The Prophecy

[Dark Jack]

Jaelnec

Slowly Jaelnec's tongue moved back and forth in his mouth unconsciously, wondering at the metallic taste it picked up there as blood lazily flowed from the inside of his cheek, where he had chewed through the skin. His right hand remained on Olan's shoulder, steadying the old man as he sat there, staring at the table with eyes that were still wide with confusion and, it seemed, something reminiscent of pure panic. The left hand had slipped off the table, meanwhile, and had snuck its way to Jaelnec's left hip, where its thumb was now mechanically caressing the warm gilded hilt of Roct. But through it all, Jaelnec's expression remained neutral, almost blank, as he sat facing Thaler with eyes that had narrowed ever so slightly in thought. A muscle in his right shoulder twitched a little from time to time, but otherwise he only moved to keep facing the Daywalker or when Olan started swaying again to keep his hand on the other Nightwalker's shoulder.
This isn't right, he thought, his eyes shifting imperceptibly thanks to their uniform color between Thaler and Aemoten's faces, all while Thaler was admitting to having killed three people who had discovered her while she was conducting her shady business. He had killed significantly more than that, of course, even though his first kill had been no longer ago than the black market gathering in Borstown... but all of them had been the aggressors, the antagonists - now that he thought about it, he thought he had not actually killed anyone beside crusaders and goblins, and either of those groups seemed deserving of their fates. Death was the thing knights - all warriors, in fact - dealt in, after all, and so killing was something they would inevitably do. But Thaler... as much as he wanted to justify what she had done, to himself more than to her, the fact that she had been the aggressor was inescapable. She had stolen something, and those people had tried to stop her. Combat and death-dealing was only honorable if it was against those deserving of retribution, as was the way of the Knights of the Will... the knighthood whose code Thaler had recited just days ago, which she admired and borderline idolized. What Thaler had done... was dishonest.
Death before dishonor. Dishonor before disloyalty. Disloyalty before evil. The Code of the Will. You violated it, Thaler... the foundation of the knighthood. Why? Why?

Ironically his first reaction to her abrupt admission of her profession had been relief. So it was something as innocent as that, he had thought with a small smile on his face, happy to confirm that the guileless woman before them truly had done nothing more than he had suspected from her previous claims of guilt. She had been hungry and stolen a loaf of bread, or had been poor and pocketed a ring from somewhere. Young and ostracized, she had been desperate and acted by it, something that was quite understandable and hardly worth obsessing over.
But then Aemoten had asked what she had stolen from whom, and the squire's smile had faded into the neutral mien he still wore as he heard the Sekalyn explain to her why she was a hypocrite. And despite how much Jaelnec wanted to stop Aemoten, to yell at him that he was wrong, he could not. Thaler had not stolen out of desperate need... she had turned thievery into her profession, had stolen much from many, rich and poor alike, with no preference in who to target in regards to wealth, corruption and honesty. There was nothing innocent about that. Nothing understandable. She was a thief - a wanted criminal who had been active enough to make a name for herself in the business. Knights did not usually concern themselves with thieves and other relatively harmless lowlifes like that, leaving such to the guardsmen and focusing instead on threats the guards were less likely to handle on their own, so he had not heard of Black Sun before... but even so, hearing the name sent fingers of ice trailing down his spine. There is both resentment and admiration in that name; it is both sinister and beautiful. Like her. That last thought sent a tremor through the young Nightwalker's body, and he tasted gall. No... this isn't right. There is no evil in Thaler's heart, she is pure and innocent, she is what I must protect. And yet there Aemoten was, explaining to Thaler, and thus also to Jaelnec, how inescapable the wickedness of her actions was.
Earlier they had traveled with assassins, demonspawn, necromancer mass-murderers and mercenaries... they had traveled and fought alongside of them, and yet somehow, Thaler's lesser crime of thievery seemed much greater than theirs in Jaelnec's eyes. But she's Thaler... she's my hope, my friend, my... my Thaler.

When the woman started crying, Jaelnec felt as though a snake clad from head to tip in razor-blades started rolling and coiling in his abdomen, and he nearly started weeping as well, only holding back the tears through the sheer resolve not to do so. Once again he wanted nothing more than to go to her and embrace her, to tell her that it was all right... but now it was not because he was distracted that he did not do so, but because he felt that whatever affirmation he could offer her would be lies. What she had done was bad - horrible, even. He wanted her to feel better, to take her guilt away... but he did not think that she actually deserved to be freed of her burden.
He sat quietly and listened to Thaler's explanation of how she had come to join such a vile profession, and as nauseous as he felt at the mention of Thaler having attempted to busy herself with prostitution - But... you're... Thaler, - he tried to concentrate and, despite not wanting to, agreed with Aemoten's conclusion in regards to her reasons for stealing. She might have started doing so because it was necessary to survive, which justified it somewhat - but she had continued doing so simply because she could. That was a sentiment befitting a true deigan rather than a Daywalker: that because one could take something, it was their right to do so. She might as well have killed someone in self-defense, and then become a murderer afterward because they discovered an affinity for murder, using that first kill as an excuse for all the ones to follow. It was perhaps less severe to steal than to mug and slaughter, but as Aemoten had pointed out her actions might have lead to deaths regardless.
Aemoten's request for Thaler to promise to abstain from stealing from now on did not seem altogether unreasonable to Jaelnec, crude and inflexible as such a promise might be, Thaler's reaction to it drove a blade of fear into the Nightwalker's heart. No... please, Spirits, gods, demons, please... He turned to look at Aemoten, his expression turning pleading as he did so. He did not think that the warrior would betray her like that, but then again he had been quite relentless towards her since the revelation of her profession. Jaelnec did not want them to turn Thaler in... but he had sworn to adhere to Aemoten's judgment. He had made him leader. It was the foreigner's choice.
The other's fierce instance that he had no intention of doing so was an immense relief to Jaelnec, and he blinked slowly at the other before facing Thaler once again. Hearing Aemoten declare such trust in Thaler, to call her so precious, was both heart-warming and painful to the young Nightwalker. He would likely have said much the same thing... Thaler was precious to both of them - he shot a sidelong glance at Olan - to all three of them, and although Jaelnec felt a sting of jealousy at the thought that the bond he thought he had with Thaler was perhaps shared with these others, or perhaps even weaker than the ones she had with the others, it was still clear that they all bonded more strongly with Thaler than anyone else. Aemoten and I might have been the leaders of our band, but Thaler has been what kept us together and gave us the strength to go on. A burden? We would never have gotten this far without her. We would never have bonded with each other without her to facilitate the bonding. She is the heart of our quest - a symbol, an idol that gives us strength.
His eyes suddenly widened, and he felt a rush of elation as this train of thought gave him an idea. Aemoten had been trying to make Thaler make a choice, but he had not presented her with any true options. He wanted her to choose without telling her what she could choose. It was just yes or no. But, the Nightwalker realized, he had more. He could do something. He could present an option.

Removing his hand from Olan's shoulder and releasing his grip on Roct, Jaelnec thrust his feet at the floor forcefully and stood up so abruptly that his chair was knocked over in the process. His left hand went shot upwards, caught the brim of his hat, which he snatched off of his head and threw on the table - a dramatic gesture the effect of which he only realized afterwards was wasted on the blind woman - and then reached his open right hand towards her, palm upturned.
"Give me your hand, Thaler," he spoke, the request sounding like a demand due to his eagerness, and the strange strength and confidence that seemed to have seeped into his voice. It was a strength he had thought had left him several days ago, but that he now felt permeating his very being, filling it to the point of bursting with enthusiasm and energy. It was as if he was but the conduit of a power that was greater than himself, which transcended a single person, was more than him - which, in a sense, he was.
If Thaler extended her hand towards him he would catch it in his own in a firm grip, grasping her hand to let her feel his strength. But even if she did not try to comply with his first request, he continued the same: "This is your choice, right now - your opportunity to put all that behind you, for redemption. You said before that you have sworn by the Code of the Will, and that you wanted to be a Knight of the Will since you were a little girl. Then turn words into action! Join the Knighthood of the Will right now." He smiled. "What do you say, Thaler? Is that an acceptable alternative?"

---
Gerald Glass

A wicked grin appeared on Gerald's face when Jillian muttered to herself that they were both going to Hell. She swears by Reina? Interesting choice for a witch. I expected a demon.
"Most likely, yes," he helpfully supplied his own estimation on the question of where they would go in their afterlives, drawling particularly much at the word 'yes'. He had no illusions of innocence and made no attempt to justify the things he had done - he knew they were cruel, horrible, perhaps even evil, but they were all done for the sake of the greater good. Sacrifice the few to save the many. That probably made him evil, and deserving of an eternity in Hell. And he was at peace with that... although if they did not find a way to end the Withering that festered in his soul, chances were that there would be no afterlife for him at all. "If we die, that is."
When she suggested that she could just use some simple movement-magic to throw a rock at one of the crusaders, however, Gerald furrowed his brow in disapproval, his right hand falling from the chain around his neck to hang down his side. Meanwhile he noticed a certain lapse in Jillian's interest in him, and he saw how she looked at the weapon by her side and touched it with her hand before returning her attention to him. His left eyebrow arched, and a fiendish smirk played on his lips for a moment before he remembered what they had been talking about.
"That would be too unreliable a method of incapacitation," he told her, his eyebrow lowering and smirk fading as he once more concentrated at the practical matters at hand. "The target might not be stunned by the impact as much as would be required, or it might kill him, which would make him useless to us. We cannot afford to waste what little magical energy you have left on spells that might prove ineffective. Don't you have a spell book?" It took only one second for Gerald to realize what a foolish question this was, as his eyes made one quick scan of her body to confirm that there was indeed no visible compartments in her rather inadequate clothing that would allow the storing of a proper spell book. "You don't," he answered for himself, and then, after another brief second's consideration, continued. "Very well, then. You can borrow mine."

Turning his attention from Jillian, Gerald looked down at himself while his right hand danced up the folds of his robe like a skeletal spider, swiftly finding the barely visible pocket in which he had put his own spell book just a few minutes ago. Sending his hand darting into the pocket with movement like that of a striking serpent, he brandished the vessel in which he recorded every spell he had come upon since his initiation into the ways of magic. It was a big, cumbersome tome, the pages measuring eight by twelve inches, and the book itself being more than three and a half inches thick, bound in black leather inscribed with arcane symbols of warding. Despite its size and Gerald's apparently frail physique, he handled the heavy mage's tool with surprising ease with a hand that possessed more strength than its appearance would suggest.
With eyes burning like embers, the necromancer offered his most precious possession - the possession that would be the most precious to virtually any professional magus in Reniam - to the witch he just met. If the full severity of the situation had not dawned upon Jillian yet, the warlock thought grimly, then surely this would make her understand. Gerald had been quite diligent in recording spells, and had amassed several hundred functioning incantations in the pages of this tome. Of course, by far most of the spells in there were mere cantrips - basic magic that even inexperienced sorcerers would be able to cast with minimal risk of failure - which could conjure a great variety of effects, but it also contained dozens of more advanced invocations, magic that was extremely dangerous in the wrong hands. It did not contain as much as a single word about necromancy, though, as walking around with written evidence of his own proficiency in one of the forbidden arts was just as dangerous, if not more so, than wandering the lands with piaan on his person.
"Hurry," he advised her, shooting a sidelong glance to the south, where smoke still rose in the distance where the crusaders had breached the outer barrier of Anaxim's trees. "We need to be ready... to fight or flee, as the situation demands it. Memorize what you need, then return it to me. Remember, I need a crusader alive, and I need him within arm's reach - otherwise what I plan won't work. The rest I leave up to you, Veldaine."

[Hymusia]

Thaler sat uncomfortably in the chair as Aemoten berated her, he spoke of having her mark removed, which was sure to be painful. Of course perhaps she didn’t want it removed? She didn’t care if it wasn’t that easy to fool some people or not, they were as likely to figure out who she was by her hair, eyes or weapon as they were to see a mark she only exposed while ‘working’. It may well have represented her illegal life style, her tortured past but not all of it was bad and painful. The bandits were the ones who gave her it while she was still a child, it had stretched and distorted a little since then but it had grown with her and she was glad for that. There had been good times, with laughter and drink and feasts and the men while criminals and villains were all loyal to one another. It had been like being in a huge great family of which everyone respected and cared for one another, in their own strange way.

Still the topic of her branding was dropped and traded for the disappointment and another lecture on the difference between her and Jillian. She listened in silence of course as the man, their leader and her friend continued to degrade her and point out her numerous flaws and short comings. It was hard to sit there and not just stand and leave but it was exactly because it was hard that she curled her hands into balls and sat there, white knuckled and listening to everything he had to say. He spoke of her always having a choice but simply not looking for it and she struggled to believe that, had an option opened up surely she would have gone for it. The guards would not hire her, a baker would not take her, what job could she have done? Then again once the Mercenary group had dissolved had she even tried to look? She didn’t think she had, no, she knew she hadn’t, it was too easy to just keep doing what she was good at, what paid well and ignore the suffering she was causing others.

It felt like all the bile she’d ignored for so long, the same black ichor she’d spoken of not long ago was bubbling to the surface, they could see how poisoned and twisted she was now and worst of all she could no longer deny it to herself. It began as a simple attempt to stay alive, then it grew into a resentment for her hard times and an attempt to get back at her grandfather for abandoning her and her city for ignoring her. Then it became just a way of life, another way to earn coins in this day and age. She wondered when exactly she’d taken that transitory leap, from doing it because she had to, to doing it because she could. When had she accepted that stealing was an acceptable way of life and required no more thought than what pair of trousers to wear that day? It sickened her that despite her efforts she couldn’t really remember that time, that crucial point which should have been forever engrained in her mind.

Before she could dwell too long on how far she’d gone from her original plan and how far from the person she wanted to be she had fallen Aemoten answered her question. The very important question that, while not deciding her answer, would speak a lot about not just the man but the group as a whole. The answer he gave came almost angrily like an arrow from its bow and she flinched slightly from her position at the strength of the conviction behind that voice. For a moment she almost argued with the man, why wouldn’t he turn her in? She was a criminal, a confessed one and while she felt guilt for the people she may have caused to suffer she wasn’t exactly full of regret and remorse while speaking to Aemoten about it. However she was lost for words for long enough that Aemoten had already begun speaking again by the time she found her voice. He explained in a much softer manner and he took her face in his hands again, running a thumb across her cheek, whether it was to remove the remaining wetness that lingered there or for a more personal reason she wasn’t sure.

He spoke then about her continued worries, she had first not cared if she burdened them she was only playing a part. Now though the idea that they could be burdened by her, held up because of her or incarcerated because of her worried her and had done since they met Jillian. She was as great a risk as the witch to them and it had only then dawned on her the trouble she might cause. However, now that she’d laid her dishonesty’s out in front of them Aemoten was brushing aside the concerns she’d harboured secretly with the stroking of his thumb. There was a small silence as he spoke of her choices and importance, the world indeed was falling apart and a few days ago she would have told herself she didn’t care. That though would have been a lie to herself and only since meeting these three had she realised such, it did matter, even if one looked from a selfish point of view it mattered.

It seemed odd that only now she realised what she had to do, she couldn’t see them hurt she’d known that for days. Regardless of their actions if she’d denied Aemoten’s request she had no intention of doing so, not really. If she didn’t want to see them hurt, didn’t want their names dragged through the mud then she had to quit, even if not forever for the near future. It was a terrifying prospect of course, she had no idea how she’d make the coin she needed to get on with life, to buy food or beds, clothing or a mount. She had the things she had already stolen but what should she do with them? If she wanted a clean break then to toss them now would be the best option but these were things she’d already taken and she could, at least, get a little coin for them and purchase the necessities for travel.

Thaler did of course miss Jaelnec’s grand display, though had she known it was of concern to him she would have told him she heard the soft ‘fwump’ of the fabric on the table. Just before he jumped up and knocked his chair back she’d been about to answer Aemoten and tell him of her decision. Though as the chair clattered noisily against the floor she was distracted and her head whipped around to pin point the sound, rational thinking overpowered by instinctual reactions. Jaelnec then demanded in an eager tone that she give him her hand, a moment of panic swept her mind as her first thought was that of the usual punishment for thieves. When rationality returned a moment later she knew Jaelnec was not the kind to cut off a woman’s hand, he was gentle and fair –though one could argue, as she did with herself, that it would be quite fair to cut off her hand for her crimes- and so she lifted a hand from her lap and hesitantly extended it across the table.

Jaelnec saved her the effort of attempting to find him by snatching it up in his own the moment she had complied to his request. Aemoten’s grip shifted slightly on her so as to accommodate the suddenly enthused Jaelnec though it felt as if there was a slight hint of reluctance to do so. Though for the time she was too curious and caught up in Jaelnec’s excitement to really understand why. It was so refreshing to see that melancholy tossed aside like yesterday’s bandages and to see the old Jaelnec once more. While she couldn’t’ see it was almost as if he were glowing like the sun and radiating his own heat, the clouds that had hung heavy since the lake had parted and he had returned like a true knight.

Then, barely pausing for breath, Jaelnec uttered something so simple and yet so farfetched she was completely confused. If she was able to join the Knighthood she would have done but she’d never thought it possible, then again she’d never thought it possible that she’d meet a squire of the Will either. She had resigned herself to the notion of hunting down her grandfather and making him accept her but here was a real alternative, something that didn’t require her to get the attention of the old man and it had, in their week of travelling together, never occurred to her to ask Jaelnec if such was possible. His enthusiasm and sudden epiphany was infectious enough to cause a smile to form through the tears, with which she used the back of her hand to remove the last of. “It would be, it is. How would that even be possible though?” She asked with a slight hint of laughter lacing her words. This was too impossible, too…she wasn’t’ even sure but it was the strangest feeling an immense relief and lightness. She’d told these men her darkest, ugliest side and instead of punishing her they were rewarding her and holding to her tighter than they had before.

So as not to completely ignore Aemoten, whose hand weighted on her shoulder, different than before but yet still the same, she turned her head a fraction so she might speak towards his own face. “Aemoten, I swear, while I travel with you I won’t cause you any grief. I wouldn’t lift or take a single thing that I have not bought or paid for fairly. It’s not much but I give you my word on that.”

[Shienvien]

It appeared that Thaler was thinking his words over, and Aemoten did not want to disturb her while she was at it. It was probably for the first time in many years that what was basically her entire way of living had been challenged, deconstructed, and laid out for her to properly face and revisit. Introducing a change to how one saw the world and one's deeds was never easy, but yet the outlander had felt that it had been necessary to try, for the sake of both her and those around her, and now he could only hope that the daywalker would listen to him.
The blind woman's tears had mostly dried, but now her entire self appeared to be confused, hesitant, and at a loss. With him asking her to upturn her entire future, it was no wonder. In making the initial decision, she was ultimately alone and had no one but her own consciousness to consult with. Then again, she had probably been alone with her decisions for a long while already, and perhaps it also explained why she had not even tried to change her ways. It was always easier to simply continue doing what one had been doing for a long while already, and it was even more so when one knew that one had no one to turn to should something not work out as intended.
Or so the human warrior thought, at least. He had been the person to make crucial decisions for both himself and the others for longer than he could recall, often without having the time to carefully weigh all of the possibilities, and although he typically did take account of the others' opinions and suggestions, the final decision had almost always been his. It was hard to imagine being in Thaler's stead, since being forced to quickly reconsider everything he had planned and delivering verdicts had always been a part of his life. For him, having to do something like that would not been a new thing, but for her it undoubtedly was...
The woman did not pull away from his touch like he had, for some reason, feared she would. You don't have to be alone anymore if you don't want to, the outlander thought as he gently ran a thumbacross he daywalker's cheek, but did not voice. He knew sufficiently well what it felt like to be the sole representative of one's own kind, and recently he had been feeling it even more keenly than otherwise. It was not a pleasant feeling.

It seemed that Thaler finally made a decision, for she appeared to become more calm and collected, but right as she was about to say something, a loud thud interrupted them, and the heads of both of them suddenly turned in the direction of the commotion. The daywalker was momentarily startled, but the human warrior appeared to remain calm, if becoming visibly bothered as he eyed the now-standing younger Nightwalker with a forcedly patient expression. He was not hostile per se, but he gave the clear impression of a person who did not exactly appreciate the intrusion and was only waiting for the perturber to comprehend the fact and leave. It was not an appropriate time for grand gestures, and it appeared that the other did not immediately catch the look on his face indicating it, either.
Slowly and visibly unwillingly, the outlander moved the hand of his which was the farthest from Jaelnec from the daywalker's face to her shoulder, squeezing it lightly, whereas the other hand he simply dropped and rested loosely on his knee. He had tensed slightly and twisted his torso to be mostly facing Jaelnec, but had not pulled himself more than inch farther away from the daywalker, and in the end remained to awaitingly observe the young Nightwalker in more or less the same position he had been in before the other stood.
The Squire of the Will's proposal definitely sounded grandiose and significant, however Aemoten - who had no reason not to consider himself the most pragmatic person out of those presently in the room - found that it was not truly an alternative which would have rendered thieving redundant. The Knighthood of the Will had used to promote a different way of living, that was true, but the Knighthood of the Will was also in ruins. Only the ideals and probably just a counted few who still considered themselves members of it and at least tried to adhere to its mostly-forgotten ways remained. And, while good ideals had never hurt anyone, they deffinitely did not earn people money, food, clothes and shelter on their own. At most, someone of the local Nightwalker remnancy would recognize the name of the organization and provide them with a free lunch, but being a member of the Knighthood of the Will was not going to help Thaler - or Jaelnec - in making the ends meet no more than just declaring that he was a Sekalynic warrior, a terakh iatkan, was going to earn him a living here. (And granted, Sekalynic warriors were generally expected to do some conventional work when their services as warriors and skilled fighters were not currently needed.)
In the longer run, re-establishing the Knighthood was probably a noble ambition, but even then, it was going to cost money rather than provide it. Most likely in significant amounts, too, especially if Jaelnec wanted to make sure that it would not finally die completely along with him - after having just barely kept vegetating for so long. For earning their living, they still needed something else, and given this accursed war going on in the background, it would not exactly be easy to find quick and paying service at a random spot... It had never been easy, but now it was even harder than otherwise. Besides, they had already taken up one quest which was yet to arrive at a conclusion.
Looking at the happily beaming Nightwalker and the daywalker - who certainly looked interested -, Aemoten opted not to point out the obvious fallacies in Jaelnec's suggestion for now, at least not immediately. Let them have the good mood for a while...

“Aemoten, I swear, while I travel with you I won’t cause you any grief. I wouldn’t lift or take a single thing that I have not bought or paid for fairly. It’s not much but I give you my word on that,” the daywalker addressed him again, and the Sekalyn sighed, turning to face the woman again as his body relaxed again.
"It is enough," he assured her, "It is quite enough if you do not take anything from a rightful owner." The Sekalynic laws generally permitted taking most - but not all - of the things which had belonged to a person who had died or been killed otherwise but by the taker and with the intent of stealing, although also not when there was a clear rightful inheritor. In the end, they did not have enough time to spare for earning money with work and they could not keep counting on charity, either, especially at a time where people needed extra wares more than otherwise - and as he had pointed out in his mind several times, it was a time of war at hand. Currently he had money, granted, but eventually it was going to run out.
"And you can countinue traveling with me for as long as you wish," the outlander then quietly offered. There had been a slight pause between his initial reply and the follow-up. "I would ask you to come along if you did not do so yourself, should we find a way to defeat the Withering and complete this quest. To wherever. I am bound to no one besides those gathered in this room, and I have no place to return to save for the land of my people."
A port of the human warrior was immensely relieved that the likely hardest part of the ongoing conversation was over for now. In truth he would have wanted to gather the woman to his body and hold her close, to let her feel that he cared about her (even if he somehow did not seem to find the right time to mention it, and still suspected that an open statement of his feelings would frighten Thaler) and was not angry at her, but the presence of other people in the room was enough of a deterrent for him to refrain from that kind of open display of affection, especially now that Jaelnec had stood and effectively reminded them of his presence by demanding attention to himself. The foreing warrior's eyes flickered back onto the younger Nightwalker, though this time he did not turn his body towards him.
"I have a brother by the name of Menepth, a Karakon," he thoughtfully muttered. "If it would be necessary to locate any or every single individual who still considers oneself a member of the Knighthood, and to uncover even those of the Knighthood's laws and traditions which the history has long swallowed, then he would be capable of doing it. He would find me again when he can, however I am not certain when that day would arrive. There would be no use in trying to locate him ourselves."

[Dark Jack]

Jaelnec

Almost as soon as Jaelnec had spoken his invitation to the Knighthood with all the fervor in his body the initial rush of adrenaline began to dissipate, and in the brief time that passed between Jaelnec's borderline fanatic speech and Thaler's reply he felt his spirit start to deflate again, and what he had thought he knew what he had thought he knew with certainty just seconds ago now filled his mind with doubt and fear... he was almost about to immediately apologize and leave, and had Thaler not replied as promptly as she did, he might have done just that. But as it was, receiving an affirmative response from the Daywalker, he felt himself swell right back up again with pride and enthusiasm.
He gave her hand an appreciative squeeze, but refrained from explaining the details of his offer immediately as the woman turned her attention back to Aemoten, speaking an oath of rehabilitation worthy of a thief on the threshold of entering the ranks of one of the most exclusive knighthoods in Reniam... the fact that its exclusiveness had very nearly driven it to extinction was better ignored for the moment, but its ideals were good and just, and it was surely a worthy goal for a former criminal to seek admission. Jaelnec was proud of her, the pain at the revelation of her old profession virtually forgotten at the surge of joy that came with the assurance that she would leave those ways behind and work to become one who worked for the people, not against them. Who would... well, do something for the innocent before she took their valuables, which would inevitably still be a part of her job.

Aemoten's reply somehow managed to be matter-of-factly and heartwarming at the same time, and although the invitation to keep traveling with him was not addressed to Jaelnec, he still felt happy knowing that it was not wholly impossible that the four of them could stay together even if their current quest came to an end, whether that end be in success or failure - the latter of which would likely entail that they died somehow, which would effectively prevent any further adventures in this life, but the young Nightwalker endeavored to be optimistic now that the mood was finally improving a bit. It felt as though things had finally ended the relentless plunge into the depths of despair that had occurred over the last several days, and they could start the slow crawl back towards the light of contentment. Or so he thought, at least.
Then the Sekalyn spoke to Jaelnec, and the squire almost burst out laughing with sheer happiness and relief at the other's words. "Truly? That would be amazing, Aemoten! Thank you! Having your brother's help would surely make restoring the Knighthood much easier. I look forward to meeting him, and seeing what we can accomplish with his help."

With that out of the way the squire turned his attention back to Thaler, bending his knees and back in a half-crouch so that he was in level with the seated Daywalker, all while maintaining his grip on her hand. "It is possible, although I only realized so a few minutes ago. Although I am only a Squire of the Will and can't officially act as master for an apprentice, there is still a way. Back in the glory days of the Knighthood it was not unusual for squires to travel on their own to gain the practical experience necessary to succeed at the Test, and when such a squire found promising recruits they could act on behalf of their masters and extend invitations to the Knighthood."
He paused, smiling a little sheepishly as he got to the dubious part of what he had figured out. "Although my master is dead rather than me traveling apart from him, he is still officially my master, and if you were to accept the invitation you would officially be his apprentice until he himself refused to teach you - which he can't, being dead. Although you would be apprenticed to a dead knight, I can make you a true Apprentice of the Will... and when we find another knight, like your grandfather, that knight can be your master, or I can take the Test, be a knight and be your master myself." He chuckled rather nervously. "It's not a perfect solution, but you'd really be part of the Knighthood of the Will, with everything that entails." He swallowed, then quickly added, "If you still want to, of course, knowing what I just told you."

[Hymusia]

Aemoten, as she thought ,was sincere and gentile in his reply to her earnest promise to him. It was not an easy thing she promised and she was certain there would be times where she was tempted something fierce but she had to persevere, not just for herself now but for those around her that trusted her. What he said next was interesting and she wasn’t sure if she fully understood it properly, it sounded as if perhaps e was asking her to go on a further adventure after this one, though honestly she knew not what would top saving the world. Perhaps though he meant to simply return her to her home on the way through elsewhere and he said he was bound to none save these three, yet he’d admitted to having a home somewhere. She was uncertain she was getting the full meaning of his words but before she could question them the light grip on her fingers caught her attention once more.

Aemoten offered Jaelnec something, or someone, called a karakon, not that she knew what that was of course but she again felt it would be an inappropriate time to interrupt. Jaelnec was revitalised and Aemoten seemed slightly improved which was the polar opposite to what she had been expecting of them after her revelation. The promises this karakon could deliver sounded wonderful to her ears and further seemed to sound rather appealing and certainly would make things a little more convenient and easy for the squire and herself in regards of ascending to the knighthood at the very least.

Jaelnec’s earnest enthusiasm returned full force after Aemoten’s offer and he spoke quickly about his plan. Either her lingering sickness or her tiredness or a mixture of both made it a tad hard to keep up with Jaelnec but she caught up enough to understand the offer. He would take her as an apprentice in a sense, so she’d be the apprentice’s apprentice, when they found her grandfather or another of the knighthood he would take his test to become a knight and then he could take her as a squire in her own right. Then assumingly she could challenge Jaelnec or find another of the will and challenge them and become a knight herself, which seemed both grand and cheating at the same time.

Though it wasn’t much of a cheat by the sounds of things and further with the Will so weak right now who would mind a sudden injection of life to bring the old order back? For a moment she thought in quiet silence, acutely aware that Aemoten hadn’t moved much from her personal space and then acutely becoming aware of Aemoten in her personal space. It made concentrating on the offer rather difficult as her mind jumped from the thought of the Will to the thought of why Aemoten hovered so close to her still and how intimate one might read the body language. It was all she had to not blush and withdraw herself and she partly thanked her flushed cheeks for that.
Finally after a moment of hard thought on the right subject she finally, carefully uttered, “I do not see why I should refuse. I accept Jaelnec and when you pass your test, which you will, I will become your squire? Such would be fine by me. I could not think of a better person to learn about the Knighthood from.”

[Dark Jack]

Thomas Remdal

Every muscle in Thomas' body tensed, his eyes widened and panic nearly overtook his mind when Ixion showed the knife in his hand and spoke a sentence that could almost only be interpreted as a death-threat, if not even a death-sentence, as if the man had the authority to bestow such a thing. He trembled, all of his restraint going to keeping his breathing remotely steady and stop his limps from quivering, all while he made an effort to run his tongue around the inside of his mouth to moisten it as much as possible. He kept repeating the brief incantation he would need to release the Lightning-seal on his rune-sword in his mind, keeping it fresh in his mind so that he could recite it immediately when the situation called for it - which, some would say, it did now. Ixion had defied Thomas' instructions to keep his hands off his weapons and had blatantly threatened him, so technically this was exactly the time he was entitled to make good on his own threats to prevent the masked human from hurting anyone. From a practical point of view, if Thomas let Ixion go any farther than he already had in attacking them, it would be too late to stand a chance at stopping him - even now, although it would only take three words to unleash a bolt of lightning liable to kill Ixion, I'on and anyone else within several feet of them, all Ixion had to do was to flick his wrist to stop him. A knife in the Rune Mage's throat, and any number of runes and any quantity of magical energy would not be able to help him. Ethically and legally, Ixion had been the aggressor, they the victims, and wiping the man off of the face of Reniam was quite justifiable. No matter how Thomas looked at it, he could - no, he should defend himself and kill this man, who from a moral viewpoint would continue to be a threat to innocents everywhere the way he carried himself, should he walk away from this encounter. And yet Thomas held his tongue, and did not roast the aggressive man like low-flying gull over the Boiling Sea.
Part of the explanation for this was probably that he was scared - scared that he would hurt I'on if he attacked, and afraid of actually being in combat. According to the second of the Caster's Rules - the lessons that taught fledging magi how to avoid spells failing or backfiring - 'Fear is the bane of calm', and a clear and calm mind was a vital part of magic, which was why a wizard needed such fierce control over its own emotions and state of mind. To cast magic while trembling with dread would be an offense bad enough to be expelled from the Academy, the only worse offense being to violate the first of the Caster's Rules: 'Ire is the messenger of death.' In other words, never cast a spell in anger. Out of all feelings, none were more disruptive to spell casting than fear and rage.
Technically the Caster's Rules did not apply to Rune Mages, as their reliance upon runes made their spells much less likely to fail, but Thomas conveniently decided to ignore that. In reality the Caster's Rules were little more than an excuse to himself for not attacking. The real reason was much simpler: he did not want to. He was a boy that, although he might act with false confidence and superiority when the situation demanded it, was good at heart and reluctant to be involved in conflicts. He had never been in a real fight before, had never killed anyone before, and did not want to start doing so now.
I wish Gerald was here, he thought sadly, sending a warm thought to the half-brother he had not seen in more than seven years. He was always so strong and decisive. He would know what to do.

Thomas flinched a bit when I'on stepped between Ixion and him - quite uselessly, since the humans could just attack each other over the penin's head, and I'on's presence would make it easier for lightning to reach Ixion, not harder - but did not lower his rune-sword and kept the tip pointed at the man who had proclaimed himself their enemy. He flinched again but a moment later, when I'on spoke an arcane word filled with magical energy, although Thomas was quite easily able to resist the effect it was supposed to have. Black magic might be intuitive enough in nature for single-word incantations to be extremely dangerous and effective, but in arcane magic - a school of magic that in its base principles needed guidance and desired instruction - single-word incantations were both rare and close to useless, requiring disproportionally large amounts of magical energy to fuel them and at the same time manifesting in an effect so unspecific that it was highly ineffective. Even someone uninitiated in magic altogether was liable to be able to shake off a spell such as the one I'on had just cast if they wanted to and had even an ounce of willpower and independence in their mind, and Thomas, although being a failed mage, barely even had to make conscious effort to dismiss it completely. Necromancy allowed for more refined control of magic and reduced wasted energy to a minimum, but could not make it any more potent, so even that would not make such a spell any more than a faint annoyance to those affected, unless they actually let themselves be affected... which Thomas did not.
Sorry, I'on, he thought grimly, But calming down right now would definitely not be advantageous. Use a proper spell next time instead of something even the greenest Rune Mage could cast, if you want to affect me. That one's worthless.
The teenager kept his sword up until Ixion put away his knife, then he lowered his sword so that the tip aimed at nothing but the cobbled road leading up to the city gates. He listened wordlessly as the two others spoke, looking from one speaker to the other, ready to raise his sword immediately at the first sign of danger and release whatever seals would be required in the given situation. His favorite, Fire, which would shroud the entire blade of his rune-sword in intense white flames, was at the tip of his tongue. He did not put away his sword when I'on told him to, though - stern as the penin might have sounded, and as much as Thomas liked and respected the little man, he was not about to put away his weapon while there might still be danger about. I'on might be a fully fledged magus with the arcane arts at his fingertips even when he had nothing else, but Thomas was a Rune Mage, which meant that without his rune-sword he was practically defenseless - incapable of working magic unassisted and too unskilled to wield a weapon that would not be effective simply because of its massive size and weight, and his ability to handle it with otherwise impossible ease. With his rune-sword he was a Rune Mage, a powerful arcane warrior with destructive forces beyond the reach of common men at his disposal. Without it, he was nothing.

It was not until Ixion declared that he did not intend to fight them that Thomas allowed himself to properly relax, although he still kept an eye on the masked character and kept his rune-sword in hand. He did offer the still-approaching, now-nervous looking guards a dismissing wave with his left hand, though, to let them know that the situation had been resolved, which they seemed endlessly relieved to learn as they turned around and started walking back towards the gate. He did not move from the spot, however, and merely looked at I'on, furrowing his brow.
"I would join you, I'on, you know I would," he told him, inwardly thanking Reina that the words he spoke now that the time had finally come to do so were mundane rather than arcane. "But I have to stay here. I was told to wait here for a band of adventur-"
Stopping his speech in mid-sentence, Thomas' gaze once more came to rest on Ixion, though this time his expression was worried rather than frightened as the man seemed to stagger down the road a short ways, then collapse in a manner that spoke of great weakness and pain, shaking violently. Thomas' eyes widened, and without as much as a second thought he simply let go of his rune-sword, which fell to the ground with a dull thud, all light and magic extinguished the instant it no longer touched its Rune Mage's skin. He ran to Ixion's side, his cloak billowing behind him as he ran, and threw himself to his knees in time to catch a glimpse of a vial in the other's hand before he threw it away.
It only took noticing the blood on the ground and realizing that his masked near-enemy had effectively lost consciousness for Thomas to straighten his back, look towards the city gates and shout to the guards recently dismissed from having to help subdue this very same person, "We need a healer! Get one, now!"

---

Olan

While the others spoke about things that had ruined and ended lives, about crimes and hopes and tried to handle the new crisis that had arisen in Thaler's admission of her true profession, Olan sat shaking in his chair, staring stiffly into the table in front of him while he was trying to handle a crisis of his own.
What was that? he thought, on the verge of panic, his thoughts hectic and disorganized as desperation sank its claws deep into his soul. What was that? What in the Planes just happened to me? What... I... He trembled more strongly for a moment, fear and dizziness feeling as though they seeped into his very bones and possessed him, preventing him from acting in any way or even thinking coherently.
And what had happened to the old Nightwalker, anyway? Somewhere in the depths of his mind, a little Nightwalker knelt in a vast place full of darkness, clutching his head and screaming at the infinity of emptiness that surrounded him, all while his head was full of voices, angry voices, pleading voices, desperate voices, vicious voices... there were so many of them, he could not take it. He could not even hear what each individual voice said - there were so many that they just became an unintelligible pandemonium that besieged his consciousness and drove him farther and farther from whatever fragile core of sanity he had left. His eyes were open and he saw the table, when they were closed he did not see it, but whatever the state of his eyes he saw so much more. He saw clouds floating across the skies of distant lands, saw rain falling on deep-green leaves, saw animals prowling in the wild, saw men and women of all kinds and races, on their knees, standing, lying down, running, fighting, shouting, making love. He felt the dry warmth of the fireplace on his skin, but also the icy winds of the northern seas and the moist heat of the deep Malith Jungle, felt pinpricks of sand carried upon the winds in the Desert of Desperation, hard and sharp flakes of snow from the peak of Mount Zerul... He was there, with Thaler, Jaelnec and Aemoten, but he was also so many other places. He heard them, knew what they were saying, but it was as though that was just one him of many. He was everywhere, and the sights, the sensations, and most of all the voices - it was overwhelming.
Stop! the little man cried in the darkness, trying vainly to cover his ears, to shut himself away from it all and just be left alone. Please stop! No, I... I don't... I don't know... I... What am I hearing? What am I feeling? Where am I? Who am I? Who am I? Who am I? WHO AM I?!
The Nightwalker sitting at the table merely sat, shook and swayed, but the little man inside him wept desperate tears of dread, lost in all the voices and all the places. Why, he asked the echoless expanse of his inner world, why did he see and hear and feel all of this? Why did he know these things? Who was he, and who were all the rest?
Then Aemoten's voice boomed from worlds away, thundering past all the rest, speaking a word that was not meant for him, but one that silenced the voices and shut away the places. He stopped screaming, wiped his eyes away with his forearm, and smiled.
"That's right," he whispered, inside and out, though so inaudibly that not even Jaelnec heard him. "I am Olan." He stopped trembling.

Slowly raising his gaze, Olan smiled softly at the sight of the three others, those young, foolish people he traveled with, who did not even realize how fortunate they were. Aemoten, sitting there with a bothered expression as he looked at Jaelnec, all while resting one hand on Thaler's shoulder, protectively, affectionately. Thaler, oblivious to the depth of Aemoten's affection, smiling as she faced the squire, her hand clasped in those of Jaelnec, caught up in the fantastical possibilities implied in his words. And Jaelnec, just as oblivious of Aemoten's true feelings as Thaler, clutching the Daywalker's hand while his eyes shone with hope and dreams and he relayed promises of redemption and adventure, convinced that a title would change the world.
Meanwhile, Olan wondered: what happened to him just now? Just before it had felt as though he was pulled out of his body, and suddenly did not know who, what or where he was anymore. But that was not right, either, was it? He had not been pulled out of anything - it was more like he had expanded, still himself but also much else, an entity that could hear, feel and see much more than a common man should. And just then, right before it had all overwhelmed him and forced him to flee to the deepest recesses of his mind to seek refuge, he had just... known. The knowledge just floated into his mind like wisps of mist on a cold autumn morning, disorganized and unclear, imperfect knowledge, but somehow unquestionable in its validity: the three-quarter demon was no more, her existence was ended. And... something else. Death was the word, a word that echoed through the entire message as though it carried imperative importance that was far more than a word. The True Words in Olan's memory rang out and resonated with the word, reporting of the power and danger associated with it. The word was surrounded by instinctive fear... it could simply mean that the near-demoness was dead, but the thought did not seem right. It was as though he had the right pieces of a puzzle, but was trying to fit them together the wrong way. She was definitely gone, probably dead, but there was something more to the knowledge that he did not understand.
But with every second that passed, every word spoken by his friends and every warm emotion played on their faces, the chaos of what had just happened seemed farther away and his confusion and fear faded until he barely even remembered anymore. Within a minute, it did not seem all that important anymore. He felt like himself again, smiling at the others, feeling happy just being in their presence.
I am Olan, he reaffirmed to himself, taking solace in those words and anchoring his world to their meaning. I am Olan, and these people are my friends.
He did not even realize it, but the scars left on his face by her claws had become considerably shallower while he had stared into the table, and he felt much healthier now.

"I would like that," Jaelnec told Thaler warmly when she accepted his offer and asked if she would become his squire when he became a knight, and Olan could not help but smile even wider at the strength of the bond he had a feeling was growing stronger by the moment, a bond between these three people who had chosen to stand between Reniam and oblivion, and who would be the hope to sustain the Planes.
"Then it's decided!" the squire exclaimed, squeezing Thaler's hands one last time before letting go of them and standing back up in his full height. "As the squire of Sir Freagon Nightmaregaze, Knight of the Will, I name you, Thaler, his apprentice, and give you the name of the Knighthood to use as your own, in privilege and duty." He paused, and when he spoke again his voice was softer, calmer and quieter. "There are still some ceremonial recitals we'll need to go through sometime, but that's just because it's tradition. But you're an Apprentice of the Will now, obligated to help those in need, but also entitled to a reward for services rendered. I know you'll make me proud."
"I'm so happy!" Olan laughed, loudly and abruptly. "So happy that we have each other, all of us, you know? Let's stay together, eh?" He quickly cut some bread and moved it onto his wine-drenched plate, then picked up the slice and started gulping it down as though he had not eaten for days. "All we have is each other, you know?" He laughed. It felt good laughing again.
I am Olan.

[Shienvien]

"Truly?" Jaelnec questioned upon his words, the young Nightwalker's mood evidently further elevated. Compared to when they had entered the building not even an hour ago, the youngest of the three men was almost unrecognizable, and indeed more alike the perhaps overly optimistic and ideal-driven fellow he had been before the original order in the group had been upturned than the morose and hopeless character of the past few days.
The Sekalyn in return simply nodded in confirmation, briefly and concisely, remaining silent for the rest of Jaelnec and Thaler's conversation as it seemed that further input on the matter was not required of him. The outlander's expression stayed the same forcedly patient it had been ever since the young Nightwalker had first interjected - he was still bothered by the unbidden intrusion, but it did not mean that he would not let the others finish what they were doing now that they had already engaged in it. He still had his manners, and he strove to uphold those even when the others did not follow the same unwritten rules. And at least some conversations were of the kind which should not be broken into, Aemoten grimly noted in his head (even though he typically had no qualms over expressing his opinions over more trivial matters even when he had not been involved in the discussion prior to the point of having something to add).

Tests, masters, apprentices, traditions, ceremonies and titles... In a sense, the Sekalynic warriors' way was a much simpler one, but on the other it was also a much more demanding and defining one. The Order of the Will - by the little which Jaelnec had passingly mentioned and the foreign warrior might or might not have heard from elsewhere - was much more strongly bound to honor and tradition, whereas the warriors' way was more organic and spoke of honesty, but barely even mentioned honor outside of reinforcing that killing people was something one must not be prideful for.
'Terakh' was not a title. It was a characterization. A terakh had no true written privileges compared to other people - it was just something that let others know what one was like and capable of, hence giving them expectations. A terakh had the right not to respond to a call if the one did not see the cause as worthy, and one did not have a set superior, but rather would only temporarily bind oneself by duty for the duration of an endeavor. One did not magically become a terakh on the moment a declaration was said, but gradually achieved the status, and then one simply was that. There was no one test, but rather the general opinion determined what category befell the one; tests - though those tended to be very elaborate - were only conducted for one to receive the sword associated with Secalynic warriors. The trials and initiation separated pronounced warriors from the unannounced equivalents, but the only true difference was that the unannounced one had to prove oneself true each and every time one stepped forth. A terakh did not have a separate set of rules, but rather followed the same laws anyone of the Sekalynic culture did. The Ienaphyoram was meant to be followed by all, and while the defined set of laws which specified under which circumstances one could end lives outside of active defense and battle carried the label of warriors' right, anyone could - and in cases was required to - take advantage of it.
A warrior was not forgiven as easily for making mistakes, since the warrior was more dangerous than someone without the full experience behind the qualification. Lying that one was a terakh was not a crime, however doing so was as good as explicitly begging for premature death. It was a thing one did not lie about, for the first - and often only - one to suffer for it would be the one oneself. In return, one who remained beneath one's capabilities because of choice or lack of motivation was looked down upon and generally despised. A terakh did not only have to have certain physical skills and qualities, but also the mind befitting a terakh, which meant everything from superior self-control and quick and detached decision-making to a very specific and clearly defined way of thinking and seeing the world. A warrior was not supposed to be looked up to, for there was no honor in killing nor glory in war, however they were certainly universally respected amongst at least the Sekalyns themselves. Outsiders could either fear or respect them, but often they had difficulties comprehending this kind of society, how it functioned, yet it had stood like that for millenia.
It was strange, then, to look upon Jaelnec, to see how highly he (and Thaler) thought of the Order of the Will, and at the same time know how little of it was left. Nowadays and over here it was probably indeed so that a person claiming to represent an once-powerful but by now diminished to the point of near-extinction order and another individual claiming to be a warrior of faraway lands would be received more or less equally amongst the general populace (leaving aside those who would have problems with non-humans or who happened to be the few Nightwalker-remnants). Both could allegedly fight ... both could be hired to do a job which required it. Neither was too likely to receive anything without proving oneself firsthand, and neither would have too easy time finding someone who would pay generously for something which would not delay them significantly now that the civil war was doing a good job of reducing most of the country to a state of deep poverty. And back in his own lands, a member of the Will would most likely be considered lower than a terakh of any level for lacking the kind of mindset one was supposed to have, even if the skills might have sufficed.
Different cultures were indeed different.

Using the fact that no one was paying any attention to what she fas doing, the raven finished her strip of beef jerky and turned to thoughtfully eye Jaelnec's half-eaten sandwich. In the end she inched a few steps closer and quickly snapped up and gobbled down the piece of cheese on it, and then tried to tear a swallowable piece free from the remaining slice of bread's edge. Finding it a bit too hard to manage at once, she picked the the slice up and attempted to stuff it into Jaelnec's cup in order to let it soak up an amount of the goldberry-juice remaining in there and hopefully become a little easier to disassemble.

At last, Jaelnec concluded his speech and drew back. About as soon as the young Nightwalker had finished, his older kinsman spoke up. "I'm so happy! So happy that we have each other, all of us, you know? Let's stay together, eh? All we have is each other, you know?"
*Happy' was not a word Aemoten would have used to describe himself at that time, in contrast. He was relieved to see the others being back to their normal selves, but he was not precisely happy, or at peace. He had always been a pessimist, he had long been mostly melancholic and borderline depressed even before he joined the group due to the events prior to its formation on top of that, and from then on his life had mostly been stressful. Just repressing his actual feelings on behalf of managing to go on had probably taken the ability to feel jovial along with unexpressed anger and fear. That did not reverse itself so quickly, seeing how it had been a much longer-timed state to begin with. Not that it mattered, like he had stated to himself for so many times already. If need be, then he could last like that for years.
Or, at least he could. In the end he still was - had managed to remain - a human man through all that time, and simply did not want to. He was not just the warrior or the leader. Yes, he had duties to uphold, he was intent on abiding the ways of his people, he knew that the soulless still walked the land even though the three-quarter-demon had fallen, the Withering still claimed people and the civil war was still being waged, and in the end their supplies and destinations were mostly his to settle, too - but it all did not change the fact that he was still a human man.
The outlander shifted his gaze away from the two Nightwalkers and onto the half-Nightwalker, half-human beside him. Now his face appeared blank rather than bothered, perhaps even regretful. Not only had he the dreadful feeling that either something of his past or the fact that he was in reality much older than he appeared - and furthermore immortal - would make the woman see him as more of an alien than he truly was (never mind that he has an actual foreigner over here: a literal alien in a vastly different culture), and that there was the very real possibility that his feelings would be unmet, but it appeared that the world itself was intent on never as much as giving him a chance to say what he would have wanted to, whether it was three-quarter-demons, unfortunate encounters, mundane duties or overenthusiastic Nightwalkers that got in the way. For a time he simply looked at the daywalker, absentmindedly lightly squeezing her shoulder, appearing as if he were about to say something, hesitating, but in the end not voicing anything. Perhaps once there were fewer people around.

The Sekalyn probably could not have found much more different person from himself than the blind woman, either, at least not from amongst those he could peacefully coexist with. The most what connected them was probably that they both had practically no one outside of the group, but then again it could likely be said for almost anyone who had been or was in the group. The old warrior had the feeling - and sadly, he had seen little which would have given grounds for opposite predictions these days - that the world was once more gradually becoming more and more of a place where only his likes prevailed. A place where those who could not tolerate death and others' suffering, who could not stay functional when all hope for the future was gone ... where those were simply rooted out.
Right now, the other three people in this room were happy, but he had nevertheless already seen how badly they could be effected and how quickly hit the bottom - there was no telling whether they would manage to get back up after the next blow if they themselves did not have a shift in their view on the world, its workings, and everything it contained. Some demons fell and were cast to the plane they belonged to, new ones came to replace them. Often enough, when people saw that a previous victory meant nothing, and that their remaining forces or personal reserves would continue being eradicated - that broke them. Not without a reason did they say that it was much harder to continue when one had thought one had already won and everything was over. Learning to deal with prolonged strain and subsequent shortcomings was something entirely different from having to fight once.
He did not want Thaler to be forced to live in a world where such abilities were a necessity, much like he had not wanted her to continue destroying her own soul and others' lives out of nothing more than convenience. A world like that both broke and changed people, and even if it was the latter, it usually was not for the better. And, as much as he would have wanted to stand between the world and her, the world was in the end still a much greater force than he, and people might suffer from being too protected the same. If things took turn for worse again, all he could ultimately do was to help her endure, and to teach her how to do it.

"Yes. All we have is each other," the foreign warrior finally sighed, resigned, and turned his head once more, this time along with his body even though he did not remove his hand from Thaler's shoulder just yet, to dully stare at his not even half-eaten yet meal. "Let's eat now."
For some reason he had entirely stopped feeling hungry somewhere along the way, but his conscious mind quite rightly pointed out that he had not eaten since the morning, and now it was already late afternoon. Whether or not he wanted to, it was probably beneficial for him - and by extension for them in general - if he did eat. So he did pick up his temporarily forgotten sandwich with his free hand and mechanically bit into it, just as mechanically starting to chew. So Zacharias was alive and had left a note for them...