The morning came swiftly, though its light brought no reprieve. Aisha took inventory of all that had been lost in the ambush — man, beast, and equipment. She assembled what remained of the cohort's resources.
"Sir Krown, this is everything." She said, handing him the mockup.
Krown scanned the list, his expression unreadable. Seven Knights had fallen. One of their five dragon-newts lay injured, another dead. Thirteen men remained, four nursing injuries that the healer could only partially mend, luckily they weren't in critical condition. In all, their supplies were largely intact, though the losses meant they would be slowed down in the journey back.
"This certainly looks bad." Krown admitted, his voice steady but heavy. "But it could've been worse. We shall bury the deceased, we can't take their bodies back, it's too far a distance."
Aisha nodded, her face grim as she rallied the remaining Knights for the procession.
Athaan remained silent, his gaze trailing to the still bodies of the fallen Knights. Their armor, once gleaming with pride — now dulled and battered — bore the scars of a battle they could no longer recount.
When the pyres were raised, Krown stepped forward. He carried their weapons — not as tools of war, but as tokens of remembrance. One by one, he placed the swords, axes, and shields upon the pyres, his movements deliberate, reverent. Over each fallen Knight, he murmured a prayer, his voice steady despite the grief etched into his features.
The remaining Knights echoed him, their voices a solemn hymn. The verses spoke of valor, sacrifice, and the eternal vigil of a Knight's spirit.
As the final weapon was placed, Krown drew his blade and raised it high, the tip piercing the heavens. Aura surged along the blade's edge, a golden light cascading upwards before erupting into the sky like a second sun. The light lingered for a heartbeat before raining down in a soft glow, illuminating the pyres as if the heavens themselves mourned the loss.
With a single strike of flint and the steel of his blade, the pyres were set aflame. The fire roared to life, devouring the wood and armor, and enveloping the dead in a purifying blaze. Shadows danced across the faces of the Knights as they stood in silence, heads bowed.
Athaan couldn't tear his gaze away from the flames. There was a raw finality in them, a searing reminder of the price paid for duty and honor.
When the fires burned low, leaving only ashes, Kevin stepped forward. He knelt before each pyre with an urn in hand, carefully gathering the remains. His movements were slow, carried out with ritual attention to detail. The urns would return to Arthuria, Krown had said. To the families who waited, it was the least they could do.
As the last of the ashes were secured, the Knights stood once more. Their formation, though fewer in number, was no less resolute. The procession ended with a minute of silence and that was it.
All preparations were completed and the march continued.
***
The path ahead loomed tall and ancient. Moonlight barely filtered through the dense canopy, casting the world below in silvery gloom. Athaan trudged along with Krown's battered cohort, the proud Knights reduced to a fraction of their strength. Their spirits carried a brittle edge, resilience forged in battle yet strained by loss.
Their pace was slower now, the injured dragon-newt and dwindled strength stretching the journey by another day.
Athaan lagged toward the rear, his sharp senses honed for danger but distracted by the oppressive weight of his visions. Even the crunch of boots on dried leaves and the occasional cry of nocturnal creatures couldn't drown out the voices only he could hear.
It was when the distant smell of smoke reached his nose that his unease deepened and the voices grew distant. It was the smell that brought him back. Faint but unmistakable — smoke, mingled with the charred sweetness of roasting meat.
"Sir Krown." he called out, low and urgent.
Krown turned, his blood-red eyes catching the moonlight like twin embers. "What is it?"
"There's fire ahead." Athaan said, gesturing toward the faint glow that pulsed against the horizon. "And…. something else."
One of the Knights stepped forward, his voice edged with irritation. "Could be beasts. Forest clashes aren't unusual this deep in the wilds. A spot as scant as the one those Fiend's ambushed us are rare."
But as they advanced, the forest told a different story. Ogre corpses lay scattered, their massive forms twisted and broken. The wounds were fresh — too precise, too deliberate.
"A humanoid Fiend, perhaps?" Athaan murmured, though doubt gnawed at him.
Krown's greatsword rang faintly as he unsheathed it, his Aura flickering to life in golden tendrils. "Stay sharp. If it's trouble, we'll deal with it."
They advanced cautiously, boots whispering against the forest floor. As they drew closer, the faint crackle of fire mingled with the pungent scent of charred flesh. The Knights shifted into a tighter formation, their Aura sparking vibrantly in the dim light, almost enough to pierce the oppressive shadows ahead.
When they finally reached the source, the sight gave them pause.
A glade opened before them, littered with wildflowers and ogre corpses. The firelight danced upon the bodies, casting grotesque shadows that twisted like specters across the trees. Some of the corpses bore clean, precise wounds, while others were mangled beyond recognition.
At the center of the glade sat a figure, cross-legged near the crackling flames. He was shrouded in shadows, save for the light that flickered across his face — a young man, his features striking in their sharpness and intensity. He seemed utterly unfazed by the carnage surrounding him, his focus entirely on the skewer of meat roasting over the fire.
Athaan's breath caught, a chill running through him that had nothing to do with the night air. His heart thudded in his chest, slow and deliberate, as if matching the tempo of some unseen rhythm. He couldn't explain it, but something about this figure gripped him.
The man turned his head slightly, acknowledging their presence without a hint of surprise. His eyes — dark as the void, almost dead with the pressing of despair — swept over them briefly before returning to his meal.
Krown stepped forward, his voice like a drawn blade. "Who are you?"
The stranger didn't answer immediately. He tore a piece of meat from the skewer, chewing thoughtfully before speaking calmly.
"Just a traveler." he said, his tone low but carrying effortlessly across the glade. "Same as you, I'd imagine."
Athaan's gaze remained fixed on him, the words barely registering. There was an aura about this man — one that seemed to reach beyond the physical, brushing against the edges of something vast and incomprehensible.
"Traveler?" Krown's grip on his sword tightened, his suspicion palpable. "And the ogres?"
The man shrugged, gesturing lazily at the corpses. "Dinner, couldn't decide what to eat."
His nonchalance only heightened the tension. The Knights shifted uneasily, their Aura flickering as if reacting to the undercurrent of power in the air.
Athaan took a step forward, his voice cutting through the thick silence. "Who are you, really?"
The stranger looked at him fully for the first time, and Athaan felt the weight of his gaze like a physical force. It wasn't oppressive, but it was undeniable, as if the man could see through the layers of flesh and bone, straight to the core of his being.
"Sabbath." the man said simply.
The name hung in the air, it did not sound Arthurian. It couldn't. This air of kinship. This stranger was an Esper. Athaan's chest tightened, his mind reeling with a thousand thoughts he couldn't articulate. He didn't know why, but he felt as though the world had shifted subtly, its axis tilting ever so slightly in the presence of this man. He would feel alarmed if this was someone sent by the ghosts of his past, but he didn't.
Krown stepped closer, his stance still guarded but less hostile. "What brings you to these woods, Sabbath? Any griffins on your tail?"
Sabbath's gaze shifted back to the fire, catching the key phrase "I was sent to inform you of the change in schedule for your mission. And join you in returning to Everlance." He paused, "Only if the winds carry me to where Midas lies hidden."
"How did you know you would meet us here?" Krown smirked.
Sabbath's lips quirked into a faint, enigmatic smile. "I've been watching. And…." Sabbath raised an adventurer's tag, its Nexus symbol glinting. "They told me."