As the meeting comes to a close, the guardians walk through the corridors towards the barracks to rest, but a tense atmosphere hangs among the group members.
"Sheila, what were you thinking?" Drake asks, his expression annoyed. "Displaying your horns like that, in the midst of influential Templars and legions of armed warriors, was a damn foolishness! You could have gotten yourself killed. You could have gotten us killed!" The group's progress halts as a new argument begins.
"I agree with the redhead," Alice adds. "It was a very reckless act that could have cost us all dearly."
"First of all... I'm not in the mood for your crap; I really want to hit something, and you wouldn't want to be my target," Sheila continues, her anger growing. "Secondly, it was better that way. My horns can emerge immediately with the slightest use of my powers. If they appeared in the middle of battle and the Templars weren't aware firsthand of my nature, then it was likely that they would kill me."
"Yes, but..." Alice tries to protest, but Maria approaches with a serious expression.
"I don't agree with Sheila's attitude," Maria intervenes, "but to avoid any misunderstanding during the Trident crusade, it was the best alternative we could have."
"I support the argument... it was the best method we could have. Even if we informed them through a document, they needed to see it with their own eyes," Tonatiuh continues, "I don't want to upset you guys; it was an event that was inevitable... one you could have warned us about." In this final statement, the walking warrior speaks through gritted teeth, as if scolding.
Sheila says nothing, remaining with her arms crossed in a stoic and bitter expression.
"Lance?" the Requiem asks, seeking support.
"The same as Tonatiuh and Maria," the dark assassin indicates, opposing his fellow members of the Wolf Order, "spreading the word after a convincing demonstration is better. We have the protection of the Broken Sword, so they can't touch us unless we make a huge mistake... that spectacle was just a bit foolish, but not to that extent."
"I hope that, because of this, our collaboration won't be diminished," the sorceress says, concerned.
"You don't have to worry, Maria. It's just a disagreement. Everything's fine," Drake acts understandingly, trying not to escalate the conflict further.
"I was eager to stop wearing that cumbersome cloak," Sheila says, "and I'm not ashamed of what I am; on the contrary, I'm very proud. I prefer to walk with my horns exposed than to hide them; it's uncomfortable for me."
"If that's what you believe..." Maria says quietly, feeling the weight of Sheila's comment as she hides her elf ears in her hair. Being a half-breed, her ears are the size of a normal human's, but pointed at the ends.
"Then... Sheila's only mistake was not informing us," Alice wipes her forehead, tired from the stress of what happened, "I hope you don't do another similar crazy thing."
"I'll keep that in mind..." Sheila says with complete disinterest, more wanting to move on from the subject than admit her mistake.
The dragoness continues walking forward without waiting for her companions' replies, leading the pistol-wielding guardian to frown and mutter a series of curses under her breath. Maria just sighs, tiredly knowing that the mission will be even more difficult due to this friction within the group.
"What a bombastic way to start our holy crusade," Lance speaks sarcastically, scratching his neck.
"We can make it better! How about getting something to drink to get to know each other better?" Tonatiuh appears behind Lance and Drake, embracing them both somewhat invasively.
"You read my mind, big guy! A little beer will wash away this bad taste in our mouths," Lance enthusiastically accepts Tonatiuh's invitation. "I want to test my alcohol resistance skills with a walker."
"Is that a challenge?" Tonatiuh rhetorically asks, with a sly smile.
"Do I need to unsheathe my sword to make it clear?" the dark assassin reaffirms.
"I'll join you... but I really don't like drinking," Drake says, trying to break free from the dark-skinned man's grip.
"Don't worry, there are surely some apple juices for kids," Lance teases.
The male guardians laugh and joke among themselves. From the balcony on the third floor, the princess watches, leaning on the railing. Her green eyes lack life and reflect the winter's coldness vividly.
"Drake... How dare you come back?" the princess murmurs.
...
The next day, during breakfast, the guardians were informed of the meeting scheduled for noon to plan the incursion into the Trident. Drake walks through the palace gardens, completely alone, needing a moment alone to sort out his thoughts after what the king said.
Inside him, there are many doubts; he fears not being good enough to fulfill that task, as his past is full of failures. People trusted him, and he couldn't save anyone.
He thought he was born to be a warrior, but all he has achieved so far are mistakes that consume him day by day; he wasn't brave enough to help his father, he didn't have the strength to protect Naomi, and he lacked the experience to save Connor. So, he wonders why he was selected for this contract, and which of the higher-ups had the audacity to place him as part of that supposed elite squad.
When least expected, the princess emerges from behind the trees, apparently without any escort, standing in the crimson warrior's path, who startles at such an unexpected encounter.
"E-Esmeralda... I mean... Your Majesty... I-I..." He covers his mouth, unable to complete the word without his voice breaking. He feels a strong grip on his heart, squeezing it firmly, causing immense pain, the regret of the past, of an unfulfilled promise.
"I sent the inquisitor to call you, and he ran into your free-thinking friend," the princess speaks up. Despite her fragile appearance, she is relentless and without doubts as she confronts the warrior. "She informed him that you went for a walk alone, so I came to pay you a visit... to settle accounts from the past... Drake..." She pauses briefly to catch her breath. "Do you have something to say to me?"
She asks in cold harshness; in those emerald eyes devoid of brightness, and dark circles intersect with the flooded crimson orbs. There is nothing left of that little, smiling girl full of dreams; excited to meet a guardian.
"I'm sorry... forgive me," he mutters in a broken voice; he keeps his head down, tears running softly. He avoids looking directly at her; it's torture that shatters the afflicted heart.
"Why are you crying?" The princess's petrified gaze is a serious expression, a mixture of pity and sorrow.
"I failed you..."
"What did you promise me?"
"I..." He hesitates in his response, remorse continues to poison his heart.
"Tell me, speak, you're making it harder," she insists. She won't accept evasion as an answer anymore.
"I-I promised you that your brother and I would come for you," he answers with difficulty. The color in his heart only increases.
"It took you two years, is my brother with you?" she asks something she already knows the answer to.
"No, Your Majesty," he replies, his voice breaking.
"Connor left my life, and I highly doubt you want to take me with you," the princess says calmly. She bears a sad expression on her face. Drake remains silent for a brief moment, as if hesitating with his next response.
"No, Your M-Majesty," he finally replies, enduring a burning sensation in his chest.
"Then there's nothing to discuss," the princess changes her expression back to coldness. "There's nothing, no friendship, no resentment, nothing, just stay out of my sight. Go, finish your mission and leave, go die somewhere forgotten by God's hand."
Those words tear him apart as if with a knife. Drake simply wipes his tears and remains silent. The past hits him again with a poisoned stab, throwing a broken promise back at a little maiden: to do his job and bring back her older brother alive.
He wasn't even with her when she had a funeral, he wasn't there to give her condolences, he couldn't be there to hold her hand and beg for forgiveness. He couldn't do it, he couldn't confront those emerald eyes, and today, when he is forced to answer the call to arms, he reaffirms that unheard fact like the fate of a damned man.
The sound of the grass moving behind him alerts the crimson warrior, and he reacts by turning abruptly into a fighting stance. From behind some bushes, the inquisitor emerges, walking calmly, but his right hand rests on the grips of a holstered pistol.
"Did you think I would let the princess wander alone with a monstrosity like you lurking?" The inquisitor clicks his tongue, staring fixedly at the crimson warrior, expecting a reaction, any excuse to draw his weapon. "The reports were correct; you've become a damn... if you weren't always one."
"I don't have time for your crap, Bast!"
Drake exclaims, plagued by a strong headache as his mind is invaded by a legion of voices clamoring for violence. Tentacles grow from his collar, forging the helmet of gleaming green flames in his eyes.
Bast reacts and draws his gun, aiming at the guardian. The princess holds back a gasp, her hand on her chest as she steps back. The inquisitor's weapon is an archaic single-shot pistol with a sight.
"Maleficarium bullets... I wouldn't act too tough if I were you," the inquisitor warns, releasing the gun's safety, "do you know what this can do to your armor? I loved that boy as if he were my son, I taught him everything I knew. If I hadn't been gravely injured at that time, I would have gone with him, and you wouldn't have caught him in your spiral of death."
"Don't speak to me like I'm a child; I know that damn material, and I won't fall for your provocations," Drake contains himself, looking at Bast with cold rage, "I'll never forgive myself for failing Connor. It will haunt me for the rest of my life, and you can blame me all you want; I won't fight you... not here. I've come to do the job I've been forced into. Nothing more, nothing less."
The crimson warrior endures his great rage; he has a lot of frustration to vent, but it's neither the time nor the place, nor. He tilts his head over his shoulder and faces the princess, whose expression is one of fear.
"Calm down, my lord," the princess takes Bast's arm, "the guardian wasn't bothering me. I was just tying up a few loose ends, as I already told him."
"Excuse us, we have to prepare for the meeting; a war isn't planned alone. It's better if we see him there, Inquisitor," Alicia indicates they need to leave, avoiding delving deeper into the conversation. The two groups turn around, retreating, but after just two steps, Bast turns abruptly and proclaims.
"Wait! Before you go, I have one last question for you, crimson guardian."
"What do you want?" Drake stops abruptly, glancing sideways at him. The other two guardians, already ahead, also stop, waiting.
"Why did the stigma of your armor take the form of a demon?" the inquisitor asks, "it's supposed to materialize a reflection of your desires."
"It's not a demon..." Irritated, the warrior denies the assumption coldly and turns back around. As he resumes walking, he gives an answer without looking back, rejoining his friends, "It's a dragon."