Cyran held the body of his father for a long while before finally burying him beneath the unchanging gaze of the Oak. His vicious katana plunged into the earth as a headstone, the only marker of the great man that lay beneath the earth. Cyran turned to lifelessly gather the bodies of the village folk in the centre when Abus stopped him. "The townsfolk have been given a burial, I assure you. I treated them with the utmost care," with this he stepped forward and laid a gloved hand on Cyran's shoulder, "I am terribly sorry for your loss." The sorrow in his voice took Cyran by surprise. Cyran thanked him and then continued to lazily walk the village in search of some hope. Some sign of his mother and younger brother. As he walked, shadows started to flicked when a lone figure emerged clad from head to toe in black.
"Well, they said if I waited that some more would turn up, heh," the voice rattled beneath a black hood. The figure drew a weapon from his sleeve and began to advance. Wordlessly, Cyran drew his own blade and, without thought, wisped behind the shadowed warrior and plunged his weapon straight through his chest. The figure gurgled before dropping down, shortly followed by Cyran. Wounds reopening and flaring to life anew, he again realised how weary and just how badly injured he was. The surrounding trees began to waver as darkness encircled Cyran who fell back, passing out.
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Fires raged all around them as fighting broke out, the village guards and nearby rangers were all locked in battle with black clad men wielding weapons and commanding the elements against them. Eleanor pulled Arlen along with her as the surviving townspeople hurried to the outpost in the north as instructed.
"Where is big brother and father? Why aren't they here?" the boy asked.
"They have to get their things but they will be meeting us later honey" Eleanor replied warmly, not knowing if he truly believed her.
"Try not to worry too much lad, your father is the strongest warrior this forest has ever seen," Galaeron chimed in. The old man, hobbling along the moving caravan of people, had caught up with them not too long ago and had told Eleanor of his brief meeting with Virion and she desperately clung to his words. It was his advice that had moved the throng of survivors towards the encampment to the north for safety.
The smell of ash hanging in the air was soon replaced by the smell of blood as the towns people gasped at the scene before them. The guardsmen placed at the encampment were sprawled on the ground covered in wounds and unmoving. Galaeron pushed his way to front to see the scene before him. "How could this have happened?" He muttered in shock. Shadows burst to life and men erupted forth to quickly surround the villagers before they had a chance to react. Eleanor ushered Arlen behind her quietly and slowly stood to shield him. Heavy footsteps resounded as a man, presumably the leader of this ambush, stepped forth. Galaeron could not contain his shock.
"You..."
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Cyran woke with a start and sat up in to find himself in a bed. His body felt heavy. A cool breeze softly caressed his skin and stung at his tender flesh. Looking around, he was in a bed that sat inside the burned out husk of a house. Yet the fire in what was left of the hearth kept the worst of the cold at bay. The moon looked as though it hadn't moved from the sky.
"Finally, I thought you'd never wake up kid," Abus chimed as he unloaded some firewood. Cyran turned his emotionless eyes to him.
"My name is Cyran," he replied flatly.
"Well, Simon, you have been out for quite a while you know. A whole day in fact. But that isn't what I want to talk to you about. You wisp walked..." Abus started enthusiastically, drawing a splintered chair over and dusting it off before sitting. "Your father is... was the only person that I know of that could do that. I could never learn it, yet you..." he trailed off staring into the fire. "You may also have it."
"Have what?" Cyran said.
"IT! IT BOY!" Abus exclaimed, hands darting around to emphasise his point. "The aptitude for magic."
"I can't perform magic. Neither could father, you're mistaken Abus"
"Oh but he could!" Abus said with a sly grin.
The words were a shock to Cyran. 'Father could use magic?! He could summon tempests and command balls of fire?! Why did he never say anything?' He thought inwardly.
"The prude was just too uppity to use it, believing his swordsmanship to be superior but I believe he just didn't know how," Abus continued.
'What convenient timing for his explanation' Cyran thought. It was much to take in but the pieces did start to make sense. But for him to also be able to use magic? There was so much he didn't understand but perhaps magic was just the start of it.
"Abus, the man that appeared from the shadows, was that magic?" Cyran asked.
"Shadow magic. It wasn't quite 'appearing' more so than it was hiding. He wasn't there and now he is here. He was always here, hidden," Abus explained. "Shadow magic utilises that which exists in the absence of light. Namely, deception and decay. For obscuring and withering." Cyran sat in puzzlement at Abus's new found wordsmanship.
Sighing, Abus relented, "It helps people go sneaky sneak and stabby stab."
"I understood you," Cyran said, exasperated.
"Mmm," Abus replied, distrustfully.
"But what would they want with a village like this? How could they even find us? Who even were those people?!" Cyran started to get more passionate with each question, turmoil beginning to stir within him.
Slumping into a nearby chair, Abus straightened his hat. "I cannot say for certain what they were after, Cyril, but I do recognise that sigil. That was the mark of The Harvest."