---

The screeching of aged metal tracks was a new sound to Clara.

The Eoldysseus was one rickety hunk of old metal and worn wood, not at all what Clara expected from a railway barge of all things. For someone who only crossed the lands of Iquenos by foot or by hitching rides on merchant wagons, she expected the landship would have a bit more grandeur to it. Then again, if it was at all how Clara envisioned it, she likely wouldn't have been able to sneak on at all.

Yet she was still admiring the fact the Eoldysseus could even cover such great distances, and at such a great speed, too. Clara stretched her arms out of any open window she could find, letting the harsh winds blow against her fingertips. A light chuckle escaped her.

“Ah, how time flies.”

And how time had flown. It had been eight years since Clara had set foot on Thlecian soil. Eight years she had been on the road, without a family, without a home. So much had happened within that time, the landscapes of her home region were becoming foreign to her. But recent incidents had led her to take up this journey back to her motherland; Clara couldn't shy away from it anymore, she needed to start again somewhere. Still, she was filled with uncertainty, just as her decision to suddenly travel back to Thlecia was.

Clara smiled as she paced down the carraige, a light skip in each step. The approaching forest meant the barge wouldn't be going too fast around this time, so she figured it was safe to enjoy the luscious countryside view more closely. Perhaps too closely, as her fellow passengers started to give her odd stares. The sight of a grown woman leaning outside of a carriage window to look at the pretty green grass was nothing short of strange.

As the barge entered the forest, an even stranger sensation sent goosebumps up Clara's arms, and she instinctively reached out. If she leaned a bit further, she would be able to feel the roots of Ifrise Forest at her fingertips.

So when the Eoldysseus experienced a sudden jolt in its tracks, a small shriek came from a passenger as Clara was shaken off her feet.

---

---

As the barge made it's way across the waterway at it's brisk pace, a man would sit in one of her seats pre-occupying himself with a game of solitaire. He was young, around his early twenties by the looks of it, with long silky hair that fell down his shoulders like a waterfall of molten silver, framing the angular features of his face in a way to maximize both his appeal and his air of mystery. His flowing silver locks seemed to constantly cover one-half of his face, and on the other shone an orb of intense dark blue, giving all of its attention to the task at hand. With a slow, methodical rhythm to his movements, he continued to play the game, seeming completely uninterested with the world around him. That, however, couldn't be any further from the truth.

From beneath the fringes of his haired, his concealed eye would take fleeting glances at a group of three seated not too far away from him. They all wore the bright white uniforms of the Church's forces, with symbol of the church emblazoned on their back as if it were a standard on a banner, though to the man, it seemed more like a brand. The rank of each was easy enough to figure out with a glance. The inquisitor by the militaristic way he carried himself, checking every thing and everyone to make sure they weren't a threat to his cargo. The boy next to him, on the other hand, was green as could be, likely the older man's apprentice from the way he seemed to remain glued to his superior's side, looking about to and fro with a nervous energy about him. And finally there was his target, the cleric known as Alaric Fasarus. The man was admittedly low hanging fruit in terms of what he probably knew, but it was the first chance at info that the man had gotten a chance at in months.

Still, he needed to be careful. The man had at least one experienced bodyguard with him, an fact that would make things difficult, and was obviously nervous and wary from his body language. Turning back to his table, the young man continued his card game, waiting for the right moment to strike. Train's to crowded, as is the station, but maybe once they leave? Much as I'd like to get my hands on this prick, he isn't worth causing a big scene. Besides, following him any further than this will leave me deeper in enemy territory than I want to be. With a low sigh, the young man decided to continue waiting, resolving that if he couldn't find a way to catch the man in the next town that was coming up, he'd give up the chase and head back to the outskirts. Hopefully, he'd find something of interest out there where the Church's ability to respond was weaker and the people less likely to turn him in for causing a ruckus.

I hate forests.

Such was the primary thought in Etoile's mind as she clung to the back railing of the barge with her prosthetic limb, watching the forest go by. The main reason, of course, for her current spiteful irritation was the occasional low-hanging branch that, while not thick enough to injure her, whipped her with a fair deal of force. Her face was bruised in two places and carpeted with welts, and though the arm supporting her was metal and thus rather less prone to such phenomena as exhaustion or aches, the legs that served to anchor her in place were beginning to cramp from remaining unmoving for the last several hours.

As much as she hated to admit it, her funds were very much limited. Her days with the church were still relatively fresh in her mind, and chief among those memories were those of eating extravagantly, sleeping in the finest inns, and most relevant to her current situation, traveling in comfort. Back before she had cut ties with the organization, she'd basically had money poured into her lap—usually from fear—anywhere she'd gone. Being the realist that she was, though, she had to acknowledge that now, those days were over. She only had what she stole from her family before she'd departed, and though it had been a considerable fortune at the time, living had expenses, especially in this day and age. Her money had rapidly begun to trickle away, and it wasn't long before she'd resolved to only use it when absolutely necessary.

And if that meant she had to resort to bargehopping, well, so be it. It was uncomfortable, yes. She was wind-tossed, cramped, and cold, and occasionally, she'd had to hide from the few that had ventured to the back of the craft over the past several hours, true. She'd been slapped in the face by intruding branches from Ifrise, absolutely. But it was free, if less than legal. So on the whole, she'd squared her shoulders and gone along for the ride. Her white cloak had been stowed away into the pack on her back, leaving her only in a close-fitting, long-sleeved blue shirt and black pants that did little to break the wind away. She'd have appreciated the warmth of the long garment, but reason won out as she realized that it would flap out behind her for about five feet because of the wind. Not only would it be useless to her, but it would be a blatant flag of HERE I AM COME GET ME, and that was the last thing she needed right about now.

As for why she was going to Thlecia in the first place, well, she had her reasons. Some might have been going out of a desire to escape Iquenos, to go somewhere where they foolishly thought the Ecclesiae would have lesser power. Doubtless, the vast majority were simply working on the freight barge. She didn't know, and didn't much care. Since she'd gone on the run, she'd been living her life day-to-day. Did she have food, for example. Water? Shelter? And how far could she get from the Inquisitors chasing her? That final thought was what had prompted the impromptu hitchhiking of the Eoldysseus. Since she wasn't technically traveling—as in, she'd bought no ticket, paid no fees, left no name—there wasn't a way to track her by any records. She'd simply reappear a long way away from the last place she was seen. That was the hope, at least. She'd never tried in the past, simply because she'd shrank from the idea of stowing away on a craft like this. Her refined preferences, though, like her money, had been quickly petering out in the face of persecution and possible death. And so here she was.

For a time, she'd been able to use densus ventus to create a transparent wall in front of her, blocking out much of the wind that hissed around her. Realistically, though, she'd only been able to keep the wall up for an hour at most, and after that, she'd been without shelter. Her teeth chattered, and she realized that she couldn't feel her fingers. I should've invested in gloves. That was a stupid mistake, the kind I need to make no more of.

As the wind had flown past her, she'd heard snippets of the conversations of those on deck. Few had interested her; it was largely the same gossip that had always followed the common-folk about. This noble did this, this noble did that, and did you know that so-and-so bedded this person? She'd come to pretty much entirely dismiss what she'd heard, letting it become as much of a background noise as the surprised shrieks of birds about them as the barge trundled through the otherwise-peaceful forest. Still, she was listening just enough to catch a particularly interesting bit of news as a few workers spoke:

"Hey, so what d'you think of 'im?"

"Mmf. Seems alright 'nuff, but you know well as I do he's one of them blasted churchmen. Won't do to get too close to 'im."

"Mhmm, yer right 'bout that. What's 'is name? Alrec? Aladdic? Somethin' like that, I think."

"Alaric, 'e said. Alaric Fasalus, or Fasarus, can't 'member. Wish I knew where 'e was geddin' off. Seemed real nerved too. Like to jam a stick up 'is uptight ass."

Their conversation dissolved into laughter and Etoile rolled her eyes. True, it could be considered heretical for people to talk like that about an ordained cleric. But these two were on the job, in a remote place in between The Middle Of and Nowhere on any map. What the Ecclesiae didn't know wouldn't hurt them. What they said, though...now that was interesting. And it could certainly be problematic. She'd originally intended to keep hanging on until the barge reached the end of the line, but if Alaric Fasarus—she'd heard of him once—decided to ride all the way as well, as he was probably going to, there would be quite a few more Inquisitors than she'd bargained for. Making a quick decision, she decided that she would get off at the next stop as long as he didn't. Whether or not she was in Thlecia didn't matter much in the end; she'd bee going for a while, and there would definitely be some distance and confusion. Enough to buy her a day or two, at least.

Comfortable in her resolution and resigned for at least another few hours until they reached their next destination, she sighed infinitesimally quietly, settling down to wait.

The wind blew ever so gently throughout the hood covering the face of Pagonia Calore. Pagonia's arms rested upon the railing of The Eoldysseus, the upper deck being the most peaceful place to be. Many people were traveling upon the barge today especially those known as Inquisitors. The young swordsman, as stated by a young boy standing only a few feet away, kept his gaze on the forest passing by. Attention was the least on the list of things that Pagonia wanted today. Ever since leaving his the order and declaring himself an enemy of the state, life has become much harder to endure. Pagonia's mind couldn't wrap around the thought of everything that had been lost since he was a child. A deeply saddening course of events.

"Mommy. I want a sword." A young kid yelled out whilst pointing at Pagonia.

Pagonia turned his head a bit so that one eye could see the big smile on the child's face, the child's eyes glowing brighter than stars. There was one thing that Pagonia cherished and that was the happiness that children brought. Kids didn't understand the dangers of this world nor could they understand the great burden that people like Pagonia shouldered to save their future from being a dark void. Before he could kneel down and speak to the boy, the mother rushed over to pull him away. He only wondered if he really believed in himself; could he really save this world and bring about a peace needed so the children of tomorrow could live without war? Pagonia's eyes moved back to the green sea created by the trees of the forest and put his thoughts back to what really mattered.

---

“Woah.”

Clara wasn't dead, yet. Someone had grabbed her by the shawl and spoke to her with genuine concern, which she highly appreciated considering how silly she must have looked in front of the nearby passengers. Clara simply laughed it off, noting to herself that it was best to avoid leaning her body over windows and railings from now on. Perhaps talking to other passengers would be a less reckless way to pass the time.

Really, Clara couldn't afford to be so adventurous today. Discussions about Imperium members and Inquisitors on the barge were being thrown around everywhere she went, which was exactly the sort of thing that made the open air suddenly feel so stuffy and uncomfortable. Keeping up coversations with the commoners was her only distraction from the fearful whispers in her head.

As Clara leaned against a railing, she noticed a woman to her side, still, silent, and seemingly quite hurt. She winced at the reddening welts and bruises on the blonde lady's face, and wondered why she simply hadn't moved somewhere else to prevent receiving more.

Somehow, Clara figured this was the perfect opportunity to brighten the women's mood. She approached the blonde with a friendly smile, and spoke.

“Quite the shaky barge, huh? You'd think 'cause it has such a fancy name, it could afford some fix ups. But I guess no matter how safe it's made, there's always the one idiot that makes everything around them a hazard.”

@Jay Kalton




Etoile started, swearing loudly and colorfully and only barely managing to restrain herself, as a young Thlecian lady—perhaps her own age, perhaps a few years younger—noticed her, and began to address her. For all her care to not be seen, it appeared that she'd been unable to completely disappear from anybody's awareness. Despite all her best interests, she was still subject to the weaknesses of bodily function, and unwilling to stoop down to the point of taking a piss while hanging off the railing of a barge, she'd taken her heavy white mantle out to cover her mechanical arm and slowly crept through the barge, doing her level best—which wasn't quite well, as she'd never been all that adept at stealth—to keep out of the line of sight. Evidently and unsurprisingly, she'd failed miserably, and now she was wound tighter than a spring, ready at any moment to slash wind across the woman's neck.

Damn. I suppose I had to have been seen sooner or later.

She affected total disinterest and perhaps a bit of disdain as she replied in as flat a voice as she could. "Yes, because I'm sure the Eoldysseus was always this old and rickety. It was built that way, I suppose. I have more important things to worry about than the naming conventions used by fools." With any luck, the outright apathy in her voice would dissuade any further attempts at conversation. But knowing her luck? There would be a confrontation.

While it was unlikely somebody wearing robes like that would be an Inquisitor or otherwise a member of the Ecclesiae, what with the distinctive uniform they tended to wear—Etoile shifted uncomfortably as she realized she was wearing one herself, and made a note to be less prideful and more careful in the future—one could never tell. If she had learned one thing from the recent past, it was that danger could come from anywhere, at anytime. Perhaps outside, she'd be able to bail. But inside? If there were Inquisitors here that noticed her, it would be a nightmare to escape back up to the deck to make the jump down to the stones below. Her right hand unconsciously crossed her body and took a reassuring squeeze from the sabre hilt at her waist, and only then did she realize that she'd just shown off a magitech arm emblazoned prominently with the crest of a noble house in the middle of a run-down rickety railway barge approximately all the miles away from anywhere that mattered.

Damnation. This is why I wanted to stay outside. I'm not good at this.

She fixed her stormy-gray eyes into the dark ones of the woman across from her, her voice dropping all pretense and becoming low and intense. "If you bring any attention to me from the Inquisitors, this ride is going to become much less pleasant for all of us. Move along, for everyone's sake."

---

---

Zestasia woke up this morning in some alleyway behind some tavern that he got drunk at. He was placed behind a couple of empty ale barrels. There were a couple of animals(two house cats and a trash panda) cuddling on top of him. Only when he groaned and moved slightly where they startled and he had slowly risen to an upward position; though, he didn’t anticipate that he was behind the door to said bar. Unfortunate for him, as soon as he had risen…

SMACK

The next thing he knew, he was unconscious again. He regained consciousness a few hours later. Thankfully, the rays of light from the glorious sun healed him of his head injuries; though it did nothing to ease him of the hangover he was currently suffering from. No, that would only improve with the right amount of food and time. One of those things were easy to acquire but the second, however, was lacking. Zestasia didn’t know what time it was at the current moment, but he had to hurry. He had a barge to catch and he surely didn’t want to miss it. But first thing’s first! Nourishment!

Over the next five minutes, Zestasia would scout the tavern and smelled some steak and potatoes. It was rich with rosemary and all the fixin’s. So he knew that he had to act fast. Cleverly, Zestasia produced a small orb of magic using his Sol Vibrante. From there he easily hurled it at the guy who was about to eat that plate of food. Though, he did make sure to make sure it would swoop from behind and strike the man in the back of his bald head. When it make contact, it made the large, burly man jerk forward. He looked like the type of man to punch first and ask questions later. Zestasia would be proven right as he roared like a boar and charged like a bull at the first person who caught his eye and started to pound on the poor sap. Meanwhile, Zestasia seized the moment.

Hopping through the window, Zestasia took the plate. Before the barkeep or anyone else could say anything, he was out of the tavern through the same window he climbed through and halled his skinny, plaid-clad arse through the alleyway behind the tavern and he made several turns to ensure his successful escape. After a few minutes of running, he stopped and went to town of the steak, eating it as if it was his last meal. Gobble, gobble, gobble and it was gone, gone, gone. He then looked around and saw a flagon of wine not far from where he was.

“Must be my lucky day,” Zestasia mused aloud, sneaking close to the ground. The wine was set just underneath a window that seemed to belong to a house that was occupied. He quietly got the container and took a few swigs.

And unfortunately for him, this was where his luck ran out. “HEY!” Someone shouted from the window.

He looked up. The guy looked heavy set, though he did appear to also look quite buff. It was an odd mix to look as such, but Zestasia had an advantage. He pointed his free hand at the guy. It started to shine like the sun and in the next moment, a blast of light emitted from it. The guy went down in fear of getting blasted, to which Zestasia snickered and controlled the blast to go down a foot lower, crashing into a barrel of fruit. And as it did, an apple flew towards Zestasia. He caught it and took it as he ran again(along with the flagon of wine). Next stop, the barge~

---

Boy the station to board the barge was far away. He had to run the whole way to make it in time. And even through all of that running, he was just a moment too late. With his ticket in hand, it was preparing to take off. He knew this as the final horn was going off and he was still about thirty meters away. Even though he was hauling his lean mass as fast as his legs would allow him to run, each long step would only prove to be counterproductive because the barge would gain more momentum the longer it took off, so Zestasia had to do something drastic.

Using his Sol Vibrante, he absorbed sunlight from the sun via photosynthesis and activated his Solaris Pallio spell, which ignited an aura of light and fire. Using it to enhance his speed and stamina, Zestasia was able to run a bit faster. When he reached the edge of the port, he took off in a longjump, reducing the gap between him and the barge almost twice as much as he would had he tried it the hard way. However, as big of a help as it was, he barely was able to catch the edge of the barge with one of his hands. And for a few moments, he spent his time dangling in the air, unsure if he would actually be able to swing himself up.

While he did have doubts he would fall, the right momentum from him swinging left to right afforded him with enough pull to throw one leg over the edge. From there, it was only a matter of getting his entire body in. And thankfully for him, no one caught the sight of him hanging for dear life. Though, the same couldn’t be said about his flashy jump. Real subtle, Zes. Definitely something to do when you have to lay low.

Oh well, he was on, so he might as well not complain. Still, technically, he was on there without going through the proper channels. So, maybe hanging out in the open wasn’t exactly the smartest of decisions. Okay, so the plan was to find a nice place to hide until the arrival at whatever god-forsaken stop this crummy barge was going. “Oh,” Zestasia just had a lightbulb go off in his head. No, it wasn’t from the aura nor the sun. He shut that off to conserve his reserves. No, this was more in the symbolic senses. He had the idea of looking at his ticket that he never got the chance to use and wasted valuable money buying. “Okay, let’s see,” he pulled it out, and looked at where it was going. “Whatever.” Zestasia shrugged as he tossed his ticket. He wouldn’t need it anymore.

Zestasia was content with his predicament, so he would simply go find a nice snug hiding spot until there came such a time to get off before anyone knew he was here.

---

And yet that wasn’t easy. So many times he found a good spot and just as many times, he nearly got caught by those who were here by the rules. What did a guy have to do to hide? It was as if the universe was punishing him for the tricks his pulled back in that port town. Not his fault that he didn’t have the funds nor the patience to play by the rules. Still, there was nothing he hated more than people trying his patience. Oh well, maybe those two lovely gals he heard whispering knew something.

Looking at them, he saw they were trying to be all hush-hush. Wonder what gave? Were they trying to figure out why he was here? No, that wasn’t right. They didn’t even know of his presence despite how he heard every bit they were whispering. Apparently, he was sneaky like that. Though, it was interesting that one of them wanted to keep the whispers minimal. Zestasia got the impression that this one was trying to end conversation.

“Did you say the Inquisitors?” Zestasia suddenly said in the same hushed tone, popping his head over the blonde. "I'm after them, so please don't leave anything out.".He looked at both women. Boy, they both were incredibly beautiful even though they looked to be a tad older than his preference.

I should've just pissed off of the railing.

Etoile's left eye twitched violently as an idiot with a death wish popped over her head and borderline admitted to going after the Ecclesiae, tantamount to heresy already. It would've been bad enough if he'd only whispered it, but speaking it aloud? He was either insane or stupid. Or both. It was only too easy to see where this would go as soon as an Inquisitor arrived and just so happened to find a young lady bearing the Lécuyer family crest on a highly-visible mechanical arm. The cogwheels in her head began to turn rapidly so as to formulate a plan and, as though wishing it would hide her away and give her more time to think, she pulled her mantle a little tighter around her.

Hold on. There was a thought.

The land barge had gone deathly quiet, with the exception of a woman standing up that set off about seventeen different kind of alarms in Etoile's head. Before she could move to cut her off, though, she fell on her own, and a teenager with bright red hair knelt to help her up. Etoile frowned briefly; something about the girl seemed vaguely familiar, something like a character from a book. No time to think about that now, though. She couldn't have asked for a better distraction. At that precise moment, the attention of everyone in the barge that had known what was going on was drawn to the woman for just a split second, enough for Etoile to finalize the rough sketch of a plan in her mind. This is going to come back to bite me later, she thought as she stood at her full height, but I'm out of options. As long as they don't look for an insignia of rank or something, I should be fine. Her Inquisitor badge had been taken away from her when she'd been slated for execution, and she'd been unable to reclaim it in her escape from Iquenos.

She rolled her shoulders forward, drawing the eyes of any that might have been looking to the fact that she still had an Inquisitor's uniform on, and made a show out of looking at the idiot's face. "One of my colleagues did mention that there was a magically-gifted individual on the barge about to attain adulthood that had expressed prior interest in becoming an Inquisitor. Hmmm. You might do." With any luck, people would be amenable to an alternative explanation towards the phrase "after them."

She gritted her teeth behind her impassive expression, hoping desperately that nobody would think to inquire too deeply about who she was and why she was where she was. Also, she was hoping even more desperately that the moronic blonde kid in front of her—who, she noticed with chagrin, was just as tall as she was, if not taller, while being quite measurably younger—would catch the subtext behind what she was saying and go along with it.

"Come, walk with me. I wish to speak with you privately. Impulsus ventus." She extended her organic hand and flicked a finger, and a burst of wind blasted out of it, knocking open the door to the stairs that led to the upper deck. A low murmur spread through the crowd. Magic wasn't as common as it had once been, to put it lightly. Many of these people had likely never seen in their lives.

She inclined her head towards the stairwell. Come on, kid. Don't screw this up.

---

---

And in that moment - that long, silent moment - Zestasia heard what he said roll back in his head, repeating over and over again until he realized exactly what had flown by the common sense part of his brain: I actually bad-mouthed the Inquisitors with my words and voice. I didn’t do it in hushed whispers. No, I had said it out loud, allowing any passing guard or passenger to hear.

But did they? That was the question Zestasia’s eyes were asking as they scanned the area. Those curious, blue-as-the-sea eyes had oh-so-carefully gazed from left to right, hoping to the gods above that the wrong person wasn’t doing just as Zes had done and was eavesdropping on an obviously-private conversation between three people who were hopefully on the same team. Admittedly, Zestasia had jumped the gun and that was on him.

Sure enough, as he was about his love for the warm sun, Zestasia saw it - well them. The onlookers who had a mixture of wary glances at the heresy that had come from his mouth and down-right awe at how brazen and daring Zestasia proved to be once his mouth had opened. And quite frankly, those two significantly different looks that he received from those who obviously heard him were justified. There wasn’t a cell in his body that was justifying Zestasia’s choice of actions. They only hoped that, with the right explanation and a little luck, that they - yes, because Zestasia was with someone other than his idiotic self, it was more than his ass on the line - could get out of this without being burned at the stake for treason.

Maybe use some of my charm? That could work, right? Or maybe offer myself up as the sacrifice. It was me who spoke those treasonous words, so it’s not like they’re guilty.

Zestasia had spent the next moment or so going over a few ideas. Some seemed likely to work, but it wouldn’t end well for him. Nothing about this would result in him getting the better end of the stick. His only saving grace was for someone to offer up a better solution. Maybe a nice escape route or some sort of distraction that would be just enough to get the three of them out of harm's way. Anything would do. Just, please, let there be a sign.

And just as Zestasia had put the word out there in the known universe, it, in return, sent him a guardian angel, though he wasn’t sure if this was a joke or the universe’s way of having fun at his expense. Oh, very funny. I fuck up and you send me a shrimp for a guardian angel. Real clever. Zestasia wasn’t really laughing at the fact that he bore witness to this crimson-haired, tiny little girl showing how people shouldn’t judge a book by its cover. No, he was more finding that he made a royal fuck up and this person was one of two people that would save the ass of someone who didn’t deserve it.

The second came in the form of one of the two people who had given him such a ‘really dude’ look. This one, to Zestasia’s surprise, had not only been a user of magic just like he was but specialized in ventus.

This day just keeps getting better and better.

Zestasia not only got that distraction he so desperately hoped for and a definite escape route but -- wait, no, that’s not right. “But you’re a--”

Too late. Zestasia, whether he consented or not, was forced to follow the elder blonde woman. Okay, not exactly forced. He could decline, but was that really wise? The short moment that passed after she had used magic and was seen talking to him, he didn’t necessarily have a lot of options. He either stayed and faced the wrath of the tiny, yet scary, a guardian angel that had no qualms of threatening some innocent passengers or he followed and met whatever cruel fate waited for him upstairs.

Time to make a decision, you idiot. Or do you want her to make it for you?

Zestasia looked around. The people who weren’t terrified were certainly doing their best to make their impression of the heretic known.

Well, Zestasia always did want to see what it was like riding on a barge with the wind in his face and the sun on his skin.

His hesitation waned and Zestasia flew up the stairs in a matter of second. When motivated, he ran like the wind that the blonde lady had at her disposal. And when he made it to the top, the first things he noticed was the beautiful view. With the blueness of the sky and the white clouds spread throughout, the forest the barge was riding through had a majestic, almost surreal glow.

Even though he shouldn’t, Zestasia took a moment to breathe in the sights. “You know, sometimes you have to enjoy the little things.”

Zestasia took in a deep breath, letting the natural scent of the forest overtake him as he closed his eyes. Once he exhaled, he slowly opened them up, turning around to face the wind mage. He had meant to say something clever about the outfit that she was wearing. He knew it looked suspiciously familiar, but his eyes were distracted by someone else. Though the person he saw didn’t ring any bells, there was something familiar about the sword on the man’s back.

When Zestasia was still a young boy, before the war took his home, his father often read stories of about a sword that was said to be a thing of beauty. It was known as the Durandal. It never resonated with Zestasia, but his brothers seemed to take a liking to the story. Maybe it was the morals of the story or how blood was often shed with it. Zestasia never could remember exactly, but he was pretty sure both of those things resonated with Pagonia and Ouranós respectively. Somehow, both embodied the good and evil of Hellion and somehow, when hell broke loose, true colors were shown

“It was on that day..” Zestasia murmured lowly, finding himself walking closer to the sight of that sword and further away from the wind mage.

As he moved another three paces, Zestasia grew closer and closer to the person, their visage resonating with what ZEstasia remembered. Hair that seemed to reflect a stormy sky and a sword that somehow glimmered in that muddy gray. The gold that was spread throughout the silver and shined brilliantly when drawn. It was of legend and yet, as Zestasia was just one foot away from it, arm extended and hand was feeling the texture, he knew it right away. There was this sixth sense that came to Zestasia. The air around him was all-too-familar. This was the Durandal, the famed sword that he vaguely recalled from his childhood.

But which one was it? Was this Ouranós, the brother who left him with Master Anatoli or was this Pagonia, the brother that had never been seen since that day where all of their lives had been altered and with no way of going back to the way it was.

“This sword..” Zestasia finally spoke after just standing there for a few, long moments. “There’s only one person who would dare brandish that sword,” Zestasia spoke loud enough so the swordsman in front of him would hear him. “Isn’t that right?” That was the last thing Zestasia said before his left fist would absorb the faintest amount of sunlight to give it a faint, golden aura. As soon as he would see this man turn around, the first and only thing he’d find instead of a warm smile that Zestasia wished he could provide, there would be the strongest of left, straight punches aimed at his jaw.

Pagonia still stood in the same spot as he watched the landscape. The commotion in other places on the ship kept the young swordsman from engaging his environment. There was too much at stake currently to get involved with suspicious people. A kind nature made Pagonia feel a bit guilty for staying to himself. It seemed as though people were crowding around someone that brought attention to themselves. A chill rolled up his spine as the commotion grew louder and intensity. Whatever was happening was not of his concern and he needed to maintain that thought pattern. Unfortunately that peace of mind would be interrupted by a very rude young man.

“There’s only one person who would dare brandish that sword," Pagonia was frozen in place the moment he heard those words. There were not many who paid attention to it often or could accurately detail the sword to spot him so quickly. The fear of being caught loomed within his mind. Pagonia turned around slowly but cautiously. A faint, golden light resonated from the a fist flying toward Pagonia, his reactions going into overtime at that moment. A swift movement belying his expert training, he lifted his right hand to push away the fist and in one movement his other hand was at the attackers throat; Pagonia's hand glowing its own faint, light blue. An hazy, cold smoke rose from Pagonia's hand.

"Who in the hell are," Pagonia stared into the eyes of the man before him; his memories of younger brother flowing through his mind, "Zestasia." The words were soft and warm. Tears nearly filling the eyes of Pagonia. Those eyes and face could never fool him, as he knew his brother from anywhere. Pagonia lunged forward, wrapping his arms around in a brotherly embrace.

"Are you two done?" snapped Etoile, patience rapidly wearing thin as she rapidly become more paranoid. "In case you didn't remember, child, we're in a life-or-death situation right now! Any moment, Inquisitors could walk out of that door right there and slaughter us. There are better things to do than have some sort of bizarre reunion, whoever you are!" She was fuming. There was no time for a hug-and-make-up session. She didn't know who the stranger was, and consequently, she would rather she and the kid not spend too much time here. Getting distracted was all too easy, and all too dangerous. She paced back and forth agitatedly, a quickstep motion of five steps one way, five steps another.

"We should head to the back of the barge. It's easiest to drop to the ground there if need be, and it's out of the way. If we pay attention, we can know they're coming before they know where we are." Her pacing accelerated, increasing to seven steps and yet passing in a shorter time frame. Her teeth grit together. Her metallic hand was clenched tightly enough around the hilt of Vent de Trancheuse to expose the glimmering, ether-powered joints, and her face was tight. She was clearly a hair away from snapping. She turned to the stranger with the absurdly massive sword on his back.

"I don't know who you are or your relationship with the kid, and I don't much care. Either way, I saw your hand," she said, gesturing to the appendage in question, the one that had released the smoke. "You're...not an Inquisitor," she said, avoiding from long habit actually saying that he had magical talent out loud. "I would get out while you can. I have a feeling things are going to go downhill from here in a big way."

As she said that, the door back down into the cabin opened, and she whipped toward it, immediately drawing her sabre as all the tension flooded straight into her sword arm. "Gladius ventus," she hissed without conscious thought. What looked like dense heat waves appeared just in front of the sword's blade, and she adopted a ready stance. I better not get caught because I stopped to help this kid.

---

Clara was startled by the woman's harsh tone, but seeing how she looked, she was wasn't surprised. Clara simply smiled back, hoping she could ease the awkwardness. The woman looked like she needed someone to lighten her spirits anyway.

Before Clara could speak again, she froze as her eyes caught sight of the woman's arm. A metal arm in fact, and it looked expensive, far too small and elaborate to be armour. What on Vitae could a woman of wealth, with a scabbard at her hip and a cautious, yet cold look in her eyes, be doing on a not so wealthy mode of transport? If Clara's burning suspicions were correct, she was ready to hit herself for not noticing the signs earlier.

She took a step back. Holding her breath, her light brown eyes locked with the other woman's grey pair. The animosity in the air was suffocating.

"If you bring any attention to me from the Inquisitors, this ride is going to become much less pleasant for all of us. Move along, for everyone's sake-"

“Did you say the Inquisitors? I'm after them, so please don't leave anything out.”

Clara's eyes almost leapt out of their sockets. She would have turned around and fully slapped whoever had uttered such a thing, but that would have been just as stupid of a move as saying what this person had just said.

There was nowhere she could run or hide, she was surrounded by passengers on a moving barge in the middle of a bloody forest. Clara swallowed her breath and kept a calm face, planning and observing. But the blonde woman was faster, managing to distract the onlookers with a gust of wind from her hand and taking the young misfit with her to the upper deck. So she was a woman of magic talent, too. Just how, how could Clara have been so careless?

As soon as she found herself standing alone inside the paranoid crowd, another commotion with the woman who had tried to report the incident gave her the chance to escape. As the passengers remained distracted, Clara slowly backed into the crowd. She had the girl with the head of fiery hair to thank for that.

“Oh dear, that must've been a hard fall. I could hear it from all the way here!” she muttered to the people next to her, hoping to ease her way out without raising suspicion.

And with that, Clara managed to slip away into the carriage. She could breathe now.