-
It had been a rather unusual day aboard the Warlock as she sailed over the ocean toward her next destination. And the strangeness had little to do with what was going on; to the point, there was just about nothing happening. Sciutto had the ship on a straight course over the open water, and there were no ships or islands in sight for leagues. That made for a very quiet day on the weapons bridge, which left Dan quite a lot of time to himself. After all, there were only so many times he could launch and plug target buoys before he grew bored, and before long his mind began to wander. And like a moth to a flame, he found it constantly returning to the events of that morning in his chambers. If he closed his eyes, he could still recall everything with incredible vividness; the soft sound of the crimson dress floating to the floor. The feel of supple skin beneath his grip. The sight of her body, laid completely bare in the fading moonlight. Taste of her rubious lips as they locked with his own again and again and again. And the words she’d spoken into the darkness. Two little Elvish words that carried so much weight.
“Nányë imlë.”
“I am yours.”
Elves were not a race to give themselves to just anybody. Especially not to humans. If an Elf said those words to somebody, it ran much deeper than a simple declaration of love. Love was fleeting and quick to change hands, and all the more so for a race so in tune with the ever-shifting elements of creation. For Elves, claiming a love for something or someone was at best a compliment, and at worst a joke. But devotion… devotion was a different story. When an Elf swore her eternal devotion, it was a binding contract for her. It was a promise to never leave the side of the one she gave it to, unless they left first, to be with them until death did they part. Their devotion was what they saved, what they held onto and dared not speak of to anybody, anybody save one; the one they chose to be their soul mate. That was what Nányë imlë meant, what it symbolized. And Remy had spoken those words to him, she had whispered them into his ear, right before they…
Dan rapidly shook his head side to side to clear his thoughts. He was still on duty, and if some enemy ship snuck up on them while he was reliving his personal euphoria he’d get a real thrashing from Rastia. And yet, he couldn’t help but drift off to that night again, running through it over and over in his mind’s eye. How could he not smile? The most beautiful women he’d ever known had given her everything, all that she was and all that she would ever be, to him and him alone. But something itched in the back of his mind about the whole affair. It felt… lopsided. Unequal, even. And it was souring the entire thing for him. Surely there was something he was missing, something that was needed and wasn’t there. Surely there was something to be done.
A fresh breeze blew in from the open window, bringing with it the scent of the salt and sea. As it whipped about his face, Dan closed his eyes and reveled in it; he’d always enjoyed the feel of the wind on his face. It was fitting, really, given his domain back in On’Eman. It was even better on a day as gorgeous as this, when there wasn’t a cloud in the sky and wouldn’t be until the morrow.
His eyes snapped open suddenly. That was it. That’s what was missing, and here was the solution staring him right in the face. His smile broadened into the grin that was all too familiar to those that knew him; it was a grin that he showed when he had an idea. But first, he had some preparations to get started on. And they would take some time, something he thankfully had plenty of right now.
Later that night, as the sun finished its journey below the horizon and the night sky resumed its vigil, dinner had concluded aboard the Warlock and her faithful crew all returned to their quarters. Remy and Dan had sat across from one another at the meal, trading knowing glances, warm smiles, and flushed faces back and forth as they ate. Perhaps their comrades had noticed, perhaps not. They didn’t seem to care. And yet, there were doubts that began to surface in Remy’s mind as she walked back to her cabin. He’d responded to her confession in kind, that was true. But how could she be sure? How could she know he’d been sincere, that he hadn’t lied to her again? If he’d been walking arm in arm with her now, like she’d hoped he would be, she could certainly ask him, but he’d departed on his own after dinner to see to some task, leaving her with only a promise to see her later that night. But that could mean a multitude of things. She tried to ponder things as she opened the door to her room, but was stopped by a glint of light bouncing off of something on the bed. Closer inspection revealed it to be the brooch that had adorned her dress on that fateful night. It had been tossed about in the passions of the moment, and in her haste to redress herself and depart in the morn she had forgotten it. Accompanying it was a folded piece of paper, upon which was written but three sentences in a simple script.
“Come out to the main deck when you see this. I’ve a surprise for you.”
“PS: I heavily advise against wearing a dress.”
(youtube.com/watch?v=ZgDqrziAryw)
It wasn’t long before she was making her way out to the deck, dressed in one of her less common ensembles that included pants. She opened the door and looked out across the ship… and saw nothing. Not a soul was to be seen anywhere, and only the gentle swelling of the waves could be felt. Had she been jilted? Tricked? Played for a fool by the man she thought loved her? She was about to storm back to his room and confront him… when something caught her eye. Another glimmer off the surface of the deck. Slowly, cautiously, she began to make her way toward it. As she got closer, it was revealed to be an elegant necklace, crafted in fine gold with a pendent inlaid with emeralds laying on the deck. She kneeled down, picked it up, and stood again that she might behold it in the glow of the deck lights. As she contemplated it, a breeze drifted past her. And within the breeze, as it brushed by her pointed ears, came a voice. A voice that was all too familiar to her.
“Well, put it on.”
Her head snapped up and began to search this way and that, looking for the source of the voice. Again, she found nobody around but herself. Perplexed and curious, she turned back toward the necklace in her hand. With a deep intake of her breath and the slightest trepidation she lifted the chain over her head and let the pendant come to rest just above her bosom. As soon as it settled around her neck the mage’s finely tuned senses detected the magic within it. Magic that was now communing with the air around her, causing it to stir and dance about. It began gently, but it was building steadily, gathering strength for something. Again the breeze flew past, and again the voice spoke to her on the wind.
“Hold on now, this is going to feel strange at first.”
All at once the winds swirling about her feet surged in power and began to slowly, gingerly lift her from the deck and into the air. With time, the updraft grew in force and was soon sending her upwards at greater speeds. In little time at all the Warlock was little more than a child’s bath toy to her perspective, and still she soared upwards on the column of wind. And then, as steadily as they had risen, the winds quieted themselves, reduced their ascent to holding her steady and aloft. They concentrated and focused themselves on an almost solid platform of air under her feet, and she found that they followed her feet as they moved. Scared as she might have been, she slowly began to realize there was nothing to worry about.
“Sorry about that, it was probably even more uncomfortable given my lack of recent practice.”
Her eyes widened as she heard the voice for the third time, not on the wind, but from nearby. She turned around slowly, and there she saw the man she loved standing atop the air much like she was, relaxed and calm as if he belonged there. He began to walk toward her, and when he was close enough his arm reached out and gently brushed the back of her head as he leaned forward to touch his forehead to hers. For the moment, words were unnecessary between them. Then, he spoke again.
“May I have this dance?”
She gasped in surprise, at first. Surely he didn’t plan to… but then she smiled. Of course he planned to do just that. It was what he did. It was what made her fall in love with him all those years before.
“Of course you may.”
With that, she moved one hand to rest on his shoulder while the other rose and suspended itself in the air. His hand moved from the back of her head to her hips as his other rose to meet hers in the air, and with the opening of his eyes the wind began to move once more. It swirled and whirled about them, the sounds making a melody all their own. She pressed her body close to his and they began to step and spin across the sky, with only the stars as witnesses and the midnight air as their personal ballroom. The world below was momentarily forgotten in their joined ecstasy, a distant place that was of no concern and little significance. All the pain, the sorrow, the trials and tribulations, all of it was swept aside by the force of the gale whose tune they danced to. For a while they simply left all their cares behind, let them fall into the sea below as they danced for what seemed to be hours. Finally, their movements began to slow. The winds died down, and soon they simply stood there holding each other in the sky. Verdant eyes met gold, and a moment later they moved, each as the other, into a deep, passionate kiss.
Their lips remained locked as the platform of air began to descend, bringing them safely back to ground. Only when their feet once more rested on polished wood and metal did they break their gentle caress of each other’s mouth, but still they held each other. Their eyes locked again. His lungs filled with air, and with a single breath he spoke.
“Imlë, melmënya, tenna airë metta.”
Yours, my love, until eternity’s end.

-
Much to her dismay, Remy had slept in far too late after the fateful night.
In a sea of frazzled blonde hair, she woke as if she were breaking from the constraints of a nightmare; with the shudder of her breadth while her gaze caught the sun. Had last night been a dream, or an illusion of some sort? A fingertip slowly rose to her bottom lip and lightly touched it as her tongue gently ran across it. She could still taste him on her lip, and a flush rose like a writhing flame to her cheeks as the gravity of the night before crashed down upon her.
With remarkable haste the Magi rushed towards the shower, tossing her clothes onto the nearby chair as she hurriedly found herself beneath the relaxing stream of hot water. Quickly, ever hastily so, she applied the necessary shampoo and conditioner as the scent of lilac overcame her little cabin. Nonchalantly drying herself off with a cool towel, she strode back into the room to look at the clothing from the evening before.
Taking it into her touch, she quickly realized that she would not be able to wear such clothing to work; for it still smelled like him. Such a scent crawled past her senses, and the rosy hue on her cheek grew only darker but for a moment as she dug through the drawers of her chest. Smoothly, she slipped on new undergarments, and this time took upon a dress that was of the deepest sapphire. Bordered in silver embroidery, it clung to her figure in similar fashion to the dress he had seen that night.
Doing a small twirl, the dress smoothly furled and then promptly unfurled about her as she came to a stop. As much as she would’ve preferred to have the time to properly prepare for work, her late awakening would be truly a detriment as the Frost Queen had no other time but to run a brush through her hair before hurrying from her cabin and rushing down the hallway.
Kaal was there waiting for her at the Quartermaster’s Hold.
With a wry smile and a tapping of foot; the grinning divine being eyed the flustered magi with a coy grin. “You look rather ravishing today dear, my…you’re glowing! “
Her head shook violently in response, with golden tresses falling in a rolling wave about her shoulders as she finally came to a stop. “I am? Oh no…I must’ve put on too much makeup.” She proclaimed convincingly with a slump of her shoulders. Yet the woman interfered with her, gliding across the short distance to stare closely at the blushing girl.
“No no…not that at all. You must have done something you weren’t supposed to with someone?!” the deity cried out in revelation. “Who is the lucky guy, hm? Was it Dan?” Frantically, her hands rose disarmingly as if she was a thief caught in the act, but she would still continue to defiantly deny the allegation. “No it wasn’t…I just must’ve had a peculiar dream. I love him, but it doesn’t mean we automatically have done something!!”
Kaal finally backed off then, giving the magi a skeptical look as the girl picked up the accounting books and a quill of pen, marking off the most recent loss of targeting dummies that ironically the gunman was using as practice. Such a thought made her roll her eyes in amusement alongside a soft but smitten smile.
Across the room, the Goddess saw this…and just shook her head slightly in amusement.
Later that evening after the work had ended for the night, the entirety of Blades had gathered in the mess hall together for supper. Each of them claiming their seat impatiently in wanting another piece of succulent food from the ship’s head cook, Jod. Her patience however, had paid off in fact, as there was only one seat that was left; located right across from the very Gunman she had sworn herself to that beautiful moment in the morning.
Sliding into her seat smoothly in front of him, they exchanged knowing glances, warm smiles and the like with one another. Yet their meal proceeded quietly, which struck her as peculiar as the uproar of a usual evening meal started up around them. Naturally beginning of course, with the throwing of food which gravely offended one soul and was retaliated with in turn; gradually, the entire hall erupted into one mass food fight.
Everyone was involved except for two.
In the madness that surrounded them, two Lovers simply remained calm and collected, each going their separate ways after they were finished with their respective meals. She naturally was a little slower than him, as to not draw suspicion. Not that anyone had noticed, at least she had thought as much.
Yet the utter lack of conversation at dinner was troublesome in itself.
Had he lied to her? Like he had when they met at long last once again?
Shaking her head, the Magi decided that it was wise not to dwell on the negative. It was most unwise, even more so as she opened the door to her cabin and saw a glint of light from the setting sun upon her bed. Walking over towards it, her eyes widened ever slightly as she immediately recognized it. The jewel that lay before her was her brooch! Gently picking it up, her fingertips ran across the gemstone’s smooth surface as she relished the thought of the morning prior.
A truly beautiful moment…truly.
However, there was something beneath it, and carefully she picked up the folded piece of paper and glimpsed about to see if she was being watched while the door slowly crawled to a close. Opening it quickly, the word scrawled across them drew her to immediately grasp a change of clothes. With a simple white blouse, and a pair of capris with some comfortable boots, she walked out from the door and into the docks towards the rear of the ship where none could see her as night had finally fell upon them.
There was a glisten, a faint, fickle glisten.
Striding towards it, the Magi plucked up the piece of fine jewelry and closely inspected it beneath the flicker of a light from the ship. Magic resonated from it, and she could easily sense that much; but whose magic was it? Her answer came in the sound of his voice. Jumping slightly in surprise, her gaze looked over the immediate area in search of her beloved, yet he was nowhere to be found. Further instruction came then, and hesitantly she lifted the beautiful piece of art, and clasped it about the curvature of her slender neck.
What happened next was far beyond anything she’d ever expect.
Like literal magic Remy was lifted into the air, as if she were swept up into the warm breezes of the nighttime sea as she muffled her own cry of surprise. In all truth, she was quite terrified to start as she spiraled up into the night; yet, the welcoming voice of Dan is what truly made her feel at ease. Reaching for her, she gently took his hand with a nervous smile as they literally stood upon thin air. Drawn close, his forehead came to rest warmly with hers, and with his touch her fingertips rose to gently rest on his forearm while any apprehension faded like the snows of winter upon the first day of spring. Hastened breath slowed, and even with the ship hundreds of feet below them, the Magi was more than at ease.
He asked a question, a silly, peculiar question when one is floating in midair. But it was a beautiful question nonetheless. He asked her for a dance. Nodding softly, she soon found her footing to be solid upon the wind itself as they swept across the sky in such magnificent grace. With two souls so incredibly light of foot silhouetted by the moon, it was almost a pity that none would ever see such a dance. It was something far greater than what anyone should ever see, it was a memory that only they, and they alone could cherish.
In a flowing twirl, she was brought close to him once again in a wondrous kiss as the winds began to die. Slowly bringing her down from cloud nine; the two would settle their footing back upon The Warlock once again. Only this time as their lips parted he took a deep breath as she stared into his eyes and with a chain of select phrases, he gave her a response that she had dreamt of.
“Imlë, melmënya, tenna airë metta.”
Yours, my love, until eternity’s end.
Her eyes widened in shock but for a few brief moments before a serene smile appeared upon her lips. Slowly, her head would lean forward to rest upon his shoulder and linger there quietly for a few moments. If he tried to move, she wouldn’t dare let him go even if someone discovered them. It mattered not. He had sworn his devotion to her as well, and she had to first fight back tears of joy before stepping away.
Reaching into her pocket, she extracted a smoothly cut ruby set upon gold, it was a gem that he would easily recognize. It was the one that he had removed from her the night before. No longer could she grasp the thought of living an eternity, no longer would she dredge along in the woes of immortality. For it was simple, the Magi refused the thought of no longer walking beside him in the years ahead. Closing her eyes in a moment of focus, they would slowly open to look at him again with a beautiful smile beside it.
The luminous green she always seemed to possess were fading.
Yet the brooch she held began to shine with a beautiful, yet faint light.
Striding to him, the Magi slowly took the Huntsman’s hand into her own, and placed the brooch within it. Drawing closer to him, her arms slowly raised to wrap about his neck once again as she stood upon the tips of her toes to gently kiss his cheek followed by a whisper in common tongue so that only he could hear it.
“For you, Dan Halen…I will live a mortal life.”

-
It was a quiet night aboard the Warlock. It was a rare thing in those times, given the relentless pursuit that had been placed over them by Salador Cipher, so the crew met it with a mixture of gratitude and suspicion. Dan Halen leaned more toward the latter, but he welcomed the chance to ease back regardless. If nothing else, it gave him some liberty to take the evening for himself, and the gentle sound of heated water spewing out of a showerhead was all that filled his cabin on the ship as he basked in the steam and the cleansing flow. Luci had the nightwatch in the gun bay, which meant he could spend the evening getting a full night’s rest. Of course, that was relative- there was still a fifty-fifty chance he would spend half his sleep wracking himself with guilt over what had transpired the day he left On’Eman.
He reached out his hand to brace against the shower wall as he bowed his head directly under the water stream, letting it wash over his dark brown hair and down his body to the drain. To think, even after all this time, he still dwelled on those days. Try as he might to let it all pass him as the years had, something within him wouldn’t allow him to. Perhaps that was the punishment he’d subconsciously inflicted upon himself- to forever languish over his deeds and what they had brought on for his home. To eternally remind him of his sins in the face of everything he did to forget them. It seemed that no matter how he tried to suppress his emotions and bury his feelings, he could not help but return to and torment himself with them. At the end of the day, regardless of the power he wielded, he was only human.
That thought led his other hand to reach up and touch the object that dangled from a chain on his neck. It was a piece of jewelry, embroidered in gold and inlaid with one of the purest rubies he’d ever seen. Of course, it wasn’t as though he could forget what it looked like. Not after the meaning it had come to hold. The little brooch had started as a gatekeeper for what was very much in the running for the happiest night of his life. Not long after, it had become a memento to accompany a message he had left for the person it belonged to. But now… now it was something so much more. On that night that seemed so far gone but still echoed in his head with crystalline clarity, his beloved had used that very jewel as a catalyst to seal away her Elven immortality, removing from herself the force that would normally have allowed her to walk across the centuries unblemished by age. Because of him and the love they shared, she had chosen to live as a mortal.
“No,” he said out loud, “Not because. For.”
That was the key. It had been her choice and hers alone to weave the spell that brought her to equal footing with him. There had been no need, no pressing reason, no urgent demand that she do so; only her wishes. What thoughts had led her to that end, he could not say, but the fact remained that she had taken everything that made her birth higher than his, locked it away… and given it to him. Was it for safekeeping? It was a possibility. After all, there were some beings in the universe that could use an Elf’s immortality to do terrible things. But Dan sensed that there was more to it than that. This jewel, regardless of what it had been before, now held a piece of her, a piece that she had willing given to him as a sign of true affection. That was why he had attached it to a chain, fittingly the very same chain from which the hourglass pendant had once hung. That was why he had draped it about his neck. And that was why he never took it off, for any reason. With a push off from his bracing arm, he stood upright in the shower again and allowed the gem to settle where it belonged; dangling just in front of his sternum, close to his heart.
With a crank of the dial, the shower ceased its flow and the hunter stepped outside to towel himself off. A swipe of his hand removed a layer of condensation from the nearby mirror, and he bent over so he could see his hair- another necessity of his height. When he was satisfied that his mane wasn’t too tossed about, he stood up again and noted that when he did so the mirror reflected the little gem, with its dancing light that faintly glowed inside of it. He raised a finger to tap the ruby several times, an action that set the light playfully darting about inside of its little house, as though it were somehow conscious. As startling as the curious reaction had been when he first discovered it, by now it was something Dan had come to accept. Far from anything hostile, he’d come to liken the behavior to an excited puppy being teased with a ball. A few more taps followed, until the “puppy” seemed to be simmering down and tiring out. After that, he pulled on a pair of black lounge pants, exited the bathroom, and climbed into his bed, eager to get some sleep.
All was quiet as the hunter’s eyelids began to slide shut, gently whisking him off to the world of dreams as he rolled onto his side. Fifteen minutes later, however, he felt the sheets move ever so slightly as a lithe, svelte shape stealthily slipped into the bed with him. Ordinarily, he would have been sitting up and wide awake with the reflexes of a great cat the second he felt the disturbance. But the little ruby gave the game away; the second the extra presence had been in the room, the little light had started darting about again, as if its owner was coming home to it. Dan neither moved nor prepared to move, as there was absolutely no need to be on guard. Of all the people on board the ship, nobody meant him less harm than the person who was sliding under the covers with him at that moment.
A slight chill washed over him as Remy’s delicate palm came to rest on his shoulder while the rest of her body curled up against his back. That got his attention and gave his eyes caused to open once again. The Magi’s frigid aura was one that waxed and waned with her emotional state; when Remy was happy and times were pleasant, it was nonexistent, whereas if her anger was stirred she was liable to subconsciously turn her surroundings into a small ice cavern. Normally, when they were together in private, as they were now, the aura would be entirely absent. Its slight, trepidatious nature that was making his hairs stand on end told him this was not a nighttime visit because Remy was in a good mood. Judging from the degree of the sensation, she had come to his room because something was troubling her. And given the lateness of the hour it was all too likely to have been a nightmare of some kind. As if to confirm his suspicions, the hand she had placed on his shoulder squeezed on his upper back as she clutched herself in as close to him as she could. Then she started to speak in as soft and quiet a voice as was possible, her fearful emotions coloring her tone to something that pained him to hear.
“Dan? I’m… I’m sorry, I just-“
Before she could finish, he was in motion. His weight shifted to pull his body into a roll that brought his shoulder out of her grip, separated their bodies, and took him to the other side of the bed. The separation lasted but a moment, however, for as soon as he had rolled over completely and was facing her he moved again. This time, he pushed his body straight across to where he had been before as his arm swept gently across the both of them under the covers, arching well over her shoulders before touching down on the opposite side. Satisfied with his position, he put his hand on her upper back and pulled, coaxing the Magi ever so gently across the sheets until she was safely nestled up against his bare chest and underneath his arm.
“Shhh,” he said to her in a voice every bit as quiet as hers had been, “It’s okay, melmënya. I’m right here.”
With those words of reassurance, the chill began to slowly fade away as she found a comfortable position in his embrace and slowly closed her eyes. Sleep soon followed, as the dancing light of the brooch around his neck made soft, playful gleams across her face and the golden tresses of hair that draped over it.
And if the man who wore it knew just what that dancing light was about to do, there was a strong chance he would have pulled it away. But magic often works in ways that even its most masterful wielders cannot comprehend. As if the part of her that lay within the pendant sensed the foul dreams that haunted Remy’s sleeping hours, it began to send her new images to fill her mind’s eye. Scenes that she could not have possibly witnessed or known of began to occupy her slumbering thoughts, scenes that the little gem could only have retrieved from one place; the memories of the man currently holding her tight, warm, and safe in his arms.

As sleep overtook her and Remy’s mind began to wander through the realm of dreams, she would find it to be much like making her way through a dense white mist. Slowly, as if she were nearing the fog’s edge, it would begin to thin out ever so slightly before a great gust of wind blew past her face, forcing the Magi to cover her eyes. When she opened them again, she found she was standing in a small meadow, with flowers of every color in full bloom all around her. It was achingly familiar, yet she could not place it. Before long, however, she realized that she was not alone. Standing close at hand was a man dressed in black, his back turned to her and his face obscured. But even from such an angle, the body shape, aura, and the ornate longsword held at the silhouette’s hip left no room for doubt or dissention; it was her beloved, as he had once been all those years ago.
He was standing with his head bowed, his hands folded in front of him, facing what appeared to be two rounded stones. It was a stance of reverence, one normally reserved for monarchs, deities, and those who had earned the blademaster’s respect. He made no response or recognition to her presence, gave no sign that she was even there. Only when another voice came from behind him did he move at all.
“Can’t say I would have expected to find you here, of all places. I always got the impression you didn’t like him and kept your distance from her.”
The voice came from another man who had entered the clearing, this one clad in a formal trenchcoat ensemble with a katana resting at his waist- L Rastia, Warden of Earth. The Dan Halen present in the meadow turned his head to see his comrade in arms approaching- passing straight through Remy’s form like a ghost as he did- and gave him a curt nod of acknowledgement before turning back to the stones.
“It doesn’t matter what my opinion of them was in life,” he said in response, “The dead are owed their dues.”
“Fair enough, I suppose,” the great leader said as he came to stand abreast of the Warden of Air. “We’ve got a lot of work ahead of us, you and I.”
“Don’t I know it. Rebuilding a world from the brink of destruction isn’t the kind of thing that can be done in a day. Nor does it help that it seems… seems we’ll be two men down for it.”
“I find it very odd that replacements haven’t been chosen, don’t you?”
“Not particularly. Those old crystals are as fickle and as finicky as they come. Remember how long we waited before they finally agreed on her?”
“Years on end for her to show up, followed by months of a holding pattern while those rockheads debated about it.”
The two men stood in silence for a while, reflecting on days long past. After several minutes, it was Dan who broke the silence.
“They’ll come to their decisions. Eventually. For now, you and I simply have to make do with what we have.”
“I guess you’re right. See you back at the tower?”
“Don’t worry, I won’t be long.”
With that, the katana wielder stalked away from whence he came, leaving Remy to once again observe the gunman alone. As Rastia’s footsteps faded away into silence, the longsword master returned his attention to the stones at his feet. This time, there was no reverent bowing of the head, no silent vigil for the lost. This time, he dropped onto one knee before the stone on his right, his hand reaching out and tracing the lines carved into its face with his thumb. As he did so, there came a tiny, almost imperceptible sound of water dripping at a painfully slow rate. The noise’s source soon became clear, however; it was the unmistakable sound of tears. Dan Halen, the man known as the iron willed and steely nerved Warden of Air, was crying. The droplets seemed to make their way down his face and then to the ground only in slow motion, like watching a great wall come crashing down piece by tiny piece, all while his hand snaked along the smooth earthen surface before him.
“It should have been me.” He said in a voice so low, even he could scarcely hear it.
Finally, his thumb concluded its painstaking route along the face of the stone and he stood again. His eyes had dried, his face resumed its neutral expression, and only the small water stains that were even then fading into the ground stood testament to the existence of his sorrow.
“Au revoir, ma geler fleur.”
He walked away from the stones at long last. The white mists of the dream began to slide in again, but before they could conceal the meadow entirely the magi managed to glimpse what adorned the front of the stone he’d been kneeling before; “Remy Antoinette, Mistress of Time” engraved above the image of an intricate water droplet, and below it inscribed “May she now craft snowfalls among the angels.”

After some time, the dreamfog began to thin again to reveal another scene. This time, the scenery was instantly recognizable- it was the streets of Imagi, one of the great cities of On’Eman. The sky was painted with the hues of oncoming dusk, and all the lights of the city’s night life were beginning to shine one by one. All of them, save for one district toward the center, where the lights remained off. A crowd of people gathered, not to party or to socialize, but to surround and see a macabre scene. Lying in the middle of the walkway was a white button-down shirt, a suit jacket, matching pants, and a pair of dress shoes, all arranged as if they had been worn on somebody laying down on their stomach. Splashed against the nearby city walls and sidewalk was what could only be blood, arranged in a grisly manner that suggest someone had been brutally attacked there. And the smell, the rancid, horrid scent of a soul freshly departed filled the air, enough to make those unaccustomed to it nauseous. But, oddly enough, there was no body to be found. Just the clothes arranged there on the ground, as if the man wearing them had simply up and vanished. The On’Eman Police, with support from the Ragtag Princes Guild, was managing the site, but none of them knew quite what to make of it. For now, they busied themselves with keeping the area clear of civilians. As Remy watched, a figure started to push his way through the crowd to the front. Only when he came into the light cast by the small generators the police had brought could she recognize Dan once more. His eyes were laden with bags of sleeplessness, and his mouth twisted in an unpleasant way when he was accosted by an officer trying to bar him access.
“Sir, I’m afraid I can’t let you through, this is a restricted-“
“Restricted?” the swordsman barked, “If it’s restricted to me, then how on earth did YOU get access? Get out of my way.”
“It’s okay,” came the voice of the orange-haired, eyepatch sporting officer in charge, “Let him through, his clearance level makes ours look like chump change.”
As the officer begrudgingly lifted the crime scene tape, Dan ducked under it and stalked over with the chief to examine the scene more closely, exchanging pleasantries as he went.
“Dan.”
“Joker.”
“How goes things at the top of the proverbial food chain? Warden of the West now, isn’t it?”
“Same shit, different day, unfortunately. Managing a quarter of the world was bad enough, having to pick up Hawthorne’s quadrant with all of its disorder alongside it? I’ve gotten a total of 5 hours of sleep in the past 3 days trying to sort through it all.”
“I had heard something like that. If it’s all the same, I don’t envy your position.”
“Nor should you. I understand you’ve got a weird case on your hands here?”
“Weird doesn’t even begin to describe it. Blood spatters and stains all up and down the street, clothes lying there on the ground, but not a body in sight.”
“Do we know who it was?”
“Just that he was in one of these buildings before that big power outage hit a few hours ago. But given this is the business center of Imagi? That’s not much of a clue.”
“Let me guess, power went out, the buildings were evacuated for safety, and when the lights came back on, this was here?”
“It’s like you’ve done this before.”
“Only a little.”
By then they had reached the pile of clothes. The Warden bent down to get a closer look at the clothing on the ground, his hand hovering just above it so as to not contaminate anything.
“Think he might still be alive?”
“After losing this much blood? There’s no way. And look here, the shirt’s still buttoned, the pants are still zipped, and the shoes are still tied. You ever tried to take your pants off without unzipping them? I think your victim here got erased.”
“Erased? As in wiped out?”
“As in deleted,” he snapped his fingers to indicate an instantaneous action, “Poof, up in smoke, gone. Just like that.”
“And I don’t suppose you know of something that could do that?”
“Plenty of things could, if their target stood still. Or was already dead, for that matter.”
“Somebody REALLY didn’t want us finding out who this used to be then.”
“If that’s the case,” Dan replied as he stood again, “They did a poor job of covering their tracks. See if that blood on the walls can get you anywhere, and keep me in the loop. This smells fouler than the average murder.”
“Way ahead of you. We were just getting ready to clean up here, a sample’s already en route to the lab.”
“Good man, I’ll get out of the way then. Might want to clear the civvies out though. Just to be safe.”
“Fair enough. Alright boys, let’s wrap it up and go home!”
While the police department cleaned up the scene and the civilians lost interest and walked away, Dan stepped to the other side of the street, leaned up against one of the buildings, his eyes closed and a small gust whipping back and forth across his feet. Some time later, when the crime scene was cleared and the spectacle had died out, the last police car finally loaded up and drove away. Once its lights had faded away in the distance, he was left alone in the darkened district. His eyes snapped open, the golden irises gleaming amidst the night like a panther’s, and he began to slowly make his way down the street. The Magi’s dreaming form followed him, as though she were compelled to keep pace with his movements, and once out in front of him she saw that though his head stayed facing straight ahead, his eyes darted back and forth, constantly scanning his surroundings. At the same time, he was muttering something under his breath, barely intelligible, but if she strained her Elven ears she could make it out.
“Come on, I know you’re here. Your scent is nothing short of putrid, and that’s not even counting the fresh blood I still smell. I’m by myself, the district’s still dark, what more could you possibly be waiting f-“
It happened instantaneously, and had Remy blinked she would have missed it as a large, shadowy shape descended on her beloved from above. As it was nearly upon him, Dan dove forward into a roll that turn him around, and in a flash of metal he was standing with sword in hand, ready to fight. What faced him was a creature the likes of which neither of them had ever seen. The creature’s overall body shape was reminiscent of a praying mantis, but rather than scythes its arms ended in a pair of six-fingered claws that dug into the ground as if it were paper. It was covered in what appeared to be a jet-black, insect like chitin plating, and its maw was hanging open to put its rows of jagged, razor sharp teeth on full display. The mere sight of the beast was enough to give Dan pause, and the creature did not miss its chance. With incredible agility it lunged forward, raking one of its claws along the ground and ripping the asphalt to shreds in its wake. Before it could strike, however, its prey was in the air, leaping over the attack and coming straight with the tip of his sword aimed at the monster’s neck. The blade struck, but the armored carapace of the beast turned the tip aside and sent the swordsman jumping harmlessly away as it tried to swipe at him again. His landing left him little time to breath, for the creature was once again rushing toward him with claws drawn. This time, the swordsman stood his ground, deflecting the reaching claw with his blade and knocking it aside. With the appendage out of the way, he turned his sword as only a master could and sliced across the inside of the creature’s arm. This time, the armor did not deflect his attack, for he had managed to strike the weakened portion of it that covered the undersides of the arm. As the monsters blood splashed through the air, it let out a great wailing scream that resembled a whale’s, if that whale had uttered a guttural roar instead of a normal call. It began to thrash about, perhaps in pain, perhaps in rage, and possibly even both, tearing apart anything in range. In its flailing, one of its claws managed to strike the Warden, sending him sprawling almost ten yards away as a burst of his vital fluids was tossed into the air. After a handful of seconds that seemed to stretch on for hours, his sword arm raised the weapon and embedded the tip in the ground, where he used it as a brace to raise himself up. There was a large gash across his stomach where the monster had struck him, and blood still trickled out from the wound, but still he smiled.
“Well then,” he said as he stood and held his sword aloft, pointing it at the creature, “Seems we can both bleed.”
Spurred on in its rage by his remark, the creature coiled its legs and took a low leap toward the Warden. As it came closer and closer, the breeze that had been whipping about Dan’s feet suddenly erupted into a great galeforce updraft that flowed along with his sword in a sweeping slash that sent the creature flailing high into the air! With another updraft he was airborne, rising high above the spinning beast with his sword raised over his head. As his jump came to its peak, more gales began to form that propelled him back and forth across the sky, slashing at the monster’s weak underbelly with each pass before finally ending right above it. With one final burst of air, he launched himself downward, delivering a single, decisive slash that cut the monstrosity cleanly in half before the many winds he had spawned converged and tore what remained to pieces with blades of air. Once landed back on the ground, he stood as the scattered body parts rained down around him and disappeared, turning to blackened dust and fading in the wind as they fell. His sword returned to its scabbard, and he watched as the last piece- the creature’s head- faded away before him.
“Well, I daresay I’ve found Joker’s killer. Suppose I’d better go and get this wound looked-”
Another bloodcurdling screech erupted as a second creature sprang from atop one of the nearby buildings toward him, claws extended and reaching for his throat! It would never get there, however, because its path was cut off by a great glowing vine lashing out from a nearby alleyway that wrapped around the second beast’s neck and snapped downward, severing its head from its body in one clean crack as it was inches from the Warden’s back.
“Now now my dear, what have I told you about letting your guard down?”
A voice that was achingly familiar to both Dan and the Magi observing him came from the place the vine whip was retreating to. Out of the dark alley stepped a woman clad in a vibrant green sundress, cut so as to show off her shapely legs, with her shoulder length crimson hair blowing in a light wind that seemed to exist just for her personal photogenics. Once she stood in the dim light of the night sky, she was instantly recognizable. After all, the goddess Amelia, or, as most knew her, Sangre de la Rosa, was not very easily forgotten.
“Perhaps I had a gut instinct that there was some pending divine intervention?”
“Ohoho. Thank you, but flattery won’t get you shit with me hon.”
“Who says I was trying to flatter you?”
After a moment where the two simply stared each other down, they finally broke into a unified bout of laughter. In the middle of it, Sangre managed to bring herself to raise a hand and touch Dan’s torso, where a light flashed briefly and was gone, leaving a repaired shirt and a healed wound in its wake.
“Gotta watch that stuff, it’ll get infected if you leave it.”
“Oh sure. Next time I’m locked in combat with an eldritch terror hellbent on my destruction, wound hygiene will be the first thing on my mind.”
“I will smite you.”
“Go ahead, it’ll give me an excuse to take a day off!”
They laughed some more, until finally the reveling was broken as the goddess took her friend’s head in her hands and forced him to come face to face with her. Her eyes looked into his, as if scouring his soul for something. She let him go some time later, shaking her head slowly from side to side.
“Oh Dan, Dan, Dan. The past couple of weeks have not been kind.”
“I don’t need you to tell me that. It hasn’t been easy, carrying on without them here.”
“Don’t you try to snow me, Danny boy,” she said, putting her fingertip on his chest in rebuke, “You mean it’s been the hardest thing you’ve ever had to do in your life. And it’s not because you have to keep living when they aren’t here. It’s because you have to keep living when she’s not here.”
His head snapped up to look her in the eyes again. His face was neutral, but his eyes, filling up with pain, guilt, and the burden of those who survive, told all that was needed. His hand began to clench into a fist… and then fell open again as he averted his gaze.
“I never thought it would be this difficult,” he began softly, the slightest hint of a tremble edging his voice. “I always stayed at arm’s length. The impulses where there, but I never acted on them.”
A smirk drenched in irony erupted from his mouth, a darkened and depressed version of his usual laugh.
“Maybe that was my folly. I had plenty of chances, but I always passed them up. Even after she and Hawthorne had their falling out. I just… I don’t know. It should be easy to move on…”
“Of course it should be, by that logic. But since when have our feelings ever listened to logic?”
Sangre tilted her head slightly, her eyes catching something on his chest.
“Could it have something to do with whatever’s in your breast pocket, I wonder?”
“What, this…?”
He fumbled inside of his suit jacket, until finally he withdrew a small pouch. He gazed curiously at it, then opened it up to remember what was inside. As he turned the pouch upside down, a small bracelet crafted in gold with four tiny sapphires embedded in it tumbled out into his hand. Once he realized what it was, Dan smiled wistfully at it.
“That’s right. I… I bought this for her, back when we first discovered that the land was dying. I meant to give it to her and… tell her how I felt. But the day I finally plucked up the courage to do it was the day we found out about…”
His speech broke away as he distantly recalled what had happened. When they discovered that one of them would have to die for the land to live. She had volunteered so quickly, and all he had been able to do was cook and serve her last meal. He clenched his hand over the bracelet before putting it back in its house and stowing it in his suit again. As he finished doing so, however, he found the goddess’ fingers under his chin and lifting his head up.
“Ah, so it’s regret. You always were one to beat yourself up before you knew the full story. But enough about that, I didn’t physically manifest to give you advice on your love life. I did it to bring you a warning.”
“A warning? About what?”
“About those things we just killed. And what’s coming after them.”

The mists began to fill in once more, obscuring the cityscape from Remy’s view. For a while she seemed to stand there in the whiteness, unsure of what to expect next. It reminded her of a storyteller who was trying to recall which part of the story ought to be told next. Finally, however, the fog began to recede again, this time showing her to a place that was entirely unlikely she had forgotten. It was a ridge overlooking a vast plain, with grass and grain that stretched on for acres in every direction before terminating at a coastal cliff overlooking the great sea. And situated at the edge of the cliff was a colossal portal, nearly 200 feet tall that dominated the horizon. The portal was a staple of life in On’Eman, for it was through the massive device that any and all trade and travel occurred for the land. The Grand Gate it was called, and it was through it that On’Eman was connected to all other worlds in existence. Ordinarily, the field surrounding it was covered with merchants, performers, and travelers of all sorts as a welcome mat for newcomers to On’Eman. But today, not a single soul treaded before the Grand Gate. Standing before it was a mass of black and dark purple as a menagerie of creatures that resembled the two Dan and Sangre had killed in substance paraded about before it in what could be roughly seen as battle lines. Many were like the mantis creatures from the earlier night, while others resembled different creatures, such as hyenas, elephants, scorpions, spiders, and no less than three truly colossal monstrosities that suggested a basis in horses, but were so large that it was hard to believe they had managed to fit through the Grand Gate. There was no mistaking what had been laid out before all of On’Eman; this was an invasion force.
But the world they sought to invade was not slumbering in the wake of such an onslaught. Gathered in ranks on the opposite side of the field, just beneath the ridge, stood every soldier, warrior, and adventurer that could be found across On’Eman. Legionnaires, sailors, mercenaries, pirates, martial artists, even a small selection of death row inmates had been contracted to fight. Even more stunning, perhaps, was the group of people lining the ridge itself. Hundreds of spellslingers and marksmen of all kinds stood along the precipice of the overhang, armed with an assortment of bows, crossbows, pistols, rifles, cannons, staves, enchanted gauntlets, ritual daggers, and all other manner of firearms and mystical tools that anyone could think of. And just behind them stood a circle of men and women robed in white; Ayame’s Choir, the group of healers said to be able to halt entire plagues when marshalled, standing by and waiting to tend to the wounded at a moment’s notice. And in the middle of the ensemble, standing directly in front of Remy, were the three individuals who commanded the entire operation; Dan, Sangre, and Rastia.
“They’re terrified,” the katana wielder began to say. “Every single one of them.”
“Of course they are. These things are world-devouring monstrosities from the space between worlds that erase anything they kill. Nobody WANTS to fight them.”
“Perhaps what they need is a rousing speech.”
“I don’t suppose you’d be willing to give it?”
“Why would I? I’m pretty sure half of these suckers don’t even believe in me.”
“I’ve never been good at formal speaking.”
“Besides which, neither one of us can talk to everybody at once.”
The hunter sighed and rubbed one of his temples. He was good at public speaking, that much was true, but that didn’t mean he enjoyed it. Still, Sangre was correct; of the three of them, he was the only one who could make a speech to the entire army on such short notice. So, with a deep breath, he stepped forward onto a platform of air a few feet in front of the ridge. With a wave of his hand, a small breeze began to blow past the ears of every denizen that had been armed and gathered for the battle. And as Dan spoke, the breeze carried his words to each of them, like a makeshift megaphone, but more personal.
“People of On’Eman, lend me your ears. I can sense it, my brothers and sisters! I can sense the fear, the terror that dwells in each of your hearts. And I know it well, for the same horror would take the heart of me! You are well to be afraid; our enemy, who stands there by the gate, is not of this world. They do not know fear or despair, for they exist only to kill and consume. And should they triumph here, they will devour all that we hold dear in our hearts. To be afraid of such a thing is no slight against you. However, if they know nothing of fear… then they know nothing of courage. They know nothing of faith. They know nothing of the strength that is given wings when something we dread knocks on our door and must be faced! And face it we shall. A day may come when the land of On’Eman crumbles around us as we lay defeated on the ground. But today is not that day. A day may come when our courage fails us, when our shields lay shattered and our swords broken on the ground! But today is not that day! A day may come when our greatest magic and strongest steel collapse in our hands, and the land around us is torn asunder before our very eyes, but TODAY IS NOT THAT DAY! TODAY IS THE DAY WE FIGHT!!!”
All at once the cries of swords, spears, arrows, axes and staves began to ripple across the ranks as the men and women who had risen to defend their homes began to shout and scream at the invaders. Oaths of defiance and curses afoul flew from their mouths and joined a chorus of ever increasing voices that carried across the field and seemed to force the enemy back by sound alone!
As if responding to a provocation, the horde of darkness began to join their unearthly voices, producing that low, dreadful scream in unison. It began at a low octave, just high enough that it could not be mistaken for a tremor of the ground. Then it began to rise, growing higher in pitch as it grew louder and louder, the sound burrowing into the ears of the men and women who had gathered to fight them, louder and louder as it pierced their psyches and threatened to drive each and every one of them mad with terror!
And then, a new sound began to rise in opposition to it. Like the alien scream, it started low. It was the sound of metal scraping across metal at an achingly slow pace. And to everyone assembled there, to those who had known the art of battle all their lives, it was unmistakable; it was the sound of a sword being pulled from its sheath. And it was growing louder by the second. Every single one of them set their eyes to searching for the source of the noise. And one by one, they all tracked it to the man standing in midair at the front of their formation as he released his longsword from its house, the sound being amplified by his mastery over the air. Dan’s weapon gleamed in the sun as he finished drawing it with a flourish, the sound resounding across the field and driving the horde’s scream to silence as he pointed the weapon directly at them.
“Semper Victis!”
And then, the inevitable; one man took a step forward. Nobody could see who he was or where he stepped from, but the very moment his footstep thundered out it was louder than anything else. That step was followed by a second. Then a third. And by then, the rest of the army had begun to move. One soldier’s movement translated into a rippling wave that carried every other fighter into its wake as the great host of On’Eman surged into motion, sprinting across the field toward the beings that wished for their demise!
The invaders, startled at first, soon began to compose themselves. With another roar, the front line of creatures leaped forward as the legion of blackness soon followed. With their animalistic attributes, they would be upon the defenders in no time. But then, that had been part of the plan.
“Here they come!”
With a single stomp, Rastia sent a small shockwave spreading throughout the ridge. That one stomp carried a single order to every mage, marksman, and archer in the land;
Light ‘em up!
The ranged divisions responded with a will as arrows were knocked, rounds were chambered, and chants were whispered. Then, as one, a hailstorm of arrows, bolts, bullets and slugs flew alongside a sea of fire, ice, lightning, shadows, light, and pure arcane energy. The oncoming horde had all of three seconds’ warning before the ranged assault slammed into their ranks. Some shots struck true, decimating their targets instantly. Others clipped the enemy, and some missed entirely. But the advance was slowed for a brief period, and that was more than enough time for the frontline fighters to slam into them at full force! The invaders, stymied by the initial burst, were forced onto their back foot as the battalions struck them head-on. The sound of wood and steel striking, being struck, and breaking filled the air, but none of it quite as loud as the screams. The primal battle roars of men, the harpy-like shrieks of women, and the beastial cries of wounded monsters resounded through the sky as the two armies met one another. Iron ground against chintin as both blade and claw found their marks. In that moment, nobody could ever say how much blood had been spilled. But when it was over, the advance of the eldritch creatures had been halted. And the defenders kept going. They carved their way through a second rank, and then a third, and then a fourth, all without ceasing as more artillery fire bombarded the back lines from afar. But by that point, they began to feel the pressure of inferior numbers. They had won the initial clash, but the enemy was so multifarious that they could not help but slow and turn to their defenses, or risk being overrun. And once the beasts were freed from being assailed, they openly turned their aggression toward their opponents. Valiant as they were, On’Eman’s protectors could only hold for so long, and bit by bit they began to give ground back as more and more of them fell, many wounded and some dead.
But this was not the end of the line. Not so long as the land’s denizens possessed their hidden aces. They were three in number, and one of them was about to be deployed.
“MAESTRO!” Sangre cried behind her, turning to the hooded man standing between her and the gathered healers. He bowed to her quickly, to indicate her plea had been heard, and then turned around with hands held just above his shoulders.
With a wave of both appendages upwards, he began to move them as one in a set of very rigid motions to a particular beat and tempo that would easily be recognized as a conductor’s motions before a symphony. And so a symphony began as Ayame’s Choir took up the Maestro’s tune. Their voices soon joined the audible array surrounding the battlefield, an immaculate chorus that echoed across the hills and plains as it grew it tempo and volume. A light green ether the color of fresh grass began to snake from the Choir and float out over the battle, and at a rapid series of motions from the Maestro the singers began to separate from their solo melody into several unique songs. In turn, the ether trail branched into multiple streams that began to dart through the On’Eman ranks, seeking any who were injured. When it found them, the stream swam through their bodies and beneath the faint glow of the song’s spirit their wounds, however severe, began to heal and become undone. In little time at all, every soldier who had been presumed dispatched was back in the fight, and in one miraculous case a swordswoman was raked across the shoulder and began to be knocked aside, only to have a nearby stream reach her and heal the wound with enough time for her to regain her footing, turn her weapon, and lash back at the monster that had struck her with deadly force. It certainly seemed she was the grand metaphor for the On’Eman armies; numbers didn’t matter anymore if the Choir could resurrect anybody who wasn’t dead back to fighting strength, and for every blow they had taken before the song began they gave three back, driving the invaders even further toward the gate. Things were going well; but then, they always are before the enemy reveals their own ace in the hole.
A great snort captured the attention of all as one of the massive armored horse beasts began to lift its hoof. It struck at the ground in front of it, the classic indicator of an incoming charge, then coiled its legs and jumped, shooting hundreds of feet into the air. The breathtaking power of the leap tore eyesights across the field, and very few managed to break away from it to see what was happening.
“GET OUT OF THE WAY!!!”
Dan screamed across the field to the soldiers that sat in the horse’s shadow. Those that heard him turned to flee, but it was far too late. The behemoth came crashing back to earth with a massive shockwave that knocked those nearby off their feet and sent them reeling. The Choir’s song immediately darted to the impact area, but once there the ether streams passed over it, unable to find any survivors to heal. Every single person who had taken a direct hit from the attack had been decimated. The sight was enough to make most of the army sick. How could they win, if they had to face such enormous power? And as the horse turned toward them, what was left of their moral began to crack and threaten to shatter instantaneously.
That was when the second ace went into play.
Another shockwave, this one easily rivaling the strike produced by the mammoth horse, erupted on the battlefield. But this one came from behind the horse, in the midst of the ranks of invaders that threatened to swarm through the gap created by their siege engine. Like the one before it, the impact left no room for survivors as it tore the very earth beneath it to pieces. And standing in the middle of the crater, katana gleaming in the sun, was L Rastia, who had brought the force of the earth itself to bear against his enemies.
“Don’t forget,” he declared with a slight smirk, “We’ve got some monsters of our own!”
A rumbling quake followed as he dashed into battle with the siege horse, which had turned to face him as if it had been challenged. At the same time, however, its two brothers also reared their heads and began to move. The one on the far side from Rastia’s target began to run, covering hundreds of yards with each step, as it circled to the side and attempted to take the army’s flank! It was stopped, however, by a veritable forest of vines that suddenly erupted from the ground to bind it and stop its movements. After some struggling it broke free, but its momentum was robbed and its flanking attacking ground to a halt. A faint light began to glow in the fields in middle of its vision, and from that light emerged a massive rose that soon unfurled to reveal Sangre herself, stepping forward to engage the monstrous equestrian. And wearing a cowboy hat that had come into existence from out of nowhere.
“Now, now, what happened to your manners? If you wanted to try out for the rodeo, ALL YOU HAD TO DO WAS ASK!”
A flash of red was all that was seen as she rushed toward her opponent, her raw speed tearing the rose that had carried her apart. At the same time, however, the third horse had already left the ground and was soaring through the air, this time on a collision course with the principle battalion of the army! Those that were paying attention, however, would have felt the wind abruptly alter course and greatly increase in speed as all of it began to flow to one source; the longsword that Dan was gripping with both hands! His eyes blazed gold as he looked above him at the leaping monolithic animal as the air worked itself into a frenzy around the blade of his weapon.
“Didn’t anybody tell you? THESE SKIES ARE MINE!”
In an instant he was rocketing upwards to meet the creature in midair, and when he did there came a great crashing sound as his sword swung forward and unleashed every bit of the slicing winds he had built up. The result was a colossal tear across the sky, highlighted by a swarm of spinning slashes. When it was done, nothing remained of the creature but a large cloud of ash raining on the field. At the same time, the second animal was sent tumbling down into a deep chasm that had been forced open in the ground that Rastia swiftly closed once again, and the third’s life was slowly but steadily strangled out of it by a set of massive horned roots that Sangre had called from the ground. As Dan landed on the ground from his lofty height, he and the other two Generals readied their weapons anew and turned their attention to the remaining host.
“Mind if we cut in?”
The triumph of their leaders and their entrance into the fray renewed the moral of the troops, and then bolstered it further. With the swords of Dan and Rastia leading the charge alongside Sangre’s horticultural arsenal, they began to cut whole swaths through the enemy ranks, driving the invaders further and further back. And yet, for all their seeming success, the three of them did not appear pleased. Rather, they looked worried as they glanced between themselves; they knew something was coming, but nobody could say what.
It was the sound of the chain that gave it away. A great clanking, clattering noise that sounded across the plains drew everybody, especially the three Generals, to look on the Great Gate. It was thought to have been forced shut by the invaders, but now it was opening. At an order from Rastia the army fell back to a defensive position; was it reinforcements coming to their aid? Their question was soon answered as the Gate fully opened and a river of blackness spewed out from it in a great wave. From the surge of black erupted a new myriad of dark shapes, this time much larger than the foot soldiers they had been fighting! As these new monsters lunged into the fray, the army was soon hard pressed to hold their line. The Choir took up their song once more, but no sooner had they done so than a swarm of airborne darklings appeared and flew directly toward their location! A combined effort of Dan and the Ranged Divisions grounded most of them, but the few who got through wreaked havoc upon the healers and their harmony, disjointing the song tremendously. Everyone gathered there realized the grim reality at once; the initial army had been the bait to lure them closer to the gate so they could not react to these reinforcements in time. The Rangers managed to rid the Choir of the last of the flying beasts, but no sooner had they done so than a new flock took their place from the portal. Hope was quickly waning for On’Eman.
And then, one last sound echoed out from the depths of despair. A great trumpeting blared out from the ranks, and the instrument was quickly shone to be glowing golden in the Western Warden’s hands! At first, nothing happened. Who had he attempted to call? Would they respond? And even if they did, could anything truly help them in such a dark hour? The answer came in the form of a great shaft of light that cut through the clouds above with a blinding brilliance. As the inbound squadrons of flying monsters went through it they turned to ash one by one. As the shaft of light faded, their antagonists were revealed; a battalion of men and women garbed in shining armor and cloth floated on the air, the great white wings sprouting from their backs holding them aloft. Their eyes were concealed by their visors, and only their mouths set in iron lines could be seen. They and their weapons glowed with a florescent light, and even to the most atheistic soldier there was but one thing that they could be called.
“Angels…” one man dared to breathe.
After blowing the trumpet, Dan had crumpled to one knee, his breath short and ragged. As he steadied himself, he opened his eyes again, and they glowed a deeper gold than Remy had ever seen them before. When he spoke it was but a whisper, yet it was heard by all.
“Keep them at bay.”
With a brief salute, the angel that seemed to be the lead raised his spear and pointed forward, spurring the heavenly battalion forward to do battle with the monstrosities that plagued the land. Their weapons pierced the creatures as light pierces darkness, and soon the army was back on its feet and, assisted by the angelic reinforcements, holding their ground against the invaders once again. In the midst of it, Dan turned to see Sangre’s hand reaching down to help him up.
“We don’t have much time,” he said as he took it and stood up again, “I’ve burned a lot of my power already, the Legion can’t sustain themselves for long. We have to finish this. NOW.”
“Any suggestions for how we do that?”
“The Gate. They’re using their main host beyond it as a reservoir right now. If we close the gate over it, the backlash will damage their forces on the other side past repair and leave everything left over here weakened.”
“I presume you know how to close it?”
“But of course.”
“Good. Rastia, marshall what we have left and hold them here. Amelia, you and are I going to break for the Gate. Ready?”
“Anytime.”
“When you are.”
“Good.”
With a deep intake of breath, the golden trumpet reappeared in Dan’s hands as he raised it to his lips. A quick note followed, and two of the angels appeared by their side.
“Cut us a path!”
With twin nods the angels took up their swords and surged forward, killing and knocking aside any dark beast that impeded them. Sangre and Dan dashed behind them, pausing every so often to strike at an enemy themselves. As Rastia called the army to task behind them, they pushed onward. Finally, they came in sight of the chain that currently held the Gate open. A pair of hulking shades stood guard near it, but with two swift strikes from Dan’s sword they were laid in two. Sangre stepped forward then, brandishing her vine whip. With a single deft motion, thorns met the steel of the chain and severed it, sending the Great Gate clattering down. Just as it reached the halfway point, however, it slowed and then stopped. With looks of horror on their faces, the Warden and the goddess both looked to the Gate and saw a shadow that, though it was smaller than the horses had been, made them pale in comparison by the power emanating from it. Perhaps what made it all the more terrifying was that, unlike the other shades, this one appeared to be almost humanlike, albeit many times the size of an ordinary man.
“Ha ha ha. Is this it? Is this all that the land of On’Eman was able to muster? How pathetic.”
Both of them were taken aback at that. Not only was this being clearly more powerful than his brethren, he was able to speak! As he loomed before them, both Dan and Sangre stood with weapons ready, but neither was considering striking for the time.
“I truly did select an opportune time to strike. If there had been four Wardens, this may have proved more troublesome. Or perhaps not; after all, the Warden of Water was rather pathetic…”
The slant against Remy’s past self lit a burning fury inside of Dan, and the air around him grew agitated to reflect it.
“I would mind my tongue if I were you…”
“Oh, struck a nerve, have I? Does having her weakness revealed anger you, Warden of Air? Perhaps you’d like to challenge me?”
“Why you-!”
“Hold.”
A vine stretched out in front of him to stop Dan from moving in to attack.
“Don’t let him bait you. He can’t hold the Gate open forever, it has mechanisms to prevent that. We just have to let them kick in and continue to hold out.”
“Ah, of course. The coward’s route. I’m certain SHE would approve, had she not thrown herself into a volcano to be rid of you all!”
That tore it. All at once the winds began to rage, and with a great burst Dan had hurled himself through the air, sword at the ready, on a collision course with the giant.
“YOU SON OF A BITCH!!!!!!!!”
He bellowed as he crashed into the man. The impact had been intended to hurt him, to drive him back. And it did, but from the wider perspective it seemed the giant, rather than being forced to relinquish his hold on the Gate, had simply… let go. And a as result, Dan’s blow had carried the both of them to the other side of the Gate, into the oblivion that was beyond, while the Gate resumed its grinding close!
“My my, that actually hurt. I wonder, does your power increase with your rage? Let’s see!”
Before Dan could mount another offense, however, a great vine lashed through the portal, wrapped around his waist and bodily pulled him backwards and under the closing Gate. As he passed, however, he watched as Sangre rushed forward to take his place on the other side of the portal. Time slowed to a crawl as they passed one another. His hand shot out, trying in vain to stop her. Her head simply turned backwards, saying but one sentence as the Gate grew ever closer above;
“Keep an eye on the big picture. This is my part to play in it.”
As he landed on his rear end back in On’Eman, he heard but one last thing before the Gate slammed shut completely;
“NO! YOU’LL RUIN EVERYTHING, WENCH!”
“Of course I will. THROWING WRENCHES IN SHIT IS WHAT I DO!”
And with a great, calamitous crash, the Gate slammed shut.

The rush of air brought on by the closing of the Great Gate coincided with the rapid return of the dreamfog. Not long after, however, it cleared again to reveal Dan and Rastia, both of them battered and bruised from the battle, conferring in a room they all knew well; it was the highest room in the Great Tower, the meeting place of the Wardens. Rastia’s hands were steepled, his eyes deep in concentration.
“So. That is what happened.”
“As much as I can remember.”
“Amelia is gone then.”
“Not yet she isn’t.”
“What makes you so certain?”
“Rastia, it hasn’t even been an hour! If we do it fast, we can still get behind that Gate and save her, but we need to move NOW!”
“I don’t think so.”
“WHAT?!”
“Consider it, Dan. Our forces are beaten and battered, the Angelic Legion cannot be called again for a month, and we’re filled with injured as it is. We are in no shape to confront those monsters in their territory. Besides which…”
“Besides WHAT? They were weakened by the backlash, we can still-”
“No. We can’t. Not with only one Warden.”
“Where the hell did you learn to count? There’s two of us.”
“You are correct. But henceforth, only one of us is a Warden.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Simple. A Warden who slays a goddess has no right to his title, wouldn’t you agree?”
“Slays a god- SANGRE ISN’T DEAD!”
“How can she not be? Part of her power was being funneled to this side. That means the backlash would have damaged her as well. If she didn’t die immediately, she was devoured by the horde before her.”
Out of the blue, the desk between then was neatly divided in half as Rastia’s katana came to rest under Dan’s chin in a quickdraw he hadn’t seen.
“And it’s because of you.”
Another flash of steel came as the katana was sent toward Dan’s neck, but a quick roll backwards spared him the edge. He rose with his longsword in hand and his legs in his combat stance.
“Don’t try this shit Rastia. I’m your equal in swordsmanship, and we have better things to do than-”
“Be silent, traitor. For the crime of causing the death of the goddess Sangre de la Rosa, I hereby sentence you to the relinquishing of your Elemental Aspect, followed by your death!”
Three more flashes of the katana followed as Rastia lunged at him in cold blood, each one parried just in time by the longsword. The third strike, however, resulted in something unexpected; as Rastia’s blade made contact just above Dan’s guard, the katana began to slash through the longsword, tearing its blade to pieces as it flew out of Dan’s hands. He was forced to drop the hilt as one of the shards pierced his hand, and he doubled over against the tower wall as Rastia closed in.
“You see? Even your Rose Sword betrays you. You once told me that so long as Sangre’s power held, it would remain sharp and strong; what does this tell you?”
“It tells me that you are a fool!” He yelled as his bleeding hand went to his chest to catch his breath, “Why won’t you listen to me?! I thought we could trust one another, Rastia!”
“Yes. I used to as well.”
The katana rose into the air for a finishing blow, but as it came down it was met with a purple hued glare of light that erupted from Dan’s chest, beneath his hand. The glow began to slowly intensify, growing until it swallowed him whole. Remy’s vision would be consumed by the light, but it was doubtful she would fail to recognize her own magic at work…

When the light faded, Dan found himself in an entirely different place. It was outdoors, and there was a multitude of people milling about. Stalls of many shapes, sizes, and colors had been erected around them, and the whole spectacle resembled the Grand Marketplace of On’Eman from the days of old. A look at himself told him his wounds had been healed, and in his hand was the hourglass pendant, still with a drop of his blood atop it.
“Time travel? Then is this… no, it can’t be. Remy always said that travelling to the past takes so much magical energy that even at the peak of her power she couldn’t manage more than a few seconds. But then that means that this is… Ga’Heer?”
The more he looked, the more it seemed to confirm his suspicions. But how far forward had he been flung? He had to find out. To do that, he set out to find a newsstand. It didn’t take him long to locate one, and once there he purchased a newspaper. A glance at the date told him he had jumped exactly one year into the future. Before he could think on why he had been flung to Ga’Heer instead of On’Eman, however, his eyes fell on the headline story for the day.
“On’Eman Mourns as Final Confirmation is Found”
What followed was an article detailing the grand reopening of the Great Gate and how the realm had expected a celebration, but instead turned to sorrow as they discovered a group of rose petals, wilted and dead, floating just on the other side.
“Although theories have abounded on the fate of the goddess Sangre de la Rosa since the Battle of the Gate, many scholars say that the discovery of these petals where she was last seen confirms that the goddess did indeed perish in the battle. World Warden L Rastia has issued an official statement, detailing the results of the investigation. Furthermore, he says that former Warden Dan Halen is the cause of the goddess’ death, and has issued a warrant for his capture, dead or alive.”
Reading it made him feel sick to his stomach. Quickly and quietly he excused himself off to the side, where he promptly vomited into a trash can.
My God, his thoughts echoed, as if to complete the memory for Remy, She’s dead. Ami’s dead. And I… I was the one who… If I hadn’t… oh God…
“I… I killed her…”
“Damn right you did.”
The voice behind him gave Dan cause to whip around and barely duck out of the way of a knife attack that had been aimed directly at his throat! The assailant was clothed in a dark purple hood that concealed his features, but the look of malice in his eyes could not be denied.
“Who the hell are you?!”
“Just a former On’Eman soldier about to become a hero. Now DIE!”
The masked man lunged at him again. Dan dodged away again as his hand shot toward his belt… only to find that he was unarmed. His sword was broken before he warped, and he carried no other weaponry. With a snarl, he readied his bare hands for a fight as the man came at him again. This time, instead of dodging, Dan called upon the wind to create an updraft that launched the man up and over him, and when he had landed on his back Dan turned and elbowed him in the stomach with all of his weight behind it. The blow knocked the man unconscious, and Dan wasted no time in getting out of the vicinity.
After walking aimlessly in one direction, he came to the conclusion that he was sorely in need of a weapon with which to defend himself. To that end, he sought out and located a particular store that he knew all too well; The Wandering Rogue, the adventuring shop that his longtime friend and ally Steven had invested in many years before. The Wandering Rogue was far and wide considered THE place to shop for novices and veterans alike in the practice of field work, and one of its specialties was the large selection of tools and weapons sold there. The Ga’Heer branch was fairly new, but perhaps it would have something that appealed to him. After he was inside, he began to quietly look through the glass cases that housed the Finely Crafted items. Swords, he decided, would make him far too obvious to would-be assassins. Lances would be too bulky for carrying around, and bows were little use in a heads-up fight. That left him one option; firearms. Though he always claimed to have a dislike for the impersonality of the things, there were times when being impersonal was required. Such as being a marked man, for instance. Plus, he actually wasn’t a bad shot.
As he busied himself looking at the firearms, one of them caught his eye. It was a classic, high-caliber revolver with a polished rosewood handle. Revolvers always reminded him of the High Noon duels in old western movies, which were honestly as close to his preferred method of combat as pistols could get. Not only that, but this revolver in particular spoke to him, plain and simple. Something about it called out to him, a familiarity. Just as he was about to look at the price tag, a hand clapped him on the shoulder. He turned and saw Steven “Rogue” Lundin himself standing there, smiling at him in his typical roguish style.
“Well I’ll be damned, I wasn’t expecting to bump into you today!”
“Nor I, you. How have you been you old bastard?”
“Can’t complain. Business is a-booming, as you can surely tell.”
“No shit, this place is packed.”
“So what brings you to my humble shop way out here then?”
“I actually need a new weapon. My old one… I’d rather not discuss it.”
“Oh yes, I heard all about it. Dreadful times these are, and even more terrible accusations being leveled at you. I shudder to think of going without a weapon on hand. Anything you had your eyes on?”
“I was actually thinking about taking that revolver there off your hands.”
“Oh, a fine choice! Come with me into the back, I’ll get you squared away. I might even be able to give you a discount. Come on, come on!”
Relieved that his old friend was still just that, Dan took the revolver and followed the proprietor into the back room. As he began to fill out all the necessary paperwork for registration of a weapon, Rogue went opposite him to run up the price. Then the man spoke, and something odd snuck into his voice.
“You know, I never thought Sangre would die on us. Not like that anyway.”
Dan paused for a moment. If anybody had known the goddess more than he, it was Steven. The fact that he had called her Sangre rather than Amelia when they were in such private company was unnerving. But perhaps he was overthinking it?
“How do they say she went out?”
“They’re saying you tricked her and manipulated her into a death trap. A plausible idea, but I don’t believe it.”
That was strike two. Rogue was many things, one of which was candid; if he thought something, he made it known beyond doubt. And one of the things he figured was that Amelia could outwit all of them any day of the week, while hung over. His thinking that Rastia’s story of a manipulation on Dan’s part over her as plausible was out of the ordinary entirely.
“Do you think anything could have been done to save her?”
“I truthfully have no idea. I was too busy running my shop to think about that battle.”
Strike three. Steven was a businessman, but he was still an adventurer and a fighter at heart- he would never forgo a battle for the fate of his home to mind a shop. Without any hesitation, Dan turned and leveled the revolver at the man’s head right as he turned around. Finding a gun barrel pointed at his eyes startled him, and he soon stumbled backwards.
“You’re not Rogue.”
“Hmm. Interesting deduction. AND QUITE CORRECT!”
Suddenly, the man pretending to be Rogue was wiping away his disguise as he made for Dan’s throat with hands that grew claws. Without pausing to think, Dan kicked himself backwards to the floor and began to pull the trigger!
BLAMBLAMBLAMBLAMBLAM!
Five shots lanced through his intended killer, who stopped dead in his tracks as he began to keel over, shock coming to his face.
“What… but… it wasn’t… loaded…”
As he fell to the ground, truly dead, Dan stopped and forced himself to recover from the shock. He looked in the chambers of the revolver, and saw that the assassin was correct; there was nothing in them, save for a rolled up bit of paper. Curiously, he pulled it out and read, in a fair script, “Remember the bigger picture.” The memory of Amelia’s last words came back to him, and he realized with a start that she must have had some hand in the revolver’s existence. But how could that be, if she were truly dead? And how had he fired without bullets? Unfortunately, he lacked the time to answer either; the gunshots would attract attention, and with two attempts on his life in the span of 20 minutes, he couldn’t risk drawing more attention. Stowing the revolver in his suit jacket, he turned to the hourglass pendant. Perhaps, if it worked once… There was only one way to find out. With a nibble on his finger, he pressed a tiny droplet of blood onto the pendant, and willed both a length of time and a destination into it. Another flash of purple ensued, and the mists covered Remy’s dreaming vision once more.

When they cleared again, she was watching Dan come bursting through a door, slamming it shut behind him, and bracing it with his back. But he did not resemble the man she knew barely at all. His eyes were bloodshot and covered in bags that belied a complete dearth of sleep. His suit, normally pristine even in the heat of battle, was torn, frayed, and ripped in several places. His breath was heavy, as if he’d just run a marathon, and his left arm was covered in blood while his right arm held his revolver in a death grip. A far cry from the strong, unyielding man she was accustomed to, this Dan looked like he was nearing his breaking point. And it was heartrending to see.
“Damnation,” he said in between breaths, “That’s the third round TODAY. First Mors, then, Chizzy, and now-”
A beastial roar erupted in the distance behind the door, one that resembled a bear’s enraged bellow as it prepared to charge.
“And now, it’s Johnny.”
He gritted his teeth and rolled forward just as a large, clawed hand covered in brown fur came crashing through the wall. Just as he began to return fire, however, the dream faded out of focus. The blurs of motion bounded across her vision, but through the whole event she could make out nothing. It was as though the subject matter was one Dan himself did not wish her to see. The focus returned, however, to show him bracing against the nearby sink, catching his breath, with no clawed menace in sight.
“It doesn’t make any sense. How can they be tracking me this well, even through the jumps?”
He raised his head to look at his reflection in the nearly destroyed mirror. His face initially showed an expression of disgust at his appearance… but then it faded into a startled realization. Something had caught his eye; particularly, his eyes themselves as they glowed with their golden color.
“The Air Mantle… that’s it. They have to be using that to pinpoint my location, even through time…”
His head bowed again, accompanied by a sigh of exhaustion. His feelings were plain to see on his face; he was tired of running, tired of being hunted, tired of not being able to trust anybody. He was sick of fighting for his life, and he would give anything to make it cease… but for his guilt. Inside his heart, he still blamed himself for Sangre’s death. And because of that, some hidden piece of him believed that he was getting what he deserved. He dropped to his knees at the sink, his head barely still reaching the bottom of the mirror as he knelt. He buried his head in his arm, and in the silence of the room only his pained breathing could be heard. Finally, he spoke again, with only two little words. Two sorrow-ridden, mournful words that carried so much weight despite their small length. Two words that would alter his life in ways he did not yet realize.
“No more.”
As if he had recited an incantation, a faint emerald light began to glow around his body. It flared for but a moment at its peak, and then it was gone. All at once, the air around him seemed to howl with equal parts ecstasy and malice for but a moment, and then was silent. And when he lifted his head again, his eyes no longer glowed gold; they were now black as ash, with neither life nor light to dance in them. The meaning would be clear to Remy as she watched; he had willingly sealed away his command over the wind, never to be woken again until her dire hour within the floating library. Another light followed, this one the same purple light as before, but vastly more intense. It engulfed him faster, and lingered as a great sphere around him. The fog began to roll in again, and only his voice could be heard over the mist;
“One thousand years. That should be plenty.”

Suddenly, Remy found herself lying awake in the bed. When she looked for her beloved, she found him still clutching her close to his chest, the ever faithful protector. And yet, something was different. She tried to extend her senses to the utmost, to discover what it was. She found the answer on her left wrist; there, sparkling in the moonlight, was a beautiful bracelet inlaid with sapphires. The same bracelet, she realized, he had shown to Sangre in the memories she had witnessed. But when had he put it on her? She had never seen it prior to the dream… But then she smiled as she realized what had happened. In a midnight waking, he had crept from the bed, ever so carefully so as to not disturb her, had somehow rediscovered the bracelet, and had clasped it on her without her realizing. Perhaps he was aware of what she had seen? Or was he prompted by fate to do such a thing? Whatever the reason, even though no words were exchanged, the combination of the gift and the way he still held her in his embrace spoke very clearly of his thoughts toward her. And now, whether he realized it or not, she was aware of all his trials in the interim between their parting and reuniting. Perhaps, in time, he would be able to come to grips with his past and move beyond it. But for now… for now, she was content with his presence by her side. And with those thoughts pervading her mind, she dozed off once more, her now jewelry-adorned arm gently draping across his torso in a mirror of his cradle onto her. And thus entwined, no foul nighttime apparitions would dare disturb them.

-
With closed eyes of luminous emeralds, she listened as the world ticked by while in the confines of the Quartermaster's hold. The day had passed with commendable leisure, no pirates or imperialists shooting at them or trying to capture them. It were almost as if the Goddess had decided that in the Magi's joy, she would grant them a small reprieve. Here, with a softened smile that seemed unable to leave her features, Remy's fingertips settled upon the hardcover book that lay upon her lap.
There was a cause for her happiness, and it was the hunter whose work was just down the hall. Thinking of him instinctively brought her hand up to where a ruby had once been, and realizing it was still absent meant that all that had happened was not just some wondrous dream.
What a dream it would have been! If it were such, anyway. However, the realization that what had transpired truly did brought a sense of weakness in her stomach and euphoria in her heart. She had really done it! Never once did she think or dare to hope that she'd have the chance of seeing him again; let alone the opportunity to be so close.
In one single night, he had set her heart spinning completely out of control. Rendering the Magi known for her poise and regal posture almost helpless the moment she thought of him. Sometimes to the inquisitive curiosity of Kaal, she would laugh for seemingly no reason! She even counted down the minutes until she'd get to stealthily sneak off into the night and into his bedroom.
It was only fair. He had slept in her quarters a fair number of moments now, it was due time that he'd share as well.
Looking up woefully at the clock and even glaring at it for how slowly it trudged along, the Elven girl let a long sigh escape her. It was morally wrong to accelerate time for a short period for selfish wants and needs, and as tempted as she was, she knew she shouldn't.
She had an ominous feeling that Ami might appear from nowhere to smack her down a notch if she attempted to do such.
Shaking her head out of the thought, her fingertips ran gently through the tresses of golden braid she had tied her hair into. Her heart softened at such a thought as well, and how she'd do almost anything to have a moment and some tea with an old friend. Lingering on such a thought for a brief second, she also strayed away from it and lazily rested her chin upon a palm and watched the clock tick by.
Instead, the idleness of her mind brought up a curious thought. A new string of memories for her to see. The memory by which she had met the man she loved.
They had met on a wintry day in the midst of December.
With a vision she knew all too well, the Magi's mind took upon a scene beneath the prickly earth beneath an evergreen tree. Here, she stood quietly and waited. Leaning lazily against the tree trunk as in the stillness and silence of the tranquil wood, she heard something. Frantic breadth and panicked footsteps announced the presence of company rushing towards her, and the glowering of lamps and torches growing quickly gave way to the idea that there was a large group.
Past her eyes darted a light footed girl wearing a crimson hood. Following her however, was a horde of farmers and peasants. Bearing torches, pitchforks and all sorts of improvised weaponry, their outrage towards the girl echoed clearly in the forest for all to hear.
"The last two seasons' crops have been RUINED because of the Frost Witch! BURN HER AND HER WITCHCRAFT TO THE GROUND IN THE NAME OF SANGRE." A defiant roar echoed through the woods in response, and the lynch mob picked up speed. It did not matter how fast the girl ran; for what she had in speed, the fervor of the mob gave them endurance.
Breathlessly, the girl dove behind a tree and the girl watched on as the crowd ran past. It took one, and only one of them to not fall for her attempt to fail. Here in this moment, Remy scowled as her memory began to take a turn for the worse.
One villager did not fall for the girl's ruse, and with a warning cry before she could silence him, the mob had turned. Circling around the terrified girl as she cowered against her tree, they began to close in with their instruments of mayhem and murder.
That was until there was a rush of wind and a flash of fire. Suddenly before the lynch mob there stood two figures between them and their intended target. One was a younger man with a crackling heat about him, and the other was a tall man with a sword on his hip. Silence followed at first until one villager muttered a name beneath his breadth.
"Ragtag Princes..." He spoke as if the name were cursed, and the girl pressed herself even more against the tree, as if she were trying to meld into it. Gritted teeth could be seen beneath the edge of her hood as the fear of being burned to death was very much still there. "What do you want?!" One of them demanded of the two.
"Shut up." The fiery one said with an arrogant grin that seemed far too diabolical for his young face. "We're here for the girl. Scatter or I'll burn your village as badly as she killed your crops." Initially with their superior numbers, the villagers protested until the was a breadth of wind. One moment, the man with the sword was standing in front of them. In the next, he was behind them. In the blink of an eye after, his sword had been drawn. Before the stunned villagers, their weapons and torches, even their lamps fell to pieces before them scattered across the snow.
In an absolute horror, the villagers fled into the woods and left the three standing there. A long and miserable quiet followed until the fiery one turned to the girl and lent a sideways glance to the swordsman.
"At least she's pretty, eh, Dan? You want to have a go at her?" He spoke in a crass tone, with that arrogant grin never ceasing.
The scowl that had grown across the girl's lips furrowed further in the displeasure of the situation at hand. First, she had been pursued by a lynch mob, and now this? With a nonchalant stance and a shark's grin, the fiery one drew closer and this time she wasn't going to stand for it. With a sudden resonating hum in the air, spires of ice shot up towards Warden of Flame, and the swordsman reacted just as quickly as his friend fell back while bracing his forehead.
Suddenly, the girl found herself held quite still at the pointed tip of a sword.
With eyes widened in fear, she quickly came to realize that he had moved faster than her eyes could trace. Taking a trembling step back, the subtle cursing the Flame Warden partook in while he nursed a deep cut in his forehead was the only sound that occurred for a series of seconds. Yet finally, his demeanor finally changed in a way that no longer drew her ire.
"Perhaps I went about this wrongly." He muttered through the still air, releasing his grasp from his forehead while embers fell like glowering snowflakes from the wound. "Name's Elijah, and the fellow with a blade to your neck is Dan; we're the wardens of Air and Fire, got that?" She softly nodded and that leering grin of his rose up once more. Swallowing hard as he drew closer again, she tried to back away only to find her spine against the hardened bark of a tree. Not only this, but the swordsmanship edge had smoothly followed her with relentless precision.
His hand shot upward then, the vicious heat of his touch contending stubbornly with her cold while he took a rough grasp of her slender chin. With a deft pull then, the crimson hood fell away and luminous blonde locks cascaded to reveal a girl of highborne lineage. Even with his domineering stance, a pair of defiantly shining set of emerald eyes were what met them both.
"What do you want?" She demanded, the scowl she bore never ceasing while her eyes betrayed a slight sense of fear within. "To finish what those villages started?"
At first the fiery one seemed taken aback, until his composure broke into fickle laughter. "No no dear girl, that is quite the opposite from what we came here for." He stated matter-of-factly once his laughter had ceased. "Dan and I are here to help you, actually. Isn't that right Dan?" He continued, glancing over to the swordsman who still resiliently held the blade close to her neck.
Distrustful eyes met that of Dan's, yet they would soften minutely with the silent nod that was his response. She had nothing here, if she acted aggressively or tried to counterattack, she was sure that the blade bearer would not hesitate. So, her gaze darted back to the fiery one.
"Help me? With what?" Her fists unclenched then, and her body relaxed. With such, the blade fell away and was sharply sheathed at the swordsman's hip. It was more than obvious that the girl was no longer a threat.
"It is simple, we're here to harness you in as our new Warden of water. But first, we need your name to confirm that you're the one Sangre sent us to get." The swordsman spoke at long last, finally breaking his silence with an air of strict discipline and professionalism behind his tone.
"Remy. My name is Remy Antoinette Charlevoix."
Even from a distance, she could feel the swordsman's zealously critical gaze. With nothing more than marked suspicion, yet he did not move in the least as Elijah stood and stared at her with a leering grin. Hesitantly, her fingertips returned to the collar of her garments and with a deft flick, the hood had returned to where it belonged.
If anything, the sheer presence of the two in front of her was intimidating enough. It were almost torturous to be stared down by both of them.
"Well," the fiery one broke the awkward silence and she could hear the sound of snow being crushed underfoot as he stepped closer. Instinctively, the girl would back away until the slender texture of her spine was against the tree once again. This time however, there was no aggressive movement; instead, there were simply some more words. "Let me be the first to welcome you into the Ragtag Princes then. But we have to get going, Sangre is going to be delighted that we found you."
Turning and taking the lead, Remy paused at first as the Flame strode casually away. Looking over behind her first, she saw the swordsman patiently lying in wait for her to follow the other. Slumping her shoulders akin to a captured bird, she quietly walked in line with the two with Elijah in front of her and Dan behind her as the Flame guided the way out of the forest.
Though her curiosity still needed to be answered in some degree.
"Warden of Water? What am I getting myself into?"
"There are four Wardens." Dan began to state behind her, causing the blonde girl to jaunt her head just slightly to look at him as he spoke. "Chosen by Sangre and the power of ancient crystals, there are four. Elijah, Rastia, me, and now finally you. Did you not ever notice how adept you are with the element of water?" Biting her lip, the Magi slowly shook her head in response before turning her gaze back towards the front.
"No, I always thought that I only worked with ice." This notion seemed all to obvious as since the moment the they had started walking, the air around them had slowly grown colder. So chilling was it that it even had begun to dip into the negatives. Yet it had happened so slowly that neither of them had noticed until it was too late.
Far, far too late.
Suddenly, the very air about them erupted into a nova of ice, sending shrapnel and frigid temperatures flying about every which way as very suddenly, the two wardens found themselves covered in a thick immobilizing ice up to their knees! This was her chance to escape, and the girl certainly seized the moment. With just a split second, her form flickered and then disappeared entirely!
To the amazement of both, it were as if she had blinked from existence.
"Time Magic..." Dan muttered in a dry, cold hiss beneath his breadth. "Sangre didn't warn us about that."
"Well no shit, Dan." Elijah stated sardonically, with a viciously sarcastic turn of his tongue. "Time Magic is a lost art, hasn't been seen since the last Elves had disappeared over a millenia ago. An' look what we have, a target with pointy ears. Those bloody crystals certainly know how to pick their wardens."
With a sideways glance, Dan looked to the Flame then with a pause in his thoughts. If the last Elves had disappeared so long ago, how long had this girl been wandering about alone? Saying nothing of the matter however, he drew his sword and chipped away at the ice. Soon free of its grasp, he assisted the Flame in freeing himself from the Ice that refused to melt and took in a breadth of their surroundings.
"Well, she can't have gone far. I think that was just a Blink." Dan flatly stated, with a curve in the corner of his lips indicating his annoyance at his current company. "Shall we go hunting?"
"Yeah, whatever."
In all truths, Dan was correct; she hadn't gotten far. Immediately after the Nova, she had Blinked and broke into an all out run while the ice still encompassed and disoriented them. Now, as she nimbly blurred past trees and opened her eyes wide in the state of her Presence of Mind, the world was moving slowly in comparison.
Once the duo of Wardens were far behind, she immediately ducked behind a tree and flattened her back up against it. With the rapid fire rise and fall of her chest as she regained her breadth, the Magi dared not peek around the corner for the fear that she might be found again. Her mind consumed by what she had just been told, she constantly mulled through the facts while she held her head in her grasp.
It didn't make sense. These two men were searching for a Warden. A being who harnessed the pinnacle of their element's power in the most adaptable and destructive ways possible. She didn't possess either of those qualities! Believing certainly that they were wrong, the sound of a twig breaking underfoot announced that someone was getting closer than she'd like.
The window for her chance to escape these two was rapidly dwindling. Another crunch of a twig underfoot announced the pursuer drawing even closer as she flinched. Panic fluttered in her heart then; while she still had the element of surprise, she needed to act!
Pivoting rapidly from behind the tree trunk, she came eye to eye with the Fiery One, and without a moment's hesitation, she took advantage of her ambush. With a hand shooting upward, an expansive cone of frigid air erupted from her grasp, freezing him up to his knees in solid ice once again as a peculiar flicker happened a second time, and she was gone.
She had become invisible entirely, vanishing from the sight of the normal human eye.
Sprinting at breakneck speeds through the forest, there were no other sounds than the frantic pace of her breadth against the rapid cadence of her footsteps. Desperately, her gaze searched for the other man as a string of curses could be heard in the distance behind her. There must be a town nearby, one that didn't want her head on a pike, right? Thinking of the nearby roads and where they lead, she soon found that her options were very few.
Mulling this over in her mind as she turned to the direction that she believed would lead her to sanctuary, she ran headlong into a solid wall of warmth. Warm, strong, but stern arms wrapped around her then, and then tossed her onto the snow covered forest floor akin to a rag doll being tossed aside. Regaining her balance and returning to a poised stand, the Magi found herself looking into the eyes of the man who had identified himself as the Warden of Air.
With his sword drawn as frosted magic still danced at her fingertips, the two measured one another up meticulously as two Wardens, though she still didn't believe it in the least.
"We are here to bring you in. Stop resisting and I promise no harm will come to you." He muttered solemnly, with the leather of his gloves cracking in the cold she constantly emitted as he tightened his grip upon his silvery blade. "We are here to protect you. Stop running."
"I. Don't. Need. Your. He-" The girl stubbornly began with clenched teeth visible beneath her hood, yet her angered and terrified tirade was cut short as there was a sharp pain on the back of her neck and she fell to her knees. Collapsing to the side as her eyes rolled up into the back of her skull, it was far too easy to see a jutting from the side of her neck. That, and a new hooded figure standing over the collapsed girl.
There was a hint of recognition in the Wind Warden's eyes, it was Rastia, the leader of the Ragtag Princes. Of which he always bore such a grim expression, even though there was just barely a hint of amusement in his voice.
"The Warden of Water giving you trouble, Dan?" He began, pulling the needle out of her neck. "Where's Elijah?"
"Covered to the waist in ice, about half a kilometer away. She has a pretty good bite, and she's quick."
Slinging the limp form over his shoulder and sheathing his own sword, Rastia cast an apathetic glance to the swordsman. "Well, let's go pick his lazy rear end up. Sangre is waiting."

-
The door of the shop called Galadelle’s Gala was one that normally swung open and closed several hundreds of times per day. The clothing shop was easily one of the most popular destinations in Patoll’s 16th District, particularly for those possessed of deeper than average pockets. It carried everything from casual clothes and everyday wear to high-class evening ensembles. It was even common rumor that several members of royalty bought their formal attire from Galadelle’s, and if it were ever proved true not one person would be surprised. But today, the store was largely empty. Barely anybody had entered the store, and those that had had bought what they came for and left in a hurry. For someone like Belle, who minding the store for the day, that took all the fun out of it. What was the point in shopping if you didn’t look around? Still, the dearth of customers was understandable; District 23, directly north of them, had recently undergone a brand new wave of gang violence as more groups tried to seize control of Patoll’s territories. District 16 was largely untouched by such things, but the threat of the fighting leaking south was significant enough to make people avoid everything in the vicinity of it. Only two types of people walked the streets out in the open during times like these; fools and daredevils.
And judging from his look as the door swung open before him, Belle had no idea which of the two this particular well-dressed man was. As he entered the store, his hawkish eyes gave the building a quick scan and, once he had apparently determined that there was no danger present, he gave Belle a curt nod of acknowledgment and set about looking through the store.
What Dan was after, not even he really knew. He’d come to the clothing store because he needed to buy a gift, but he was entirely unsure of what to buy. Price was no particular object, as the gunman had made quite a lucrative business out of selling his custom made firearms over the years, to say nothing of the stockpile he’d accumulated from his hunting expeditions. Nor, for that matter, was it a question of quality, brand, or make. The real conundrum was that the person he aimed to please merited something special, yet was almost impossible to shop for. What was one to present to a woman who had walked the world for several millennia, after all? Still, he had to find something; it was Remy’s birthday in a handful of very short days. With that in mind, the hunter set about pursuing his quarry, in spite of not being in a hunting ground he was accustomed to.
“Can I help you find something?”
It had been roughly twenty minutes since he entered the store. He’d spent most of it wandering about the area of the Gala that contained women’s eveningwear and accessories, but may as well have spent it aimlessly staring at the floor for all the good it had done him. That’s when the attendant, one Belle by her nametag, had approached from behind the register and asked if he was in need of assistance. To say that he was would have been a supreme understatement, but he couldn’t very well tell her the whole truth of the matter. Still, there was no harm in being civil, and with the correct spin on the matter she might even be able to help.
“Possibly. You see, I’m looking for a present to give a woman very dear to me. Unfortunately, I’ve no idea what to get her. I considered something along the lines of a new dress or an accessory of some kind, but the problem is she already has a large collection of such things in a whole rainbow of colors…”
“And you’re after something special that she can wear either on specific occasions or all the time, right?”
“Yes, that’s correct.”
The saleswoman bit her lip in thought as she considered things in that labyrinthine cycle that overly fashion-conscious ladies all seemed to undergo when shopping for clothing. And then a spark lit in her eyes.
“I wonder… this lady friend of yours, is she at all magically inclined?”
Dan had to scoff slightly at the question.
“To say she’s magically inclined is a bit like saying the ocean is deep.”
“Ah. Very well, come with me then.”
With a small, graceful gesture to follow, Belle began to make her way further back in the store. Unsure of what to expect, Dan traced her footsteps with his own until they came before what appeared to be an ordinary supply closet in the very back of the shop. Just as his skepticism came upon him, however, Belle firmly shut the closet’s door and withdrew a long, gold key on a ring of similar keys from her belt. Following that, she pushed the key into the door’s lock, turned it thrice, and then opened the door again. This time, it opened unto a hallway lined with dresses, tuxedos, shoes, and objects of very high class, similar to the rest of the store. What caught his attention about the items beyond the door, however, was the fact that there were relatively few of them, each one was different in some subtle way, if not vastly so, each one had the look of peerless craftsmanship… and every last one of them produced the tiny vibrations in his senses that gave them away as magically imbued.
“Ah, so you’ve noticed. This is a special section of our store. Every item you see in here is created to interact with the wearer’s magic. Depending on the make and power of the user, these can all change color or hue, adjust their length, and some can even swap material. It’s normally reserved for select clientele, but for you… I’ll make an exception.”
Dan’s eyes slid over to look the girl called Belle in her own orbs of silken white as he visibly mused over something in his head.
“Clearly there is more to you than meets the eye, Ms Belle. But I thank you for the exception.”
“Feel free to ask if you have need of anything else, Mr Halen.”
And just like that, she was away once more. For his part, Dan immediately set about exploring this new department, seeing what he could find. There were dresses, necklaces, and bags galore, each one accompanied by a tag describing what its capabilities were, and even some rather… risqué undergarments that advertised their ability to vanish and reappear at will. And yet, none of them seemed quite right. That was when something caught his eye toward the floor. A single lady’s ankle boot, black in color, was lying under one of the clothing racks. Dan bent down and scooped it into his hand, looking it over quite curiously. Something about it had attracted his attention, but what?
“Well, first thing’s first. Let’s find your mate, shall we… aha. There you are.”
The boot’s partner had been lying a few feet away, still in its box along with the descriptive tag. It displayed the boot’s make, model, the enchanter who had made them, and went on to explain that with even the slightest touch of magic, the boots could be made to take on any number of color patterns, switch between rich leather, warm nylon, soft satin, or even comfortable felt, and could even have the height of the heel and neck adjusted at will.
“’And all with only a tiny bit of magic and a vision of what you seek. Even the vaguest notions will do; the enchantments will do the rest.’ Interesting promise, let’s see here…”
With a quick breath, Dan held the boot he’d recovered aloft as he closed his eyes and imagined “something that suited Remy.” A slight extension of his will pushed what little magic he possessed toward the boot, and after a few short seconds the air around it began to vibrate and then settle down. When he opened his eyes again, he was quite taken aback; the boot had shifted its shape entirely, becoming a sturdily built shoe with a thick sole and a deep brown color to it that featured specs of green tastefully splashed here and there. It was a hiking boot of sorts, that much was clear, and yet it was still elegant and lithe in design. It was strange nonetheless, though. How on earth did something so rugged and rough in design suit her, of all people? And it was achingly familiar, but he couldn’t quite place it…
With a start, Dan’s eyes widened as he recalled where he’d seen these boots before, with almost crystalline clarity. He smiled as he began to recollect his memories of that day in Winter, all those years ago…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It happened high in one of the towers that sat at the center of On’Eman, home to the Wardens and Sangre de la Rosa’s highest messengers. And it happened late at night. Dan, for his part, had been resting lightly in one of the corridors, just outside his own dormitory. His eyes cracked open and he yawned slightly, as if woken by something he had expected but not known when it would come. A quick stretch of his arms followed, and he turned to the nearby door. Two sharp knocks in rapid succession preceded him as he opened it, sauntered inside, and closed it behind him.
“Good evening. Have a nice sleep?”
He reached over to retrieve the chair that sat at a desk- his desk- and pulled it near the door to sit on. All the while, his eyes remained at least half open and locked on the elven woman who was sitting upright in his bed. Remy Charlevoix, as she had identified herself, had proved to be a troublesome, mischievous, feisty-pants of a quarry. And they all sincerely doubted she would give up her hopes of escape simply because she’d been caught once. Which, of course, had been the entire reason he’d volunteered to keep an eye on her.
“Where am I?” she demanded as her own eyes snapped to look at him. “What did you do to me?!”
“Nothing serious. And nothing I had in mind. I was planning to talk you down, but I guess Rastia got impatient and went straight for the subterfuge. I did, however, convince them to let you sleep it off before we did anything more, which is why you’re here in my personal quarters.”
He gestured to the walls about him as he referenced the room. One wall was dominated by a rack of various types of swords, while the other featured a large bookshelf that held everything from classic novels and the complete works of Shakespeare to modern stories and manga. The two remaining walls were largely comprised of a massive window that overlooked the coastline and the oak door behind him. And he took note of the fact that her eyes darted toward it more often than anything else in the room.
“I wouldn’t if I were you. I’d really rather sit and have a civil discussion.”
A smirk came to her face at that, as if she’d been taunted by a being far below her.
“And what on earth makes you think you could stop me? I distinctly remember being able to leave you behind quite easily before.”
“Try it and see.”
Their eyes never left each other. Seconds stretched into eons as they watched each other and waited. Finally, perhaps overcome by lack of sleep for a brief moment, Dan blinked. And when his eyes opened again, a wave of ice had swept over the room, encasing its contents and the man himself in an icy shell. At the same time, the elven girl’s form vanished as she began to teleport again. What she did not expect, however, was for an arm to shoot out from the sphere of frost that had covered the chair and its occupant, the hand arranged in a gripping manner on what was naught but thin air. A moment later though, and the hand was firmly wrapped around Remy’s upper arm as she blinked directly into it. Her head whirled around in utter shock as the ice around Dan began to crack and then shatter, blown away by the gale that had appeared around him to absorb the frost nova and leave him untouched by it. And, for all of it, his eyes were still gazing directly into hers.
“I should note,” he said with a hint of reprimand in his voice, “That I never fall for the same trick twice. Your chronomancy caught me off guard before, I’ll give you that, but I suggest you don’t allow a single victory to go to your head.”
“Now,” he continued, his hand releasing her as he stood, “If you would be so kind as to rescind your ice and have a seat again?”
It took her a moment of indecision, but after some time and a prolonged stare down, she finally relented. The ice seemed to pull back into the soles of her feet as she stalked back to the bed and sat down on it. Dan, meanwhile, reached over to the bookshelf and began to leaf through the titles on the upper shelf.
“Ah, all of good William’s plays are intact. I could never forgive myself if I allowed them to be damaged.”
“Your name was Dan, correct?”
“That’s right.”
“What is it you want from me?”
“I’d rather you not play ignorant,” he stated calmly as he returned to his seat with a copy of King Lear tucked under his arm, “I’m fairly certain Amelia gave you the rundown while you were sleeping. She has a flair for dream visions.”
“Amelia?”
“That’s what we call her, anyway. The rest of the world knows her as Sangre de la Rosa. Above average height, ruby red hair, always seems to have a rose on her?”
“Oh. Her.” Remy visibly tensed up at the thought of the woman he had described. “So. She was the goddess in who’s name I was to be killed.”
A sharp bark of laughter reverberated about the room as a response.
“HA! Please. If Amelia wanted someone dead, she would’ve sent one of us, not a mob of young hotheads armed with farm equipment. And the loss of one village’s crops is nowhere near a hindrance to her or her devices.”
He looked up from his page to look Remy in the eyes again.
“Did she honestly seem like the vengeful type to you?”
“… No.”
He smiled at that.
“I thought not.”
“But why me?”
“Pardon?”
“Why do I have to be your stupid Water Warden or whatever it is? I’m not some grand magister, or seafaring warrior, or anything remotely like that. I’m just a mage with a minor affinity for ice.”
“Hmm. Remy, what do you think we Wardens are?”
“You’re the ultimate mortal powers in this world. Masters over your elements, veterans of countless battles, and it’s said that just one of you can match the fighting power of an entire army. You’re the best of the best.”
“Hmm. Interesting. But not wholly correct. You’re right when you say we’re very skilled in combat, but that’s far from our raison d’etrê. As for holding mastery over our elements… that’s entirely false. Case in point- I could rattle off a dozen Aeromancers that could make my manipulation of the wind look mediocre and amateurish by comparison. The only advantage I have over them is that I can call on more of the wind than they can. No, the true purpose of the Wardens is Balance.”
“Balance?”
“Yes. Cause, effect. Action, reaction. You see, On’Eman is a realm that teeters on the edge of a knife. An errant slip to one side or another, and it will fall. That is what we are here to prevent. We each represent an element so as to preserve balance amongst them, and we do use them to fight, but our primary invocation of them is to keep the land in harmony.”
“How has the harmony been preserved then, without a Water Warden?”
“It hasn’t. I was the last Warden to be selected; I took over the Air Mantle from its previous owner. Shortly thereafter, the previous Water Warden renounced his mantle and departed from the world. That was four years ago. And in that time, nobody else has appeared with the ability to influence the element of water to the proper degree… until now, that is.”
“And what makes you think I can perform such a feat?”
“Simple; you already have.”
“What, destroying a village’s crops preserved balance in some way?”
“Believe it or not? Yes. Yes it did.”
“Madness.”
“Oh, I can be quite mad when the mood strikes me, but it is not now. Let me show you.”
With a wave of his hand, the window of the chamber rippled as if it was a liquid surface as the air refocused itself like a magnifying glass. Dan twitched his fingers slightly, as if tuning an instrument, and the image shown in the window began to shift and change until it finally showed a frostbound mountainside village- the same one where Remy had been found.
“I’m sure you’ll recognize this place. The village of Aum, quiet little mountain town, very quaint. Nice place to spend the summer, really.”
“It won’t be for much longer. Not after I ruined it.”
“I would not be so sure. Aum has been the recipient of bountiful harvests for the past 3 years, largely due to their harvest season being able to extend through December and on into February before the snow comes. And the village leader is a wise and prudent man; they have enough of a stockpile of supplies that being snowbound two months early won’t cause them much harm beyond a few teeth chattering. Now, then…”
His fingers twitched several more times, and the window’s focus altered to show another village, this one nestled in a valley near a steadily flowing river. Visible in the picture was a group of children play in the water, only waist deep to them, but clearly enjoying themselves.
“Now this… this village is called Fore Gams. What do you see here, Remy?”
“I see a pleasant riverside community. They depend on the river for nearly everything, and they thrive as it flows.”
“Very good, and quite right. However, do you know why those children are playing in the river as we speak?”
“Why shouldn’t they?”
“Because until two days ago, that river was as dry as a desert. The children are playing in it because it is the first time in three years that the water has been deep enough to go for a swim. In fact, if the water did not relent and the river remained sparse, Fore Gams would likely have died before the year is out. But, as it happens, the mountains where the river’s source is located are experiencing a massive snowfall, come two months early. And the resulting melt off has revived the river long before the scorching sun of early spring in the region can touch it.”
He turned to watch her facial expression turn from confusion, pass through shock, and proceed to understanding. She swiveled her head about to face him, and he watched as the dawning comprehension crested the horizon of her brow. He smiled warmly at it, at her, before continuing to speak .
“So you see,” he began as he cancelled the spell on the window, “Balance. Take from those who have too much, and give to those with far too little. That is what it means to be a Warden.”
“But… there’s no way I could control it. That was pure happenstance, little more!”
“That is no matter. Rastia keeps to himself, but Elijah and I would both be more than happy to help you rein in your powers. You have plenty of power, you showed that in the forest where we found you. What you lack is refinement and experience; we can help you acquire both in ample amounts.”
She turned away again, this time looking out the window in dismay. Dan’s brow furrowed in bewilderment; what could it be that still inhibited her?
“I don’t…”
His eyes drifted over her person and the belongings that had been placed around her when he originally laid her down. Finally, they settled on the shoes she had been wearing. It was a pair of travelling boots that seemed lightly worn, with deep brown hues and some light grass stains. And yet, there was something in the air about them. Something that set his senses alight the longer he looked. Like a puzzle that was solvable at last, the pieces began to slip into place and he finally understood where the true obstacle lay.
“Remy… what are you running from?”
“What did you say?”
“What. Are. You running from?”
“And what makes you think I’m running from anything?”
“This.”
He reached down and lifted one of the boots from the floor, bringing it to eye level.
“What, my shoes? They’re well used, I’ll give you that, but come now.”
“You’re right, they are quite broken in, but they’re also in fair condition. And yet, I wonder…”
His other hand rose up, his fingers flexing as they felt through the air around the boot. Small ripples seemed to form in the air beneath his touch at certain points, and their appearance seemed to cause Remy no shortage of unease.
“Wonder? Wonder what?”
“Well, there seems to be an enchantment on these boots. Given your skill with chronomancy that you’ve displayed before, I have to wonder…”
With a single, forceful tap on one of the ripples, the air around the boot ruptured and fell away. With the time magic responsible for keeping it intact undone, what was left was a haggard and ragged shoe, ran into the ground by constant use and abuse.
“Seems a little… worn out for casual wear.”
“They’re comfortable shoes, I like them, and I… I travel. I wander. Quite a bit, at that.”
“Wander? Remy, look at this. Where the sole isn’t worn to nothingness, it’s falling away. There are holes near the toe, and the heel would come off if I pulled on it a little. The laces are frayed, and the emblem on the tongue has been wiped away. What’s more, this material is a specific leather made from a particular breed of bison. A breed of bison that wasn’t cleared from the endangered species list and made available for hunting until seven years ago. I have a pair of hiking boots twice that age that are in vastly better shape than this. Remy, this is not the boot of someone who wanders or travels frequently. This is the boot of someone constantly on the run, someone who’s never allowed to put their feet up.”
And then it hit him, all at once it hit him.
“This is the boot of someone who doesn’t have a place she can call home.”
The statement caught her off guard. Her head raised slightly, her eyes widening as she realized she’d been ferreted out. Not a moment later she had shied back into herself again, her eyes becoming touched by the slightest degree of moisture.
“I… I’ve never been able to settle down. Wherever I go, I can never stay for long. Ever since I had to leave Silvermoon City. You saw the way those villagers regarded me. That’s the way it always is. Whether it’s because of my heritage, or my ability to use magic, or my magic going out of control, or even just something unfortunate occurring shortly after my arrival… I’m always chased out by a torch-bearing mob. Like a monster.”
Dan listened to her, watched the tears begin to form, observed as she fought them back with everything she had. His expression was a wall of iron, but behind that he was fighting his own emotional battle, one that brought back images from his own past when he had to fight to survive. Then, without a word, he rose, crossed to the wardrobe of the room, and delved inside. When he emerged, he was carrying a pair of white women’s shoes, which he set down in front of Remy.
“I’m not sure why I still have these. They used to belong to a young woman that often stopped by here, and I guess she left them here one day. They look close to your size though, so I think they’ll serve you well enough. In the meantime, I’d like to strike an agreement with you.”
“For the last time, I don’t want to-”
“And it has nothing to do with you becoming a Warden. I want you to give me- to give us- four days’ time. For the next four days, I want you to spend your time here and around our world. For that duration, I’d like you to abandon any thoughts of escape or flight, and also dispatch any thoughts that regard Wardenhood. If anybody brings it up, you may tell them to take it up with me. And, after those four days have concluded, if you still feel that you can never find a home here, I will buy you the finest pair of boots known to man and personally send you on your way to wherever the wind may take you. There will be no pursuit, there will be no objection, and anybody who attempts to stop you will first have to go through me. But. If, during those four days, you find yourself able to accept On’Eman as your hearth, if you have even a slight shred of doubt about leaving it behind you, I want you to stay. Permanently.”
Her eyes met his again, and the staredown resumed as she mulled over what he had just said. A mask of elvish impassiveness hid her emotions as she considered and reconsidered the offer. Finally, he spoke again.
“Well, Ms Charlevoix? Do we have a deal?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
As his thoughts finished swimming out of his memories, the Hunter realized he was still smiling while holding the shoe aloft like a skull in a cliché production of Hamlet. A quick redirection of his focus turned the ankle boot back to its black color, and he was soon waltzing to the register with the shoebox in hand.
It was just past 10:00 pm when he finally returned to the Blades Headquarters with the gift wrapped box in tow. He stealthily walked through the halls, careful not to disturb any slumbering parties. As he reached his own room, he opened the door and noticed a body lying in his bed, sound asleep under the covers. From the look of things, Remy had planned to surprise him, but had underestimated her own ability to stay awake. With a sigh, Dan carefully tucked the box away in a hiding place, to wait until the proper day, and noted as he passed by that Remy had discarded her shoes by the bedside. Funnily enough, it was the same pair he’d given to her as a precursor to their pact, the white purity and cleanliness kept intact even to this day, not by magic, but by simple care. He was forced to smile once again as a result of it while he dressed to join his loving little elf for the night.
“My my, today is a day for coincidences.”

-
Twirling a slender white shoe upon a fingertip as she carefully looked it over with meticulous detail, she soon set it down upon the polished hardwood at her gunman's bedside. Already, the day had drawn to a longer hour than she had hoped, and not only that, she had barely even gotten a glimpse of him during the business of the day. Sliding to rest her palms upon the mattress at her side as she sat, her cheeks puffed just slightly as her lips blew away a strand of blonde hair aside.
Just where was that hunter? It was already well past eight! Shaking her head away from the thoughts of worriment and concern, the Elven girl impatiently studied the door as footsteps continually rose and fell into dim echoes while others strode past his quarters.
They had been ever careful about making their relationship secretive, but that didn't mean she wasn't terribly nervous as to what might happen if a member of their more rambunctious crewmen decided to barge through the door for whatever reason might suit them. Dreading the impossibly huge range of expressions she might hear, she would brush it all away as she leaned forward to rest her chin upon a palm as her eyes fell to a half-lidded state. It had been a long day, she was already exhausted beyond all measure; perhaps it was simply easier to slide beneath the covers and catch a small cat nap before he returned home at long last.
Little did she know that she was going to dream a wondrous dream.

____________
Onboard the Airship

"Are you certain, Elijah?"
Her voice rang out clearly with the ominous silence that seemed to hang over the room. There, the small quarters stood the Four. Wardens of their respective elements, each of them just as monstrous as the next. As the mechanical sounds of invention rumbled and rattled all about them, all their eyes had settled upon a distinct figure upon the table. A figure made of fire to which they all stared upon it. It was a tower, made out of illusory flames that displayed within it the tablets of stone they had sought after for weeks.
Stones that bore the words that just might save the desperate and warring world of On'Man.
Elijah didn't even address her about her inquiry, nor did he even look at her, further adding a bitter sting of salt to a fresh wound. Frowning, shards of ice crept upward on the table to sheath the flames in eternal ice as she turned swiftly and left the room in silence. Four wardens, and not one of them did she understand. One she had grown so close to, only to be cast aside. And the other two were simply distant. One was always so quiet, while the other probably saw her as an ineffective warden still, even years after her ascension.
Many years after Amelia had gifted her with the Warden's mantle.
Moving to her quarters and closing the door, her fingertips swiftly coursed through her hair in bitter frustration at the mistakes she had made. What had once been a home was hastily becoming distant again, perhaps like those villagers so many years ago. Could it be that this, all of this, was a place she would have to abandon once again? Perhaps it was only fair...she had partook on a venture that she should have known was bound to be fruitless, this could be her punishment. In the end, it mattered not. Her mind was made, she would serve the remainder of her purpose and then be gone from this place.
A few hours later, the wardens stood upon a precipice.
Below them peeking through the clouds was an ominous looking tower made from obsidian stone. Flying high above it, the ramp leading to the back of the airship revealed the four as the looked to their objective far below. The Magi didn't say a single word, she knew what she had to do. That, and the miserable silence that seemed to hang over the four gave little room to even sigh in resignation without Elijah becoming indignant with her. So, as the ship turned, the Magi leaped from the back with her four compatriots and the fell towards its pinnacle. With little more than rushing wind to greet her ears, her fingertips waved through the air as a literal road of frost grew from her feet. Creating a path for her and four others to slide down quickly as with a few hundred feet's fall, the four would land upon the tower's peak.
Before them resilient stood a massive door of oak constructed by ancients from another age. Behind it was the key to their destiny, their purpose. The reason why they all came here was distinct, the were here to restore balance to the world, no matter the cost.
"Rastia and I will take the front." Halen solemnly stated, bringing his sword to bear with one hand as she stepped in line behind him to support. And so, with a mighty pull, the massive doors creaked open with just a crack. With barely enough room to fit the four through, the Magi glanced nervously to the three who seemed so eerily calm. But as the blazing afternoon sun cast a light into the room, she could glance within and see two massive slabs of stone.
"They're in there allright," the silver tongued weaver spoke with a sneer. "My sources always check out."
Shaking her head as Dan and Rastia pulled away at the doors, the Magus first stepped inside and inhaled the dusty and stale air. Cautiously with light and nimble feet, she approached the stones and soon found them to be written in a language that was far different than normal. An ancient tongue, her original tongue. Rastia was the second to notice this, and he then glanced to the wide-eyed magi with a wary stare.
"Remy, care to read it aloud for us?"
"Of-of course! Sorry, I got caught up in the moment." Quickly scanning the stones, her people's words were easily translated into the common everyone else was accustomed to. Even on a more rough tongue, the elven inscription still carried a melodic quality. "For when the world has earned the Gods' ire, and for when wars turn cities to dust with famine and fire, a sacrifice must be made. Plentiful beauty that all adore, has but only one way for all to be restored. A sacrifice of one who bears love for this world, and with their death the madness shall be unfurled. Wardens of the elements are the only ones who can complete this task. They are they only ones who can liberate the heavens and earth from an angered God's grasp."
With the last words falling from her lips, a long silence hung over the four. One of them had to die. How could they choose who would be sacrificed? Without hesitation, the Magi quickly came to words first.
"I will be the sacrifice. That is all." Turning and running away from the tense moment, she headed for the exit of the dusty chamber as a stunned silent trio finally gathered their senses, the Magi simply sat upon the ledge and let her feet dangle over the seemingly infinite expanse below. Staring out into the sunset that turned the clouds of white into flames, her ears caught a separate detail.
She could hear footsteps approaching.*

______________
The conscious world.

Footsteps also sounded as they drew near, but this time they paused at the door to Dan's chambers. A jingle of fingertips fumbling for keys indicated that whomever it was is going to enter, so the Magus quickly covered herself in the blanket just in case it was someone else. Yet as the door swung wide and a shuffling of items occurred, she heard his voice and quietly rejoiced. Blearily she would swing the blanket off and away to spring up to the man and wrap her arms warmly about his shoulders and neck just as he had begun to change into his evening clothes.
"You're late!" She exclaimed in a hushed whisper so it would not fall upon the ears of others. However, her critical tension would swiftly fade into a softened and amorous smile as she looked up to him. "Welcome home, you bum."

*The post from the original RP that tells the story of the footsteps. This entry, and indeed this story, would be woefully incomplete without it.

-
“You’re late!”
The voice sounded from behind Dan as he had started to undress himself with his back to the bed. As he turned toward the sound, Remy was half-leaping toward him to throw her arms around his neck. With all the expertise of a swordsman he shifted his weight backward onto his off foot to account for it, and promptly slipped his own arms away from undoing his shirt buttons to receive her as the rest of her body gently collided with his.
“I know I am,” he told her as their heads came to rest on each other’s shoulder, “And I’m sorry.”
“Welcome home, you bum,” was her answer as she eased herself off of his upper body, but stayed pressed against him. “Where have you been?”
“Just running a few errands. I had some things I needed to pick up.”
“Oh?” she asked as she began to idly toy with his shirt and undo the last few buttons for him, “Like what?”
“That,” he replied, “Is something you’ll just have to find out about in a few days.”
“A few days?” She demanded with the faux-pouting face that she always did when he asked her to wait for something, “Why can’t I find out today?”
Dan reached out and placed his hand atop her head, ruffling her hair slightly in an affectionate manner. The gesture only seemed to make her pout more, but that in turn gave him greater cause to smile. Remy was quite cute when she pouted like that, at least in his opinion.
“Because you silly girl, today isn’t your birthday.”
That broke up the pouting in a hurry. Instead, shock and awe took to Remy’s face as her eyes opened wide and blinked several times at him.
“My… you- wait, how…?” she started to stumble and stammer out before finally gathering her rattled nerves together, “You remember my birthday? Even after all these years?”
“Of course I do,” he reassured her as he finished shedding his shirt and put it into the nearby laundry basket, “July 31st. It’s very easy to remember when it’s so alike my own.”
Remy’s brow furrowed as he said that. Something felt off about what he was saying, but what was it? Then it struck her; in all the years she’d known him, she’d never thought to ask after Dan’s birthday. But, she reasoned, it was better to learn late than to never learn at all.
“Ah ha. And just when is that, if I may ask?”
“The 21st of July. So about seven days ago.”
“WHAT?!”
He felt a slight, sharp pain in the side of his head as he started to turn around again. The culprit was revealed to be a small chunk of ice, now broken on the floor below, that had been hurled at him with enough force to sting slightly but not enough to actually hurt.
“WHY DIDN’T YOU-”
As Remy started to call out, Dan rushed forward with a slight gust of wind to place two of his fingers over her mouth. It was a gesture to lower her voice, so as to not wake anybody or alert their coworkers to the possibility of their elusive affair. She gave him a curt nod, pushed his fingers down with her hand, and continued staring at him quite menacingly while she continued with a whisper.
“Why didn’t you say anything?!”
“Because my ego’s not big enough for me to go announcing it up and down the halls. Besides, I didn’t think it was all that important or noteworthy to begin with…”
That remark earned him a swift tap on the forehead from the tip of Remy’s hand in admonition.
“Of course it is, you butt! Do you have any idea how many lives would be different if you hadn’t been born? Do you have any idea how much MY life would have…?”
She began to trail off as she turned her head to the side and avoided looking him in the eyes for a moment. A slight tinge of red blush bloomed at the tops of her cheeks, and it gave Dan cause to chuckle quietly to himself before wrapping her in his arms again.
“Well then, I suppose it’s worth taking note of after all.”
She leaned into him and closed her eyes for a moment, doing little more than returning his embrace and slowly inhaling his scent as the quiet, steady beat of his heart strummed in her ear.
“What a bother though. Now I’ll have to go find you a present in a hurry, won’t I?”
“I don’t think so. Having you back in my life is gift enough for ten birthdays.”
He squeezed his arms around her for several seconds, almost as if he was afraid that something would soon try to take her from him again and sought to hold onto her with everything he had. When he released the tension, however, he bore a look of sadness, and though she kept her head against his chest, his sorrow was evident in his voice.
“If only I hadn’t treated you the way I did when I first arrived. Remy, I’m… I’m so sorry. I was just… I was so certain it was a trick, a trap of some kind, and I couldn’t-”
This time, it was her turn to stifle his speech with her two fingers- fittingly enough, the hand she used was the one around which was clasped the sapphire bracelet he’d given her.
“Shhhhh. I know, Dan. I know about the pain you endured, the suffering that was thrust upon you. I saw all of it.”
She moved her fingers down to the ruby necklace that dangled about his neck, her eyes glancing at it knowingly.
“Then you did find out about it. But even still, that’s not an excuse for my behavior. I owe you far more than a mere apology, but-”
“You owe me nothing, Daniel. If anything, I am the one indebted to you. You gave me a home when I had none, you offered me mercy when all others only gave condemnation, you’ve given me my life countless times…”
Finally, she turned her head so that her eyes stared into his, emerald intertwining with gold as she finished her statement.
“… and you gave me a chance where no one else ever had. That alone is a debt I’ll gladly spend all my life repaying if I must.”
It happened slowly, at first. When her words first echoed through his ears, he simply kept his eyes locked with hers. Then, with aching slowness, a soft, warm smile came to his lips as the words sunk in. His left eye closed and squinted further shut in order to halt a single, small tear that had formed in its corner. Here, in the midst of a time when he was eternally looking over his shoulder for a knife aimed at his back, was an old friend who had still not forsaken him. No, she was far more than that. She was not just a friendly face in a storm; she was his shining beacon, a light in his life that refused to be extinguished in spite of whatever darkness attempted to assail it. She was his hope.
“Well… perhaps, then, a Happy Birthday would be a start?” he mentioned, more than half jokingly.
Her response, however, was to gently push on his nose with her finger and smile back.
“Happy belated birthday then, my fellow Leo.”
“Mmm. Cancer, actually. I was born two days early to be a Leo.”
“Oh my. That’s a problem, I’m not sure I’m wont to get a birthday present for a crab… you couldn’t have been born two days later?”
“Given that my father was 52 years old when I was conceived? I’m not too inclined to complain!”
“Oh wow! Your father was very virile, wasn’t he?”
That was when Remy adopted her trademark mischievous grin that could rival the Cheshire Cat himself.
“And you know, they say such things are hereditary…”
Dan saw where she was going with her implications, and soon found himself mirroring the grin as he began to play with one of the shoulder straps of her dress.
“Sounds like something we ought to test for ourselves to me…”
Not long after, the two were very slowly, very passionately disrobing each other and falling into a mutual embrace for the evening. And if the temperature of the room had risen just a tiny bit, neither one of them would have noticed. All that filled their minds, Dan’s in particular, as they drifted off to sleep at the conclusion of their festivities was how much like a blissful, fantastic dream his life had become in the past year.
However, dreams have an unfortunate tendency to come crashing down at the height of their ecstasy.
It was not apparent. Not at first, at least. And it happened with glacial slowness as the cracks began to form in the hunter’s wonderful dream, creeping their way through the walls of his life without him noticing. It all began several weeks after Remy’s birthday. As he spent time with the woman of his loftiest fantasies, he began to note an increasingly bothersome itch along his neck, as though he- or rather, they- were being watched. Each time he encountered it, his hunter’s senses would extend to their utmost by reflex, but each time he would turn over nothing. And the more it happened, the more concerning it became. Whoever or whatever was observing them, it was clearly adept at covering its tracks. Moreover, he never found it when he was by himself; it only made its presence known when he and Remy were together. That, more than anything else, gave him cause for alarm.
The distraction soon became evident. He found himself unable to devote his attentions to her fully when they shared company, and the increasing paranoia even prompted Remy to inquire after his health several times. Moreover, his nervousness had begun to intrude upon his slumber once again. What had become peaceful nights of sleep were now devolving into the bouts of uncertainty and worry that had plagued him for so long. Who was it that was stalking them? Had he been tracked down by Rastia again, even after all he had done? Worse, had he now dragged Remy into his struggles? Was she in danger? And if she was… would he be capable of shielding her from harm? Such were the ceaseless questions that invaded his waking thoughts at night. And from those questions grew doubts. Doubts in his abilities, doubts in his decisions… and most of all, doubts in himself.
“Could it have been a mistake? Should I have maintained my distance, after all? If she is hurt because of me…”
Finally, after nearly a month of agonizing insomnia, he resolved to take action. As Remy slept near him one night, he reached out to the emerald necklace he had once enchanted to grant her flight. Still it hung about her neck, and still it would respond to his power. Into that gem he wove a new enchantment, one that would call upon the air around her to detect danger or intrusion in any of its forms and, upon finding it, would report to him at once. It was a precaution he prayed would never find its impetus, but it was far better to be secure.
The time for the spell to act was not long in coming. Dan had been dispatched on a solo mission, a priority manhunt for a would-be assassin, and would be away for quite some time. Remy, true to her words of bon voyage to him, waited faithfully and, upon his return two weeks later, embraced him as she would a loved one returned from war. Moreover, she did so in the open, for all to see; it seemed she’d resolved to keep their relationship a secret no more. He reacted to her in the same way, perhaps slightly overzealously, but such things were understandable; after all, now that he could now fully disclose his affection for her, why should he not do so? For the following three days they spent nearly every moment they could together, and though he seemed to have grown more desirous toward her, Remy thought little of it. And then, one fateful morning, as the two began to awaken in each other’s arms, a great rush of force poured in from the hallway. Seconds later the door of Dan’s room was ripped away from its hinges and frame, and amidst the flying splinters stood none other than Elijah Hawthorne.
The rage emanating from the fire lord’s being seemed to render the air heavy and hard to breathe as raw fury coursed through every fiber of his being. And as he looked upon the scene in the room, his eyes locked, not onto Remy, as she might have expected, but onto Dan.
“YOU SON OF A BITCH!!!” he roared as he began to enter the room
With speed the likes of which he’d never shown before, Hawthorne crossed the threshold and was upon the hunter. Gripping him by the collar with one hand, the Flame Warden tore his onetime Aerial counterpart from the sheets and slammed him into the nearby wall with enough force to rattle the fixture’s foundation.
“All this time… all this time, and it’s been YOU?!” he bellowed, his enraged eyes mere inches from Dan’s calm, calculating orbs.
“Yes,” the hunter responded, “It’s been me. What of it?”
“What of it? You have the audacity, you have the GAUL to ask me what of it? As if this is one of your trivial little games?!”
“You sound frustrated. Moreso than usual, I mean.”
“Give me one reason,” the Weaver continued, “Just ONE goddamned reason I shouldn’t gut you like an animal, right, now!!”
Dan simply smiled in response, his eyes glinting with all the light of a man in certain victory.
“Because this IS a game, my friend. And you’ve forgotten one of the players.”
Elijah’s brow furrowed as he tried to decipher the words he’d been told. Before he could, however, there came a great impact at the back of his head. A combination of sharp pain and burning cold engulfed his senses as his world turned blurry and unfocused while pieces of permafrost flew past his head. He released Dan as he fell to his knees, then collapsed on the ground.
“Don’t… you… DARE.”
Remy stood behind him, her hand still emanating cold magics from the frostbolt she had hurled, as if to confirm that he was down for the count. When she was certain he had, she crossed over his form to her companion, and he welcomed her into his arms as they both stared at Hawthorne’s unconscious form. Where Remy wore a look of pure disgust and righteous fervor, Dan donned a smug smile.
“Very well done, my dear. Shall we go now? Perhaps a nice vacation until this all blows over?”
“That sounds absolutely lovely. Leave this… this SWINE here to rot for all I care.”
And so they left the room, with Remy taking special care to tread on Hawthorne’s hands with her new boots…

There was no mistaking it. Elijah had indeed been a master-class illusionist, but Dan had long since taught himself to pierce even the Silver Tongued Weaver’s enforced delusions, so much so that he was able to do so without even thinking of it. There had been no trick, no deception, no misleading in the room that morning; everything that transgressed, as he witnessed it, had been genuine.
But he had forgotten one thing.
Turning aside such things was indeed second nature for him, but others could still easily be fooled into seeing what Hawthorne wished them to see. Particularly when Hawthorne had been given three days to craft the net around his victim; even a strong sense of magic would be of no avail in such a circumstance.
And as Dan lay on the ground of his own room late into the day, a cold pain throbbing at the back of his head, he could not help but replay the events in his mind’s eye, nor could he stop the words from echoing in his mind.
He had discovered Hawthorne in bed with her. What had occurred by then he could not say, but as he moved against the Weaver, all of his anger coming to bear against this man that would make a toy of his beloved’s heart all over again, he had been struck down, not by flame, but by ice. There could be no question of it; Remy herself had lashed out at him as he accosted Hawthorne, and seconds later she had run into the liar’s arms. And then… and then, she left, intertwined with him as she trod over Dan with the very boots he had given to her as a gift.
“Leave this SWINE here to rot for all I care.”
He remained on the ground for hours. Morning came and faded into afternoon, but still he did not move. Finally, the orange light of the setting sun fell upon his form, and yet he remained still. His hand clenched around the small threads of the carpet, nearly threatening to tear them out. His teeth gritted together as he fought back scream after internal scream, holding them in by pure force of will. And his eyes… his eyes remained perpetually shut, his eyelids waging a hopeless battle as they tried in vain to hold back a flood of tears.
Was this his reward? Had he made these choices, walked these paths, done all he had since coming to Batotia… only for this to befall him? He had sworn himself to her, and she to him… had that been a lie? A farce? A cruel jest at his expense? No, surely not; such things were the games of Hawthorne, true enough, but not Remy. What, then? Had he done something to offend her? Something to drive her away? That seemed equally unlikely. Perhaps, then, it was he himself. Yes, he thought, that must be it. He had never been worthy to have her; he’d always harbored such a thought, secretly safe in his own mind. And now… now, it seemed all too painfully clear that she had come to agree.
It was past nightfall when he finally rose from the floor. He managed to somehow drag himself from the towering Headquarters to the nearby cliffs that overlooked the moonlit sea, and there he stood and looked out over the ocean, as if comparing its depth and vastness to his own sorrows. And of the two, he thought, his sorrows ran deeper. He was more than broken in heart. He was broken in spirit, and shattered in soul. Remy Charlevoix had been his light in the sea of darkness that his life had become. And now she was gone. The light had been extinguished, not by the darkness, but by his own inability to maintain it. In the end, she had betrayed him. Just as all the others had, in their own time.
Somewhere, deep within his heart of hearts, he contemplated a leap from the cliffs. Just a simple step is all it would take, and the pain would go away. Nobody would miss him, least of all her. And yet, it would not have been right. If, as he was convinced, Remy had abandoned him for want of something he lacked, then it was he that must pay the price. And for a man so convinced of his own guilt, there was no greater penance than being forced to live on, forced to endure, forced to continue through life, failures, shortcomings, and all. And so, with a heavy heart in pieces, he compelled himself to step away from the edge and closer to solid land.
At that moment, a great rush of air came upon him from the side as a great green light shone in his face. He raised a hand to shield his eyes, and upon closer inspection he saw the source of the light and wind to be a small Rift, barely large enough for a single person. Rifts, small randomized passages to other worlds, were not unheard of, and in fact were commonly used as travel means by daring voyagers. To have one appear so close, however, was exceedingly rare, and in many beliefs such was taken as a divine signal to enter. As Dan looked through the portal, he saw a land that was reminiscent of lands he had visited in the past. Indecision came upon him; should he enter the rift, to see what lay beyond? Or should he remain in Batotia? He gazed over his shoulder at the Blades of Fealty Headquarters, some longing present in his mind. Up on the roof, he noticed, somebody was firing off spurts of fire into the air as practice. While the odds of that person being Elijah was nigh impossible, the fact remained that it was reminiscent of him… and, by association, of her.
“There’s nothing left for me here, is there?”
Such were among the last words he uttered before stepping through the rift. When the rest of the Blades would look on his room the next day, they would find it emptied, all the former contents gone, and the occupant nowhere to be found...

-
"You cannot be seriously contemplating this mission!" The Elven girl cried out in protest before the company of two, both her beloved and Maester Katsura, the leader of Blades. Yet the grim nod of acknowledgement meant that there was little else than the truth. He was going to leave on some hazard filled venture, and Katsura, alongside Dan, had decided that it was too dangerous for her to accompany him. Behind her finally settled expression of impassiveness, the hunter could see a hint of frustration lingering in her emerald eyes.
"Dan is out most proficient hunter in such matters, Remy. You however, are not. Dismissed, now." The Maester stated flatly as she looked pleasingly to Dan so that he might argue her case. However, he seemed in agreement over such a notion, as his protectiveness over his little Magi had become gradually more zealous in the passing weeks. Unease took over her complexion as she bit her lip, remaining silent as she strode through the door and out of sight from the two.
"You're to leave immediately, Dan. Get moving now." We're the last words she heard and the Magi could do little more than lean against the wall in despair once out of sight. This was something she had to refuse, but all the instinct in the world that she possessed screamed for her to do otherwise.
"Dan, wait!" Before even Katsura's eyes, the highborne girl ran across the hardwood floors of the ship, and in a fleeting moment of serenity, she dove into the arms of the Hunter. Luxuriously wrapping her arms about his neck, she gave him the taste of a kiss that he had grown so familiar with over the last few weeks. Warmth and euphoria flushed her cheeks as she stubbornly held him close and her fingertips dug into the fabric of his shoulders. "Come home soon, please. I'm begging you!"
The hunter smiled, running his hand comfortingly across the softened skin of her exposed spine before gently ruffling her hair. "Don't worry, Rem. I'll be back soon enough....what, Katsura?" He had noticed first, but both pairs of eyes soon looked to their leader, whom, for the first time, showed an expression of utter surprise.
"When did you two...?"
"A few weeks ago, Maester. Please, keep this as our little secret won't you?" The Magus inquired bashfully as she swept the blush from her cheeks and replaced it instead with a halfhearted smile. "When Dan comes home, everyone will know at that moment." Glancing up to the one she cherished as even he looked surprised, an amorous smile was all that he received as she teasingly poked his chest with one fingertip. "Come home, and everyone will know you've stolen my heart."
Nodding in agreement then, Dan and Katsura both swept away to discuss the particulars about the ordeals that lay ahead, and the left Remy standing in the hallway. Her knees trembled, and she fell onto them once they were out of sight and earshot. For as one aligned with Time itself, the future held a bitter taste and she knew it. Something horrible lay in wait for either his upcoming time or hers, and as her palms found the deck, she tried to tell herself that she was just getting paranoid or too worrisome. Desperately, she tried to remind herself of the ideal that love conquers all, no matter the tragedy.
Never once however, had her sense of time been wrong.
Three days early, he had arrived home, and as he walked back on board in all his triumph over his mission completion in front of the others, she ran to him. In front of the entirety of Blades, she dove to him and was caught in a blissful way than ever before. Swirling about as her dress was swept up with the wind, the boundless smile she held for his return outshone even the sun itself as he allowed her footing to be regained once again. Before all, she rose up and kissed the hunter as an uproarious resounding applause and cheers thundered down to even the lower decks of The Warlock and across the sea. In front of everyone, he so daringly swept her up off her feet, and carried her below decks as his prize.
Paradise however, was never truly meant to last.
What could have been thought as the worst evening of her life started with her atop her beloved. The one she had sworn herself to just a few months before as his hands dug into the sides of her waist in ecstasy. Sweat marked the texture of her skin, as a final push had proven too much for them both, and now they simply remained in a state of sinful satisfaction.
Her lips parted just slightly as he withdrew from her, and what happened next was something no one could ever expect.
In a violent uproar, her world as she knew it had come to an end.
Fire and Wind both intertwined themselves in violence, and using her best judgement, she had knocked Elijah unconscious. Storming out with the one she thought was Daniel, she even stepped heavily upon the hand of the one wreathed in flame. Unknowing of the truth, she walked away from the light in her life. Her rest that night was fitful, fleeting at best as restlessness seemed to haunt every moment of her dreams. Time itself seemed to be screaming at her, as she cupped her hands over her ears and tried siding closer to her companion for the night to no avail.
Whatever nightmare had been predicted by it had come to pass.
Suddenly, her eyes of emerald shot open in the bitterly freezing depths of her room as she watched the rise and fall of her lover's chest in front of her. Rapid breadth hastened even further from her nightmares as she found the cause: her immortality was missing. Rather, it was there, but as her fingertip tapped the glowing gem upon his chest, the little light did not even try to play or dance as it had always done. It simply played it's normal path of travel over and over again with no difference or fluctuation.
It was an illusion!
With eyes widened in horror, she recollected the night's events now that she had the presence of thought to do so. Elijah's burst of inhuman speed across the room, the show of strength and agility that was unlike any she had ever seen that the Weaver was capable of. The 'Dan' that lay in bed unpacking at this moment was a complete farce! The very thought of whatever she had done with this piece of scum was too much even for her to bear as she turned and ran from the room after quickly dressing.
Bursting into her beloved's quarters, the sight that greeted her tore her heart in two.
He was gone. The one she had sworn herself to was gone! And she was to blame. Her hands trembled, her entire body shook and failed her as the footsteps of another were fast approaching. There, not a moment later, stood the false clone of her loved one, this time with a diabolical grin across his face as the flames flickered and gave way to the Weaver. With his snide sneer creasing his lips as Remy collapsed to her knees in the confirmation of this nightmare, he strode across the floor and took hold of her chin.
"Pity pity, Remy. Looks as if he's abandoned you here...well, not really a pity. You will belong to me now, won't you." The last words were more of a statement, and less of a question. Yet the only response he received was an utterly hateful glare that burned with a fury like none had ever seen.
Everything happened in a split second.
One moment, the halls of Blades had been perfectly normal; and in the next, was a scene that most could not believe. In the blink of an eye, half of the guild headquarters was completely encased in eternal ice. The arch-magi's true strength and power had reawakened in all her anger and fury, and the Weaver, alongside countless bystanders in the halls themselves found that they were encased in an eternal frost.
The next moment, the one who had wrought such wrath was gone.
Hastened footsteps traced where her beloved had gone, using a piece of his hair and a scrying gem to quickly try to find where he had gone. Such a guide did not take long for her to find that he had stopped atop a cliff! Fear in the first thought was quickly relieved as a glance over the cliff's edge confirmed that he hadn't taken a fateful leap...but he had gone nowhere else, it seemed.
That was until she discovered the residue of a portal. A faint trace of energy that still lingered upon the ground and in the air, so thick that it was even tangible. Sweeping up a sample onto her fingertip, she stared at the fluctuating substance intensely for a few moments, calculating just what she should do in this instance. Rather, the answer in the end was simple.
She needed to find him. She needed to see him again, and if he couldn't forgive her for her sins, at least he would still know that she loved him.
Conjuring a portal to an obscure realm, she applied her fingertip into it as it were the one covered in residue, and it did not take long for the luminous circle to change size and shape. If she were lucky....she just might be able to find him again.
If not...then, it was a good life she had lived...If only it had ended more sweetly than this.
And so, she stepped through this door and found herself in an unfamiliar place.
Before her stood a grimy looking city filled with machinery and dirt, steam and steel. Machinations of all kinds tinkered and whirled with various lights and sounds, but she, a creature of magic and intellect was horribly out of place. This quickly began to be noticed by others as she drew more than the occasionally curious stare, so the Elven girl tossed up the hood of her silken robes embroidered in gold and began her venture down the street. With widened eyes beneath the hood, she took in the new essences of this world, this new realm being so bustling and busy with artisans of so many different kinds while merchants sold and sought wares in stiff - looking clothing.
Ducking into what obviously was a bar of some kind, Remy slid uneasily into a seat as the barkeep glared at her from across the polished wood. Such a glare continued until the hood came off, and he stared open - mouthed at one of the most beautiful faces he had ever seen. "W-Well," he stammered at first, as the distraught looking magi stared unblinkingly at him. "What'll ye have?"
"Just some water please, where am I?" She inquired, as her arms folded over her chest.
"Einbroch. Y'must REALLY be from the boonies if ya don't know that." He grumbled, having hoped to liquor up the maiden before him only to be disappointed, he poured her a glass of clear, cool water. "What're y'doin here?" He questioned instead, hoping to see something past the apathetic expression the Elven woman always seemed to have.
"I'm searching for someone, and I don't have much time."
Standing up then as she took the last sip of her water, the Magus strode from the doorway and into this new, dusty, dirty, and rusty world. This was where her search began, and this was where she hoped to find him. Moving away from the bar as a whole, she didn't notice however, that she was being followed.

Dan Halen, Hunter of the Wind

The city of Einbroch was one of the dirtier places on Guildaris. The realm itself was a very lovely place with a varied climate and several shining cities, but like all realms it had its underbelly; that was Einbroch. It was a dark and grimy area where the streets ran narrow and foreboding, each one of them not unlike the sort of dark alley that featured all too often in slasher films. Rats scurried along the corners of the walls and sidewalk, their dark grey fur blending in with the vile muck that had piled up from garbage and neglect to the road's repair. Any lights in the city were dim, even at full power, as if Einbroch's darkness were actively resisting their intrusion. The smell of filth hung in the air, draping itself over the buildings and the streetlamps like a horrid scarf that one is forced to wear because the relative who knit it is visiting, and the city itself seem to retch and squirm as it was traveled. Even the rain, normally cool, pleasant, and welcome everywhere, turned rancid and foul as it fell on the city in black droplets, only furthering the darkness while doing nothing to halt the spread of dirt. Not that it bothered the people; if anything, they were even worse than the city might suggest. At this time of evening, not even an hour beyond sunset, there was not an honest man to be found on the streets. Ruffians and gang members roamed in packs, searching for anybody that might be off by themselves. Angry drunkards wandered the sidewalks, bottles in hand as they hunted their next drink for the night. Some of them found it; others found fights instead or simply collapsed on the ground in a drunken stupor. Here and there a man or woman in a nice suit would appear to be alone, but if someone tried to accost them a streetlight above would go dark for just a moment, and when it resumed the would-be assailants were gone. Sometimes there was a small blood spatter where they had been standing, but very often there was nothing as the suited individual pressed on as if nothing had occurred. If ever there was a city that could be called a swarming hive of scum, it was this.
A man paused under one of the dim streetlights, his hat being bombarded by the blackened rain as he considered his orientation. A man who, like the city, was finding himself under siege by a cloud of dark sorrows. Dan Halen was a hunter by trade, which gave him an innate sense of direction, but in such a place as this- unfamiliar, obscured, and altogether unfriendly- he decided he would be far better off finding a place to sit down until the rain let up. Tugging his hat over his eyes, he made his way to a nearby bar and pushed the door open. A glance from corner to corner as he entered told him the place was quiet, mostly filled with people minding their own business. That was good, he thought as he walked to the bar itself and sat down on a stool.
"What can I get for you?" came the bartender's voice as he fruitlessly polished a glass that looked as though it would never be clean again.
"Dark cherry rum on the rocks." he replied, scarcely looking at the barkeep, "Please." he added.
"Rum on the rocks? Can't say that's one I get called to make all that often. Sure you don't want it mixed?"
"I'm quite sure, thank you." Dan said dismissively.
A few seconds later a small glass of rum with three ice cubes was slid in front of him. He took a small sip, swished it through his mouth, and swallowed once he was certain nothing undue had been added to the drink. He nodded to the bartender as thanks, and set back to watching his surroundings.
"I take it you're not from around here?" the man said as he resumed cleaning the old and dirty glass.
"I wasn't exactly being subtle about it."
"No, I suppose you weren't. What brings you here, then?"
"Travel. I'm looking for a place I can hole up for a while."
"You on the run or something?"
"You could say that."
"What'd you-"
The barkeep's question was cut off by a stern glare from the man as he sipped more rum. Dan's golden irises affixed on his own eyes, and he felt like a rabbit staring down a hawk.
"That," the hunter emphasized very strongly, "Is a question you do not want to finish asking."
"I suppose so. Any place you were thinking of looking?"
"Someplace quiet, mainly. Far away from people."
"Ah. Wrong place for that here I'm afraid."
"So I gathered from my first five minutes in this... heap."
"You might try the northeast part of the continent, if solitude's what you're after. Bit more rural areas up around there, lots of forests and mountains."
"I see. Thank you for the tip."
Something outside the window drew the barkeep's attention, and in a hushed whisper he bent down to tell Dan something.
"Don't look now," he said, concern coming over his voice, "But you're going to want to move in a minute, these guys aren't-"
"HEY, my ear's itching! Benny, you talkin' bout me over there?"
The door of the bar crashed as a young man swung it open very forcefully. He stood roughly six feet tall with broad shoulders, and was decked out in a leather jacket with fingerless gloves, torn up jeans, and what looked like cheap combat boot knock offs. Every bit the stereotypical gang running punk. Close behind him was a ragtag assembly of similarly dressed men, obviously the front runners posse.
"Too late," Benny said as he lifted his head again to acknowledge the pack of men, "Just do yourself a favor and keep quiet, okay?"
"No need to worry about me." Dan said as he sipped his rum some more, not even bothering to look up.
Of course, it didn't take long for the gang to notice the new guy. Everybody else in the bar seemed to shrink a little as they made their entrance, almost like giving way to the gang. It was fairly clear that they were the dominant power in the building. And, as the apparent leader's narrowed eyes seemed to indicate as he bored a hole in the back of Dan's head, they weren't likely to brook trespassers.
"Well, well, well," he said as he sauntered his way into the bar until he was standing right behind Dan, "Who do we have here?"
Dan, for his part, simply continued to sip his rum in relative peace. "Nobody you should be concerned about, as long as you stay out of my business."
"Really now?" the punk said, clearly drunk off of his supposed superiority, "You don't know who's bar you're in, do you?"
"I would presume it was his." Dan said as he indicated Benny.
"HA! Benny? Yeah right! Listen here buddy. The name's Axel, and this is MY bar, MY neighborhood, MY turf!"
By this time, the entire bar was averting their eyes. Clearly what they expected was a bloodbath, and none of them wanted any part of it. Axel, for his part, seemed to sense this and promptly pulled a switchblade out of his pocket. As it popped open with the trademark, audible *CLICK*, he licked his lips in delightful anticipation.
"And you're sitting in MY seat."
Dan didn't look up. He barely even acknowledged that a knife had been pulled. All he did was take a single, sideways glance toward it before returning his attention to his drink.
"Put it away, kid. This is a fight you don't want."
"Pretty big talkin' for such a small-lookin' guy."
"I've killed things twelve times your size and not gotten a scratch on me. If that knife goes anywhere except back into your pocket, you're going to regret it."
"Really, now. You come in here. Into MY bar. And start telling me I'll be the guy regrettin' shit? Don't know who you think you are," he said as the knife began to twirl and then fly forward, "But I'm about to-"
Everything happened in the blink of an eye. One second, Dan was still sitting at the bar. In the next he was standing upright, with one hand pushing Axel's knife hand aside like nothing. Before the hooligan could react, Dan's hand locked onto his wrist like a raptor talon and dragged it forward while his other arm slammed directly into the gang member's shoulder, dislocating it and rendering the arm useless. As it draped next to Axel's body, Dan gripped him by the throat and brought him face to face with his golden irises, which started to glow with an unearthly light.
"You want to know who I am?" he spoke softly, his voice like liquid steel, "My name is Dan Halen. I've fought in three separate wars and countless small skirmishes on two different realms. I've led hundreds of armies of men and women into battle with everything from swords and arrows to guns and rockets. I've witnessed beauty you could never believe and horrors you could never imagine. I've experienced betrayal, deceit, faithfulness, and sacrifice. I’ve been stabbed in the back just as much as in the front, won and lost a dozen fortunes, saved more worlds than you've walked on, slain thousands of men... and loved only one woman with the kind of passion a worm like you can't even begin to understand. That is who I am. Now, go home before I REALLY lose my temper."
As the light faded from his eyes, Dan released the ruffian and let him crumple to the floor. By this time, the entire bar was watching him, and the last thing he wanted was unneeded attention. He turned back to the bar, slugged the rest of the rum, and pulled a bill from his jacket to pay for the drink.
"Northeast you said? Sounds like a plan to me. Thanks Benny."
A burst of wind pushed aside the rest of the gang as Dan made his way back out into the rain. He closed his eyes and listened to the air hum around him for a moment, then set off up the street toward the city's edge...
 
Remy Antoinette Charlevoix - The Mistress of Time
The air itself was so thick with pollution that it actually made her sick. Feeling uneasy about the special little hell that she had so recklessly followed the Hunter to, she decided that it would be wise to first do what she could to blend into the general populace. Knowing the man she loved all too well, she knew that the moment he saw her coming towards him, he would likely disappear once again.
After all, she did deserve it for the cruel wound she had dealt not a day or two before.
Finally escaping the smoggy air with the pleasant chime of a bell dangling from a door's handle, she found herself in the eerily settled silence of a clothing store. Shuffling footsteps soon followed as in front of her suddenly appeared a woman with owlish looking eyes staring at the uneasy girl for a few moments. Such huge eyes squinted to narrow her gaze as he studied the Elven girl that stood before her for a few silent but unbearably tense moments before she decided to speak.
"Vat are you, my dear?" She purred in a low tone, brushing a strand of blackened hair from her bright blue eyes. "You are not from around here...and vy do you ave' pointed ears?" She inquired, leaning up to stare at the magi's ears closely, meticulously examining every detail down to even the piercings Remy had upon them.
Stiffening ever slightly as the woman drew closer, Remy took a step backward in hesitation before speaking. "I am an Elf, isn't it obvious?" Leering at her then, the woman drew closer with a mixture of fascination and suspicion.
"Are you daft, child?" She asked, leaning in so far that Remy could swear that this woman was somehow denying the laws of fundamental physics. "Elves haven't existed on this world for over several centuries I believe, you may vant to check on a 'istorian vor such a fact. Ze costume ez very convincing...but you are no Elf. Vat do you vant?"
"New clothes, I think." She began to state, gently taking up a handful of the fine silk that made her blue and gold embroidered garb. "I don't wish to risk these becoming ruined; that, and I stick out like a sore thumb. I can pay for this easily if you don't mind."
"Of course of course. Quickly quickly then! Out of dose...clothes in ze dressing room. Go!" Rudely pushing the delicate looking girl into a dressing room, the magus quickly complied to the orders she had been given, and was soon covered in enough measuring tape to make her look almost akin to the ancient mummies of a lost civilization. Watching as the woman then darted away to return with a slew of odd looking clothes, the Magi lifted up the variations of strange lace, cottons, silks and satin and gave the woman a quizzical look with each set.
With a sigh of frustration, the woman marched into the dressing room and dragged the elven girl with her. Not long after that however, she was forced to step out from the room and in front of a mirror with an expression of uncertainty. Did the women of this realm truly dress like this? Surely such peculiar garb was not meant for normal wear.
"Sangre would approve, I suppose..." she muttered beneath her breadth as she studied the Victorian garb in the mirror.
"Vat did you say...?" Came a low purr once again from the dressing room as the woman walked out with all of her flowing silk and gold folded neatly. "Sangre? Our great constructor? The goddess? You do not speak of her so informally, less you might draw even more attention to yourself, dear." Remy's eyes widened sharply then, she had seen the source of the hunter's nightmares; surely this woman was jesting. There was no way that even Sangre could have survived what had happened that horrible day of war.
Common sense returned to her sharply then as she realized that this woman had zero reason to deceive her. Turning sharply to the owlish woman and seizing her shoulders, Remy searched deeply in her eyes for any hint of deception as the bewildered human stared at her.
"Where do I find her temple? I need to go pray and make an offering."
"Just down the street to the north, girl. But first you must pay."
"Of course," the magi stammered, with far more relevant issues also digging at her mind while she pulled out a velvet purse which jiggled with coins. "This is pure gold, and should be more than enough to pay for your efforts! Thank you!" Dashing then out onto the street, the Magus soon slowed into a steady walk towards the directions that she had been given.
As she left, the tailor watched after her for a few moments until she began to toy with the gold coins she had received. Twirling one in one finger while meticulously studying another, her owlish eyes widened in shock before she looked back up to try to find the girl again! Yet the elvish woman was long gone, leaving only her crooked lips to cracked into a sagely, wise smile before whispering to herself.
"Peculiar....peculiar...."

It did not take very long at all to arrive at the temple.
For a long minute, she stood there in a state that could only be described as utterly awestruck at the structure. Inscribed in the lines above the temple's entrance were words that Sangre had told her long ago...and she couldn't believe it!
"Wisdom and Enlightenment is what we should construct and strive for. Forget not the sacrifices of those before you and build a brighter future."
Unsure of precisely what she should do, the magus slowly drew a deep breadth. Mustering her wits and courage alike, she glided up the stairway and rested her palms against the heavy wooden door. With the slightest push, the doors creaked open to the stagnant air and scent of a few candles being burned. She was not alone in her quest for some sort of redemption, as there were a scattering of others who knelt and clutched onto prayer beads and holy books.
Walking quietly through the central aisle, she came up to a statue in the likeness of the Goddess and her eyes could not believe it! In every possibly way, she bore the exact resemblance of the one she had known from so many years ago. She had survived! That in itself must be the truth! Bowing her head despite her expression of relief, the Magi began a simple prayer.
"Old friend," she whispered quietly so that her words were only shared between her and the Goddess. "I know it has been a long time since we've talked; but I am desperately in need of your help. I was deceived, and in such deception I shattered the heart of the one I hold truly dear. Please...help me find him. I know he is here, somewhere, but I simply do not know where to begin!" Misery lingered upon her voice then before she finished her small prayer with a few words in the end. "Please, lend me your wisdom to see the path I truly need to see so I can at least meet him just one more time."
 
The Hunter

Once Dan had left the confines of the city, the earth and sky began to refresh themselves and become cleaner with every step. The mud-caked concrete and asphalt, although suborn, eventually gave way to grass and a dirt road that wound its way into the countryside. The air around him changed for the better as well. Inside of the industrial walls of Einbroch the winds he'd conversed with had been foul-mouthed and rude, poisoned by the smog and pollution and reeking with a stench almost worse than the rest of the city. But out here, as he listened to the crossing breezes and soaring tradewinds, they began to cast off their soot fetters and fly freely, singing back to him as they passed. Moreover, as he put more of the urban landscape behind him by the day, the darkened clouds that hung over the city receded as well and gave way to a crystalline clear night sky. Stars, tens of thousands of them, dotted the ebony atmosphere in great pattern the likes of which Dan had never seen. Complimenting them were the twin moons of Guildaris, two great silvery orbs that hung in the sky and shed their light upon the world enough to see by. The picture that he witnessed as he crested a particularly large hill and saw the entirety of the landscape's shift from city to country, the image of the rolling hills and sweeping plains bathed in moonlight... it was the most beautiful thing he'd ever laid eyes on.
Second, he reminded himself, The second most beautiful thing. You know full well what trumps this.
A pang of sadness struck him as his conscious sought to run him through with yet another lance forged of memories and regrets. He shook his head rapidly back and forth to clear his head, and then started down the road again. He had to keep moving. Three days had he spent in this world, in two of them voyaging out from Einbroch with no particular destination in mind. The road he'd chosen was one that twisted and turned through the petrified forest to the east of the city before turning to the north and passing through the large mountain range. Supposedly, if the maps he'd seen were to be believed, beyond those mountains there lay a wintery valley far from any city or conflict. It was sparingly populated, and those that did live their largely kept to themselves. Perfect, he had thought, for a man who sought only to be alone with his sorrows and lost labors.
And so it was that he trudged onward, making his way closer and closer to that place with every step. He had to go quickly; as he understood, the way into the valley would soon become blocked by snowfall, and even the hardiest mountain climber dared not attempt the journey in such conditions. As he walked, however, he could not stop his mind from wandering. Sometimes it hypothesized about the world he now found himself in, theorized about it based on the people and places he had encountered thus far. At other moments, it chose to contemplate the various magicks he was capable of, and when this occurred he would tap into his power to rehearse them when it was practical. But more often than anything else, his mind dwelled on the past. Memories often flooded his inner thoughts, memories in pristine clarity that brought him rushing back to the scenes he recalled. The Fealty Tower, and that dreadful room with the shattered door. The Warlock, with its hardwood deck beneath a full moon. Then the small cabin aboard the ship, where a crimson dress and white shirt lay thrown aside on the floor. The oceangoing library, complimented by the sounds of steel grinding on steel, of ice breaking, and the laughter of a madman. After that, the Warden’s Tower came swimming before him, with his window and a bookshelf that hadn’t quite thawed. Following that was the Forgotten Terrace, its doors flung open to reveal the damning prophecy revealed by a setting sun. And then the volcano, its magma boiling below as smoke billowed out to ensure that the survivors would never see the victim’s passing. And finally, the Great Gate, and the colossal, shadowy terror that lay behind it…
Suddenly, his attention was called out from his memoirs by a great crimson flash in the sky above him. Looking up, the source of the light was apparent immediately; high in the eastern night sky, a new star had appeared. It was larger and more luminescent than its brothers and sisters, much like On’Eman’s North Star had been, and it glowed with a red light that twinkled amidst the evening and set it apart from the rest of the nocturnal painting. Startling though it was, he could find no ill intent or malice behind the phenomenon. Nor did anything seem to stir at its occurrence; perhaps, he reasoned, that was how stars were born here? More curious, he noted, was how the flash seemed to have struck the clouds hanging over the city that lay multiple miles behind him. The bearers of black rain and vile smog seemed to recoil at the flash’s appearance, separating until roughly halfway across Einbroch as if the star had lashed at them with a whip. He found it fascinating that such things happened and appeared to be commonplace, but decided that investigation would have to wait until after he had beaten the winter’s wrath to the valley. And so, on he walked along the road, barely noting that the red star seemed to be lighting his path as it preceded him…

-
The northern reaches of Guildaris proved to be a place that grew in their magnificence as one progressed further into them. Civilization itself seemed to give way to nature and its unruly beauty as even the highway fell away to become little more than a web of horse trails that snaked through forest and swamp, over valley and vale and into the Advarse Mountains. Here, the fauna grew unchecked and ungoverned as it spread its leafy limbs wherever it pleased. Animals were abundant in these parts, from squirrels and field mice to wolves and bears, alongside many a magical beast or mythical monster. Though the entrance of the countryside, affectionately called the Wooded Chasm, was a popular tourist destination and vocational getaway, not much further the land grew rough and unforgiving, and the wildlife more vicious and untamed with it. Traversing it on foot and alone was more than dangerous, and most people dared not venture it without at least a horse to help them expedite the journey. While Dan was far from most people, he still had chosen to acquire a steed for himself to speed him on.
The horse was a deep brown colored beast that, while not the mightiest of his kind, was more than dependable and, the rancher had assured him, one of the most enduring he’d ever raised. Dan had acquired the equestrian after staying overnight at a small ranch in the Chasm, where the old man who owned the property, his two sons, and his daughter had been incredibly hospitable toward such a stranger. They’d given him a bed, a warm meal, and some advice for his travels. In particular, the old rancher suggested that he’d want a horse if he intended to go all the way to the Advarse, and that he had a few the Hunter might peruse and possibly purchase. Money held little value so far out in the boondocks, but Dan was easily capable of striking a bargain. In return for the animal, he’d taken some time in the tool shed and, using some materials he’d managed to bring with him from Batotia, forged four brand new hunting rifles for the family, all of them up to par with his typical standards. In exchange, the rancher had insisted he take one of the best of the stable, with obvious exception to his breeding stallion and mare, to see him northward. It handled very much like the wild mares that heeded his once-goddess’ beck and call, full of fire and speed but dutiful toward its rider. It took some time for it to heel for him, but once it did the trip progressed very smoothly.
The cold forest floor passed swiftly beneath the horse’s hooves as they trod over root and rock, moss and milestone. In open areas he would give his steed leave to run as it willed, but in the dense confines of the trees he forced a slower pace, both for the sake of safety on the haphazard trail and to give his senses a greater range; anyone or anything that may have attempted to sneak up on them would find itself ferreted out before it closed to within 20 yards. With his ears and eyes surveying the route ahead and around, Dan was able to steer the horse away from any danger, whether it made itself known or not. A bear snoring in its slumber, a wolf ravaging a carcass, the faint chuckle of a wild hyena lying in ambush, and a multitude of other sounds alerted him to their sources long before he needed to watch for them. And yet, when a noise came that forced him to halt entirely, it was none of these fearsome things. It was not a roar or a snarl, nor was it the tearing of flesh or the snapping of bones that drew his attention, but a much softer sound. Two softer sounds, in fact; the first was a pained whimpering that strived to be as quiet as could be, as if trying to avoid being noticed. The second was an equally near-imperceptible noise, but this was a low and threatening growl that seemed to dare any who heard it to stay away. The sounds were canine to his ears, and yet they did not belong to any breed of dog or wolf Dan had ever heard.
The hunter strained his ears, listening very intently for the direction of the sounds. With his eyes shut and only his hearing to guide him, he stepped off of his steed and began to pick his way toward the source. He found it at the base of a massive oak tree, but still could not find the animals that made it. Until, at last, he noticed a large leaf had been pulled in front of a natural cave formed by where the ground had broken away beneath one of the oak’s above-ground roots. He grabbed the leaf and pulled it aside… and then swiftly leaped back as a fair sized black shape came shooting out toward him. The black shape soon revealed itself, upon its landing, to be a mid-sized doglike creature that looked like a cross between a fox and a golden retriever. Its jet black fur shone in the sunlight that leaked through the canopy, and as it darted toward Dan again the fur seemed to wax and wane with the light, as if the fur itself was naturally reflective. He dodged again, and only when he had dodged several more times did he understand.
“Wait a minute… you’re a Shimmerfang!”
Shimmerfangs were rarities, even in the most fantastic of wild lands, and were widely known for both their beautifully rich and reflective coats as well as their ability to take down opponents twice their size in an instant. Elven civilizations, in particular, prized the animal both for its fur, which was said to possess an alarming amount of innate magic for such a small creature, and as a companion for its gentle disposition alongside its ferocity. But this one was being far from gentle or regal… why? As Dan dodged still more attacks, he finally grew tired of the game and, on the next lunge, jabbed the Shimmerfang just behind its neck with two fingers, paralyzing it with a pressure point strike. As the poor thing landed only to fall over, Dan turned back to the hole he had uncovered; there, in spite of protesting barks from the animal, he looked and found something unheard of- a second Shimmerfang, this one white in color, gingerly crawling out from the hole and whimpering for its friend. Once it was free, the plight of the white one was plain to see- it had a front paw that was badly damaged and could not be walked on.
It all made sense then. The white one had clearly been injured somehow, and now it depended on the black one to keep it safe until- if ever- it healed. There was something admirable about it, how the black Shimmerfang had stood by the white in spite of, or perhaps because of, her time of weakness. In fact, he reflected, it was the exact thing he hadn’t done… Another growl from the black prevented him from falling into regret’s abyss. He realized that he needed to convince the both of them that he was a friend. Reaching into one of his pockets, he withdrew two pieces of dried meat and set them out, one in front of the white and one before the black, who he tapped again to remove the paralysis. Both of the Shimmerfangs sniffed the morsels gingerly, and then the white began to tear into hers with hungry abandon. The black soon followed suit with his, and before long Dan was laying out more strips for each.
“Well, it seems I’ve made two new friends out here. Hold on a second, I think I saw an herb that I can use to help heal that paw…”
And so he did. The white still couldn’t walk very well, but the paw would now at least be guaranteed to repair itself in a timely manner. The hunter, for his part, had found himself unable to let the little things go, and so he decided to take them along as his pets. The black Shimmerfang he named Fate, and the white he christened Faith. What gave him those names, he knew not, but they simply seemed to fit. And so, with Faith riding in his lap and Fate bounding along behind the horse, the three set off again for Advarse. At the moment, neither Shimmerfang was more than twenty pounds, but in a short time they would both grow to be at least thrice that. In fact, he mused, Fate may even do so by the time the journey was over…
And lo and behold, he had been correct. A little more than a week later, and the group had finally finished their trek through the mountains. A soft snowfall gathered on the ground, a herald for the winter weather in the season ahead, as the horse and Fate both ran through the open field that opened into the Advarse Valley proper. Faith had not grown much, having been confined to Dan’s lap for most of the trip, but once her leg would allow her to run again she would catch up to her brother quite rapidly. The Valley itself was quite peaceful; it was a place where the residents minded their own business, intervening with each other only when beseeched for help, and every man was given his own space. Of the dozens of homesteads scattered about, only some were occupied- plenty of them had been left by those who had tried to carve out their lives there and failed, running back to the comfort of the city as they did. Thus, when Dan and his travelling companions happened upon a snowy little cottage by an icy lake in the midst of a wintery wood, nobody in the region raised a hand as they moved in and made the place their own…

-
As the path of luminous footsteps continued on her arduous journey, the fragile looking Frost Magus didn't need to brace herself against the wintry winds as they grew in their harshness and tenacity. Within her heart grew a shadow of hopelessness and doubt; after all, it was she who had partook in the act that had shattered his heart. Unknowing as she might have been to her sin was no excuse, the Silver Tongue Weaver had stained the purity of her intention and had left a horrific scar in his wake.
Could the hunter ever forgive her? Was there even the slightest chance?
With the shadows that lingered in her soul, the air grew even colder than its previous bitterness about her while the path continued onward. Even vicious beasts that lay in wait by the roadside to ambush drew back and away at the sight of the Sin'Dorei. They were looking for easy prey, not the monstrosity of magical might that strode quietly through their midst. With her eyes downcast to the ground, she came upon a peculiar scene. After Dan had found himself a Horse, he had discovered something else and had gotten in a tussle with it.
The signs of struggle in the snow told a story she couldn't fully discern, but it still drew even greater concern. The lack of blood spattered throughout signified that the hunter was fine, but what of his contestant? Peculiar as it was, the hoof prints continued on, with a set of smaller paw prints causing a zigzag pattern through the powder.
Stranger still, whatever he had struggled with had either pursued or joined him? Tilting her head for a brief moment, her fingertips caught a thin, reflective black hair from the purest of white. It shimmered and shone in the moonlight that was her only company upon this lonely road. These woods, this fur....it was familiar, painstakingly so! But how? And in what way?
Shaking her head clear of the cloud that was her confusion, the Frost Magus simply continued on for two weeks more. The condition of the boots he had been so kind to give her gradually beginning to fail as soon before long like a time ago that seemed so distant, she cast a simple enchantment over her heels to make it appear as if they were still pristine. She could not help but to smile at the irony of it all, here she was in a foreign place and a foreign land, looking for the one who had given her a home. The one who had given her hope and so much more than that.
She was drawing closer, and she could sense it. From the way that the winds gradually began to grow, and the brightness of the footsteps that grew in intensity just slightly with every step that she took. There, as she came upon a clearing that was a frozen lake, she could see it. Painted in an almost too humorous "X" that was in the handwriting of none other than the Goddess' herself, was a small quiet house upon the lakeside.
That was it! It must be him! Clamoring for the resolve not to just run into the house and declare her love for him and beg for forgiveness, she quietly made her way across the frozen lake as the ice grew in thickness with her every step. The faint crackling of its growth caught the attention of two sets of eyes, one of crimson and the other of lavender as they peeked over the snow dusted window's edge at the intruder upon their territory.
One she could even hear the faintest growl as she stepped up to the doorway and took in a sharp, biting inhale of the frosty winter air. All this time, she had put every thought she had into the words she could say to try and mend their broken hearts; but now, in this final critical moment where her knuckles rose to rap upon the door to the Hunter's new home, the Magus' mind drew blank and she turned from the door.
Doubt had reared its cruel head again. Whispers in her mind about how what she had done could not ever be forgiven, and how he would be a fool to do just that. Even so as she grit her teeth and spun about to face the door again, she could hear paws scrambling against the wooden surface, the ones she had seen in the window obviously warning their new master of a visitor.
So, in the cold with weariness in her eyes, and her shoes so peculiarly pristine, she waited for the door to open.

-
Fate’s growling and scratching at the window told him nothing new. Dan had known there was somebody drawing near to his newfound homestead from the moment they’d entered the trees. Such was one of the benefits of being an Aeromancer; once your air field was established, it was almost impossible to sneak up on you. Moreover, he knew precisely who it was; the ruby that still hung about his neck in spite of everything made that as plain as day. As Fate and Faith began to react to Remy’s presence, his instincts carried him from the seat at his desk all the way to the door… and then his reason caught up and called a halt as his hand was reaching for the doorknob. A thousand thoughts flashed through his head all at once, but one of them flared enough to drown out all the rest.
You don’t deserve her.
That thought, that idea, that one single verdict of conscience, echoed throughout his head and resonated into his very bones. The rest of him tried to mount a response; his heart cried out, his lingering sentiments mustered themselves, his memories trumpeted, and even the little gem seemed to flash in anguish against the titanic regret that had birthed his paralysis. But it was all for naught. Deep in his heart of hearts, he had long since confirmed the judgment of his penitence. Oh, he had loved her, loved her with all his heart and every fiber of his being. That was something that could never be denied him. And yet, in spite of that love, in spite of all his affection and devotion, when trials had come to his doorstep… he had abandoned her. His endearment to her had been plenty strong when times were well, but love was easy in times of bliss. “Any ship will sail on calm waters,” Sangre had once told him, “If you want to know a vessel’s worth, you have to take it out in a storm.” And when his ship had entered a storm as petty and foolish as a mere trick, he had allowed it to fall apart. He did not blame Remy. He did not even blame Hawthorne. As far as Dan was concerned, the entire fault, the only fault, lay on him and him alone. It was far from a new revelation; he had reached the conclusion several weeks prior, and by so doing his venture into Guildaris had turned from flight to banishment.
And here, at the peak of the conflict between his guilt and his love… his hand moved away from the knob. He instead placed it flat against the upper portion of the door and held it there, as if reaching out to her in spite of the barriers, physical and metaphysical, that he willingly maintained. For a moment, he felt what might have been the slight warmth of another hand seeping through the oaken wood of the door… and then it was gone. The dance in the ruby began to slow and cease, Fate stopped pawing at the door, and the winds of the wood told him he was alone once again. He withdrew his hand and slowly, as though he wore fetters of iron about his entire person, he lethargically retreated into the cottage, that he might resume his self-imposed exile from her embrace.
Sometime later, the winds began to call to him. Something new had entered the area, something they had never seen before. At first, Dan chose to ignore it. What was one more creature passing through on a search for food, after all? When Fate and Faith both began to growl with their fur on end, however, he took immediate notice. The list of creatures that could inspire fear in a Shimmerfang was very, very small, and if one of them was prowling around outside of his house… It didn’t take him long to dress in his jacket, grab a hatchet from the wall, and set out into the snow to hunt it down.
The beast in question proved simple to find. Its tracks were as plain as day, it had walked a simple route around the area, and led to the shore of the lake. When Dan emerged from the trees onto the far side of the frozen body of water from his cabin, he found it sitting by the lake, watching the house. It was a large creature, as long as most men were tall, with scales covering most of its body. It lay flat to the ground, with six legs as a method of transportation, and a club-like tail whipping slowly back and forth behind it. In front was a gigantic maw filled with razor sharp teeth, and above that sat the beast’s eyes. Two orbs that glowed scarlet against the white backdrop of the snow and always gave the creature a look of hunger and bloodlust. Dan froze in his steps as he approached, hatchet in hand. Something was very wrong here. The creature was obviously reptilian, yet it did not seem bothered in the slightest by the cold weather. Before he could puzzle it out, however, the monster had turned to stare directly at him. Faster than should have been possible, it lunged toward him, flying across the ground like an arrow. Dan spun aside with barely enough time to spare and watched as the beast’s jaws collapsed around a tree, shattering the trunk for several feet above the bite point. His teeth ground together as he finally knew what he was facing.
“You’re an Apocalisk, huh?”
The reptile roared in response, a loud burst of sound that echoed across the area, before launching itself toward him again. This time, he was more prepared for the beast’s speed, and the hatchet came down to strike against the metal-like scales on the beast’s back as he swept aside. If the blow did anything, however, the apocalisk didn’t notice as it turned to strike again. Dan chanced a look at his weapon of choice. Axes weren’t at all like swords, and the unbalanced weight felt foreign in his hand. It was far from an ideal situation, but it was all he had. And as the lizard came at him again, he decided he would have to take his chances. In an instant he had stripped away his coat and shirt, the better to move his upper body, and as the Apocalisk leaped toward him again he stood his ground rather than dodge it. At the last possible second, his body exploded into motion as his arm swung the hatchet in an upward swinging motion, as if he were drawing it from his belt, and hooked it into the lizard’s gaping mouth. The force of the blow tore the monster’s upper jaw from its lower in a shower of blood that splattered his chest as the rest of the beast’s body flew by harmlessly. The hatchet’s shaft snapped in half in the process, but his quarry was dead.
The sound of clapping came from the trees behind him and caused Dan to whirl around. There, walking toward him, was an Orc. He was dressed in the same manner as the warlords of his people, and there was a large axe strapped to his back. Dan knew his visage on sight.
“Ax.”
“Dan.”
“The hell are you doing here?”
“I could ask the same of you, seeing as you’ve just killed my pet.”
“I thought something was wrong. Apocalisks aren’t native to this area.”
“Indeed. I brought him with me. Rastia sends his regards.”
That remark made his blood run cold. Had Rastia caught onto him again? If he had… “And he sent you here to kill me?”
“Mostly. We caught the little Missy opening a portal here, and figured she’d lead us right to you. Looks like we were right.”
The air began to whir to life around Dan as his eyes narrowed. Ax was renowned as difficult to put down for good, on account of an artifact he had found that ensured the only way to truly slay him was to do so in his own hearth and upon his throne, but he could certainly destroy him here and now.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you. You got my pet’s blood on you, didn’t you?”
Dan stopped dead in his tracks. The winds immediately scattered and faded away as his hand shot to clutch his chest and his breathing grew ragged. His eyes flew to the spatter of blood across his bare chest, which had begun to pulse with an odd light. Apocalisks were often called the Mage Killer because of the antimagic property in their blood. If the blood was splashed on someone who then proceeded to invoke magic of any sort, the blood reacted with their body to produce a condition called Mana Poisoning. Once poisoned, a mage would find the magic within his body turned to acid inside of him. Moreover, the poisoning also blocked the major channels of the body, preventing the victim from burning through his mana and thus expelling the poison. Crafty mages could work around it, but for Dan, who had significant power but lacked finesse, it was all but a death sentence. And he knew it.
“You bastard… who would’ve thought someone like you could have planned things out this far?”
Ax brandished the weapon that was his namesake in response, laughing roughly. “I spare no expense when I get to take cowardly magic users like you down a peg.”
With a grunt, Dan reached down at his feet to grab a broken tree branch into his hand. It flipped back and forth in his hands as he tested the weight before settling in a pose very much like a sword.
“HA!” The Orc shouted, clearly mocking him, “You really think you can defeat me, sealed and with a pathetic imitation of a weapon?”
“I don’t recall ever needing my full power to beat you.”
An instant later they clashed. It was clear from the beginning that Ax possessed the overwhelming power advantage, but even without the air to aid him Dan proved fast enough to evade his blows. And when evasions did not serve, his combat experience allowed him to use his branch as a defense against the great axe, hooking the roughhewn timber beneath the axe head and redirecting the force of the blow away from him. However, as fiercely as he fought, the tide of the battle was turning against the hunter. Quick as he was, his branch proved unable to land any lasting damage through the Orc’s hardened skin, and the poisoning from the little magic he’d invoked before was slowly consuming him. So long as it stayed at that level, he knew, he could safely expel it from himself later. But the strain of combating the toxin and the Orc was beginning to wear at his body, until finally the axe chopped straight through his makeshift weapon and bit into his leg. The wound forced him to the ground, and earned a grim chuckle from Ax.
“Heh. See now how weak you are without your magic or your enchanted steel.” As he stowed his axe on his back and began to walk away, his tones turned to scornful mocking. “I think I will leave you here for now. The little elf girl should be nearby, and Rastia told me I could do what I wished with her. I’ll let you savor her screams before I end you. My, what a song she will sing for me…”
In that moment, a rage took Dan. He forgot about his injured leg. He forgot about the poison in his veins. He forgot about everything around him, save two items. The first was Ax himself. The second was that he had threatened the woman Dan loved. He may have been undeserving of her, but to allow harm to befall her when he had the power to act was something he would not have. The wind roared about him once more as his magic burst into life. It would last mere seconds before the mana poisoning blocked his channels- but seconds were all he had need of. With a burst of speed that defied his fatigue, defied his lacerated leg, and nearly defied the laws of nature, he vanished and reappeared in Ax’s path. With the fingers of his right hand extended, he drove it forward in a spear hand strike that, driven by the wind, pierced the Orc’s skin and impaled his heart. The resulting aftershock tore the berserker’s chest cavity asunder, and when he looked into the hunter’s shining irises, Ax beheld a hatred the likes of which he’d never known.
“Go back to your empty throne,” Dan growled, his very voice echoing with all the force of air itself, “And give L Rastia this message. You can all strike at me as you please… but if any of you mongrels dare raise a hand against Remy, I will personally scatter your ashes to the four corners of hell!!!”
A final blast of slicing air turned the Orc to dust in the wind. For a moment, it seemed that Dan had triumphed absolutely. But in the next, he was falling to the ground, desperately trying to control his body as it spasmed and twitched in the grip of the mana poison. He’d used far too much of his magic; at this point, with his terrible control, there was no way he could save himself from it. Moreover, if a savior came, it would have to not only be someone with penultimate precision over magic, but also someone who was intimately familiar with his body and its channels. As he finally ceased jerking about, he continued to fight only so long as his breath held out. When he could no longer bear to breathe, he closed his eyes as he lay in the snow, his final words feebly whispered from his throat as the ruby about his neck began to flash its light into the sky.
“Melmënya… goheno nin…”
My love… forgive me…

When next he opened his eyes, he found himself lying in a heavenly place. Far removed from the wintery landscape he had left, his senses told him this was a meadow within a forest cradled by spring. Light rays of sunshine drifted down through the layers of the forest canopy, softly layering themselves across him and warming his body that was once frigid. The quiet sounds of a slowly drifting stream resounded from nearby, and there was a deep scent of freshly blooming roses that pervaded all. The pants of his typical garment had been replaced by a robe that covered him from the waist down, leaving his chest bare. His leg, which had been damaged by Ax, was left out to air, but all signs told him the wound was gone. Furthermore, all the stress and fatigue that had been slowly piling onto him across all the years seemed to be melting away. And, as if to reassure him entirely of just where he was, kneeling over him was a woman who, though her face was obscured by the shade and the blur of his vision, was nothing short of an angelic visage as the sun reflected gently off the golden tresses of her hair as she held his head upon her lap. His eyes closed once again as he forced himself to breathe.
It’s finally all over, then…
He turned his head to the side and opened his eyes again, hoping to behold the roses he smelled. And there they stood, blooming a brilliant red as he knew they would in Amelia’s true court… but something else caught his eye. Through a clearing in the trees, he could see rolling hills of green and flowering fields- and beyond them, a great city that dominated the horizon with towers of silver. His brow furrowed in thought. He knew this city. He could not quite place it, but he had seen it before. And the longer he looked, the more familiar it became, until it could be mistaken no longer. He did indeed know that city; he knew what it was, where it truly belonged… and he knew that, if he were to set out for it, he could walk for a lifetime and grow no closer. For the city he saw did not actually exist. It was an effigy, a mural projected onto the sunlit sky, a memory of a home forgotten. But even in imitation, there was no mistaking the towering spires of Silvermoon City.
His eyes snapped back into focus and he forced his senses to prime themselves to the utmost. The robe, the stream, and the roses were all real, that was certain, and his wounds had undoubtedly been healed. But what he had taken for relief from tiredness was, in fact, the sensation of his mana being slowly, gently, lovingly drawn out of him, cleansed, and returned. And the one doing this, the woman who held his head upon her lap was indeed an angel, but of the variety bound to earth and a mortal coil. And despite the shadows that belied days without sleep, her violet eyes were still as marvelous as ever they had been.
Archmage Class Magisters, once they had accessed their full power, were capable of crafting a Sanctuary, a realm governed by their magic that could be shaped to their will and entered as they pleased. He had been in this particular Sanctuary only once before, when a hasty escape had proved necessary amidst a collapsing fortress on On’Eman, but he had never forgotten it. And, though she had once lost her ability to unlock the realm, it seemed the meadow’s creator had once more attained the mystical weight class needed to access it. How she had found him, he could not begin to guess… but she had ransomed him away here to see him treated. The fact that the worst of the mana poisoning had been undone by her hand proved this was no imposter; it was Remy herself who had saved him, Remy who had brought him here, and Remy who still labored over him, her smile at his awakening easily outdoing the sun.
As he looked into her eyes, Dan fought for words to speak. He wanted to ask her so many questions, to beg her for so many things, but found himself mute. At the end of his breath, far from issue words, he could do nothing but swallow it and allow the tears to flow from his eyes. Foolish. He’d been so completely, utterly, foolish. With shaking nerves, he forced his arm to rise with an aching, painful slowness until, with a slight crook of his elbow, he bent it to gingerly cup her cheek in his palm. He smiled as the tears continued to cascade down his own face, all while his fingers explored the same fair contours they had caressed a hundred times before as though afraid they might forget at any moment. Then, at last, he found his voice. As weak and trembling as it was from his days-long battle with the poison, he knew her pointed ears would hear him all the same.
“You… you came back…”
“Came back for a… a wretch… a wretch like me… ”

-
Outside of the scrambling of paws at the door, all she received as a greeting was a harrowing silence. Was he not home? Or did he already know all too well of her arrival, and a chance at forgiveness for her sins was all but lost? Biting the bottom edge of her pursed lip in anxiety, she still needed to have her word, to speak upon her own half of the injury; yet would he listen to her despair? Taking grasp of the doorknob forcibly with the warmth of her touch, emerald eyes stared hesitantly into the grain of the wood as if she were searching it's trails for an answer.
Finding no truth in response to her queries, the Magi relinquished the handle of her grasp and stepped away from it. She could sense the power of her immortality within it as he was still the keeper and guardian of such, now that she was close at least.
He was here, or at least closely near she deduced, bouncing around a varying range of thoughts as her mind extended outwards from the singularity that was her existence. Arcane energies had been laced into the air, she quickly came to realize that it was magic, his magic. She had literally strode into the realm of the Warden of the Wind. Without any doubt, he knew all too well of her intrusion upon his territory, and yet he had done nothing. Was he asleep, perhaps? Or did he not even care that she was near?
Another step away from the door marked her lack of conviction. He knew she was here, he must know, there was little else that could possibly prescribe how such events were transpiring. There was no room for forgiveness in his heart for her, there was only room for the consuming sorrow from her cruelty. Clenching her fist and wishing she held the determination to simply kick down the door and appeal to him, tell him that she was incomplete without him, and beg him to give her a second chance, such resolve crashed and faded akin to the greatest waves against the mightiest of barriers.
Slowly, she turned and faded into the night of winter. Leaving only footprints in her wake, which disappeared shortly after in the wrath of a blizzard.
Several nights after lingered onward as she took shelter in the comfort of an Inn's fire. What was she supposed to do? Nothing, it seemed to be as dread still miserably clung onto her shoulders. Letting her ragged shoes dry by the fire as she slipped her tender feet from them, the Magi stared almost hatefully into the flickering flames. If only she had seen through the illusion. If only she could undo what had been done, maybe Dan would be able to find peace again. Burying her face into her palms, softened sobs in the privacy of her room marked her misery and frustration upon the hardwood floor in the staining of salted tears upon them.
In her hopelessness however, a spark of determination began to grow. Standing slowly and wiping her eyes clear from the blurring sensation of tears, the magi's hands fell to her sides. This place was familiar, this entire world felt familiar, yet she couldn't still quite put her finger upon it. Even the walls of this Inn drew familiarity! But why? Narrowing her eyes, her fingertips found the armband of gold that she had worn since the last moments she could ever remember. What had she forgotten?
This sensation of raw energy that lined her palms, what was it?
Such wonderment faded swiftly in the whispering of wind.
"He is under attack he is under attack!" It whispered into her ear in a panicked, hushed tone. "Others! Others! Drawing close, must flee!"
Her reaction was instantaneous.
Seizing her coat and sprinting in a panicked flurry down the stairs, the Elven girl seized the horse of the Innkeeper and rode off into the wind. Frantic hoof beats marked the haste of her cadence as she tore through the forest and bitterly cold winds at breakneck speeds. As trees blurred by in the crisp air of the earliest hours of the morning, the leather reins cracked furiously as the her nightmares rushed forward to greet her warmly.
What would have taken hours took only minutes to come upon a scene of horror.
She had arrived just to see Dan, covered in venomous ooze, finish off an old comrade who had apparently made himself the worst kind of enemy! It was Axe! The very orc who had cursed her to live alone and in misery was here?! Why was he fighting with Dan to the death no less? Surely, each side had their disgruntled odds and ends, disagreements as well, but none that warranted this! As Dan collapsed, she vanished from existence to instantly reappear beside him to catch his fall, leaving his head in her lap as she did her best to support him.
"Well, I'll be damned. You are alive."
Such words bore a familiar voice that she could not forget. Slowly, inexorably, her gaze rose to see none other than On'Man's warden of the Earth. With the flat of his sword's point resting just millimeters from her neck.
The horror in her eyes at his unveiling, and the way she held Dan's unconscious form desperately close spoke volumes as a subtle smirk casually rose up on the Earthen One's lips. "And I see that you've fallen for our traitor here. How odd....you two kept your distance back then, what a surprise."
He took a step forward and she froze, the tip of the blade being so cold that it even made her shudder as a droplet of blood came from the softened texture of her neck, warmly tracing a path of crimson down her pale skin.
"You must know his story by now, I'm sure. Sangre is dead because of him. He must pay for his crimes." He apathetically uttered, showing not even the least thought of mercy or recourse in his voice. "The price for killing a Goddess is Death, Remy. You know this. Aiding a fugitive accused and found guilty of such will only sentence you to the same. We. Will. Find. You. Both. And kill you, naturally. Do you intend to help him?"
Swatting the sword away with a hand coated in frost, she clutched her neck with one hand while glaring up at him with disgust. "You're wrong. Sangre is alive!"
"What proof have you of this?"
"I...I..." her words fell silent in the lack of evidence she possessed other than her word, but the Goddess was alive. She had helped her! She knew it! Yet none of the proof she held was tangible. And L was in little patience to listen to any conjecture she might have. "I don't have anything to prove it other than my word! But believe me! She has answered my prayers once already!"
"I don't believe you and your obviously subjective viewpoint. Gentlemen, join me in executing both the girl and the man."
Blurred shadows sprinted from the forest line as L smoothly flicked his sword. Shapes of friends she had once known darted across the pearly snow fields to stain her and her beloved's blood across the purity of white. With wicked speed, the five converged upon the girl as she slowly rose to a stand as if to welcome the Death that seemed imminent. Her emerald eyes widened as she took in the scene that should have been her demise, and with a flexing of her fingertips, a staff appeared in her hands.
She knew not where it came from, but she did know its purpose as new power reverberated through her form. Finally, she had reclaimed her old stave in a time of desperate need, and in just a moment she rose it above her head as the luminous blue runes flickered and burst with magical energy. Reverberating in a violet light from the Dragon's horns that donned the stave's top, she brought it crashing to the earth
With a calamitous roar, the very world seemed to rupture.
In a flash that lit the night sky for miles, even to the notice of the village she had just been in, the long-lost Arch Magi of Guildaris returned. The result was an insane amount of concussive force that erupted around both Dan and the Magi, slamming into their assailants, who were only saved by the hastened thinking of the Earthen Warden. Quickly erecting a barrier of heavy stone, they were still pushed back hundreds of yards, and as the smoke cleared; the scene before them was one that they could describe as little more than horrific.
What had once been fields of pure white were now a torn, smoldering earth. What had once been a lake was now little more than a crater that stretched for a hazy distance.
Distantly, they could see a faintly glowing form in the center, holding her staff defiantly before causing it to disappear. Raw magic still crackled and popped about her form for a few seconds longer as she glared maliciously at her would-be assassins. As much as she wished she could kill them, now, in this moment she could not. If the two could grasp onto Sangre to prove their innocence, perhaps this little war could be put behind them.
Yet as their new found enemy took to the sword again, and Rastia began channeling a spell of his own, she knew it was time to leave. In another flash, the small hut Dan had been staying in, and the beasts within it vanished. In the blink of an eye, the two renegades ceased to exist in the immediate area.
She left them with little more than humiliation, and the curse of her name beneath Rastia's breadth.
Such transport was an incredible distance, from the winters of the bitter north to the warmth of autumn. Collapsing to her knees at Dan's side, the two Shimmerbeasts bound to his opposite flank as she quickly studied him. The Mana that coursed within him fluctuated and pulsed as if it were poisoned, a day she quickly came to recall the insidious beast that Axe had brought with him. The corpse had been torn asunder, but Dan had suffered a far worse consequence.
Gently touching his form, the softened repetition of a prayer from her lips began to cause the two to shine. As brilliant and as blinding as a star, she drew out from his breadth as thin tendrils of blue light poured from his body and coalesced into a singular, giant sapphire. The gem of the sky, the source of his mana, wardenhood, and lifeblood simply hovering above his limp form.
Lightly touching the fluctuating gem, the Magi pulled from it a foul, blackened essence. With her ripping it apart, the gem almost fractured, but with a touch of her own magic, it returned to stability. Crushing the black in her grasp, the ashes would scatter to the winds as she then also shattered the gem itself. Instead of disappearing however, the stone would take to a liquid state, seeping into the wound on his leg and healing it before becoming one with its host once again.
With his breadth, his eyes fluttered open, and in the autumn sun, she could not help but a brilliant smile. He accused himself of wretchedness, and she denied him in one simple motion. Leaning forward, her lips found his as she drowned them both in a sea of lavender blonde hair, and she dared not release his cheek.
"You are no wretch," she softly spoke as her lips broke briefly from his, only to taste him again with a second kiss and a faint smile."You are my promised. I would never swear myself to one such as a wretch. I love you....could you ever find it in you to forgive me?" She pleaded in the autumn sun.
He would soon realize of course that this was no sanctuary, that this place was all too real. The towering ivory in the distance was no mural.
And the cut that still faintly traced a trail of iron down her neck was all too real as well.

-
Just as he had found his breath again, Dan found it being stolen away. The magus that had earned his affection- no, he thought, the Archmage that had claimed his love- had heard his doubts, his fears, and his guilt in his voice, and rather than confirm, deny, accept, or reject them, she had laid her body atop his and, with no more than a few words and a kiss, utterly abolished them. Contrary to what Remy seemed to expect, he did not try to escape or deflect her. Instead, he directed his hands to wrap around his beloved and pull her closer to him. The first surrounded her waist and held her lower body atop his. The other found its way beneath the golden tresses of her hair that still hung about their faces like chamber drapes to rest behind her head. She had begged him for forgiveness, and he was bound to answer her.
"I'm afraid I can't do that, Remy. In order to forgive you, I'd first have to believe you capable of transgression. And I was always taught that angels are without sin.”
Before she could mount any form of protest, he pulled her head toward him and sealed her lips with his own. If she wanted to break away, she showed no signs of it. If anything, her body responded with eagerness as she leaned into his embrace, pressing her self close to his. As the kiss dragged out, their bodies blissfully melting into one another, his hand began to drift down her face. When his fingers tasted the warm droplets of blood that still leaked from the ludicrously fine cut, his eyes opened and his lips separated from hers. There were few men who could produce such a keen, subtle cut as that, and only one of them would have both means and motive to land such an attack on her. For but a moment, concern flashed across his face, almost imperceptibly, before being concealed by a deep breath and a renewed interest in exploring Remy's delicate mouth.
It was nearing sunset when they finally untangled themselves. Fate and Faith thought there was a game to be had and joined into the mess, leading to a bizarre little romp in the grass punctuated by barks and laughter. Finally, with hair a mess and clothes ruffled, the two Wardens managed to sit up and took to scratching their furry friends behind the ears. As Remy began to rise, however, she found that Dan had taken hold of her hand and bade her stay just a little longer. When she complied, he took her left hand and clasped it between both of his. He looked deep into her eyes as he spoke what had been on his mind for quite some time.
"Remy... I made a terrible mistake, those weeks ago. I presumed you unfaithful, and with neither base nor reason... I abandoned you. The idea that I could forsake you in such a way still haunts me, in spite of everything. So... I want to promise you one thing."
He paused to take a breath, and as he inhaled the back of Remy's hand began to warm, as if a dab of cooling wax were being dripped onto it.
"Remy Charlevoix. On this day, I swear to you, in the sight of whatever gods may be, that I will never again by my own will leave your side. When you call to me, I shall answer. When you have need of me, I shall come. And even if the sky should fall and the end of days approach, I shall not abandon you for any cause. All this, I promise to keep... or let my life be forfeit, and my soul be fodder for the Void."
When the words were spoken and his hands lifted away, the cause of the warm sensation was revealed; a symbol had been ingrained in jet black upon the back of her hand, a coat of arms that showed a sword embedded in a pedestal with the sun emblazoned behind it. It was Dan's personal symbol, the marker that denoted his name and line. And as it began to fade into Remy's skin, she understood what had taken place. He had sworn an Oath of Blood to her, the highest vow that could be taken by one such as he. Once taken, the Oath could not be revoked, and if broken, there was not a force in the world that could halt the consequences. He had sworn himself to her once before, in the dark of night aboard a ship in secret, with words alone. But now... now, she held a piece of him, just as he for her. He was bound to her by ties he himself had forged, knowing that he could not break them even if he wanted to. And as the ritual finished, he found the strength to follow her and the dogs into the cottage without assistance. He paused for a moment outside the door to observe the setting sun on the horizon. There were troubled times ahead; that much he could feel in his bones. Makeshift weapons and firearms would not suffice for long. Soon, he knew, he would need to once more take up the weapon that shown so prominently in his coat of arms.
But not tonight, he thought as he swept inside and closed the door behind him, Tonight, I've other obligations...

-
Times we Cherish, Times we Mourn, forget not the one we Lost
Inquisitive she watched on as he stole away her hand into his grasp, much like he had done with her heart. Quietly spoken words of not only forgiveness, but also removal of even the thought of her sins brought a sense of elation; yet as he channeled magic and his warmth graced her palm, she remained silent as he made his vow.
Did she really deserve such an honor?
Perhaps. Perhaps not.
Once complete and the mark faded into the pale porcelain of her skin, she held his hand close. The faint glimmer of concern that he held was all too noticeable, as her blood stained his fingertip where he had brushed it against her neck. It was a mere scratch, but the wariness in his eyes was something that neither of them could escape.
A storm was coming. A storm of earth and hellfire, swords and spears, of wrathful might and magic.
They would not be able to escape it.
Standing up with him as the two little shimmer beasts danced joyfully about their feet, she could not help but think that it was all too bittersweet. The wondrous power she had once possessed returned in all its splendor and destruction, but would it be enough? Could she harness time and slow their efforts further? Would they always have to run? Every troubling second she lingered further upon such a thought made it seem as if the chance to have peace was only a dream.
As they moved towards the cabin, she stole a glance at the ivory, crimson, and gold towers distant.
How long could they remain here? How much longer would it be until they noticed that she had returned?
They did not have long.

Upon white cobblestone, the sound of numerous plated feet moving in unison belied far quieter footsteps as a Outrunner pressed past the daunting figures into a room where a pair of guards stood vigilantly. As he tried to cross the threshold, a pair of crimson and gold spears crossed in front of him. One guard scowled at the smaller girl, looking down upon her as if the duty she was performing held no weight.
"What business have you with the Matriarch?" He asked in a low growl, distrustful of the one who cowered briefly before his weapon. "What could an Outrunner possibly say to grace her ears with any importance?"
"Human!" The girl gasped, clearly out of breadth. "There is a human in the forest! I saw him on my scouting route!"
The guard's eyes widened only briefly, nonplussed by the girl's struggle.
"Were there any others?"
"Yes! That's the important part, you idiot!" She exclaimed, regaining her composure. "He had her with him! The Canary, damn you! Quit giving me that blank look! The blast that took out half a forest was true after all! She's back!"
Mulling over these thoughts, the Guard gradually came to a conclusion: this Outrunner was mad and needed to be discharged. Roughly plucking her up, he moved to remove her from anywhere near the Matriarch presence, even at her defiant protest.
"Wait. Now. Say what you said again." Came a stern, ruthless voice from behind the translucent violet curtain. Emerging from behind it was a heavily armored Sin'Dorei, with emerald eyes that crackled with malevolence. Drawn to her focus, both the guards fell to a knee, and the Outrunner tumbled unceremoniously with them; staring at the ancient sword that she held in her grasp.
"S-She's back, I swear it." Trembled the girl, bowing her head. "I could not believe it at first, so I observed from afar. I know its her! What's peculiar is that she brought a human with her." A heavy hand plated in finely crafted steel found her shoulder and she flinched.
"It has been nearly eight centuries since she was seen last...are you sure?"
"Y-yes! I w-would so swear my life on it!"
"Convincing enough for me. If your report is false, remember, I'll be taking your hand. Assemble the Knights and the Magi." Both guards blinked in a bewildered fashion as the looked to the imposing woman. "And...don't forget Murder Row. We may need some light feet. Outrunner, with me, you will be our guide."
Standing up and falling into pace behind the Matriarch, the girl shot a spiteful look at the Guards a moment before they scattered into the distance. What did this all mean? Could it be that the prophecy was coming true? Glancing up as flitting birds caused shadows to dance before her eyes, the Outrunner warily looked about them as the people seemed to whisper with rumor.
Ever since half of a forest near the Icy Regions of the northern continent to the west was evaporated, whispers had permeated the alleyways. Rumors that the Matriarch in all her steadfast determination had been quick to squash.
Until now.
As the towering gate of ivory slowly opened to the terse shouts of the Guards, before the Outrunner stood no less than twenty knights, each of them imposing and powerful looking in heavy armor upon their horses. Behind them stood a gathering of clever magi, and distant from all stood a handful of cloaked figures seemingly enveloped in dusk.
A near veritable army stood before them.
And they all moved with one order: "Follow the Outrunner."
In the quiet tranquility of the woods, the Arch Magi sat with one shimmer beast purring contentedly in her lap. Propping a book to hover over a fingertip in the air whilst the other stroked behind the creature's ears, the pages would inexorably turn as she gradually made her way through the tome. The day was rather peaceful, with the faint traces of sun glimmering through the dusty windows. She was waiting, albeit a touch impatiently for the Hunter to return home.
He had disappeared in the night without a word, an unsettling fact, but not irregular. For he oft went hunting to keep his edge sharp, and sharp it had remained. The beasts of the Forest had been proven worthy adversaries, at least that was what he had told her. Unease lingered on her shoulders. Was he telling the truth? Or was he protecting her from her worries again?
More importantly, why had the two little troublemakers departed from her lap and her feet?
Then she heard the sound of Thunder.
Hooves, more properly put. As she raced to the window to see the view outside, she could see it. An armored column was racing at the heels of a flighty Outrunner. It was worrisome at first, but it was not until she saw the figure at the front that she went paler shade than she had ever been before. Swiftly opening the door and closing it so that the troublesome two would not be in danger, she carefully took a few steps away from her home, just in time for Dan to arrive.
Quickly, she raised her fingertips to silence his oncoming terse inquiry, and frantically shook her head in disagreement when he placed his hand at the handle of his weapons. Once the column was about to collide with the two, it split so that the heavy knights circled about them before coming to a pause. One, and only one dismounted from her armored horse, and marched solemnly across the short distance to stand just a few feet from the Magi.
Slowly, she removed her gauntleted hand from its protection, and with a sharp crack that echoed through the silence, she struck Remy across the face. Instantly touching her cheek and the relentless stinging that made her ears ring, Dan's reaction was to draw upon his weapon.
He never stood a chance.
In a speed that was faster than the eye, the armored woman had a blade just millimeters from his neck, forcing him to stand still, very still as he was also surrounded by spears drawn by the cavalrymen. With a glare of distaste that would strike him as oddly familiar, just like the arrogant curl of her lips, Remy would finally speak as she cupped the soreness of her cheek.
"Dan, meet my mother. Rae'liel."
"Remy. Who is this...human," she hissed seethingly, as if the very word of the Hunter's race brought her disgust. "And why is he with you?" Cold pressed against his neck then, as with the touch of the sword, Dan would realize that this was no ordinary blade.
"Mother....he...he is the one I chose."

-
It was quiet. All was quiet in the woods that stood but a few leagues from the Eversong Forest that surrounded and concealed Silvermoon City. Barely a creature stirred, much less anything predatory. Even the air seemed to have faded into silence. It was the calm that gave the deer the courage to carefully skirt toward the small pond for a drink. It never saw the glint of the sun as it reflected off the tip of the gun barrel, never heard the faint click as the hammer was brought back on the revolver. Dan slowly, carefully measured the distance, ensured that the wind was silent, and crept slowly forward a step, his footsteps making nary a sound. The deer had no idea the Hunter was upon it, and that sweet drink it was taking would be its last… Until, of course, someone dropped out of the trees behind Dan, opened his mouth wider than should have been possible, and screamed a word loud enough to rattle the woods for miles.
“BANG!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
The deer bolted, and the Hunter nearly leaped out of his skin as he tucked his feet and rolled forward. He came up with his gun ready, the sights aligned on a boy. A young boy, with hair and eyes as black as night, and a shadowy tail that ended in a point protruding from his back. His fingers ended in claws, and his mouth featured far too many pointed teeth for him to be human. He had young features, but Dan knew full well he was not what he appeared to be. The Hunter recognized the boy, which was precisely why he did not lower the gun; he was staring at Darkoda, the prankster imp of On’Eman.
“Dark.”
“Dan.”
“What are you doing here?”
“I heard you and Remy were about. Thought I’d drop in and say hi.”
“Did Rastia send you?”
“Pft. You think I’d ever listen to that windbag? I’m insulted.”
“You’re not here for revenge, then?”
“Revenge for what? Far as I know, you haven’t done anything worth my vengeance. You gonna put that gun down now?”
Dan studied the imp carefully through suspicious eyes. Darkoda had never been one to hold a grudge or to care much for what transpired in the world; he was a trickster, and all he cared for was the pursuit of his own enjoyment. What’s more, he and the Hunter had long ago made friends with one another, somehow. If he said he was here of his own accord for his own reasons, then perhaps… Dan slowly, cautious lowered his weapon and rose to a standing position. The imp, in response, flicked his claws away and shrunk his oversized mouth to a more appropriate size.
“Sorry about that. I’ve had a lot of our old comrades show up and try to kill me the past few years.”
“I heard something to that effect from Rogue last I saw him.”
“And what did he have to say about it?”
“That it was a damn shame he couldn’t do anything to help you out. Not all of us are under the Warden’s thumb you know. You know that as well as I do.”
“I see. Well, that’s good to hear.”
“Figured it might be. The Princess said to send her regards as well.”
“Princess? Molly??!”
“You know another Princess that would care about either of the two of you?”
“I presume Rastia hasn’t tried to sway her, then?”
“Oh, he’s tried. Last time he showed up in Molly’s castle, she threatened to have his tongue cut out and taped to his forehead if he spread lies in her kingdom again.”
Dan had to smile at that. The Princess of Ichime, Molly to her friends, was one of the nicest and most cordial people he’d ever known, but getting on her bad side was something even he was wary to avoid at all costs.
“Sounds like Molly alright.”
“Yep. By the way, she also says that if you ever need a place to stay for a bit, Ichime’s doors are open wide for you.”
“What, are you her messenger now?”
“Somewhat. I owed her a favor, that’s all.”
“I see. I certainly hope you don’t owe Rastia a favor, then.”
“Again with the insults, Dan! I’d never get into a situation where I’d need his help. I wouldn’t dwell on him too much though, you have bigger problems right now.”
“I have what?”
“Bigger problems. I can’t say much on the matter right now, otherwise I’ll get in trouble for being too benevolent. Just… be careful when you get back.”
“Hrm. Thanks for the tip, at least. I’d better get back sooner rather than later then.”
“Probably a good idea. See ya around!”
“Sure. Oh, and if you get back to Molly? Tell her we’re in her debt. Support like that is a rare commodity these days.”
“Sure thing.”
And with a cackle of laughter and a crack of light and smoke, the imp was gone. His warning was certainly troubling; after all, what was it that was bigger than Rastia and his posse trying to kill them? With such thoughts driving his feet, he vanished from the wood and raced back to the cottage by the stream.
It seemed his timing had been impeccable. Right as he arrived at the little house they’d furnished- and that Remy had taken to calling Hope’s Renewal- he saw the column of advancing cavalry in the distance. In a flash he had bolted to his lover’s side, his hand itching to reach for the revolver in his shoulder holster. He stayed his hand at her insistence, and instead dedicated himself to studying the approaching men. They were Sin’Dorei, there was no question about that. But what were they doing all the way out here? Surely they had given Silvermoon enough berth that their presence could not be a problem for them. Then why were they coming here?
His question was answered soon enough as they became surrounded and a woman who appeared to be the leader of the elves stepped down from her mount. She bore the same fair semblance and ageless features as her kin, but there was a wisdom and a prestige about her all the same. It was obvious at a glance that she was one of the truly ancient Blood Elves, and that alone made her dangerous.
When the elder elf slapped Remy across the face, however, Dan’s eyes flashed with fury all the same. In an instant his hand was reaching for his gun, but it seemed the matriarch had anticipated his actions. By the time his hand was on the handle, there was a sword at his neck. The sword itself further reinforced what he already figured about the woman; it was forged of Stardust Silver, easily the rarest and greatest metal that weapons could be made from. His Rose Sword had been an alloy of the material, before it had broken in his flight from On’Eman. To see a blade made from the silver’s pure form was all but unfathomable. And yet, for all that the sword was, and for all the spears that now leveled themselves at his neck, he kept his eyes on the matriarch. His breath came through his nostrils alone in angered spurts, his mouth kept shut in a thin line.
"Dan, meet my mother. Rae'liel."
Well. That certainly explained a few things.
“The pleasure is mine,” he spoke in a contained intensity that was vaguely disguised by courtesy. He used the common tongue, rather than the elvish he was fluent in; every instinct he had screamed that the less Rae’liel came to know of him, the better.
"Remy,” the matriarch said, carrying on as if he had said nothing, “Who is this...human? And why is he with you?"
"Mother....he...he is the one I chose."
The trepidation that Remy responded with only furthered Dan’s suspicions that not all was well within the Charlevoix family tree. But he dared not break eye contact with Rae’liel to reassure his sworn one; he could see in her eyes that she was actively watching him for signs of weakness, and he was determined to show her none.
“Is he, now.” It was not a question she posed as her blade slowly slid down his neck, barely skimming his skin, before cleaning slicing through his shirt to the chest… and revealing the ruby that hung about his neck.
“Dear child… what have you done? Seize that pendant at once!”
As an elf stepped forward to reach for the necklace, he was met by a fierce gale and a slash of wind that left a cut upon his forearm before he had gone half the distance. The air continued to stir about the hunter as the spearmen backed away from him cautiously, but neither Remy nor Rae’liel was stirred by it.
“The only way you will take this gem from me,” he began, his voice as cold and sharp as steel, “is by prying it from my cold. Dead. Hands.”
The elven mother considered that for a moment as her men looked to her for orders. The man had all the look of a cornered beast, and there was danger there.
“Very well,” she said softly in Common, “Bring my daughter to my chambers. And take the human to the Dark Cells. By force, if needed.”
“I will go quietly,” he retorted, “Provided I am taken quietly.”
The soldiers seemed to oblige him as they merely directed him to a place in the column, and before long they had set out for Silvermoon.
Dan soon learned why the Dark Cells were called that. They were prison chambers entirely devoid of light, but for a trickling of the sun and moon through a slit in the ceiling. As he gathered from the conversations he heard the guards discussing loudly, thinking him unable to understand them, it was not uncommon for prisoners held there to go mad for want of illumination. He, however, would not be one of them. He had all the light he would ever need, hanging about his neck. As he examined the gem and its dancing light, however, something strange occurred. He heard what he would swear were whisperings, a conversation that came, not from outside the cell, but within it. When he strained his ears, however, he found that the sounds he heard came from the gem! Pressing it close to his ear, he barely made out two voices; one was unmistakably Remy’s, and the other had to be Rae’liel’s. And, as he struggled to understand them, he could tell they were arguing about something. He listened for a time, catching little through the gem, but he did cling to one snippet;
“…his execution on the morrow.”
That filled him with dread. Dread, not for himself, but for Remy. She was one to worry herself sick for his sake, and he worried that she might try something drastic if he was set to be executed. He had to calm her, but how?
An idea came to him, suddenly. The gem had never done such a thing as communicate like this before; perhaps his Blood Oath had established a link between them that the ruby had tapped into? If so, the connection could be reversed. He had to try, at the very least. Concentrating all his efforts on the message he wished to send and projecting them onto the gem, he distinctly felt something, some force of magic leave him and flow into the pendant, and he could only hope it worked.

Across the splendid city, away in the tallest spire the message sped, following the invisible passageways that magic used. Finally, it came to alight on its destination; the back of Remy’s palm, where Dan’s sigil lay dormant. And there, upon her hand, scrawled in a haphazard script that belied his lack of finesse, his words came to her.
“Do not worry. I will not go quietly into the night. Come tomorrow, all will end well for us. I promise you it will. Have faith in me.”

-
"The Dark Cells?! You can't! He isn't a thre-!"
The Magi's retort was cut bitterly short as her mother's hand struck her cheek a second time. With little more than a pained whimper that did little to disguise the misery in her eyes, the Elven cavalrymen took the time to bind her wrists. Wrapping her hands together with a binding that possessed a certain resonance. A almost harmonious sense that bore a weight upon her soul. Magic cancellation rings were laced within them, with that interference, there was little that she could do without an insane amount of effort.
She was little more than silent along that walk, only glancing back frantically to Dan from time to time to insure that her mother hadn't secretly ordered his death while her back was turned. Once they arrived at the front Gate, the girl longingly looked back to the wood a final time before disappearing into the city with the Marching Group.
However, the very second that they set foot inside the city, the two were forced to separate ways.
"No! NO! I won't leave him! Let me go!" Struggling with the grip of the guards, a small crowd had gathered to watch the arrival of both a Human, and their lost Canary. Breaking free for just a second, the Magi broke into a run towards the Hunter as he was being walked off towards the darker part of the city.
"Dan! DAN!" Frantic and fitful, she stole just a moment of softness from him as she cried out his name. Sprinting to him with the guards close nipping at her heels, she dove forward to steal a kiss that made the entirety of the on watching crowd gasp collectively in surprise. There, she looked amorously to her Chosen a final time before being dragged off and away in the overwhelmingly tense silence.
Lead by her infuriated mother, the Magi was lead on a grim march that shook the very foundations of her soul. She knew, unlike Dan, what the Dark Cells meant. They were meant for those who were sentenced to death. Enemies of the state, or those guilty of treason. Striding up the stairwell, she came to an open chamber. There, a knife cut her bindings, and she was pushed into the chamber door before it was sharply slammed closed behind her.
An agonizing hour would pass, leaving the Magi pacing impatiently in what used to be her old bedroom. Yet all time would seem to draw to a long pause as the sound of precise footsteps and a key to the heavy door signified that someone was about to arrive.
The door swung wide, and from its frame arrived her mother, doing little more than glaring at her daughter.
"Do you know what you did wrong?" She inquired calmly of her daughter.
"No, mother. I don't. How have I sinned?" The Magi replied, with a defiant roll of her eyes.
The Matriarch's reaction was immediate. Charging across the room, the Paladin took hold of her daughter's throat, pressing her against the wall. Tears began to creep to her eyelids while her mother trembled with rage. She did not release her child until Remy's lips began to turn blue. Dropping the Magi, who collapsed in a coughing fit as sweet air returned to her lungs.
"You will address me with the respect you were taught as a child." The elder Sin'Dorei apathetically stated, without even the slightest remorse for almost suffocating her own daughter. "I oft question your father's decision to allow you to pursue Magic. Chasing after that sacrilege did so little for your impetuous attitude."
A scowl formed on Remy's lips as she shakily rose to a stand. Obediently, but unwillingly silent.
"Why did you sacrifice your immortality to him?" The question lingered upon the air of the empty chamber, the Paladin turning inexorably in the silence to glare at her daughter. "His life is on the line at this moment, he'll be executed on the morrow if you do not convince me. So speak."
"Mother." The Magi replied softly, swallowing her courage and hoping to gain ground in this argument. "He is my Chosen. That man you hold down there is the man I cherish, I could not bear to watch him die and continue on my own. There is no one else that has made my heart sing like so. That is why he holds, and protects my immortality."
Her words, while eloquent, did little to convince the Paladin, who seemed to be filled with bubbling rage.
"Did you sleep with him?"
"Yes. I have spent some intimate time with him in his bedchamber."
"How dare you." The Matriarch's voice stated lowly, seething with loathsome hatred. "You were arranged to be wed upon your return. You knew this. How. Dare. YOU! If you weren't my daughter, I would have you executed with that piece of slime. Single handed, you have brought shame on our family line! Don't tell me you are bearing his child!"
Remy's silence at the final comment of her words only stoked the zealous fire that burned in her mother's eyes.
"I-I don't think I am! Mother, please! Just place me in exile, do what you have to; but don't hurt him!"
A clearing of throat behind her brought a softness to the Matriarch's eyes; and Remy only further tensed for the situation to worsen. The tall, slender man that appeared in the doorway was none other than the patriarch of her family. Within his eyes shone neither rage nor sorrow, but a great wisdom. A sense of otherness, an air of ancient prestige. Lofting the long pipe that curled away from his lips, the honey scented smoke poured from his nostrils as his lips slowly parted.
"Does she truly love him?" He inquired sagely of his wife, the low baritone of his voice being deeper than the robes of elegant crimson that he wore.
"Of course I do fa-!" The Magi was cut quickly short with the rise of his index fingertip. The long digit pressing against her tender lips and forcing her into silence.
"Not you, little one. I am asking your mother." He softly spoke, which still bore such an incredible weight. "Rae'liel, my precious gem. Did you see how she looks at him, and he at her? Speak to me."
"I have. What of it?"
"Tell me."
"She does, but that shouldn't matter! She. Broke. A. Contract." The Paladin retorted cruelly, shooting another sharpened glare at her daughter. It was more than obvious that she intended for the Human to pay the price for her daughter's mistake.
"It is all that matters, my flower." The Patriarch softly stated, running his fingertip beneath her chin, causing her to almost melt; even in front of the daughter she so despised. "Stay the execution for a day more, and let us talk this over with reason and virtues instead of wrath. Our daughters and sons deserve a chance at happiness, do they not? The wounds between noble families can be bargained and mended, but the bonds between our family members should remain tranquil. At least for now. Let us retire, and garner a chance to collect our thoughts."
He smoothly expired his presence from the chamber then, gently taking the Matriarch's hand in his grasp and bringing her with him. Leaving Remy standing there with an expression mixed with both disgust and fear. That only furthered with the appearance of lettering on her hand.
A message?
Frantically reading it as she believed that it was from her Hunter, she closed her eyes and willed a response.
Thank the Gods you're okay! My father bought us some more time....but I don't know how much longer he'll quell my mother's wrath! We need to escape!

-
Dan was sitting in his cell of condemnation when the response came back from Remy. She talked of danger, of delay to Rae’liel’s anger, and of the necessity of escape. From the tone that rang in his ears from the gem, she was clearly alarmed, frantic even, out of fear for him. She needed reassurance, and he was quick to oblige. Focusing his energies on the gem again, he rapidly sent her a response.
Calm yourself, Melmenya. Your father bought us some time, you said. Let us use it to find a way out of this mess. Rushing to get out of here will do nothing but set us back on the run and give your mother further cause for anger. Take heart; we’ll find a way.
“Ah, I see. So there WAS a link between you two, then.”
A voice from outside his cell made him snap his head up. There, standing on the other side of the bars, was an elven male with auburn hair. The resemblance was clear to see, particularly the hair color that was the obvious source for the reddish tint that Remy’s locks bore, and it was swiftly apparent which side of the family his lover’s font of unending magic came from.
“You’re Remy’s father.” He spoke in elvish.
“Indeed I am,” the magus returned, seemingly unfazed by Dan’s use of his native tongue, “Icarias Charlevoix, at your service.”
“Don’t play games with me. Why are you here? Should you not be at your wife’s side to ensure she does not try to strangle your daughter again?”
Icarias smiled, a bit uncomfortably, but with understanding on his face at the remark.
“Ah. You witnessed that as well. You must forgive Rae’liel. I know she can seem… overzealous, at times, but her intentions are noble. Truly, they are.”
“You haven’t answered my question.” Dan stated firmly as he rose to a standing position and looked the mage in the eyes. “Why are you here?”
“Because I wanted to take the measure of you myself. I wished to see, firsthand, who it was that snared my little snowflake’s heart. And, perhaps, try to understand what she saw in him.”
Dan scoffed at the notion. Elves were notorious for their superiority complexes when it came to other races. Some elven communities had been known to leave such things behind them, but it was clear to him that Silvermoon was not one of them. He had seen the looks, heard the gasps, and perceived the reactions that had come when Remy had broken away from her guards to his touch. However this man looked upon him, Dan knew that he would be found wanting, regardless of the criteria.
“Very well,” the hunter said as he fanned his hands out to his sides, “Look, then. Look upon the wretch that stole your daughter. Look, and make what judgments you will.”
He expected Icarias to take offense. He anticipated wrath, he planned for indignity, and he prepared for scorn. What he did not foresee, however, was mirth. As Icarias threw back his head, sending his hair flying all around,the walls of the Black Cells nearly shook with his joyous laughter. When the magus had finally regained his composure, he saw only a look of confusion upon the hunter’s countenance.
“Ah ha, my apologies. It’s just… you remind me so much of myself, all those centuries ago, that I simply could not contain my emotions.”
“Yourself?”
“Myself. When I was courting the eldest daughter of the Lord Reagent. When people discovered that a mere assistant to the Archmage intended to vie for the hand of the heir apparent to all of Silvermoon, they very idea was ludicrous at best and scandalous at its worst. It felt as if the whole of the Sin’Dorei were judging my every action, and that they all were set against me. I imagine you must be feeling the same, no?”
Dan had been taken aback by the response. He felt foolish, having greeted perhaps the one string of hope that remained to himself and his beloved with nothing but distrust and malcontent.
“It seems I owe you an apology. I presumed that you had…”
“That I had already condemned you in my heart, as Rae’liel has? Daniel, I have kept watch over Remiliel for many hundreds of years. I know what she has been forced to endure at the hands of her own, as well as how difficult it has become for her to trust. I watched as she fled from place to place, her heart growing colder with each step. Can you imagine the pain that I felt, seeing such a thing befall my daughter? Can you fathom the agony I experienced as I wanted, no, as I needed to rush to her, hold her in my arms, and assure her that it would all be well, but could not? It was nothing short of maddening.”
“And yet, how great was my surprise when my arcane wards finally found a glimpse of her again, after all this time. And do you know what I saw, as she trekked across waste and winter? Determination. Concern. And that fear, that meticulous fear that breeds only for those we truly hold dear. She had found someone to warm her, body and soul. I knew that at once. Lo and behold, that it should be… a human, of all things.”
“That feeling that we were being watched… and the staff that came to Remy’s call… it was you, wasn’t it?”
“Indeed it was. I sought to keep my discovery a secret from my wife, but, well… Remiliel always did have a tendency to go overboard when pressed. And, well… you’ve seen what happens when Rae’liel is incensed.”
“And it seems I’m destined to see the full extent of her wrath as my final vision.”
“Really, now… I wonder about that.”
“How do you mean?”
The Magus began to stroke his chin, as if he were entertaining an amusing proposition. “You are quite the swordsman, no?”
“I’ve been told as such by my peers, on occasion.”
“Were you aware that Remiliel was betrothed, upon coming here?”
“It’s news, but it isn’t surprising.”
“I see. Daniel, we Sin’Dorei have a… rather peculiar tradition. When two suitors vie for the hand of a high-born maiden, if they cannot reconcile themselves, they face each other in what we know as Endagor- the Duel of Hearts. They battle, and to the winner goes the maiden’s hand. It is an old tradition, and thus it will not be easily refuted or denied. And I happen to know that Remiliel’s betrothed is hot-headed and quick to answer anything he perceives as an affront. What’s more, he is considered by many to be the finest swordsman in all Silvermoon, having been trained directly by Rae’liel herself. But, if he were to be defeated in Endagor…”
Dan did not need clairvoyance to see where the patriarch’s thoughts led. “ Then even Rae’liel would have to accept the outcome.”
“You are a sharp one. One final question, good Sir. How far would you go, for Remy’s sake?”
Dan’s response came as easy as breathing. “I would single-handedly storm the gates of hell.”
The elf began to exit, smiling and clearly pleased by the answer.
“Very well. I shall pass along to our… mutual friend, Lorathen, that you take offense at his claim to your love’s hand. Steel yourself, human- this battle will not be easily won.”
“The ones worth winning never are. One final thing, my lord Archmage?”
“Yes?”
“How did you gain the populace’s acceptance of your courtship, amidst their scorn?”
“Why, I stunned them into silence with the power they never suspected I possessed. Good evening, Sir Halen.”

-
His reassurance brought her the faintest of smiles. Staring at her hand as haphazard lines danced across it to form words. It was truly a wonderful work of magic, this seal, and she was sure it would bear far greater use in the near future. Sitting upon the edge of her childhood bed as she was still locked and confined to the tower, she watched as the words faded.
A harrowing silence followed.
Had her mother decided to viciously perform the execution ahead of schedule? Worry lined her thoughts once again for an excruciating amount of time until warmth lined her hand once again. This time with only a few letters.
Your father is here...
First, her hand clasped onto her lips to mask the sound of surprise. What was he doing there of all places?! Staring at her hand while the letters began to fade once again, she did not notice the sound of armored footsteps approaching. With the precise snap of Guards coming to attention, the door handle rattled, and she quickly spun about to hide her hands behind her back.
Visibly, the Magi tensed the moment three souls walked in. Her mother, her heavily armored and favored sister, and a tall, slender man she did not recognize. A thinly veiled gesture of kindness came from her sister first, but the disgust that lay beneath was palpable as she trade across the distance and embraced the Magi.
"Remi'liel! It has been too long!" Caed'liel exclaimed, roughly patting her elder sibling roughly on the shoulder with her plated palm; forcing the magi to wince in pain. Stepping away from the miserable looking Magi, the warrior walked a circle about her, studying her. "Mother tells me you're just as powerful as father now, if not moreso. I wonder how I would fare now against you, seeing that we were always closely matched in our youth."
"Caed," Remy responded, wiping any formality away as she was the elder by nearly fifty years. "I would ask that you please stop being so rough with me. I chose the path of a Magus after all, I did not choose to wear plate like you."
Mockingly, the younger cracked a malicious smile. "Oh please, dear sibling. You're talking to the future matriarch of the city. Mother abolished you from such status a mere decade after you left. Address your superior with respect."
Stepping away from her elder, the younger heiress looked over her shoulder to the Magi. "Such a pity, really. So much hostility, I wonder why. It's so improper of you to be so rude in front of your future husband." Behind Caed'liel, their mother smiled warmly to the man that stood beside her.
"Go on, introduce yourself to your future wife."
As he stepped forward, Remy shrunk back, glaring at the man as he swept forward into a graceful bow. If he expected warmth from the Magi, all three received none of it as the room dropped into a frigid temperature. Much had changed since she was a child, and as frost gathered across the windows and began to creep across the floor from her feet, she whispered only one name, which was seething with disgust.
"Lorathen."
"Remi'liel," he began smoothly, with only a hint of teasing mirth in his voice. "I wondered how the impish, stubborn little girl I once knew would grow, and now my eyes are filled with delight! Won't you cast aside that despicable little worm of a creature and walk down the aisle with me? As we were arranged to be? It is the way of our people, after all."
Adamantly shaking her head in refusal, the teasing smile faded swiftly. "You shroud yourself with cold once again, little Mage." He whispered, stepping forward and forcibly seizing her chin, causing her to cry out in pain first. "Why won't you let me melt your heart, hm? I have been chased by many these past centuries, but I only want you. I wish to make you mine, a dream that many others possess, and yet you still refuse me? You daft girl. You and I, if wed, would rule Silvermoon. Akin to the lord and lady of old times. You do not want this?"
"Absolutely not! You just want me because of the throne! It belongs to Caed'liel! She has been after you since before I left, marry her and be done with it!"
"But dear girl, you are still the elder. And I want you, not some impetuous warrior who knows little more than the fist of iron." Caed'liel cried out in protest at first, but was silenced by the rise of Lorathen's hand. "Silvermoon needs at least half of the rulership to hinders and the delicacy that truly makes this world, the kind of delicacy that Magus understand. But, I see what you will. Endagor it shall be. Once he is dead, that vile little sack of meat, you will be mine; whether you like it or not."
Spitefully, Remy watched as he swept from the room with Caed'liel close behind, leaving her standing there with her mother. Unease marked her posture, until her mother spoke with an arrogant smile.
"And win he shall. Your dearest rat will receive only a squire's armor and sword. Just to make it seem as if he stands a chance. And his magic? We will take care of that as well. But for you...your wrists will be bound. You cannot, and will not assist him. If you do, I will have him killed instantly."
Remy opened her mouth to protest, but soon shortly found her wrists wing bound in resistant gauntlets instead of ropes. Bound together by chains as the guards snapped them shut, the Magi looked miserably to her mother. Pleadingly, she asked only one question.
"Why...why are you inflicting this upon me, what did I do to deserve this torture?"
"You chose a human."
"If you kill him, I will follow."
The last words echoed through the empty halls as the Matriarch disappeared into the dark, leaving the Magi behind in horrific terror. Dan had grown to use Pistols, not swords! Stacking the odds in what felt like an already stacked fight was far too much. Biting her lips, she dared not risk communicating with her Hunter again for the possibility that he could get caught with such drew further concern. Life was already difficult enough, she dared not add to the harshness of it.

Word spread like wildfire through the Elven city. The details and retellings varied wildly, but the subject matter was all the same; Lorathen Felavore, Lord Captain of the Matriarch’s personal guard, had learned that his betrothed had sworn herself to a human, and in his rage he had challenged that human to Endagor. There was no question in anybody’s mind as to why he had not simply waited for the human to be executed; Lorathen’s temperament and impatience were far from Silvermoon’s best kept secret. What’s more, Icarias’ ploy had been expertly planned and executed. Had Dan himself been the one to issue the challenge, it would have simply been overruled on account of his low birth. But because the challenger was Lorathen, to refuse him would be the same as refuting his betrothal to Remy, upon which stood the majority of the case for the hunter’s execution. With her hands so tied, Rae’liel had no choice but to allow the duel to proceed.
Two days after the arrest, the doors of the Dark Cells opened wide to admit a host of elven guards. Most bore the spear and armor that signified their rank and position, but two bore armor and a weapon. As they approached the cell in which Dan sat, they set the gear before him and told him he had ten minutes to ready himself. He spent at least half of the time going over the pathetic armaments he’d been allotted. The armor barely offered any protection, as it consisted only of a simple breastplate, a pair of crude gauntlets, and a single pauldron, and what little it had was in tatters. It might stop one blow, perhaps, but any more than that would rend the metal entirely. Still, it was better than nothing, and for all its flaws it was lightweight and wouldn’t weigh him down. Then there was the sword. Even calling it that, it seemed, was a favor; in truth, it wasn’t much more than a long chunk of iron that had been haphazardly beaten into shape. The edge was dulled or chipped, the hilt was square wood, and there was a particular weak point in the metal four inches from the crossguard that felt as if it might break from a single strike. It was the sort of weapon given to squires in training to stop them hurting themselves, not one that was appropriate for a duel that could very well be to the death. However, Dan knew that raising complaint would do him no good. He would have to find a way to make do, he thought as he buckled the sword belt, shed his suit jacket, rolled up his shirt sleeves, donned the armor, and walked into the light of day to face his fate.
The arena for the duel was none other than the Court of the Sun, Silvermoon’s grand auditorium. The seats were filled to the brim, as every elf within miles seemed to have come out to watch what they presumed would be a total blood bath. Seated at the west side of the arena, halfway up in a covered balcony, was the ruling family. Rae’liel sat in the highest chair, with Icarias sitting slightly below her. Remy herself, however, sat in a smaller booth at the side of the ring itself; it was traditional for the maiden whose hand was at stake to witness the fight at ground level, and so she did. Her wrists were held by bracelets inlaid with the same silencing enchantment as her binds, as a precaution against her interference. A herald stood in the center of the Court, bellowing his voice across the sky as he named the terms and rites of the duel. When he began to call the names of the duelists, he called Dan’s first.
“And, here before you now, comes he the challenged! A human from an unknown land, Dan Halen!”
He was practically shoved forward into the open by the guards, who promptly closed the gate behind him. With no other direction left to go, he began to walk defiantly to the center. The crowd of elves jeered and cursed him as he walked, but he paid them little mind. Rather, he turned his senses to a particular group of spectators ringed around the top of the arena. He asked the winds for their words, but they gave him only faint whispers; their voices were being drawn away to those elves he had noticed.
Aeromancers. Powerful ones, at that. My wardenhood won’t be much good here with them about. This just keeps getting better and better…
And then it was Lorathen’s turn.
“And now, the challenger! Lord Captain of her Grace’s personal guard, High Marshall of the Sanguine Knights, and Silvermoon’s sharpest blade… Lord Lorathen Felavore, the Sword of Silver!”
Compared to Dan’s entrance, Lorathen’s was far more extravagant. He entered with no less than a dozen attendants, each one bearing a piece of his armor in their hands behind him. Lorathen himself was dark of hair and powerfully built, even by elven standards, and he carried himself with an arrogant swagger that nearly distorted the air around him. The crowd cheered wildly for him, putting things very clearly into perspective as to who was the favorite in the contest. What was more, upon examining the warrior’s gear as it was placed on him by his attendants, Dan took note of what could only be described as impeccable craftsmanship. His armor would be light, fast, and flexible, but incredibly durable as well. It was artistically designed as well, showing off the typical reds and golds of the guard and featuring the phoenix emblem of Silvermoon prominently. His weapon, also, was nothing short of exquisite. Unlike the metal bar at Dan’s side, Lorathen’s was fine sharpened steel, immaculately cared for, and oiled to a sheen. As he stood there sizing up his opponent, Dan came to realize one important factor; while Rae’liel could not prevent the duel, she had enough influence to heavily stack the deck against him.
Amidst the herald’s continued cries, Dan and Lorathen found themselves relatively alone with each other as they stood seven paces apart.
“Well, well, well. So this is the insect that dares to think himself worthy of my beloved flower,” the elf began as he fondled his sword, “I will crush you here and now. And when it is over, I will present your cleaved skull to Remiliel as a wedding present.”
“Save your breath elf,” the hunter retorted as he drew his weapon, spun it about twice, and took his stance, “Only the steel has anything meaningful to say now.”
Lorathen smiled in bemused manner as he took his own stance. To the crowd, the two seemed to be as mongoose and viper as they stood absolutely still, both poised to strike the other the instant they sensed an opening. As the herald made a hasty exit, all eyes turned to Rae’liel on her dais. The paladin had drawn her blade and was holding it over the stone before her.
“Let the match…” her voice rang out across the stadium, commanding the attention of all but the two combatants, “BEGIN!” she cried as her blade struck the stone before her.
By the time the eyes of the crowd had returned to the ring itself, the fighters had already sprung into motion. Lorathen had seized the initiative, racing forward at a blistering pace with his saber on a rapid course for Dan’s throat. On instinct alone Dan had reached out for the wind to give him speed, but when it did not come he was forced to backstep and strike away Lorathen’s sword with his own. The haphazard parry did little to deter the elven warrior, however, and he pressed his advance with relentless fervor. Dan could feel Rae’liel’s wicked smile of triumph as he was forced back again and again, unable to utilize the agility he had become accustomed to. But, as potent as his magic made him, it still relied on a strong foundation of skills he possessed even without it; the moment Lorathen presented him an opening, he took it! With a duck instead of a parry, he lunged forward with his blade lashing toward the elf’s breast completely inside of his guard!
There had been no real need to react to the strike. With the poor quality of the human’s weapon and the incredible durability of his armor, Lorathen never had anything to fear from the attack. Yet, in spite of all of that, when the hunter had slipped beneath his guard and struck Lorathen had been stricken by a bolt of fear. In the instant of his counterattack, the human’s killing intent had hit harder than his blade ever could have, and the elf beheld, not a man with an inferior tool, but a god of death that had been hellbent on his destruction. He had leaped backwards with his elven legs, widening the gap between them even further than it had been at the start. For all his effort, however, the resounding CLANG of sword meeting fine armor had drowned out all other noise in the arena. The hunter’s blow had landed, and were it not for the disparity between their equipment, Lorathen knew he would have suffered a wound. He looked at his opponent with eyes more wary now. Gone was the rage of the insulted that had driven him before; that attack had given him cause to take this battle seriously.
“Very well. It would seem the mongrel has some skill. No more games, then.”
And then they were circling each other. Slowly they paced around one another, neither Dan nor Lorathen taking their eyes away. This time however, it was Dan that broke the stalemate and dashed forward. His sword could not pierce the armor as it was, that much was clear. But that didn’t preclude him from striking at more exposed areas on his opponent. As Lorathen readied to receive his opponent, he found a barrage of attacks aimed with great precision toward his face, neck, underarms, the backs of his knees, and any other exposed points where the strength of the armor might be weakened. If he was confident in his defenses, he did nothing to show it; while he likely could have afforded to simply withstand the blows, something drove Lorathen to parry them instead. Whether it was the ferocity behind the attacks, the fear that they may actually find a gap in his defense, or purely his pride to not allow the human a single inch, he stood his ground and swatted the swarm of strikes away one by one.
And there, in the midst of Dan’s rapid barrage, he felt a shiver down his spine. Flashes of red swam in Lorathen’s eyes as the hunter found his blade being blocked, not by a sword, but by the elven warrior’s gauntleted grip. And as his opponent’s sword came flying toward him, every instinct he possessed screamed at him to evade the blow at any cost. With a grunt he released his own weapon and bounded backwards, throwing his arms before him as he flew. In spite of his quick reaction, the tip of the sword still struck along his forearm, and the shear force behind the blow tore a large gash across his skin. As he landed, his thoughts whirled through his head.
What horrifying force… If that had hit me directly, there’d be nothing left to clean up!
Lorathen, for his part, smiled condescendingly again. He lightly tossed Dan’s sword to him, bowed mockingly, and raised his sword once more.
“That was an exquisite exchange, human! Shall we go again?”

As the exchange resumed, Rae’liel found herself mirroring her apprentice’s confident smile. Even she had difficulty fending off Lorathen’s strikes when he applied himself fully. In fact, the first loss she’d suffered in centuries came at his hands when she allowed him to reach his full strength in the course of the match. Her typical recourse was to overwhelm and force him to submit before that could happen, but under her guidance it had become impossible for the human vermin to copy such a feat. What was more, she had specifically trained Lorathen to counter swift and agile fighters like him; he could run, for a time, but the paladin knew that her protégé was slowly memorizing his movements. Lorathen’s saber would soon begin to drink human blood again and again, each time growing closer to a vital point.
“And when that happens,” she mused out loud to herself, “this farce will be over and done with.”

True to the matriarch’s predictions, Dan was rapidly losing ground. There was no way he could parry those massive strikes, and it seemed that the elf’s immense power did not cost him anything in speed. With every swing of that terrifying sword he lost something; at first, it had been breathing room, but now he was losing blood with every assault. He could avoid damage for a time as Lorathen began his swings, but one of them eventually bit into his skin. And the biting blow was coming sooner each time. What was more, Lorathen’s bladework had left him no room whatsoever to mount a counterattack- every ounce of focus he possessed had been devoted to reading the onslaught and trying to defend against it. And still, the elf mocked him, giving him a brief respite between attacks each time he drew blood. And he had drawn quite a bit; it was growing harder to keep his eyes open and stay standing for the blood loss. The wound on his arm had now been joined by brothers on his shoulders, his other arm, his legs, and the latest addition along the side of his torso.
“I will commend you,” Lorathen began as he cleaned his blade on his cloak for the dozenth time, “There are few even in Silvermoon who have lasted as long as you against me.”
“Your swordsmanship speaks for itself,” the Hunter replied. Even if the elf was mocking him, he could still find it to be cordial. “I’ve never seen such potent attacks.”
“It is to be expected. After all, the only people who have ever defeated me are my master and the Knight of Dusk herself.”
The mention of the Knight of Dusk caused Dan’s memory to jog and his eyes to widen. For a moment, his mind tried to wander to a faraway time and place, before a question called it back.
“Tell me one thing, human.” Like Rae’liel, the term was spoken with nothing short of disgust, “Why fight so hard for a woman that will not be yours? That cannot be yours? What is Remiliel to you?”
The hunter couldn’t help but smile from his own seemingly boundless confidence, the spring of which he still could not find in his soul. “I have no idea what you mean. She can be mine, because she already is. And I will not suffer a gaggle of pompous fools like you and your master to tear us apart.”
The very atmosphere of the arena seemed to freeze as his remark reached Lorathen’s ears. The elf’s smile vanished, replaced by a cold, icy glare.
“How dare you,” he said in a slow, measured tone that belied a rage of fathomless intensity, “How DARE you insult me. Laying claim to her heart was enough, but now you dare to insult me and my teacher as well? Who are you to say such things?!”
His voice began to rise as a visible red aura appeared around him, faintly glowing as it grew in palpability and brightness. In a flash that was nearly impossible to follow he was upon the hunter, blade held high over his head in both hands.
“NOTHING! YOU ARE NOTHING!!!!!!!!!”
Dan had barely begun to sway back as the great sword came crashing down. A cloud of dust erupted in the arena that obscured all view of what had occurred. All that could be seen was a large crater had formed, its center where the two duelists had stood. But, as the dust began to clear, so too did the reality of the situation. Lorathen stood, his aura of rage still burning and his sword buried in the ground. And Dan lay several feet away, his loaned breastplate shattered upon his body as he bled profusely from a great wound across his chest. It seemed that even with the warrior’s unreal speed, the hunter had found it in himself to leap backwards and avoid the blow’s main force. But he had still been hit, and there were but two mages in the stands that still harbored hope for him. Lorathen gazed upon his opponent with contempt, spat on him, and sheathed his sword as he began to walk away. As far as he was concerned, he was victorious.

As Dan lay on the ground, near motionless and slowly fading away, his mind was free to wander again. And it chose to wander to a place from his past; a lonely hill near the sea of his homeland. Later generations would know it as Sunset Hill for what was about to transpire on its slopes. He had ridden there on his horse as fast as he could, fully armored and prepared for battle. His teacher had instructed him as such.
Come to the Seaside Hill just after noon has passed. And come prepared for the fight of your life.
Such had been her words to him. He knew what she meant; they had known the rest of their order was corrupted by the Ancient Evil for some time. He knew that if she had called him to battle at Seaside Hill, it was to be an exorcism of the corruption from their order. As his steed crested the hill beneath a darkened sky, however, he could not understand what he saw. Littered all around the hill were the broken bodies of the knights of the Order Solaris, his comrades that had been twisted in their devotion. And standing amidst them was Octavia Sukebana, her armored chipped and her twin swords bloody. Octavia was standing Grandmaster to the Order, one of the finest commanders in history, the knight who would one day be called the Knight of Dusk… and his teacher. As he arrived and dismounted, staring in disbelief, she turned to him and he could see that she was close to tears.
“Ah, Dan. Right on time.”
“Octavia… Teacher, what happened here? Were you ambushed?”
“Not so. It was I who did the ambushing.”
“You killed them all? Alone?”
“I did.”
“Why did you not wait for me?”
“I did. And you have followed my orders perfectly. Draw your sword, Dan Halen; your task is yet to be completed here.”
“And what is my task?”
Octavia’s blades spun in her hands before ending in a ready position.
“You must kill me.”
“What? No! I won’t!”
“You must, my student. It is the only way for the Order to be cleansed.”
“Bullshit! You just finished cleansing it yourself! We’ve been telling the King that there was corruption in the Order for months-”
“And when he happens upon this scene, who do you think he will call corrupt? You and I know that the corrupt knights are all slain here… but the world will look on this and label me the traitor.”
“Then I will stand for you!”
“NO! I cannot allow you to damn yourself, Daniel. You must kill me, and report to the King that I was the fount of the corruption. That I slew our fellow knights in malice and cold blood. And that you have seen me destroyed. Otherwise, the Order will forever be blackened by this incident. And that is something I will not have.”
By then, the weather had darkened further and rain had begun to fall. It was as if the sky itself was weeping for what was about to occur.
“But why?” Dan begged of her as he reluctantly drew his own sword, “Why go to this extent?”
“Do you recall the day you asked me why I swear my life in my Blood Oaths and instructed you to do the same? Do you remember my answer?”
“‘Because when you find something you wish to defend, it should something you would defend with your life, or not at all.’”
“Exactly. Listen well, Daniel. Our comrades fell to the corruption because they swore themselves to foolish things. The crown, the land, the greater good. All things which can be twisted in their minds. Knights Solaris were never meant to do such lofty things. We were meant to protect that which each of us held dear, and through our united protection become a shield against the darkness. For me… I swore myself to the sanctity of the Order. And now, I find that to defend my charge, I must lay down my life and allow my name to be stained.”
Tears were now streaming down her face as she turned to face him. And Dan found that he was barely holding his own back, even as his blade began to shine in the manner of a Knight Solaris preparing for battle.
“Is there nothing I can do for you?”
“One thing. Never forget what happened here, as long as you live. You will be the only one to know the truth of this day. And that, I think, will comfort me as I await my judgment Above. Now, come; I have one final lesson for you.”
By the time the fight had concluded, the sky was shrieking in agony as the rain poured down. Dan kneeled upon the hill, cradling Octavia’s body in his arms as her life slowly seeped out of her from dozens of wounds. Now, the tears came freely, mingling with the rain as they cascaded down his cheek.
“Mag…nificent…” Octavia said as she struggled to breathe in between blood coughs, “You’ve… surpassed every… every expectation. Well done.”
“I can take no joy in this victory, Octavia. I promised to defend you, and now…”
With what little strength she could muster, Octavia pressed her hand to his cheek in what was surely intended as a slap.
“Have you… learned nothing? What you wish to defend… at all costs… has yet to appear. You will know it when you find it...”
“How?”
“Because… when you have found it, you will guard it… instinctively,” she continued through labored breaths, “And there will come a time… when impossible odds array against you, when fate itself strikes you down for protecting it… but you will stand against them both… because in your bones, you will know that any fight for it… is one you refuse to lose. Do you… understand?”
“I do, teacher…”
“Good… come to think of it, you… haven’t earned a moniker, have you? Please… allow me to remedy that, before my vision fades. Henceforth, you are to be called…”

Lorathen was stopped in his tracks by a collective gasp and murmur from the crowd. A shiver of dread ran down his spine as he turned around, not daring to believe his eyes. The human who should have been on death’s door was standing up. Blood which should have been flowing plentifully had ceased to spill from his wounds. And his eyes that should be closed in eternal slumber were wide open… and staring him down.
“You asked of me who I am. As a knight, I am obliged to answer you.”
Taking up his sword anew, the hunter rose to his full height. The shoddy sword he’d been given began to glow a brilliant golden color that ran from the center and flowed outward to all edges until the weapon glowed with the light of a gleaming sunrise. It was a light that Remy would recognize almost instantly- she had seen it ignite in her beloved’s eyes across countless battles since she had known him. And when he spoke again, it was in elvish for all to hear.
“You spoke of Lady Octavia Sukebana, the Knight of Dusk.” The mention of her true name drew more gasps and shudders from the audience, and a twitch from Lorathen himself. “I knew her personally. I was her student, her successor… and ultimately, her slayer.”
The crowd murmered as the meaning of his words sank in. He raised his glowing weapon to point at Lorathen, his voice reaching a crescendo as he bellowed, “If you would flinch at her name, then tremble before mine; I AM SIR DANIEL EDWARD HALEN, THE LIGHT OF LAST DAWN!!!”
When next he spoke, it was but a whisper, purely for Lorathen, Rae’liel, and Remy herself to hear.
“And you have come between me and what I hold most dear in all the world. Prepare yourself.”
In less than an instant he reached the guard captain, his movements a display of speed that put even his invocation of the air to shame. With his sword sheathed, Lorathen could only raise an armored fist to block the attack in the hopes that it would hold- but though his defenses had held against the sword as it had been before, it was now empowered by the magic of a Knight Solaris that turned even the most ill-crafted weapon into an unstoppable force. The shining gold blade smashed through the enchanted armor as if it were a pumpkin, tearing asunder the hand beneath it. Lorathen staggered backwards, haphazardly drawing his blade and renewing his rage aura… but by then the hunter was upon him again! Steel met steel in a shower of crimson and gold sparks, and in no time at all the glowing sword was swinging toward a new target. Again and again the hunter’s weapon lashed out, tearing asunder the elven armor wherever it landed. For all his skill and prowess, Lorathen found himself all but powerless before the onslaught as he struggled to parry. He realized as he took his seventh backstep that this was no longer a duel. He was no opponent, no threat, no enemy to the man he faced. Before the ferocity of the hunter, he was nothing but prey.
At long last, the warrior gathered his courage anew. With all the savage power he could muster, he took the hunter’s blow on his pauldron, allowing it to be smashed as he threw his weight forward. Dan was forced to backpeddle for just a moment, and in that moment Lorathen’s blade came up and down in another vicious two-handed strike. Those watching would be shocked and awed anew, however, when the massive attack was stopped by the golden blade and contemptuously turned aside in a stunning display of pure swordsmanship. Dan’s follow up shattered his gauntlet and sent the saber tumbling from his hand, a leather shoe planted itself in his gut and sent him to the ground, and the next thing he saw was the sunrisen sword leveled at his throat as Dan stood atop him.
“Your armor is in tatters. Your sword is no less than twelve feet from your hand. Your ultimate attack has been rendered obsolete, and were it not for Rae’liel’s mages denying me the winds, you would never have seen me strike. Lorathen Felavore… I demand that you yield.”
“Never! You’ll have to kill me!”
In a flash a light wound appeared along the side of the elf’s throat, an attack so fast he could not follow it.
“Respect for your talent stays my hand. Yield, Sword of Silver. To destroy a man of your skill would be a supreme waste.”
“I… I yield!”
“Very well.”
The golden light faded away, and as soon as it had gone the blade it had taken hold of crumbled into iron dust. The hunter stepped off of his downed opponent and, without paying any mind to Rae’liel, or the herald, or the silenced crowd, he strode across the arena, shedding what little armor remained on him, to the place where sat his prize. And upon his arrival, without a word he lifted her over the stone barrier, snapped the bracelets that restrained her magic in half as easily as he might snap a twig, and pulled her into his arms. He did not care what the elves thought, he did not care what Rae’liel had to say on the matter. She was his to love and to cherish. And he would forever regard her as such, the consequences be damned.

-
Two days later, she was marched down from the tower to be brought before the crowds, a mixture of overwhelming cheers and boos mingled the air with her introduction. Held there in chains and a trio of Guards, she shriveled up in the seat she was given. Time continued inexorably then as she waited, hoping this madness would not descend into a nightmare.
Some time later came the introductions of the two contested parties, and she only stood for one of them. Making clear her choice as her chosen stepped onto the field. Instantly, she recognized her mother's underhanded handiwork in place. With his armor and sword alike being worse for wear while Lorathen's was glistening beautifully in the sunlight. The cheers and boos alike announced who the people favored, and naturally it was their champion.
With an order from her mother, the true hell began. Helpless but to watch on, she could only stare as the battle worsened and fear began to rend its way into her mind.
Yet in a dramatic turn, she too was left in awe as she saw what transpired. The tears that ran down her cheeks suddenly changed their meaning as she wept not in mourning, but of joy! Once Lorathen yielded, the Magi didn't hesitate. Jumping over the small barrier that separated her from the field, she ran desperately towards her wounded beloved. Tearing the tiara her mother had forced her to wear off, she dove into his open arms just as he had finished shedding the last piece of armor.
With a pained grunt, he picked her up as she held a healing herb to his lips. "Quickly now, this will help!"
Hastily, her hunter devoured it, and the healing of the wounds he had been dealt rapidly accelerated while the pain faded.
With the most serene smile either of them had seen, her fingertips lofted to his cheek as she leaned forward to steal a kiss. First however, came a whisper that only the two of them could hear. "I'm yours, no matter how this battle would have transpired, I am yours! In this life or the next." Then pulling his lips to hers, the eerie silence of the arena filled with jubilant cheers.
If there was one thing that Elven-kind could respect, it was power.

Yet the familiar clearing of a throat caught the attention of the two.
Above them in the stands stood an odd mixture of amusement and disgust. Her father being the former, and her mother the latter. So angered into silence was her mother, that her father spoke.
"So be it! The human Knight has won, and with it, our long lost Canary's hand! No longer is he a prisoner, instead he is an honored guest of our people! In a week, we shall celebrate their nuptials. All before us are invited! Celebrate, brothers and sisters, and rejoice!"
Waving his hand, Remy's father wrought fireworks that exploded akin to dying stars in the sky, bathing the victorious hunter and Magi in a wonderful light. All the while, she looked up to her Knight with an enchanted smile. Eyes that spoke volumes of the evening to come met his, and at long last, she spoke to him softly.
"Daniel, where do you wish to go from here? I will follow you to the ends of the world."

As he held her in his arms and she leaned into him, Dan heard Remy whisper to him and asking where he sought to go from where they were now. In response, he touched his forehead to hers and smiled warmly.
“I think, for now, I should like to remain here. After all, your father has extended to us an invitation of honor; as I understand, elves take no greater offense than when such things are refused. Besides which, there is something I must do before your father’s words can ring true.”
He set her down gently on her feet, forced his rebellious hands to retreat from her touch, and gathered both of them at her hands. He held them together, stretching her arms out in front of her as he held her palms in his. He took a deep, quiet breath, bowed his head, and slowly lowered himself down to one knee before her.
“I am not the most noble of men. I have no lands, no titles, neither deed nor dowry. So far from my native land, even my name can be called worthless. My station is leagues beneath yours, and by all rights this should never cross my mind. In some lands, what I am about to ask might even be called blasphemy. And yet… and yet, I must ask it all the same. Remi’liel Antoinette Charlevoix. Will you allow me the everlasting privilege to care for you henceforth, to provide for you as long as you have need and want, to cherish you more than all others that I have met and will ever meet in my life, and to hold you in my heart until the stars fade away and the goddess absolves the world at the end of time?”
He raised his head now, looking deep into her eyes through all the pain and the sadness and the regret he had piled upon himself. He saw past all of it, pushed it aside, and simply beheld the sparkling depths of her eyes as he readied the question of his life.
“Remy… will you marry me?”

With all the jubilation that caused the world cheer around her, for the first time in many weeks, while her fingertips brushed her Hunter's cheek, her life was truly at peace. Laughing openly as Dan whirled her about before settling her onto the ground once again, the Magi could only return the smile that she was given. Here, behind the safety of ivory walls, there was little that the Earthen Warden and his company could do to them.
All she could do now was stare up at him while the last of her father's fireworks ruptured the evening's darkened cloak. Biting her bottom lip as he stepped away, at first he was met with a befuddled look when he explained that he actually intended to stay. Surely her father's invitation was well, inviting, but it didn't mean he had to. With a city that had harshly persecuted him at first, she thought that he'd want to escape this place.
Apparently, that wasn't the case.
All of her musing over such thoughts dropped abruptly when he stole her hands into his. And he fell to a knee.
For a brief moment, she was worried. Were the wounds he had received not healing quickly enough? Was he still in crippling pain? Yet it was the clarity in his voice, free from agony and pain which abolished such thoughts aside.
Wait a moment...
Slowly, her eyes widened as she realized that she had seen something like this before! In a theatrical production, a man knelt before a woman and asked her a question. One that was rarely ever heard in her home city as most marriages were arranged! It was a vivid, beautiful display of affection; and as her hunter continued to speak, a series of questions echoed from him as the arena fell into silence. There, in front of thousands, one could hear a pin drop as he asked the final question.
"Will you marry me?"
Instead of an immediate answer, the Magi fell to her own knees in front of him. Having never been one to stand over anyone, especially her Hunter. There, she sidled closer, intertwining her fingertips with his as she leaned forward to meet his forehead with hers. There, as tears began to trace down her cheeks, she shakily nodded, trembling even as she first gave him a silent response.
Laughing briefly as she wiped away the salted water, she looked up to him. He was all that mattered here, and she had to at least give him a response.
"Yes! I say yes! It would be an honor to stand by your side! Station, standing, or otherwise, I don't care as long as I'm with you."
There, she dove forwards and wrapped her arms about his neck, pulling him into a wondrous kiss as the cloud of euphoria would never seem to fade.
"Forever and always, Dan Halen, I will be yours."

-
He would remember the silence that fell across his world for the rest of his life. The seconds seemed to stretch on into hours as his words hung in the air. Those words, five little words, had taken more of his courage than all of the battles he’d thrown himself into put together. And now, as he waited, he began to dread what was coming next. Had he been too forward? Was this too much, too soon? Proposals given at the wrong time were all but certain to devastate the relationship, after all. Should he have waited? Could he have waited? These and millions of other doubts flashed through his mind… and then were wiped away by the soft rustling of robes as Remy stirred into motion. She knelt before him, mirroring his action to her as their hands began to interlock of their own accord. While he was indeed taller than she, most of Dan’s height was in his legs; when Remy kneeled as he did, their heights were nearly equal, and their faces paralleled one another. Her forehead touched his, and she gave her answer in soft, sweet words that resounded as music in his ears.
"Yes. I say yes. It would be an honor to stand by your side. Station, standing, or otherwise, I don't care as long as I'm with you."
All at once, the tears he had been keeping at bay surged forward, unwilling to be withheld for a moment longer. Fueled by the single greatest joy he had experienced in years, they washed down his cheeks as he fell into the arms of the love of his life, now his betrothed. Somehow, he managed to find a gap in their expressions of endearment, and with nary a word he rose to his feet, lifted his newly christened fiancé into a princess cradle, and carried her from the arena, through the city streets, and up to the tower.

As he began to open the door, however, he found himself nearly falling as a pair of furry shapes darted through the doorway and attempted to jump on them. Much as he hated to, he was forced to set Remy down again so he could calm Fate and Faith as they barked wildly and ran around their master and mistress, tails wagging back and forth at a ridiculous pace. When they opened the door fully, they also found a larger bed waiting than there had been before, sheets and all, alongside the hunter’s things set neatly in the corner. It didn’t take either of them very long to determine the cause behind the appearance of such things. After all, only a mage could have transported so much so quickly, and there was only one magus in Silvermoon who would have possessed the idea that the duel could have ended with this result.
“Your father’s a card, I’ll give him that much. Seems like we…”
His head began to swim again. Now that his adrenaline had faded from both the duel and the euphoria that followed it, the full extent of Dan’s injuries began to make itself known. He had triumphed, but at the cost of significant amounts of blood and great damage to his body. He needed bed rest now, more than anything. Remy seemed to grasp such at the same time, and with a wave of her hand he felt himself being swung off his feet by magical forces and floated over to the bed. The moment his head struck the soft silken pillow the fatigue came in full force, and the last thing he remembered before drifting off to sleep was the sight of his loving wife-to-be climbing into the sheets next to him.

As the hours passed him by, Dan began to dream. He dreamed of the same tower room that he slumbered in, but in the dream he was alone. Remy was not there, nor were either of the dogs. Concerned, he rose from the bed and went to the door. He tried turning the handle, but found it locked from the opposite side. It was then that he began to feel that something was very, very wrong. He ran to the window and forced it open- to his surprise, it opened easily- and gazed out upon the city. What met him was a gruesome sight. Fires raged across the elven architecture, turning everything they touched to ashes. Smoke blotted out the sky as it rose from all corners of Silvermoon. Screams and cries echoed across the streets as elven men, women, and children perished before the flames. And sitting in the midst of the flames, on her knees with tears in her eyes and her head in her hands, was Remy. A torrent of fire raged around her, but it seemed unable, or perhaps unwilling, to grow close and lash at her. Dan didn’t know what motivated the fire, nor did he care; Remy was in trouble, and that was all that mattered as he called to the winds that he might fly to her side. When the winds came, however, the fires nearby rose and began to choke them, to stop them from reaching him. At the same time, the door behind him began to shudder and shake as someone or something struck it repeatedly. He turned to face it as the oak strained one final time before it gave way with a great crash…
He woke and sat bolt upright, his eyes focused toward the door of the room. His breathing was shallow, and his head was drenched in a cold sweat. It took him several seconds to realize that he had returned to the waking world, and then several more to steady himself. The door was intact, the city was quiet but unburned, and Remy…
He looked over to the opposite side of the bed and released a sigh of absolute relief from his lungs. Remy was still soundly immersed in a blissful sleep, her head resting on the pillow and seemingly unperturbed by the fitful nightmare he had just endured. A look outside informed him that it was well into the night and the city of Silvermoon was slumbering quietly.
“Alright, calm down Dan. It was only a dream, nothing but a nightmare…”
As his nerves settled down at last, he noticed that his right hand had subconsciously reached across his body to his waist, where a sword would have hung if he wore one. He flexed the fingers, scoffing at himself. It seemed old habits died hard, and even when they did die they refused to fade away completely. It probably had something to do with the duel, he reflected. Using a sword in earnest again for the first time in what seemed like eons appeared to have woken his old muscle memories. Well, if they were around again, maybe his old tendencies would also make an appearance. And one such tendency was that when he had trouble finding sleep, he could always seem to lure it back to him by working at a forge. So, with as much subtlety as he could gather, he slipped out of bed, across the room to the door, past the defensive wards Remy had carefully layered over the door (And ye gods, are those strong, he thought to himself, Sucks to be whoever tries to break in here), and down into the city.
Through sheer luck he managed to find a forge that was just closing for the night. A few gold pieces, and his honored guest status, convinced the smith to let him have use of the facilities for the night, and in a short while Dan was melting down the chunks of ore that he had collected during his stay at Hope’s Renewal. It would be far from the finest weapon he’d ever wielded, given his lack of practice and materials, but it would be one he made himself. Given some time to get back into the swing of things, he found that even after so long, he still remembered how to swing the hammer. Once he was reassured of that, finding the old rhythm of heating, hammering, smoothing, and cooling came back to him and he lost himself in it. In the back of his mind, he thought that this must be what it was like for Remy when she toyed with the strings of time, to lost oneself in a task so that the ages seemed to slow and speed as he willed them. Each swing of the hammer resounded through the forge as if it was calling out to him, calling him back to his home. Back to who he really was. It made him feel solid, grounded, like he belonged there. And in such times of uncertainty, there was comfort in belonging.
And yet, for all the comfort and rhythm he had, the sword proved stubborn. It seemed no matter what he did, it always came out too thin, too short, or riddled with impurities. He tried every technique he’d ever known, but none of them proved able to overcome the steel’s malcontent. It was only after the heat began to get to him that he took a frustrated break to remove his shirt and stand near the open window, that the cool night air might soothe him. That was when he heard a voice behind him.
“You need more metal.”
It was not the gruff, rough-hewn voice that he would expect to give smithing advice. Rather, it was a high and elegant voice, one that was soothing and seemed to wash over his ears. He turned, and standing there was a highborn elven woman in full plate armor, her hair tied neatly in a combat bun behind her hair. For a moment, he would’ve been sworn he were speaking to Rae’liel herself. But before long he realized that the shade of blonde in her hair was not nearly pearlescent enough for that to be so.
“Excuse me?”
“You need more metal. The minerals around this area are notoriously flawed, in spite of what our miners would have you believe. You have to fold the steel over itself more than you think, and that means harvesting more ore than you would initially estimate.”
“You know your way around a forge, then.”
“As do you, it seems.”
She walked further in, taking a moment to survey the human on her way past.
“My, my. I think I’m beginning to see how Remi’liel could fall for you.”
“And, you are?”
“Oh dear, where are my manners? My name is Caed’liel. Caed’liel Charlevoix. I’m Remi’liel’s younger sister.”
The paladin gave a brief curtsey, in so much as her armor would allow, and he returned it with a bow of his head to her out of respect.
“The pleasure is mine, milady.”
“There’s no need for formalities. After all, your standing isn’t far off from mine, now that you and my sister are betrothed.”
“Well, that’s good. If someone else is aware of the marriage, then it means I didn’t dream it.”
“Indeed. You have my sincerest congratulations on the matter. It is no easy feat to win Remi’liel’s trust, let alone her heart.
“You aren’t at odds with her marrying a filthy human, then?”
“I would ask you to not group me with my mother in all things, despite my being her heir. And please, do not allow her disposition to color your view of my people. Mother is… an elder. So long has she been living, and so heavy rests her head that she has… forgotten things. Like what it is to fall in love, and how unquenchable a thirst love can be.”
“Or how painful it is to be separated from your precious one.”
“Exactly. In fact, I wanted to thank you.”
“Thank me? For what?”
“For sparing Lorathen’s life today. I am… unsure of what I would have done, had he perished.”
“He almost gave me no choice. I can certainly see why my teacher saw fit to give him a moniker.”
“Your teacher? I presumed one of our Generals had named him the Sword of Silver?”
The hunter was forced to chuckle at such a notion.
“I should say not. Many cultures do give names and monikers to their greatest heroes, that’s true, but only my Order ever christened Swords, Knights, or Lights.”
“Was there any significance to them?”
“There was some. A warrior who was named the Sword of something signified that he possessed a particularly strong ability with a blade, as Lorathen certainly is. To be named the Knight requires a display of tactical prowess and an aptitude for command. My teacher, before being called the Knight of Dusk, was known as the Knight of Twin Suns, and I believe your own Lady Alrys Leafshadow was called the Knight of the Steel Glade after she outmaneuvered and destroyed a force of thrice her numbers.”
“And what about Lights? That’s your title, isn’t it? The Light of Last Dawn?”
Dan paused for a moment, his eyes closed in thought. He did not much care for explaining the significance of his own moniker, particularly because he did not believe it at all accurate. And yet, here he was, putting himself on the spot. He took a deep breath to steady himself, and continued.
“Lights… Lights are a special case, even among my Order. Lights are said to go above and beyond what Swords and Knights are capable of, and they’re supposed to exemplify all that the Order stands for. There have only been three Lights in the Order’s history. Sir Bastian, the Light of First Dawn, was the first. He was the King’s brother, and founded the Order of Solaris to help his brother defend the land. The second was Sir Geyter, who reformed the Order after a neighboring nation had crushed it in its subjugation of my homeland. When Sir Geyter and the new Order spearheaded the rebellion and liberation, they named him the Light of New Dawn. And I am the third Light, the Light of Last Dawn. So named because I am the last Knight Solaris living… and for my part in cleansing the Order of corruption.”
“From the way you speak of it, it sounds as though you think yourself unworthy.”
“That is… That is because I do not think I have earned it. But it was the final thing bestowed upon me by my teacher in her final moments, so I wear it even so.”
“Could you give me a moniker, then?”
That surprised him. Monikers of the Order Solaris were prized by many, that much was true, but by the future Matriarch of Silvermoon?
“And why would you desire it?”
“Because… because I wish to prove myself to my peers.”
“You mean prove yourself to Lorathen.”
“What? No! No, no, no, whatever do you mean? I-”
“Caed’liel, stop. It is as plain as could be that you harbor affection for him. Unfortunately, a title will not help you in that department.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Shall I show you? Let me see that short sword at your hip.”
As Caed’liel passed the weapon to him, he spun it about in his hands to get a feel for the weight, and to admire the craftsmanship.
“You made this yourself? It is a fine blade. Now, come into the yard with me.”
When she had joined him outside, he bade her draw her broadsword and take her stance. The elven girl was perplexed, but did as she was asked. Soon enough, they were squaring off.
“Now, I want you to attack me.”
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“You realize that I could kill you, yes?”
“I should think that if I were fated to perish in Silvermoon, I would have done so this morning. Now, come!”
And come she did. Caed’liel fought with a fervor rarely seen, pouring her heart and soul into each blow. The attacks themselves proved to be in the same vein as Lorathen’s albeit far less powerful. Dan stepped quickly away from them, for a time, until Caed’liel’s footsteps began to run him to ground as he tried. From there he was forced to turned them aside with his borrowed weapon, until finally he held up his hand.
“Enough! Sheath your sword milady. I have seen what I needed to see.”
As they proceeded back into the forge, the hunter predicted the coming question and had his answer ready to go.
“When I first saw you,” he began, “I thought it strange that someone who wields a broadsword would have a sidearm at her belt. Sword and shield knights have been known to carry such, but zweihander users like you are much harder to disarm, and therefore it is not as practical for them. So I wanted to test a theory. I noticed that before each swing, you either twirl or spin your blade slightly. That’s something no broadsword teacher will instruct you in, because it’s not their technique. On top of that, while your upper body moves in a way designed around high power, your legs and feet move as if you were dancing and attempting to make circles around your opponent.”
“And what is the significance of that?”
“It tells me that you were not always a zweihander. You were once a fencer, weren’t you? Rapier and dagger. But then, something happened. Something that Remy did that caused Lorathen to fall for her. My guess is she wrought some form of magical destruction upon something, and following that Lorathen began to pursue her. You, thinking that he found strength and overwhelming power amorous, began to learn the broadsword and to try to match his own massive power with your own. Is that right?”
Now it was Caed’liel’s turn to pause in thought. She seemed to debate back and forth with herself, until finally she sighed in resignation and began to come clean.
“It happened when we were all younger, just reaching what we elves consider adolescence. Lorathen and I had tried to bother Remi’liel in her studies off in the forest, and we somehow attracted a wandering beast. We were helpless to defeat it, but Remi’liel ended it with one spell. Turned the whole clearing to ice and then shattered it in one fell swoop.”
“And you thought Lorathen fell in love with the destructive force.”
“… Yes.”
“I see. Caed’liel, Lorathen has plenty of power in himself. He knows this; his fighting style revolves around it. And if he already has it, he has no need to pursue it. What he sees in Remy is graceful power. When Lorathen destroys something, he does it in a brutal and grisly way, but when Remy ends something the result is a work of art. It is not the destruction that he adores, but the way it is carried out. That is why you, by adopting his own method of combat, have in all likelihood pushed him farther away. And it hurt to make that change, didn’t it? As if you were leaving a piece of yourself behind?”
“You speak as if you know it.”
“That is because I do. Did you know that I am not the first human that Remy has found herself enamored with? There was another, before me. She loved him fiercely, admired all that he was and all that he did. But he did not love her. Not truly, in any case. He was not attracted to her power, her grace, her beauty, or any such thing. He was interested in her because he found that she would follow his lead to any length, and dance as he pleased with a word from his twisting tongue. He tried to change her. To force her to become something she was not that was more to his liking. And when she showed signs of resistance, he told her he expected better, and tried to make her cower. Until finally, she realized what he was doing. She realized that he, in his delusions, was betraying her trust in him. And she snapped their relations the same way we smiths might snap a defective blade.”
At that moment, he crossed the distance to her and put his hand on her armored shoulder. It was a gesture of comfort and of counsel, to ensure that she took what he said next to heart. For it was a lesson he had come to learn at the hands of an icy mage who refused to give up on him, and he could not bear to see another making his mistakes.
“You see, Caed’liel, true love may and often does change us for the better. But never will it demand that we change ourselves. It welcomes us as we are, invites us to bring our flaws, our shortcomings, our weakness, and lay it all before it. And, if our love is great enough, such things matter for nothing. If you take only one lesson from me, let it be this; never, no matter what happens, should you compromise who you are for someone else. Those who will love you should love your true self, not some fabrication you have stitched for whatever reason may be.”
“Do you… do you really think that I might stand a chance? If I do such a thing?”
“So long as it comes from what truly lies in your heart, I would bet my knighthood on your success.”
“I see. Thank you, Sir. I will think on your words.”
And she turned to leave. As she reached the door of the forge, however, she turned back and unbuckled a small sack from her belt. She lightly tossed it to the hunter, who deftly caught it in his hand and opened it. Out tumbled a handful of shining silvery crystals, the likes of which made his eyes go wide.
“Truesilver?”
“Indeed. I was going to work those into my next sword, but it looks like you could use them more. Should be enough there to fill your gaps and bump the quality of that sword by a bit. I get the feeling it’ll go to a good cause. Good evening, Sir Halen.”
As she left, Dan turned back to his hammer. With the addition of the Truesilver, the work progressed much smoother, and within an hour the longsword was pulled from the quenching trough. The blade came out with a whitish sheen to it that reminded him of freshly fallen snow- quite fitting, given his fiancé’s forte. He would have to think up a name for it later, perhaps with Remy’s help. The forging had helped him remember who he truly was, and given him a sense of belonging. But it had also reminded him that he had another place he was expected to be; at his beloved snow elf’s side.
The wards let him pass easily enough- he figured they were wired to respond to Remy’s own magic, which he had dangling about his neck- and he found her still snoozing gently, seemingly unperturbed by anything that had occurred. Without a word, he leaned the newly made sword against the bedside table, slipped beneath the sheets, and wrapped his arm around her waist as he joined her in blissful slumber.

-
Dan awoke in the early afternoon, the rigors of the previous night spent at the forge demanding that he rest completely as recompense. Given the hour, he was unsurprised to find himself alone in the bed; Remy was an early riser, and he suspected she had gone somewhere in the great elven city to pursue some business or another of her heart’s desire. In all likelihood it was the library, but perhaps...
“Well,” he said to himself, “There’s hardly anything to be lost by checking.”
Pushing the covers aside and rising from the mattress, he leisurely made his way to the window of the tower. It looked out across the whole of Silvermoon, and as such he could easily tell that the Sin’dorei capital was working at a feverish pace, stirred on by something. He didn’t need any sort of keen intellect to know the cause; between the results of the duel with Lorathen and the impending wedding, there was more than enough excitement to keep the city in a tither for weeks. But, he thought, why not take a closer look? With a bit of focus and some carefully measured amounts of his magic, the window was soon transformed into the same vision enchanted glass that he once had in his own tower. He whispered but a few words, and the winds of the city rushed to carry out his orders. Through the streets and about the spires they flew, ferrying information and sights back to the window and granting the hunter an unparalleled observation of the city. Down through the alleys and avenues his eyes swept, showing him everything that occurred. He willed it to linger here and there whenever something caught his eye, pausing to fully watch whatever it was that attracted his interest. In one particular instance, he happened to see a group of elven children running about the street. Two of them, boys, had wooden swords in hand, while a girl made a third. The two boys would cross their blades in the typical fashion of children with no sword training at all, haphazardly beating on one another until one gave in. At that point, the girl ran forward and hugged the winner, only for the loser to get off the ground and make a declaration.
“Okay, now I get to be Sir Dan!”
“You were him twice yesterday! I get to be him twice today. Besides, Lorathen’s pretty cool too.”
“It’s not cool if I can’t win!”
Dan smiled at that. Children were always amusing to watch, always had a unique view on the world. What had been a struggle, not just for life, but also for love to him seemed little more than a game to them. As they seemed to settle their disputes and the boys squared off again, a whirl of wind billowed about the two before the surveillance spell moved on, passing through the skyline and into the market district. The entire area was all a-busy, more so than any other place, and none of it in a greater fervor than the tailor’s row. Dressmakers of all sorts were hard at work weaving beautiful garments for the elven ladies to adorn their bodies on the grand occasion that was to come. A myriad of colors and fabrics were visible through the windows; reds that put a sunset sky to shame, blues that outdid the ocean, greens to make a verdant meadow bashful, and one solitary beacon of white that seemed to pull the eyes of the world toward it. The eyes of the air were far from an exception, and Dan found himself willing the spell to linger again. The dress itself was nothing short of stunning, white with a purity scarcely seen and flecked with rose petals as deep a red as could be found. What was more, the elven lady who was being fitted was only aided by the dress’ beauty, its fine make and design seeming to exist only to magnify her best qualities. Dan’s mouth fell agape and his breath stalled in his throat. Very few women had ever arrested his attention in such a fashion, and the majority of them had been divine goddesses in the flesh.
It was at this point that the woman turned toward the window through which he watched. For a second, he was startled; had she detected his spell somehow? But as her visage came to fully face him, his face flushed with red to rival the rose petals as he realized he’d been admiring his lady wife in her wedding garment! Her eyes widened as she seemed to see right through the spell to him, then narrowed as she smiled coyly and gave a twirl about the fitting stool. It was as if she intended to put on a small show for him, which only served to increase the rate at which blood flooded his cheeks. With a tinge of embarrassment, and out of respect for classic traditions, he dispelled the winds and closed the window. But in spite of his cancellation, the image of Remy in that wonderful gown still smoldered in the underside of his eyelids, taking his breath away again each time he closed his eyes. With a start, he realized that he had nothing to wear himself. One of his typical suits would normally suffice, but next to the glorious image that would be his sworn…
A knock at the door called him out of his concern. He approached the oaken object carefully, wondering who it could be. To his great surprise, beyond it he found Caed’liel, standing in the hall with a rather large crate in her arms.
“Lady Caed’liel,” he intoned, giving her a nod of acknowledgement.
“Sir Halen. I’ve brought you something,” she replied, indicating the crate, “Will you take it? I can sense that Remy’s put up her wards, and I’ve little desire to test her magic in that particular fashion.”
“Certainly. What is it?”
“Something I’m sure you’ve realized you need. I worked all morning on it, I pray it be to your liking.”
“I’m certain it will be, whatever it is,” he responded as he took the crate from her arms, “Take care of yourself, milady.”
“And you as well, Sir Knight. I apologize if anything’s inaccurate!”
With that she departed, leaving him to heft the crate into the room. He set it on the bed, his curiosity peaking as he wrenched it open. When he looked at what was inside, he smiled incredulously at what was within. He would have to thank Caed’liel with all his heart the next chance he got…

The following week seemed to fly past, so much so that he would be sworn Remy had something to do with it. Before anybody in the city dared to breathe the day of matrimony was upon them and the Hunter stood behind the doors of Silvermoon’s Grand Hall, waiting for his cue to walk to the altar before the magistrate. When it came, he took a breath, pulled his shoulders back so he stood at full height, and took his steps. The armor he wore was far from an ordinary suit; it was ceremonial like he’d never worn in his life, consisting primarily of a deep black tunic and pants, accented by shining silver platemail. The armor itself was elegant and graceful in a way he never knew steel could be forged, seeming to follow the contours of his body and mold along them rather than sit atop them. What was more, the breastplate had been emblazoned with the symbol of the rising sun in deep red- the symbol of the Knights Solaris, every bit as he remembered it. And it was light- lighter than any armor he’d ever seen. It felt as if there was nothing but the tunic on his form, yet he somehow knew that he could survive a blow from Lorathen if he had to. As he finally reached the altar, it seemed as if every eye in the audience was upon him. That is, until the all too familiar music began to play, and the doors at the far end opened once again…

-
Nimble fingertips at the bottom of her back's curve drew the strings tight akin to a ventriloquist reining in his puppet as the Tailor went about her work. Almost too tight as she was forced to stand rigidly at first, causing her to cough indignantly, only to be have a tongue clicked at her disapprovingly from the entrance to the Tailor's workshop. Turning her gaze to stare over the corner of her neck was none other than her mother, whose eyes were empty of their usual malice and contempt. While she remained guarded with her arms still folded, not a single cruel word was uttered from her lips towards the daughter she believed had strayed from the path. Moving to stand beside the Magi's father as she looked onward to her child.
"You know, if you were a Paladin like me, you'd be able to stand straighter." She cut with a slightly mocking tone, looking up and down towards Remy with the dress she chose. "Dear, you're going to permit her to wear this as a wedding gown, are you certain?"
Stroking the length of his stubble, the sagely grin of her father was alit by his emerald eyes. "Dear, you know as well as I, it is a choice she must make. If she considers it to be fit for her purposes, then by all means it is meant to be. Headstrong as always, but I approve happily. Even with the choice of her husband-to-be."
With the slight loosening for the sake of her individual comfort and being able to actually breathe, Remy caught a sense of something. A breeze, a breath of wind in an enclosed space. Sharply, her eyes focused in the direction it had come from. A certain hunter's eyes had strayed to a place where they should not. Biting her lip at first, her own focus rose ever slightly, and in response she looked him right in the eyes with an absolutely mischievous smile. With a slight twirl about, the dress fluttered and twisted through the air before returning to embracing her form once again, and then the breeze vanished. While the magical spying had vanished, she knew all too well that he hadn't left the room. Why her sister was climbing the stairs to her tower was of minor concern, but she was sure to find out soon enough regardless.
Nodding softly to the Tailor to indicate that she wished to purchase this lovely piece of tailoring tapestry, the Magi carefully retreated to the changing room to return to her normal clothes. Smoothly swapping into her normal set of crimson and gold, the Tailor bustled past her upon her exit to make the necessary adjustments to the Wedding Dress. With her heart all aflutter with joy, the brilliance of her giddy smile did not fade in the least, even in the presence of her foreboding mother.
Wandering her way through the ivory streets of her home city, the Magi came to a sudden pause. There had been the flicker of a shadow, and a faint smile that bore the most mischief that she had ever seen. Narrowing her eyes quickly as she easily recognized such a grin, she turned the corner into an alleyway, taking to the obscurity of shadows but for a moment.
"Darkoda, it's been awhile." She whispered into the dark.
The only clue she received to the presence of an old friend was the flicker of an obsidian tail, lined with glowering embers before the abyss suffocated their heated appearance. Then, and only then, did a pale smile shine from the black. "Hey Remy," The little demon uttered from the dark, running his forked tongue along his pearlescent teeth. "I've got tidings of both good and bad news, congrats on the marriage by the way. Word's all over town. Even in the far reaches where the wrong ears might hear it."
"News you say? What have you heard?" The Magi hesitantly inquired, biting her bottom lip nervously.
"They're coming for you two, I've already told your hubby-to-be that. Good news is that they won't be here in time to muck up the wedding. Your little...display in the forest caught them off guard. Bad news is that they'll be ready for that next time you guys hook up for a party." The trickster gleefully whispered, causing Remy to crook an eyebrow at first only to quickly stop. Dark had never been one to show any sort of remorse.
"I am grateful for your help, Dark. How can we repay you?"
A shadowy giggle was what began the Demon's response. "Easy, get that old friend of yours, Kotori was her name yes? Have her again so I can....sample her once more."
Remy dismissively rolled her eyes and stifled a slight laugh. "Fine fine. Do you want to attend the wedding? She'll be there I'm sure, you'll have to check the shadows to find her. Not that you're plenty adept at that. I must be going though...so do take care and stay out of trouble!"
The only response she got was an even more mischievous giggle. Naturally having known Dark for many years, she knew all too well what that giggle meant. Dusting off her hands and making way towards the tower, she prepared to tease her husband-to-be relentlessly about his spy tactics.
______________

Far more quickly than she predicted it would, the week swiftly counted down towards the day she was to be wed. As per the tradition of both Human and Elven alike, she and Dan had been forced to spend the prior night apart much to her displeasure. After having become so used to being held close by him, it was rather difficult to sleep without him at her side. It was not until the hours well beyond the midnight clock that she finally managed to descend into dreams.
Even then, her rest was fitful. And she woke far later than intended with the bone-jarring rattle of a gauntlet covered fist on her door. Blearily with her hair in a stormy disaster of a mess, the Magi toddled towards the door to open it. There stood a stricken looking sister, Caed'liel. First she pondered at what might put her sister in such duress, but then she sharply looked towards the time.
There was only an hour before the ceremony should start!
What had started off as exhausted limping turned into a flurry of panic as the Tailor stormed in and the hairdresser broke in with a tizzy. Frantic preparation hurried forth as in a myriad of desperation and haste, she was quickly prepared for her fated day. Lifting her dress with her fingertips while Caed'liel brought up the length of the dress and the shoes she was supposed to wear in kind.
While the cityscape blurred by while she sat in the satin comfort of a carriage, Remy's foot tapped impatiently. Widening the scope of her Time Warp to cover the three of them, the horses, and the master. The last preparations were made in literal slow motion as the world blurred by at an even more fervent pace.
Literally in the nick of time, the Magi stood barely composed at the doorway. Her fingertips clutching onto her chuckling father's arm nervously as the doors swung wide open and sunlight poured down upon her. Rising to their feet was the entirety of her family's city. Thousands upon thousands of Sin'Dorei who stood in a proceeding wave as her feet sauntered forward upon the crimson carpet. So long it was, that the vision of her beloved escaped her at first, only to be revealed in a glistening ceremonial Armor.
Akin to so many fairy tales, he was her Knight, and she his Princess. Though she had never been one to be in distress.
Her father's grip upon the fingertips that clutched upon his arm tightened briefly, and with his opposing grasp, he took Dan's hand. With a subtle and devilish wink, he brought their hands together so that the Hunter's grasp held that of his Magi's. There was a whisper then to the Hunter, even with his daughter's disapproval.
"You ought to do well to take care of her. Less I send her mother after you." Whether or not it was a joke or a threat was quickly clarified as with boisterous laughter, the Regent strode away from the altar, leaving the Groom and Bride looking to one another eye to eye.
The Magister, an elder with an endlessly cheeky grin began the ceremony with both wisdom and eloquence, of which came to a smooth end. The beginning of such an end was first declared by a question for her.
"Do you, Lady Remy Antoinette Charlevoix, take this man to love and to hold, in sickness and in health, in poor and wealth, as long as you may live?"
Her answer only needed two words, of which she answered earnestly.
"I do."

-
The sound of traditional Elven music and the great creaking of the cathedral doors drew Dan’s attention to the opposite end of the great chamber. Sunlight poured in through the open archway, forcing him to raise a hand and shield his eyes from the glare. And somewhere between his eyes fully adjusting and what he saw short circuiting his every thought, he made a mental note to practice his Air Scrying spell when he got a chance; the glimpse of Remy he’d seen through it the previous day paled, fainted, and foreswore itself before the image of divinity that now presented herself a mere 30 yards from him. The white gown seemed to shine with a light of its own, as if Amelia herself had lent Remy some of her radiance for the occasion, and it only accented and brought forward the best features of the one who wore it. Even from the opposite end of the aisle, Dan felt utterly insignificant next to such a vision.
And then, Remy smiled at him. That was all it took. His shoulders rolled back, his back straightened up, and he felt taller than he had ever been. That was right, he thought. She wasn’t just a beautiful, blushing bride- she was his beautiful, blushing bride- and nobody wanted a shy groom. He smiled back, as warmly as he knew how, as if to say “I’m ready.”
Almost as if on cue, she started walking toward him. Her father, beaming gently as he went, walked arm in arm with her, and as they reached the altar he greeted Dan with a pat and a quip as he prepared to hand his daughter off to him. And then she was standing across from him, her gloved hands in his, as the High Priest rambled through the traditional speech. Finally, as he came to the crest of his soliloquy, he asked of them the fateful question.
“Do you take one another to be thy wedded husband and wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do you part?”
His eyes met hers, and the entire world melted away.
“I do.” She said.
“As do I.” He replied.
And without pause they kissed.
A storm of applause, cheers, and song echoed through the cathedral. The same joyous noise followed the two as they walked, body and soul intertwined, through the streets and back to their little western tower. With a wave of her hand Remy disarmed her runes, and shortly after Dan lifted her and gingerly carried her across the threshold.
“Well,” he said, “Now that that’s all over and done with…”
“There is actually something I need to tell you.” Remy said suddenly.
“And what might that be?”
“We may not have much time to celebrate, as lovely as this is. They’re coming, Dan…”
“I know.”
“You- what? But then we should-”
“Pack and be gone at once? Fly away and leave them to guess our destination? Melmenya… I’ve been thinking, of late. Ever since that day by the lake, when you found me and brought me here.” He said. Then he wrapped his arms around her and placed his forehead on hers. “I’m done running. If any of them want to come for me, or for you, or for us… I say let them come. Because I can handle Hawthorne, or Rastia, or anybody else they may send. After all… I have the greatest woman on earth by my side. And I have a duty to give her the best life I can. I’ve lived on the run for far too long, and I can say for certain that that is nothing like the one she deserves. If we need to put Silvermoon behind us, we will- but it will be because we wish to, and it will be by our will alone, not because a pack of fools seek to bring ruin upon our prosperity. Is that agreeable… my wife?”
For a moment, she didn’t speak. What thoughts were going through her head, even he couldn’t tell. But, after a short while, she offered her reply. “I could get used to hearing you call me that.”
Another wave of her hand, and the runes re-armed- then doubled upon themselves. Nobody would be disturbing them that night…