slide down the hill of sand nauseatingly quickly. The Brumesingers in his clothing yelped in terror as Argrave used all of his spatial coordination to stop from careening off the side.

The terror ended when Argrave’s feet met the ground outside Sethia. He straightened his back and shook his duster free of sand, doing his best to act as though he wasn’t on the verge of vomiting in fear. Durran’s mount landed a fair distance away, walking on its two legs towards them.

The southern tribal fell off his mount’s back ungracefully, landing on his side. Anneliese rushed down, but instead of tending to Durran, asked Argrave at once, “Are you hurt?”

“Some bruises tomorrow, maybe,” Argrave shook his head, very proud his voice didn’t waver. “Deal with him.”

Anneliese moved to Durran and started to treat his wound. The man did indeed have bone sticking out of his leg, but with everything still attached, he could be healed. Argrave and Galamon put their things in the wyvern’s saddle, preparing to ride. They paid special attention to Garm’s situation, ensuring nothing would come free. In two or so minutes, they were ready to move. It felt like hours to Argrave.

“Magic… is a thing of beauty,” Durran sighed as he tested his leg.

“Ruminate later,” Argrave directed, pointing to the wyvern. “Liftoff, pilot.”

With one final step, Durran moved towards his mount, gracefully assuming the rider’s position. Argrave got atop its back as well, followed by the other two.

“Heavy load,” Durran noted.

“She can take it,” Argrave shook his head.

Durran pulled up on the reins, looking back. “How do you know it’s a she?” he questioned as his beast took to the skies.

“Larger. Horns. Cleft tail,” Argrave said at once.

With a jump and powerful beats of its wings, the gargantuan reptile started to gain altitude. Argrave was fine with heights, but he could not deny he felt nervous.

“Did you really kill the Lord of Silver?” Durran questioned, shouting above the noise.

“No, I found him like that,” Argrave shouted back, holding onto the back of Durran’s saddle. “Genius question.”

Durran asked no more questions, holding his glaive in one hand and the wyvern’s reins in the other. He led his mount towards the distant battle between the southron elves and the Lord of Copper, where purple light and echoing booms danced about the air. Titus’ men, coupled with the southern tribals, had taken care of most other resistance.

Riding a wyvern was a terrifying yet wonderful thing. He could feel the beast’s presence beneath him, and his body shifted slightly every time it moved its wings. The wind battered at him intensely, wearing at his grip constantly unless he kept a low profile. The speed was not ludicrous, yet it was far faster than was comfortable. The experience made Argrave think of freedom, strangely.

With trepidation, Argrave freed one hand, using his own magic reserve to conjure more electric eels. He stopped at eight, for he felt half of his magic was gone by that point. The sparking constructs easily kept pace with the wyvern.

“I’ll land with my allies,” Durran called out. “They’re preparing to help the elves, looks like. This fine with you?”

“Yeah,” Argrave answered.

Durran started to bring his beast down, and Argrave soon realized where he wanted to land. Men cleared out of the way for the wyvern to land atop a largely ruined building. The wyvern collapsed amidst rubble, and Argrave gingerly hopped down from the creature, landing beside its wings.

The Brumesingers emerged, finding flat ground as solace. One of them climbed up to his shoulder and nipped his ear, as though to express its displeasure at the constant rapid movement—Argrave could not muster indignance.

“This satisfies you?” called out Durran, not dismounting.

“Yeah. I’ll take things from here,” Argrave nodded.

“That’s elven magic!” a man’s voice roared out. “All the deaths, tribals and city-dwellers alike, they were caused by southron elf weapons, southron elf interference!”

The voice was loud enough that it could not be ignored, and Argrave turned a tired head towards it source.

“They may be fighting at our side, but they are not on our side!” a grizzly tribal insisted.

“Belhard!” Durran shouted. “Now is not the time. Unity!” Many in the crowd echoed Durran’s sentiment, shouting their agreement.

“Unity cannot bring back my brother!” another disagreed—a guardsman from Sethia, likely under Titus. “That elven magic—we see it happening even now, in their battle against the Vessel! There is a reason our ancestors wiped the southron elves out. Let them fight the Lord of Copper alone. Regardless of the winner, we end them after!”

Argrave felt the need to say something, but he was an outsider flanked by elven companions—and moreover, none of these people knew him. His voice was a foreigner’s voice. He knew his contribution would be unwelcomed.

“Anneliese?” Argrave questioned, hoping she might think of something.

“…all I can think of is helping the southron elves now, having them speak for themselves,” she suggested.

“Alright. Best we’ve got,” Argrave nodded, then grabbed her elbow, moving her along to the distant fight between the elves and Brium.

But then, a bell rung out, and everyone’s attention was directed to that. Once the loud sound quieted, a voice rose above it, shouting, “People!”

Titus stood at a high point, overlooking the crowd. He held something to help project his speech—only a cone, but it sufficed.

“People on the roofs,” Galamon noted. “Archers. We should be ready to find cover… especially if they still have those elven arrows.”

Argrave scanned around, barely spotting them with Galamon’s directions.

“People of Sethia!” Titus shouted out. “The magic weapons used in today’s battle were not from the southron elves,” he disclosed grandly. “It is their magic… but they did not give them to the combatants!”

A chorus of voice saying a multitude of things followed, but Titus turned around and rang a large bell once again.

“The southron elves got involved in this fight because of one man,” Titus held his hand out. “They gave this man supplies, relics of their people… and even joined the fight themselves! They are our allies!”

Argrave frowned, catching where this was headed. The southern tribals within the crowd, too, caught on at once.

“Durran distributed the elven war relics to agents within the city!” Titus pointed. “The elves trusted that man with their weapons… and he ordered the wholesale slaughter of the people within Sethia, to ensure his control of the city would be completely unopposed!”

“That’s nonsense!” Durran shouted. “Complete garbage! I didn’t even know the elves were coming to the fight!”

“People of the tribes—who was the sole point of contact between the elves and the tribes?” Titus spread his arms out. “It was Durran! He was the sole person to speak to them!”

Argrave had a bad sensation in his stomach as his brain followed people’s thoughts.

Durran was the intermediary between the tribes and the elves.

Durran was one of few tribals to leave the tribes and enter the city, usually secretly—the tribals had no idea of who he spoke to.

The elves had promised weapons alone to the people of the tribes. Argrave wasn’t sure if this was public knowledge, but it was a damning thing if brought to light.

All of these points in tandem with people’s grief and rage… simply put, Durran was shaping up to be public enemy number one. Argrave looked to Anneliese, and she looked very worried.

Argrave shouted out, “I brought the—”

His voice was quickly drowned out by the thousands of others. He had wished to bring his role in things to light—enough to stall for time to get the southron elves to weigh in.

“Argrave,” Anneliese spoke into his ear. “We should prioritize dealing with Brium. None of the truth can be brought to light if the elves don’t—”

An explosion rocked the earth, and Argrave’s head darted to the side. A blast of purple magic of the same magnitude they had caused within Argent filled the sky above Sethia. Copper water showered the streets and roofs, reflecting the sunlight splendidly as they fell.

Then, the copper water turned to black.

“They… won,” Argrave spoke as he realized. “We need to hurry,” he pulled Anneliese forward. “If we’re to remedy this, the southron elves might be the only way we have.”

Anneliese nodded. She and Galamon followed behind Argrave, hurrying to the site of the battle.

The place was utter mayhem. The streets had been torn apart, the buildings were nearly all collapsed, and there was a great crater in Sethia where the battle had been centered.

Many of the veteran southron elves lie dead, their illusory armor still flickering and distorting their figure. Argrave scanned things, horrified, looking for any alive. He spotted one person kneeling before a body, and rushed up.

Florimund knelt there, hand to his chest. Morvan lay before him. It looked like he had been cut across the chest. The wound was deep, cutting past the ribs. He was dead.

“He’s joined… his daughter, now,” Florimund called out as they approached. “They’re all joining family members. All except me.”

“Florimund…” Argrave began, hesitating to ask him for help yet again in wake of the death before them.

“Don’t call me dead yet,” another voice cut in, and Argrave turned his head. Corentin pushed out a piece of rubble, then collapsed. “Got my leg. Gods damn it all…”

Florimund stood from Morvan’s corpse, moving to help Corentin. He supported the man with his shoulder, and the two rose to their feet. The wound to his leg couldn’t be healed—the flesh had been severed completely. Fortunately, the bleeding was staunched.

“Argrave,” Florimund called out. “We won.”

Argrave was stunned, but he replied, “You did,” almost habitually.

“And we won alone,” Corentin noted. “None will forget that. Florimund threw one of our relics, smacked it with the side of his glaive, right into the copper bastard’s mass. The thing exploded inside him. Devastating,” Corentin shook his head.

Argrave nodded, then decided to bite the bullet and tell them what was happening. “I can’t let you rest yet. There’s—”

“Someone was using our magic,” Florimund noted. “I know it. And we need to clear our names.”

“It may… be beyond saving,” Anneliese noted, watching the crowd. “The whole crowd is aflame. And many of them are collaborating with Titus. His people are the most numerous in the crowd—I am sure of it. If he can buy their loyalty in battle, he can buy their words in a crowd.”

Argrave took a deep breath, mind whirling. “Titus wants complete control of the city,” he said.

“I agree,” Anneliese nodded. “He wants to eliminate all competing leaders. There is only one left, now—Durran.”