Sleeping in the wilderness, morning soon came. We were buried, hidden inside a nearby cavern where the deceased bear once hibernated inside of. I woke up beneath a blanket, my body inherently always warm. My ember, having been empowered with the sacrifice, had grown offshoots — escaping my body as little fireflies of fire that floated about, gently illuminating the inside of our tent.
Dreihander slept, curled up in a ball — his harness set aside. Anise slept, curled up in a similar ball while she hugged Dreihander's warm tail like a child.
His tail was nested inside the tent, given to his master to ensure she slept sound and warm through the wintry nights. Despite how stubborn Dreihander was, I had no doubts about his loyalty.
I had never imagined life without weathervanes — without an electric heater to keep me from freezing in my sleep. Witnessing how a tribal, nomadic person like Anise lived, I realized the idea of drifting across Nordsummer, living off the wilderness, wasn't as far-fetched as I had presumed.
I finally understood what she meant when she said I didn't know the wind like she did.
Weathervanes rejected the cold, fighting against the chilling winds while also relying on wind for momentum and energy. Every time those weathervanes broke down, it was a declaration — a reminder from the air that humanity was still a part of nature.
Seeing a man and a woman shivering, freezing to death, forced to try and stay warm inside the bloody carcass of a freshly slain bear deeply and utterly humbled me.
Nature was cruel, and I took a bowl of snow and melted it, waking Anise up to tea made with the leftover bags given to us by Commander Lucas. Our breakfast consisted of cured bear meat, a mixture of leftover tea with immunity boosting pine needle tea and our main course — bear heart stew made with wild onions, carrots, a couple of potatoes and other vegetables I had never seen before in my life.
In Wintermute, vegetables were a rare treat. There was the occasional handful of berries and foraged mushrooms, but life mostly consisted of fish pulled out of the nearby river.
Out in the wild, we were free range, free to eat whatever we could get our hands on. Anise made it clear, however, to cook food thoroughly to avoid roundworms and other parasites. For Dreihander who ate meat raw, she kept the wolf healthy with deworming herbs and medicines, though those were for the rare times Dreihander ever got sick.
Life in the wilderness was different. It had its own challenges, and with our bowls cleaned, I experienced the privilege of freedom. The flame led us forwards, towards another sacrifice chosen by fire, who'd empower me — further bringing my dream of wildfires to life.
I sat in silence, holding the reins of Dreihander, leading him forwards to the flame's destination. Anise sat, as quiet as the few mice who had come and built a nest in the tent, living off of the warmth I emanated and the scraps of hanging food that fell off the wall.
She didn't mind the rodents that would normally be treated as pests. Her sled tent, in a strange way, was a home for the rejected — for those who had no place to call home.
I peeked over to find her playing with a mouse who sat in her hand, chewing on a piece of cured bear — overthrowing the food chain. Seeing her gently pet that mouse made me miss the rabbits we had met on the trail.
"You were always like this, weren't you?" I asked, tossing a question her way.
She looked at me, tilting her head, asking, "What do you mean?"
"I thought it was a one-time thing," I told her, "but it looks like you always were a kind soul — sheltering anyone that needed help."
She took a glance at me, at the mice and at Dreihander. "It's just a part of being a nomad," she confessed. "You make friends wherever you can. Dreihander is like a brother to me, these mice are a reminder that life can exist in this everlasting winter, and you…"
"And me?"
She paused for a moment. A compliment nearly slipped out of her mouth, only for a smirk to take its place. "You're a tent heater," she said.
Hearing that, I couldn't help but smile.
Dreihander marched through the snow and the mice eventually left when the forest opened up towards a wide field. In the morning, flowers rose out of the snow, rising up with trunk-like stems before opening up — reaching out to the sun for its warmth. Dreihander instinctively stopped by those plants, giving Anise an opportunity to pick leaves, collect seeds and take sap from the stems — sap that flowed and rose upwards with the warmth of morning — sap she stored in a wooden bowl.
She took a lick of sap around her finger and brought it up to Dreihander's face. The wolf, smart enough to accept the bitterness of medicine, ate away.
The fields opened up, rising up with flowers, rising up with life that waited over a thousand years for spring to come. Accompanying the blooming life was something else entirely. Men marched through the fields, wandering soldiers who carried a broken and ripped banner. They stamped their spears like walking canes, marching on a pilgrimage towards the same direction his flame pointed.
They looked familiar, yet they were unlike the imperial soldiers, unlike Petrov's guard and unlike a foreign force. I watched from a distance as the soldiers trekked through the snowy fields. Squinting, I recognized their armor as Eckard's legion.
They were a small army of the past. Lost in the present, they marched forwards — heading the same direction my flame was. Anise turned to me and immediately told me to turn tail. "Take another path," she said. "Nothing good can come out of getting near them."
"They're the same as the soldiers who besieged Everberg Castle," I argued. "Knowing Emperor Eckard, I'm sure they'll help someone who can wield fire."
Emperor Eckard wielded an eternally burning spear, so the ember of a flameseeker should be no different. There was a good chance they'd help me if I could convince them Eckard and I were cut from the same cloth.
"I'll ask them for help," I told Anise. "If they refuse, Dreihander can take us to safety."
She thought it over and reluctantly agreed. Approaching the marching army, I approached them from the safety of the sled. The army, noticing Dreihander, were quick to stop. Their commander stepped forward, meeting me head on. Approaching the man, I didn't realize until now that he was injured — with a hatchet stuck in his skull, a wound that was guaranteed to kill even beasts and demons.
Their wrinkled and dried skin, their skeletal limbs and their worn weapons — all of it was proof that these soldiers were undead.
"You're undead," I muttered.
"We are Eckard's Legion. We followed the emperor to our last breaths, and now it appears we've risen to fight one last campaign." and the commander approached me, extending a rotten hand, stating, "I am Rosch, commander of this undead army."
"You're fire spreaders, aren't you?" I asked. "You're the same as the men who stormed Everberg Castle."
"Indeed," Rosch said before asking, "How long has it been since our deaths? Since Emperor Eckard banished fire?"
1000 years had passed since Eckard's reign. Telling Rosch the truth, the undead commander fell silent.
"A thousand years of rest, only to be interrupted," Rosch said. "What could possibly be the catalyst for such necromancy?"
Why would long dead soldiers be brought back? The answer was simple — because they were needed in the modern age. "I summoned you," I told them.
"You summoned us?" Rosch asked.
"In the thousand years that have passed, times have changed," I told Rosch. "Today, fire is still banished — wielded only by flameseekers." and I sparked my flame before the commander, telling him, "I've been tasked with reviving the primordial flame and returning spring to Nordsummer. The eternal winter has gone on for too long. Only I can bring it to an end."
The commander looked me in the eyes. Distrust filled the man, but the sight of the flame reignited old memories. I could tell that he had seen the flame before — a fire wielded by Emperor Eckard, the man who conquered Nordsummer, slaying the ice giants and building his capital within the Cardia Mountain.
"It's an interesting proposal," Rosch said. "For the time being, Eckard's Legion shall assist you, flameseeker — so long as you don't disappoint me."
The commander seemed more interested than devoted. In the past, he fought and died for Eckard's cause. Now, revived and undead, he was unable to stomach sacrificing his life twice — choosing to instead follow my cause out of interest.
After breaking the cycle of life and death, many things lost the value they once had. Loyalty was one of them.
The soldiers no longer fought for survival. They were already dead, and with it, they resumed their battle as if to forget they had already passed on from this world.
Anise was silent on the matter, and while they were shambling corpses, they were still able to wield weapons. Even if they weren't the best, it was better to have them than go alone.
I sat on the sled as we all marched together, my flame leading the way. Rosch marched alongside me, turning to me with a few questions of his own.
"What are you exactly, flameseeker?" he asked. "Are you a descendant of Eckard's bloodline?"
"Sorry to disappoint, but I'm a commoner," I confessed. "There's not a drop of royal blood in my Nordling veins."
I expected Rosch to be disappointed. Instead, the skeletal face smiled.
"Emperor Eckard, before fleeing to Nordsummer, was an ordinary soldier of the Vale army," Rosch said. "He had sailed alongside other refugees who fled the mainland, sailing with the hopes of building a new life someplace else."
"They chose to land on Nordsummer?" I asked.
"Of course not," Rosch said. "Not even the Vale Empire never dared to set foot onto the cursed island. Eckard and the other refugees were shipwrecked on Nordsummer."
"And yet they survived," I said.
"Eckard fought when all hope was lost," Rosch said. "Wielding the sword of his homeland, Crae der Bern, and Longe dernus, a holy spear lit by Priscilla's flame, he carved his own path — gathering the ashes of daemons to forge the immortal's sword."
"Ashes," I muttered, and Rosch nodded.
"Emperor Eckard was an unmatched conqueror," he said, and he turned to me with a cruel smirk. "Knowing that," he said, "I have high expectations for you, flameseeker."
"Same here," I answered with the same smile. "I'll be working you and your soldiers to death and back."
Rosch could only smile, and I couldn't help but ask about the axe in his head.
"About that axe," I muttered.
"The savages were responsible for this axe," Rosch said. "We were ambushed by the Black Talon tribe who left no survivors." and Rosch peeked into the tent, towards Anise who refused to make eye contact with the undead commander.
"I must ask, who is this savage you're traveling with?" Rosch asked. "Don't tell me you're working with a tribal, are you?"
"She's my partner," I told him. "She's been more helpful to me than the modern-day empire."
"The modern-day empire," Rosch muttered. Glancing down to his hands, to the sword by his side and to the men who followed him even after death, he contemplated everything that had occurred between the two distant eras.
Gentle snowdrift filled the air. The snow was like wisps — like ghosts of the past.
"I'd like to see the current state of the empire," Rosch said. "Even with Eckard long dead, I have no doubts that the current emperor is doing his best with the circumstances he's been given."
The current emperor, Askander, was as reclusive as a ruler could get before becoming a prisoner of his own empire. I doubt even Rosch could gain an audience with him.
Rosch and his armies marched forward, all while we followed behind — using them as meat shields in case of a frontal assault. Anise sat still and quiet, sulking to herself. I didn't have to be a genius to find out she was uncomfortable around imperial soldiers and a commander who didn't hesitate to call her a savage.
Ahead, we marched towards a mountain range. Glancing at the familiar sight, I realized it was the mountain range that trapped Wintermute in the valley it was inside, the opposite end of the mountain was where Priscilla's Peak lay. This whole journey, we had done nothing but skirt around the southern coast of Nordsummer.
I couldn't help but feel small, like this ember was a dot in the night sky.
Wintermute still weighed heavily on my mind. The traitorous officer, the blind knight and the assassin who saved my life — they were all memories I could push away. Looking up ahead, I saw a cavern carved into the mountain, a rocky wall covered in strange claw marks and scratches.
At the front of the cave were scaffolds that formed an outer wall. Atop the wall stood tribal warriors armed with crossbows and regular recurve bows — their faces masked by hooded coats and scarves. Approaching the wall, Dreihander flinched, stepping back when an arrow landed by his feet.
"Imperial scum!" the archers and gatekeepers cried. "Turn back and return from where you came!"
The guards of the cavern drew their bows, all while Anise tugged on my rein-holding arm. "Turn away," she said. "They'll turn you into a pincushion." I turned to speak, to agree with her. Before I could speak, however, Rosch turned to me with an inquisitive look, reminding me of the deal we had made.
"It looks like the savages are putting up a fight," Rosch said, and he smiled, asking, "What shall you do, flameseeker?"
I couldn't lose Rosch and his army just yet. Stepping off the sled, I took another gamble, an attempt at peace. "We come in peace!" I shouted. "We're not imperial soldiers! We are fire spreaders — soldiers who march under the banner of the flameseeker!"
"The flameseeker!?" the guards shouted, and he turned to his men, screaming, "An evil omen has arrived upon our doorsteps!"
The archers drew their arrows and I stumbled back — blocking the projectiles with one swipe of my arm. Fire escaped my limbs, spreading out into a wing of flames that incinerated the arrows before they could pierce me. The undead legion was quick to surround me, raising their shields in a defensive formation.
I noticed the growing distrust on Rosch's face, and seeing that, I was quick to brush the soldiers aside.
"We come in peace!" I said once more. "We only want to speak with your chieftain!"
My request only made them fight harder. More arrows flew and I blocked each one, thrashing my arm — my flames accidentally licking rubble that laid at the bottom of the scaffolds. Like tinder, they were engulfed in flames, rising up the wooden body of the structure, stopping the archers who watched as nearly sentient flames stalked them from below.
I wanted to extinguish the fire, but Rosch stopped me. "Let it burn," Rosch said. "It's the only language that these savages can understand."
Fire rose and smoke bellowed out of the gated cavern, and before long, the gates opened — ordering a stop to the flames. A boy my age stepped out, and accompanied by bodyguards, he put an end to this conflict. He wore a bow over his shoulder, had a mane of owl feathers stitched around his neck and he stood firm — his sharp eyes focused upon me, the curse-mongering flame scourge.
"I am Nero, son of Chieftain Ostros!" Nero said. "I've come to bargain, flame scourge!"
My flames extinguished with a pulling motion of my hands. Nero waved me over, inviting me, Anise and Rosch inside — leaving the army outside like a misbehaving dog. Inside, I saw the terrified people who kept their distance, frightened by the flames that suddenly spilled into their cavern village.
Scorch marks remained and men draped in crow feathers carried axes, clearing away the charred wood that remained. Those men were soldiers who kept their eye on us foreigners, a stark reminder that we were in enemy territory. Inside the cavern was a settlement built to house the tribe. The cave offered protection against the elements and the inside was filled with familiar fireflies, spiritually important insects who were fed and worshiped like a second sun. Those fireflies flew above, illuminating the homes and tents built into the cave.
Ropes were strung from above, hanging lanterns where the fireflies went to lay their eggs, hatching into larvae that naturally glowed — allowing the lanterns to provide valuable light. The insects ate meat presented to them as offerings from hunters and the like, forming a thousand-year long symbiotic relationship between man and light-bringers.
Archers roamed the inside of the cavern settlement, wearing both bird feathers and moss capes, watching from atop their scaffolds and structures as I, the flame scourge, marched through their home.
Luckily for them, I was here in peace — obediently following Nero as we marched past terrified townsfolk.
"What is this place?" Rosch asked.
"This is Windbeast's Rest, home of the Arrowfall tribe," Nero said. "I'm in line to become the next chieftain, meaning I'll have to deal with people like you."
Porcupine quills would fit Nero better than his wreath of owl feathers. Nero marched forwards in deerskin boots, with string charms and glass beads hanging down from his long hair. Like chains on a prisoner, Nero was fitted with a thousand different embroideries — a burden the chieftain would wear.
Rosch kept an eye on the chieftain-to-be, following behind as we dove deeper into the cavern village. Walking past the limbs and boughs of mushroom trees that grew inside the cavern, we made our way to the home of the chieftain.
Furs were hung from the open ceiling, draping down like the sails of a ship with clothes and embroideries hanging down from above. Glowing moths ate away at cloth, forming spider web-like patterns that let in detailed daylight like the stained glass of a chapel. Patterns of light shone down from above, illuminating the darkness, forming a path towards the chieftain's home that changed every hour like a sundial.
Inside the wooden home, past rows and rows of old bows used by chieftains-past, sat Arrowfall's leader. He sat on the floor, the old man silent, thin and pale like he was on a hunger strike. He sat beneath sunlight — beneath a calendar formed by light.
The chief carried a staff woven with bottle gourds and crow's feathers. The staff had a split end — evidence that it was once a battle axe.
"Father," Nero said. "We have guests."
The chief, old and still as a statue, didn't move from his position. He was a living clock — a corpse who studied the sun.
"Chieftain?" Nero asked.
"Nero," the old man said, his voice gentle yet imposing. "What is the Arrowfall tribe's tradition concerning corpses and burials?"
"Burials?" Nero asked. "We take them to the valley of arrows to be buried."
"Then tell me," Ostros asked. "Why have you let corpses into our home?"
Without opening an eye, Ostros made out Rosch's true undead nature along with the rest of the soldiers. It took a moment for Nero to realize he was standing before an undead legionnaire. "Good Goddess," Nero muttered. "First, the flame scourge. Now, an army of the undead have appeared on our doorsteps. What is the meaning of this?"
Rosch stood firm, his expression cold. "I am undead, a mirage of the past, brought back to aid the flameseeker. 'Tis an auspicious day for us all."
"Not just the undead, but imperials as well," Ostros said. He opened his eyes, revealing pale, blinded irises. Ostros looked up to me, asking, "What brings you here, flame scourge? Come to pillage our home?"
"I've come to find the next sacrifice — the daemon who lives here," I answered, revealing my flame, how my embers trailed forwards, deeper into the cavern settlement. "Once I burn the next sacrifice, me and my men will be out of your hair."
"You've come for the wind beast, haven't you?"
Rosch paused. "The wind beast?" he asked. "Hasn't Emperor Eckard already slain the monster?"
"He has," Ostros answered. "Its carcass is all that remains, never rotting, never deteriorating — eternally waiting to be sacrificed."
"And where is it?" I asked.
Ostros' bones cracked and his joints snapped. The old man rose like an uncoiling snake, stamping his cane down — using the tool to balance himself upright. With a breath out, ash and smoke escaped the old man's mouth before he turned to leave. The old man marched forwards through the cavern, behind his home and through a massive entrance of pure stone. Making our way down carved stone steps, I could hear the distant noise of scraping.
Again and again, I heard metal against stone like I was walking into a copper mine.
Ostros led us towards a stone carved railing, making our way to the core of the cavern where the sounds originated from. The churning of metal chains shifted under the weight of a monster hidden in the dark. Sparks flashed in the darkness. I lit my flame, only for the light of the fire to be drowned out by black feathers.
"We've kept your sacrifice waiting for you, oh great flame scourge," Ostros said with a hint of sarcasm. "Do what you will with the beast. Slay the monster and begone."
Ostros turned to leave. Nero, though, stopped him. "Father!" Nero cried. "This beast…"
"What of it?" Ostros asked.
"About the wind beast," Nero asked. "Is it alright to simply hand over the source of Arrowfall's traditional fletchings to the flame scourge?"
Ostros waved his hand with reckless abandon. "Let them take it. The beast is an old, outdated tradition. Besides, its feathers have grown weak and brittle. It's of no use to us."
Ostros left the cavern, leaving the task of slaying the caged beast to us. It wasn't a fair battle. The monster, tied down by chains and anchored to the earth, was dragged down from the skies and locked inside a cavern. Never seeing sunlight, the beast peered through its crowded feathers, looking me in the eyes.
White dots gleamed in the darkness. I sensed no consciousness behind them. Not an ounce of sadness or misery filled those two cloudy circles. Rosch stared at the beast — meeting the caged monster face to face with his wrinkled, undead skin.
"This beast," Rosch muttered. "It must be a coincidence. There's no way."
"Rosch?" I asked. "Hand me your sword."
I took his blade, and with flames enveloping the sword, I stepped onto the rocky prison. The beast squirmed beneath its chains — struggling after starving for so long, becoming a monster trapped within Arrowfall. Spears and swords pierced the backside of the beast. With my burning blade, I approached the helpless monster.
Winged and clawed, the beast wore a beak and had panther's paws. Struggling under chains, it looked to me with its pale, cloudy eyes. The beast could not speak, but looking into its eyes, I could sense something emerging. Fire reflected in those pale mirrors — a flame that reignited old memories within the winged scourge.
"Eck…" the beast muttered. "Eck… ard?" One word became a single realization. That alone set the beast off like a bomb. Its beak opened far too wide — enough for me to hear bones and tendons snap from within its maw.
"Eckard!" it cried. "Eckard!"
Chains shattered. It scratched at the walls — shattering apart its own claws whilst it thrashed. Seeing the beast, I couldn't help but freeze, wishing to hear more of what it had to say. Anise, however, was the only sane person here.
"Kill it!" she cried. "Don't let it escape!"
I took my sword and plunged it into the skull of the beast. With a breath in, I transmuted oxygen into fire — flames that spread across the body of the beast. Only, the beast thrashed its head, throwing me off while it burned.
"Traitor!" the beast screamed. "I will not forgive you, Emperor!"
An a thousand-year-old grudge remained. Rosch stared as the chains snapped and the beast escaped its restraints. Nero drew a trio of arrows and rapid-fired them — sinking them into the beast's wings.
"Run!" Nero cried.
Before we knew it, we fled the cavern — watching as the wind beast stormed into Ostros' house. Unable to keep steady, the beast rushed into walls, leaving splinters and shards of broken stone in its feathery body as it stopped. Two legs stretched, and after so long it stood upright. It beat its wings, loosening old and brittle feathers that scattered in the air like a plague-ridden storm.
The wind beast stumbled forward, crashing onto the ground where Ostros would sit beneath sunlight. Its pale, empty eyes stared up to the sun that beamed down. The simple sight of light reminded it of the traitorous emperor, and with broken jaws and shattered vocal cords, the beast let out screams — its chained agony.
"Traitor," the beast let out. "Traitors… every last one of you."
The beast pulled itself back onto its feet — charging forward through the chieftain's home. The monster emerged before its fellow tribe members, people it recognized through clouded eyes. Its jaw hung agape. "Traitors." it called them all, glaring with an indiscriminate wish for violence.
We charged out of the cavern, pushing forward as Rosch ferried a burning spear. We rushed forwards like we were operating a battering ram, smashing the spear into the wind beast's foot, crippling the monster.
"Everyone!" I cried to the villagers, wielding fire like a flag. "Get away!"
The people were quick to flee, diving into safety caverns and tunnels that were hand carved, built in case of emergencies and raids. Fireflies above grew flustered, glowing brighter than ever. Anise and I fought from one end while Nero climbed up scaffolds in an attempt to get an advantageous angle against the beast.
Meanwhile, Rosch stood before the beast, using both his status as an undead soldier and his connection to the past to confront the beast.
"Traitor!" the wind beast cried.
"Yes!" Rosch said, wielding his spear. "Gaze upon me, your traitor!"
Unbridled wrath spilled out of the wind beast. Rosch skewered the charging beast with his spear, but the beast was unflinching — pushing itself onto the spike as it smashed down with its paws, smothering Rosch beneath shattered claws.
Rosch used all his strength to keep himself from being ground to dust, holding the beast's paw up as Anise ran in with her axe, swinging at the feet of the beast, only for the monster to dodge back — letting Rosch go. I took my flame, breathed in air, and with my hand on my other hand's wrist for support, I stamped my feet down and spewed fire from my palm.
Every drop of fire escaped my body — blazing away like burning oil. The wind beast, drenched in scorching fire, raised its head to let out a familiar scream.
"Fire," the beast muttered. "Fire… everywhere."
Lit ablaze, the beast stomped back and forth, swinging its claws to try and put itself out — leaving pale scars on the rock walls of the cavern settlement. The beast suddenly stopped, its head raised straight up, lowering itself down to ground height — to my height.
A single eye, unpierced by Nero's arrows, looked into my very core.
"Eckard," it muttered. "Eckard… foul traitor."
The monster's broken jaws widened even further as tendons snapped. Behind the reptilian slits of his avian, predator eyes lay a gentle kindness — the remnants of a corrupted chieftain. "Eckard?" the beast asked. "Where did… those days go? Why did we have to fight?"
I couldn't speak. My throat closed up in terror at the sight of the beast.
"Eckard," the wind beast said. "We were friends. The Black Talon… we were at your service, more loyal than your own legion." The monster soon lost whatever remnants of a mind it had left. Like a wyvern, it arched back — its tail lifting like a rattlesnake.
"Eckard," it let out. "Eckard!"
The beast threw itself forwards, forcing me back. The moment the monster raised a claw to tear me to shreds, I spewed fire into its last remaining eye — stunning the beast long enough for me to take my knife and plunge it into its hand. With as few flames as I had left in me, I scorched the monster's hand, incinerating its palm a jet black.
Rosch was quick to reach forward and yank out the spear he impaled the beast with — dragging out a trail of viscera as Anise came and smashed her axe into the beast's ankle, hammering the blunt end of the axe with a kick, digging the blade deeper into its joints and bones, crippling the monster. Nero dragged back a trio of arrows, sinking all three of them into the back of the beast's neck, towards its spine.
With a screech, the wind beast turned to Rosch — clamping down with both hands on Rosch's shoulders, knocking the viscera covered spear aside, revealing sharp teeth ready to rip his skull apart. The beast bit down on his neck, not realizing Rosch was a fellow undead.
Rosch stood firm, and like a mourning friend, he shut his eyes.
"Gareth," Rosch said to the beast. "In the Emperor's name, I — Rosch der Aden — shall put your soul to rest."
Rosch yanked out the axe embedded into his own head and swung down. Smashing the axe against the sword that was already embedded into the beast's skull, the blade was hammered in like a chisel, allowing the flame to pierce its body — burning it from within. Fire purified the beast, and soon it laid bare — leaving nothing but a burning skeleton with its skull split apart.
Chimeric blood stained Arrowfall. I stared at the broken face of the beast — of the remnants of a man. "Who were you?" was all I could mumble to myself, to the corpse.
"He was Chieftain Gareth," I heard Ostros say, "once the greatest warrior of the Black Talon, a tribe of assassins who once had the emperor's favor."
Ostros stepped out from the rubble, from the mess that was the remains of his home. He seemed unfazed — as if he had predicted these consequences. "He did as Emperor Eckard pleased, doing favors for the empire in exchange for trust and power over all of the other tribes," Ostros said, "but in the end, like all those who bend the knee to the empire, the professional backstabber was betrayed."
"Betrayed?" I asked.
Ostros came and stamped down his staff. "In the end, after his death, the people buried him in a coffin of owl feathers so he may be reborn as either a powerful beast or a warrior in his next life. It's a forbidden, alchemical practice now, but it was common during his time."
I stopped the chieftain. "The cavern behind your house, is it—"
"It was a resting site," Ostros said, answering my question. "The wind beast rested, surrounded by the corpses of his family and tribesmen. As chieftain, I, Ostros, watched over the dead so our past may not be tarnished by living hands."
Rosch stood firm — his expression unchanging. "So, this was what you did to Gareth. After all he did for his own tribe, you turned him into a monster."
"It was common practice in the past, but the alchemical process of transmutation has been abandoned," Ostros said. "Our history of backstabbing is in the past. Our history died with Gareth — with the empire's betrayal that brought about his end."
Rosch stared at his own hands, then towards the beast whose skull was split. "To think that in the end, it was me who put you down, Gareth," Rosch muttered to himself. "I'm sorry for betraying you — for not being able to refuse Eckard's demands."
Rosch stood, his hands clasped in prayer for his old friend. I knew better than to ask — to allow the dead to mourn their fellow dead in silence.
Nero came down to meet us, to discuss matters. "The sacrifice is yours," Nero said. "Now, you and your undead legion shall leave our home and never return."
I fully understood. With the rest of my squadron, I made my way back to the entrance where — to my surprise — the doors opened on their own. A familiar face stepped in accompanied by an army of his own.
Behind his blindfold were eyes emboldened by fire.
"Gawain," I muttered.
"Flameseeker," Gawain said. "You've been busy."