Chapter 36: Crimson's Fierce Passion

I acted without thinking.

If I hesitated before I acted, Dalia's severed head would be rolling across the floor right now. If I hesitated and didn't act, I know I would've regretted it.

And yet, now that I've acted, I know I'll regret this.

Roard's… my partisan narrowly missed Dalia's neck, completely cutting off her braided ponytail and probably drawing blood somewhere on the back of her head. The jolt must've hurt her too; it's not like Edgar's halberd was stopped in its tracks.

The blow made my right arm strain and practically jerked me along.

Yet, Dalia is alive; I lodged my partisan into the ground right in front of her stooped head, and Edgar gives me a shocked expression.

That expression is as short lived as the silence.

With a cry of fury, Edgar-

Dodge!

…

I'm already regretting this.

A metal fist narrowly grazes my face; the warden looked to down me in a single blow.

I feel it's wind; I feel my heart spike. Feel the adrenaline send shivers down my back, and feel the heat grow in my very soul.

"GRAAAAAAH!"

Like a bear, or an enraged gorilla, Edgar swings again, nearly stomping on Dalia's head. I try to dodge, but he rams his whole body into me not a second later, and the wind is completely knocked out of me.

I'm grabbed, practically manhandled by a beast of a man.

Metal plate digging into me, my wounds screaming for relief.

I gag… but I fight back.

In a flurry of energy, betting more on surprise and speed than might, I wrestle out of his grip with a sudden jerk, swinging around him and grabbing onto one of his arms with my arm; wrapping my other arm around his neck.

Barely dabbled in grappling in karate, it's not even that prevalent of a branch in the martial art. That's more judo's style. But I got the basics down: controlling the head of your opponent means victory.

It's Edgar's turn to gag.

"GrrrrrRRRRRRGHHHH!"

He growls like a rabid beast, thrashing about, taking me along for the ride. Melina shouts at me, but I can't hear it. The soldiers around us are shocked, and they almost immediately close in, trying to intervene…

They don't draw their swords.

They're trying to break up the fight, not trying to kill the boy who attacks their warden.

But Edgar sends them all flying, as if he were a cornered rhino.

Tables and benches topple, plates shatter under the pairs of metal greaves. I get a glance of Dalia… She stares on with the first emotion I've ever seen take hold of her face: bewildered shock.

I struggle to hold on, letting my legs dangle. I may be stronger than yesterday, but Edgar could still send me tumbling away in an arm wrestling contest. And he's not thinking straight.

He won't hold back.

I don't know how, but he must already know. His only daughter is not coming back.

"RRRRAAAAAAAH!"

His throat vibrating violently against my arm; my ears strain from the noise.

Edgar drops backward… and I temporarily black out.

I'm practically crushed, slammed into and through a wooden table by a hammer of metal and muscles, who more than doubles my weight. I lose my grip, shudder from the forceful realignment of my spine, before Edgar rolls away, anchoring himself and punching me dead in the gut.

The force would be enough to knock me off my feet, but I'm laying down; I'd vomit if there was anything left in my stomach.

My vision doubles, pain flashes brightly through me. I gag, cough, and convulse, wrapping my arms around my belly and curl up.

Ow. Ow. Ow ow ow owowowow.

Lance! Stop!

Do not fight him! Get away!

In my doubled vision, past the sensations of misery and burning knots; Edgar rises to his feet, rubbing his neck, looking me over with disdain. He doesn't make any more moves against me; he turns back toward Dalia.

His receding footsteps loud; the silence deafening.

Dalia props herself up, fighting for breath. One soldier tries to put himself between the warden and the wounded knight, opening his mouth to speak. Edgar practically grabs him by the face, shoving him aside hard enough to knock him to the floor.

He tugs at my partisan, tossing it aside with a clatter, before dislodging his halberd out of the stone, wielding it.

"No…"

I cough out, struggling to roll over. Feet plant, hand placing on the cold stone. Fingers dig in, splitting nails scratching the stone.

"No!"

I power forward, rising as I run.

I tackle Edgar from behind, wrapping my arms around that metal and white fur torso. My face buries into his black cape; I barely phase him.

"Get-" He wrenches one way. "Off!"

He wrenches the other way; a couter over his elbow drives into the side of my head.

I taste blood…

I drive my knee into the back of his.

His leg buckles; we both go falling backwards.

I get partially flattened again, but Edgar's exposed head slams hard onto the stone.

He lets out a grunt of pain, clutching his head.

I'm on my feet before I know it, snatching my partisan off the floor, and doing the last thing I ever expected myself to do: I point it dead at Edgar.

The warden halts, in the middle of trying to get back up. His body laying prone toward the ceiling, head risen, staring at me past my spearhead.

I stand between him and Dalia, staring him down with what could only be described as a determined face. His eyes are filled with so many emotions that it makes me feel sick. But I fight to speak, taking several breaths and wincing form my new wounds… my stomach still feels like it's burning to ash.

"Don't."

I start, blinking to get the dripping sweat out of my eyes. My hair has gotten too long in its disheveled state, hanging down and partially obscuring my vision. Edgar's fury never relents, but he doesn't make a move.

"No more." I continue, trying to get my thoughts in order. "No more of… this."

I jerk my spear toward Dalia for a moment, before recentering it back on Edgar.

"She doesn't have to die. Nobody here does."

Edgar's expression darkens; his hateful eyes staring holes into me from behind his arched eyebrows. He stands up; I keep my spear pointed at him.

"Soldiers." He growls, never looking away. "Kill him."

…

…

…

I glance at the soldiers around us, never breaking from my stance.

…

…

…

"NOW!"

The soldiers look between one another; the sounds of the battle raging on outside echoes through the silence.

Some of them consider it, watching me with disillusioned eyes. But most watch their warden with sorrowful looks, frowning and muttering to one another.

"What are you waiting for…? KILL HIM!"

Edgar snaps his head about, practically foaming at the mouth.

"Edgar." I say.

"NOW!"

"Edgar, we can't be killing each other. Not now."

"RIGHT NOW!"

He doesn't even look at me; he's staring through every soldier in the room.

"I COMMAND YOU TO KILL THE TARNISHED! RIGHT! NOW!"

It hurts to see him this way.

"Look outside Edgar!" I shout, gritting my teeth behind each word. "Look at what is happening to your city!"

"WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU LOT!?"

"We need to fight! Together! We can't be destroying ourselves within like this!"

"NOW!"

"Is what Irina would've wanted!?"

His head snaps at me right at the at the mention of her name; his face is the picture of rage.

"SHUT UP!"

His voice makes my hearing cut out for a moment; the chandeliers above shake by just the pressure alone.

"SHUT THE HELL UP!"

He takes a weighty step my way, completely ignoring the spear tip inches from his chest. He recovers his breath, seething. His voice has run dry, gurgling and reverberating as if he had smoked every day of his life.

"How dare you." His voice drops, but it's saturated with a snarl. "How dare you even mention her… You!?"

He sneers, bared teeth covered in frothing spit.

"You worthless, spineless, foolish son of a whore!"

He has every right to hate me. But his words grip my heart and hold fast.

"Sir."

Edgar turns fast enough to startle everyone, his enflamed eyes locking in on the soldier who spoke up. The fellow stands just behind the warden, hands open and devoid of weapons. I don't know the soldier, but it looks like he helped his comrade knocked over by Edgar up, before confronting him directly. The soldier stands strong, despite being almost a head shorter.

He stares up into those murderous eyes, trying his best to be cautious.

"We've been surrounded, sir. The enemy is at our front door."

Edgar looks about ready to wring his neck.

"We need your guidance, now more than ever."

His eyes say things only I can hear. He doesn't want any more needless death…

He and I share the same sentiment.

He doesn't suggest completely sparing Dalia, nor I; I made sure to stay clear of saying anything about that.

I don't like Dalia, not in the slightest. It's her fault that Irina was still here to be captured, and she failed to stop Trey.

She can't walk away from this.

But I know Irina loved her like family, trusted her even when her words made no sense. Alongside that, everyone in this castle has constantly said both Irina and Edgar are amazing judges of character; it's been affirmed so much even I have begun to believe it's actually true. And for both father and daughter, they trusted Dalia.

I still don't know why she made Irina and I return, I began to suspect a nefarious plot. But after today, after witnessing Trey's betrayal, Dalia warning…

Irina's death…

I made up my mind.

I don't like Dalia.

But…

"We need to be united, Edgar." I say.

He spins back my way, his fury never receding.

"We need to act…" I scowl at myself. "I need to atone."

Silence…

…

…

…

Edgar snarls.

"To hell with you." He hisses, staring me down.

He next gives Dalia a look one could call hateful disgust, before he storms off, entering and marching up the stairs that lead to the upper floors. But not before he gives one last howl, taking the first step up without ever looking back.

"TRATIORS! ALL OF YOU!"

His thunderous steps recede, until we all hear the door to his chamber slam shut two floors up, loud and hard enough to make me wince.

In the silence, the soldiers stare at me, giving me a mixed bag of sighs and scowls.

I've without a doubt made enemies today.

That was a foolish thing to do. What is wrong with you today?

I look down at Dalia…

She watches me with pained eyes, her labored breaths are slowly sounding worse. Edgar gave her a terrible beating.

Heal her, please.

...And you continue to say outlandish things. We need to heal you first. Right now, we need to return to the breach.

Your safety is my top priority.

Please.

Lance, I do not have any more magic. I cannot conjure such a spell now. It was you that used my power with that incantation of yours. I have none left.

Take some of mine.

...

You've done it before, right?

Her rune rises to intercept my gaze. There, she hovers.

I do not know if I like this reckless side of yours.

You have only travelled south, where the horrid war that grips this land is the least potent. But I assure you that when we finally travel north, your selflessness will only ever be exploited.

She draws in closer, to the point I'd need to go cross-eyed to look at her.

Mark my words. Actions such as these will only bring us danger and misery.

She lectures me. Yet, whether she trusts me at all now or what, I feel a chilling sensation, as a large chunk of my heat is taken away.

Thank you.

...

Prince of Death, stay your growing blade. Shadow of Marika, hide your sacred rune.

Return the grace of gold to thee, under the light of the Erdtree.

Heal.

Dalia's grimace loses its edge, and she gives me a surprised expression. The bruises on her face recede, shifting back to her normal pale skin color. Like someone simply erased the purple and red away.

Her stab wound in her side must've healed as well, because her arms slacken, and she's left dumbstruck reclined on the ground.

It looks like none of the soldiers noticed, but Dalia almost immediately connects the dots.

"You…"

I avert my gaze, making a drunk beeline for the front of the keep. I leave with a new limp in my leg. The soldiers and Dalia watch me go, with Melina somewhat following me.

So, you will continue to be reckless?

I step over the broken plates and scattered cutlery, kicking a spilt mug aside.

Yeah. Guess I am.

I stare holes into the doors of the keep ahead, wincing a little when something in my chest pops.

I'll keep what you said in mind, but being selfish… it's not what I want to be.

I intended to keep walking, but a burly hand grabs my shoulder, arresting me in place.

"Hold up Tarnished." A gravelly and familiar sounds out…

I almost feel relieved.

"Where are you going?"

I turn my head, looking back at a familiar grey and wrinkly face, giving the smallest of smiles.

It's Kal.

The Morne Soldier looks genuinely confused, if not a little worried… only a little.

"I don't know about you guys…" I look at the groups of other faces in the room, before looking back at Kal. "But we're in the middle of a battle right now."

I look toward the doors, wondering just where my usual reservations are. I'm never this reckless, yet I don't question it now.

A month ago, I was a jobless child that couldn't stand up for himself to save his life. Just what has happened to me since then? How can it change me this much?

A lot.

A lot has happened to me since then.

"There's no use in standing around here."

I finish, grimacing. Kal grunts in disagreement, tugging me back.

"Not in that shape, you won't. You trying to get your head chopped off?"

"Of course not. But-"

Another soldier walks up, this one I don't know. He looks me over with disapproving eyes.

"Take it the wrong way if you want Tarnished, but you would just slow us down."

"Let him." Another soldier joins in, crossing his arms. "We could use the cannon fodder."

The second soldier snorts, giving that third soldier an exasperated look.

"The boy has more spine than you do, Gregor. You would run if a demihuman so much as looked your way."

The soldier named Gregor scowls.

"Think you're hot stuff? You can't swing a sword to save your life."

The soldier by the name of Wallace, a familiar face, walks up, nudging Gregor harder than needed in the chest.

"Beats bein' a coward."

Gregor growls.

"Enough."

Kal says, never letting go of my shoulder. He looks back my way.

"As for you, you little mischief-maker. Go rest up Tarnished, we can take care of ourselves."

…They don't have a leader anymore.

Neil is holed up in his room.

Dalia may be healed, but she's in no condition to get up and start fighting.

Trey has already defected to the enemy, and Edgar seems to have just cursed the whole castle to damnation.

Everyone Irina loved is out of commission. Will they be all right?

…

Heh.

I'm always noticing how well trained and proficient these soldiers are. Of course they'll be alright.

But still, I want to fight too.

Those bastards outside invading us… there's someone among them who ordered Irina's death.

It's definitely that silver man, but there's Trey too, and I've yet to see this leader of the Limgrave Horde that the villager spoke of yet.

What I'm getting at is: There are enemies out there that are practically begging for their reckoning, and I have the burning desire in my heart to be the one to bring them their just deserts.

And if they're not out there? If those cowards are a no-show? I'll take pleasure in knowing I can thwart their plans and kill their pawns simultaneously.

I look toward the stairs to the upper floors…

"Don't count me out just yet."

The breach.

"Go on, I'll catch up soon."

Kal arches an eyebrow at that, but he finally grins under his steel skullcap at me, his black and white surcoat showing brilliantly in the morning light through the barred windows.

"Ha! Hear that boys!?"

He looks toward the rest of the soldiers.

"We'll have a Tarnished fighting beside us yet!"

Conjoined laughter answers him.

It sources from many things:

Some scoff, not even considering I'll be anywhere near a condition to fight anytime soon.

Some laugh sarcastically, finding the thought of being on the same side of a Tarnished unappalling.

But some laugh, knowing somehow, I'll make it work.

I leave them in a limp, making my way toward the stairs. On the way up, I snatch a new banished knight's greatsword off a pair of hooks on the wall, strapping it onto the other side of my back.

I'll be needing it soon.

After I left, the soldiers who witnessed a Tarnished face down their warden and live; they band together, marching outside to join the fray.

Edgar begins to shed tears alone in his room, where nobody will see them, as his rage dies down, leaving him with nothing but painful remorse. Even so, his wrath never leaves him… he needs to find who killed his daughter, hunt them down, and exterminate every last one of them.

He clasps his hands together, sending a prayer to the Greater Will.

"Rest assured Irina," He chokes out through his silent tears, forcing his emotions back into his heart. "It will be done."

Neil watches the battle rage on from his lone window above, slipping his ruler's mask back on. He'll wear it, just in case he needs to pick up a sword in defense of his kingdom. He doesn't like it though; it's far too stuffy.

The soldiers hold fast at Morne's front gate, fires begin to reignite in Bellard's streets.

The world continues on, and Dalia is left alone in the mess hall, confused and distraught.

I forgave her in her eyes, and she was spared... It was not what she wanted.

She's at a loss.

I brush my hands over the breach, Melina standing beside me with an expressionless face. My wounds disappear, spilt blood clearing from my skin. The warmth of magic returns, the feeling of fresh vigor fills my recently strengthened frame.

My chain mail a mess of loose links hanging on my torso; I strip the ravaged remains of my blue shirt out from where it got caught under the strap of my partisan.

The poor thing is nothing but tatters now, more than half of it is missing or knotted at this point. It has gotten more and more bleached too, as it's constantly soaked in blood, before being suddenly cleaned in the breach's light. It's more cyan now, riding on completely pale.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Melina asks, watching me consider my ruined shirt, poking my fingers through the many holes and tears in it. "Put yourself in unnecessary danger once more?"

My purpose for staying here is gone; Irina is no more.

At this point, I'm no longer bound by any self-implicated duty; nobody would question it if I disappeared now.

I can leave.

Nothing truly binds me to this place, not anymore.

I don't know what to do with my shirt, so I tie it around my neck, making it look like an unkempt cross between a scarf and a bandana. It's more a memento than anything else now.

A memento of home.

"Yeah. I'm sure."

I fish Irina's seal out of my pocket, my navy blue eyes lingering on its articulated metal surface.

"I'm finishing what I started."

Irina wouldn't want me to abandon her people; my consciousness wouldn't forgive me if I let her murderers walk away unscathed. I draw my new greatsword, testing its weight. It's heavy, but I can manage it.

If only barely.

"There's a few somebodies that I need to pay a visit to."

I shrug, finding my distorted reflection in my great sword's blade.

"And besides, I already knew what I was getting myself into…"

My failures, my shortcomings. My unreliability, my cowardly nature. A pushover, a fool. A practical man-child, in a world struggling to survive. Treating the people of this land more like NPCs from a video game than real people, failing to realize that my actions hold real weight. That my mistakes cannot be simply forgotten and written off anymore. This is reality.

"…It just finally started to sink in."

Melina sighs; I don't see the small smile she lets grace her tender face.

She has new questions about me, but that's nothing new. What's on her mind instead, is her surprise by how much I've grown.

"Very well. Then, let us get started."

I stalk out of my root-cluttered room, Melina's form returning to her floating aura as she follows close behind.

"Yeah. Let's."

The battle… it was different.

The Limgrave Soldiers had joined the misbegotten horde, loosely united in attempting to take Castle Morne. They came fierce, and they didn't wander in the city of Bellard; not like when I first arrived.

It's like they expected Trey's sabotage to be the fall of Castle Morne back then; expected this war to be over as soon as the gate fell, and they were just biding their time.

But Morne still stands, so the enemy doesn't ravage the city, they focus their numbers all on breaking through the blockade.

From the scarce moments I could see, the fighting at the front gate is vicious; a practical meatgrinder for the misbegotten. Their bodies are starting to choke up the main street, increasing the difficulty of attempting to attack the wall of fire and metal and trained men with a united front.

And the enemy made a grave misjudgment.

Their entire invading force is in the main street, barely ever branching out into the nearby alleyways. A living battering ram, the epitome of wave tactics. It would've worked wonderfully for them if they broke through the wall at the gate from the get-go; Morne surely would've fallen quickly with such a number rushing in.

But their advance was halted; the wall's defenses proved difficult to break through. They have been bunched up into dense ranks, and now their strategy is turned against them…

It's almost too easy to flank them.

We close in on all sides, like a pack of vicious wolves nipping at the heels of their distressed prey. These wolves, or subjugation forces; they spread out into dense pockets, pummeling the column of misbegotten and Limgrave Soldiers that crowd the main street. I joined such a subjugation force, following along as we took a route that circumvented the front gate, taking a path that lead us through the harbor on Morne's right side.

We hit the enemy in the alleyways, chewing into them with blades and hammers and golden flames.

Similar subjugation forces, typically numbering 50-70 individuals, attack the enemy column from the other side too, hitting hard and retreating before they can be overwhelmed.

Truly like pack hunters, whittling down the numbers with quality over quantity.

The Morne Soldiers have the homefield advantage, and the thought in the back of their minds that if they fail here, they lose everything. They fight like demons, like champions. They fight like Spartans, and I have the capability to match their ferocity.

I have Melina.

She and I work like two halves of a whole, dispatching enemies that practically throw themselves at us with a newfound efficiency. It's not even like I'm any better than when I fought Roard; I still need to take the Limgrave Soldiers that face me seriously. Square up with them and exchange blows before I can find an opening.

But the misbegotten, with their unhinged nature and rabid movements; they only phased me when I first met them. They would be a problem too if I still had a straightsword.

Yet my greatsword moves like a charging bull, promising heavy blows with every lagging swing it makes. It cleaves into the misbegotten like knives into butter, taking their thin arms and severing their struggling necks in wide blows.

Melina keeps an eye on my surroundings, latches onto and reads the stronger ones, and burns any that I'm too slow to respond to.

She's my mentor too, calling out my mistakes and correcting my form.

What's more, I'm not alone.

My fellow soldiers cover my flanks, picking off stragglers and working together to down opponents like it's child's play.

A misbegotten is decapitated before it can even take a swing at me, a flying archer to my right is downed by a bolt from a footsoldier behind me with a crossbow. A Limgrave Soldier rushes me, shouting "Tarnished!" with hatred on his tongue; he's blindsided by a shield bash, throwing him into an adjacent building's wall hard enough to make him gag.

His head, helmet, and all caves in a split second later, as another Morne Soldier finishes him off with a swing of their warhammer.

We take care not to get in each other's way; we pick our targets, and we protect each other. This must be what it feels like to play in a team sport.

And if we went out into the main street, we'd be massacred in a matter of seconds. But in these dark alleyways, where the close walls thins the enemy's number; we dominate the scene.

All the while, runes flood to me like an unending river, drawing to me as if I were a bottomless well.

I've slowly began to realize not everyone can see the runes; the soldiers around me don't take notice at all. I know the Sentinel back in Limgrave could see them, but otherwise, it's as if it's only Melina and I can.

Kalé never pointed it out on the bridge, and nobody asked about it after the initial battle in Morne's walls.

Only a select few can see the gold…

I wonder if there's a connection there…

I can wonder about it later.

We quickly retreat, dragging our wounded away and leaving our fallen behind. If we win here, we can always collect them later, but that's only if we win. Trying to avenge fallen comrades is a fool's errand in the Lands Between; best to conserve your forces and obtain victory than try and retaliate.

So we retreat, entering into nearby buildings and hiding away to cut off our tail.

Similar instances are happening all around the enemy column. To the enemy, these Morne subjugation forces disappear as soon as they appear, using hit-and-run tactics to whittle them down.

It's effective, but it'll take time.

And if the wall at the gate falls, then it's for naught.

I hear some soldiers pray to someone they call the Greater Will, while we stand near open windows with our backs to the furnished walls, watching the horde toil along in the street far below.

They pray their comrades in the wall will hold fast. Pray that we can lessen their burden. It's about the most considerate thing I've ever seen these soldiers do…

I find myself sending out a prayer too.

We have nobody to call as a commander, so we unanimously agree when we should head back out: we give each other a meaningful look and nod. We exit the houses we hid in, and we seemingly reappear back in the alleyways, continuing our campaign.

We circle two blocks, before hitting the center, where a practical cloud of misbegotten flying archers cluster. They are by far the most troublesome, and the hardest to kill. Not because they're strong, but because they're fast.

But we attack all the same.

"Twelve!" One soldier next to me shouts, finishing off a Limgrave Soldier with a freshly bloodied warpick.

"Eight!" Another yells, slitting the throat of a downed misbegotten archer.

Another flying archer fires two arrows in quick succession at that soldier; he takes one in the throat. He gags, collapsing over with blood practically gushing out from the hole in his jugular. It's hard to watch, but no solider curses or loses their head.

To them, the soldier is merely unconscious.

Still…

Melina.

Her aura homes in on the flying archer, rising up into the open space above the alleyways like a laser pointer firing up a high wall.

Kindling, accept this meager flame.

The archer bursts into vermillion flames, letting out a gurgling cry of pain. Its wings melt to stubs, skin sears and splits open. Eyes shrivel and bubble, hair catching like a torch and burning away.

The archer falls out of the sky, its charcoaled bow snapping on impact with the ground.

I know why the Morne Soldiers count, so I shout out my number, counting Melina's and mine together.

"Nineteen!"

A soldier next to me laughs, plucking an arrow out of his arm.

"Tarnished got the lead!"

The soldiers around him join in the joy; their faces distorted by delight. They're far too accustomed to this way of life.

Death is just another Tuesday to them.

The battle rages on; the subjugation forces get cocky. We push our luck, digging into the enemy to the point we can see the main street. We start running into other companies too, and we start banding together.

Like tumors growing in a body, we swell in the weakest parts of the column, cutting off reinforcements to the front. I'm surprised Agheel hasn't shown himself yet, thought I'm glad at the same time. That dragon could completely change the tides all on his own.

But he never graces us with his presence.

Trey is a no-show too, and nobody that looks like a leader ever shows their face. With no prominent figures in the army, at the end of the day, we're fighting an armed mob.

Victory is possibly in sight at a pace like this.

But they never stop coming; it's like we're fighting a tide.

Our side tires as time stretches on; we begin to drop like flies.

I get a nasty cut on my left leg; something fractures in my arm when I take a misbegotten's kick to the side. An arrow nearly pierced the top of my shoulder; it would've driven down and probably punctured my lung. I dodged at the last second and felt the unwelcome feeling of an arrowhead grazing the entirety of my back instead, slicing deep enough to draw blood.

My chain mail isn't protecting me in the slightest now.

Two soldiers are killed by a swing of a large misbegotten's axe head, another gets an arrow stuck in his eye. One gets ravaged by the cleavers of two warriors, and a Limgrave Soldier got a straightsword through a footsoldier's chest when his back was turned.

...Bastards.

I take the large misbegotten on alone, letting out my own battle cry. Melina sticks to its chest, just as it does a somersault toward me.

I'd be put off my such a move, and when the large misbegotten breaks out of it and chomps down, it probably would've hit me.

Got it. Sidestep, jump, parry right.

But I hop to the left, missing the large pair of those snapping jaws by a wide margin. It immediately follows it up with a broad sweep; the same attack that did the two Morne Soldiers in.

I jump, tucking my knees in to my chest. Like I was playing jump rope, a metallic blur whisks by beneath me, skidding off the ground and obliterating a nearby vase.

That axe finally comes falling down from above before I even regain my balance, but I already knew it was coming. It's like I can see the future.

I stab my greatsword into the ground, titling it to intercept. The axe rides my blade down with a shower of sparks, slamming into the ground with a sound like a guillotine striking stone ringing out.

I drive my sword upward from that as fast as I'm able; my pommel impacting that wide face right between the eyes.

The large misbegotten chuffs and snarls, losing grip on its axe. I twirl my blade 180 degrees in my hands, hacking right into its left knee with a grunt of effort and anchor of my leg.

Like the very picture of a baseball batter.

The blade goes deep, shattering the end of the femur and the kneecap. It halts after digging half a foot into that dense bone, sending out violent enough vibrations that my hands go partially numb.

I wrench it out as the beast falters, slashing wide across its skin-tight chest, before I shout, finally driving my wide blade right into that fresh gash, almost sending the sword-tip out the other side.

The large misbegotten falls to its knees without another word.

Without missing a beat, Melina breaks away from that impaled chest, returning to my side.

Are you trying to skewer me too?

Fresh blood runs down my blade; I yank my greatsword out and whisk it about before that crimson liquid can reach my fingers.

My bad. I'll aim for the neck next time.

The large corpse collapses to the floor behind my turned back; golden runes leeching out of its skin.

It will never live again. I made sure of that.

I don't think it'll ever completely sink in, though it might just be starting to: I'm practically stealing their souls…

…

…I'm more at peace with a thought like that then I thought I'd be.

I steal their runes; their life and livelihood; and I use it to strengthen myself.

…

Then again, that's just the way of this world: The strong take, and the weak suffer.

I turn toward the two misbegotten next, readying myself. I have an archer to take care of after this; I'll save that Limgrave Soldier for last.

They accept my challenge, charging me. I lunge forward with a shout, meeting them halfway and driving my sword into the first one's skull.

Eight hours later...

I knock… There's no answer.

I knock again… not even a sound.

The one I look for, I know she's here. It's apparently her room, and Callum told me she hasn't left it all day.

I can certainly see her runes in there. She may be asleep.

She's sleeping?

It looks like she is lying down… but her runes look far too active.

She might just be resting

I straighten myself, messing with my pale-cyan bandana, feeling a little strange without weapons on me. It was Melina's call, saying that being unarmed goes lengths to calm someone's nerves.

can see the reason why, but I don't like the feeling at all.

Then again, it's all the more terrifying talking to a cop, when you unintentionally spot the handgun strapped at their side.

"Dalia." I say, loud enough to disturb the silence of the third floor. "It's the Tarnished. May I come in?"

Still no answer… maybe I should come back later.

She's awake, or she has been.

Think she doesn't want to be disturbed?

Perhaps. But I feel our reasons for coming here outweigh common courtesy.

Do you not want to talk to her?

…I do.

I reach for the ring of a door handle, sliding the creaking contraption open. I made a stop by the Site of Grace on my way here, so I have no limp when walking in.

The room is even less furnished then Edgar's place; it's just a bed.

There's an armor stand and weapon rack too, though those are a given. No table, no nightstand or rug. No paintings or vases or ornaments of any kind. There's a barred window, with a small jar filled with a type of purple flower, along with an active hearth, giving the whole room a dull orange color.

Otherwise, it's barren.

I didn't know what I was expecting, but I expected Dalia to be more sentimental, even if she is a knight.

Speaking of, the knight's armor is there on the stand now, still bloodied and sporting a cavernous hole beneath the right guardbrace. Her sword lays propped up next to it, the blade untouched by the blood of today's battle.

From Callum's account, she retired to her room soon after I left the mess hall downstairs; she hasn't left since.

Sure enough, she's here, lying on her bed in a relaxed position, staring up at the ceiling with a stern face.

She's wearing nothing but her underarmor; a form fitting black tunic held closed by similarly dark straps and metal buckles.

Her hair is slightly splayed out at the ends just beneath her neck, where it was unceremoniously cut by my partisan a few hours prior. And, well, as I said before: she looks like a supermodel.

Everyone with their wits still about them in these lands seems to share that attribute, makes this all feel more like a movie with star actors than reality.

She doesn't look over at my approach, never removing her hands from propping up the back of her head.

"Little Tarnished." She says, never showing a hint of emotion on her face. "What business do you have with me?"

I walk over, stopping a few paces away from her bed. She finally tilts her head my way… that mystery emotion of her's reappears again.

Possessive anger, a unique emotion I've never seen in someone's eyes before.

It's there, but it's short lived, like she's deciding she doesn't want to be angry at me anymore.

I'd appreciate it if that's the case, but it's not like I'm here to be friends...

Then again, I find myself only thinking of small talk.

"How are you holding up?"

She answers after a few seconds of silence.

"I feel fine."

I took her as the type to get right to the point, but maybe it's only because I can see her face... something feels off. She's not her usual self.

"Your wounds?"

"They have healed completely. I suppose I have you to thank for that."

...

...

...

"Little Tarnished."

She stares at me intently, that mystery emotion appearing for a split second. It gives way to exasperation, alongside a strange kind of regret.

"I ask, what are you looking for here?"

...Fine.

I cross my arms.

"I was looking for an explanation."

…

I know she knows what I'm talking about.

"It's simple."

She looks back toward the ceiling, never smiling or frowning.

"I'm a selfish girl."

...

The heck does that mean?

"That can't be the only reason."

She lightly shakes her head. As if sidestepping my accusation.

"How did the battle fare?" She asks.

Changing the subject now.

"We won." I say flatly. "Enemy retreated back into the sewers just before the sun went down."

She casts me a sideways glance.

"And you won't pursue?"

I scoff.

"Come on, they still outnumber us," I feel a vein bulge in my head. "Following them would be suicide... look, are you gonna tell me or what?"

I force the conversation back; Dalia doesn't seem to care.

"That is?"

I point a finger her way from my crossed arms, feeling the embers of anger in my words.

"Why you lied; why you brought Irina and I back. Why you decided to drag us back in here when Irina would've been far safer out there?"

"Where would you have gone?" She asks. "Where else would be safer in these war-torn lands?"

There's Town, south of Agheel lake. That would've been an option. I could've tried seeking out Neil's cousin Kenneth too; I'm sure he would've gladly taken Irina in. Even if neither worked, I could've simply kept her close; I could've protected her.

It would've been difficult, But I would have found a way to make it work.

But…

"What does it matter anymore?" I ask, seething underneath my words. "She's gone… and who is at fault for that?"

I see an emotion trickle across her face: a small frown.

"It is my fault."

"Then why?"

Give me a real reason.

She seems to hesitate about something, before she works up to sitting, turning to plant her feet on the stone floor.

She stands up and faces me… still way too tall.

She's shorter without her armor and that frogmouth helmet on, I somewhat reach her height now.

Even so, she's at least 6'5 or 6 and a half feet tall by herself, beating me by a couple of inches.

It's not like I've never met really tall people before, but still...

She considers me for a moment, as if she's sizing me up.

And that mystery emotion…

Wait…

Look out!

Huh?

…

Huh?

Before I know it, fast enough that I'm left reeling, the knight Dalia wrenches me aside, shoving me at the nearest wall.

My back collides against the stone, with my head smacking against it a split second later.

Fresh pain fires through my skull, and I-

An open hand slams into the wall next to my head, blocking me off from my escape.

Dalia… she's close, leaning in and staring me down.

Like a bully pinning their victim against a locker…

But her eyes are burning with that mystery emotion. Possessive anger burns bright enough to encompass everything, and it makes something within me stir too...

Uh oh.

Kindling, accept this-

Wait! Don't!

I unintentionally gulp, pressing myself against the wall as much as I can.

I'm just now figuring out what that emotion is in her eyes.

Why I've never seen it directed my way before.

Why it threw me off even when I didn't understand it.

Why I could only describe it as possessive anger.

It's lust.

I…

I-I…

uh…

"Can you understand my reason why now?"

My heart is beating a million miles a minute, but I'm not in combat.

I feel hot, but it's not from wrath.

My face flushes red, and I'm left feeling shocked.

Dalia's head draws closer; I try and avert my face.

Her lips stop inches from mine… they slowly rise to hover right by my ear.

"I brought you back, because of you." She whispers.

I shiver.

With a sudden whoosh of air…

...

She breaks away.

As if she didn't practically scare my soul away, she sits back on her bed, making herself comfortable.

I practically collapse to sitting.

It takes me a moment to realize I was holding my breath.

What is her deal?

I… I uh.

"I love your type, you know."

Dalia says, silencing both Melina and I. She watches me like a predator, the lust slowly dying in her eyes.

"A weak little man, who hardly has the spine to face another. A boy with good looks. A boy with innocent looks."

I try to scowl, but I just end up looking confused.

Everything feels pink… and I don't like the thoughts in my head right now.

She considers me, propping her head up with a hand.

She almost sighs.

"...But I don't see that man anymore. It went somewhere, and I suspect it won't return."

…

I start to find my true thoughts again, just as my heartbeat dies down.

"That's it?"

I ask, feeling anger push through the other emotion swimming around in my head.

I sit up, gritting my teeth.

"You brought us back... because you were horny?"

She seems to puzzle over that last word. I rarely use vulgarities. I don't know why I say it now, maybe because I lost my front by what just transpired.

Or maybe it's because I'm pissed.

Irina is dead, because of such selfish reasons.

"Seriously?!"

I smack the wall with a closed fist.

"Really!?"

I sound almost incredulous, like I just heard the worst joke in existence.

"Irina is dead! Gone!" I shout, working up to standing. "Don't you understand that!?"

Dalia stares me down.

"Of course I do."

"Then aren't you ashamed?!"

"Of course I am."

Why such lifeless answers?

Why is she acting like she's not phased in the slightest?

What's wrong with her?

…

Hah.

I reel myself back in, letting out a heavy sigh.

I got my answer…

I know now why Irina ultimately was killed.

I just never knew I could feel so disgusted.

Maybe I should've let Edgar kill her.

"What is wrong with you?"

I turn to walk away, slamming the door closed behind me.

The Tarnished Lance left, and Dalia was alone once again.

She stares at the door, losing herself in the designs of the wood.

…

…

…

She's glad the Tarnished came by.

She was worried he might start to like her… such a thing would be disastrous.

He and the warden are at odds now, because of her.

If she didn't make him hate her, then he might continue to oppose Edgar.

She wants them to work together; she knows that Tarnished boy has something Morne needs; she can feel it. He can't go opposing the warden now, not on her behalf.

It's better this way.

She thinks to herself, falling backwards onto her bed.

He doesn't need to think about me anymore.

She failed, made a terrible and short-sighted mistake. Lady Irina, that joyous little girl, whom Dalia has known for so long; she's gone.

She failed to let the Tarnished and Lady Irina go, failed to stop Trey… failed to warn the Tarnished and the warden in time.

Because of her, that delicate and wonderous little girl, who picked violet flowers for Dalia… Who wrote her poems, brought her along for jaunts around the city, wished for her to find the man of her dreams she occasionally spoke about; that girl is gone.

It's her fault.

She won't let anyone else console her, understand her, help her; she doesn't have the right. She will shoulder this burden alone, and when the time comes, she will atone, with the price of her head if necessary.

...

Despite it. Despite her conviction; she finds herself chewing on her thumbnail, creasing her brow…

It hurts.

Even if it was for the best, it hurts.

Hearing that boy, whom she began to fall for; hearing him repudiate her; it hurts.

It compounds on her regret, leaving her to suffer alone in her chamber.

Suffer alone in her self-loathing and spite for her own incompetence.

Her own uselessness.

Her own failure.

I storm through the halls of the keep, where only the candles and torches on the walls provide light.

I chew on the inside of my cheek, growling.

What the hell was with her? What's her deal.

I have to agree. She was disturbing to watch.

Did she not care about Irina at all? Was she just another face to her?

I question that knight's sanity, question if she's really an ally or not.

She warned Edgar and I of the gate when it first fell, a little too quickly.

She warned us of Trey's betrayal, far too late.

Is she actually working with Trey?

Is she in this for her own desires?

Her face, inches from mine. Alone together, in her room. Lips pursed, face smooth and symmetrical, like it was chiseled from stone. Dirty blonde hair encompassing her features like a sunset backdrop in the firelight. Brilliant blue eyes burning with desire, voice filling in blushing my ear like-

"Argh!" I yell, forcing the thoughts away.

I clutch my face, shaking my head about.

"Get out! Get out of my head!"

Did she place a spell on you? Maybe I can-

No! No don't.

It's not that… just… ignore them?

I cannot. They are being forced into my head, the same as yours.

Just think of something else.

Like what?

I… do not know…

…

…Would you please stop picturing that?

This might just be the most embarrassing moment of my life. I should just die, right now.

Never did I think having someone be able to see all my thoughts; I didn't know it could be so terrible.

I hustle through the halls, booking it to our room. If the past days were any indicator, the enemy might attack again soon, probably before we can burn their comrades bodies. I may have taken the runes of many, but my influence isn't large enough to encompass a whole battle; there are plenty of dead misbegotten and Limgrave Soldiers out there that will revive come tomorrow.

This fighting might not end for a while at this rate, so getting rest is paramount.

I can always erase my fatigue with the Site of Grace, but I'll still get the bite of restlessness if I go days without getting some adequate shuteye.

I need to sleep, though I don't know if I'll even be able to.

Not at this rate. My blood feels like it's about to burst.

I reach the staircase that goes down to the middle floor, where my room is. I go to take the first step, but I halt in my tracks…

Something doesn't feel right.

In an instant, all my wayward thoughts are dashed away.

The staircase is unlit, no torch or candle lights up the stone steps. It would be a little creepy, and I'd have a hard time passing through without tripping or missing a step…

But I passed through here not ten minutes ago, and there was light…

The darkness is new; it's overwhelming.

The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end, tingling sensations run rampant through me. I go to reach for my sword on reflex, but it's not there.

You can feel it too.

I take a cautionary step away from the staircase, never breaking contact with that darkness.

Yeah… What can you see?

There is nobody there, but...-

Scraaaaaaaaaaaape.

A noise, like blades being dragged across stone.

It's quiet, sounds seemingly distant, but it comes from the staircase, from that darkness.

Scraaaaaaaape. Click. Scraaaaaaape. Click. Scraaa-

The noise drew closer and closer, like something coming toward me. But the noise cut out without warning, and now only silence is my companion.

I take another step back, and another.

Something's wrong.

Very, very wrong.

I've felt this sensation before; this will be the third time now. A thick taste in the air, a saturation of positive ions that makes everything feel fuzzy.

The first time, a grafted scion was watching me from the end of my neighborhood; a hulking mass of an abomination standing still as a statue by the fountain.

The second time, a colossal knight atop an elephant-sized steed found me in the forest one stormy night; his halberd whistling through the air, severing entire trunks of trees like a sickle through a field of wheat.

I feel that same air now: the air of a formidable opponent…

I can almost visualize a health bar… almost.

Duck!

Something manifests from the darkness, undulating blade flashing out and into in the torchlight like a viper striking from the shadows.

I dive, rolling away into a crouched position… blood trickles down my neck.

I clutch my throat, seething.

I reacted as fast as I could, and it still nicked me. If I moved even a split second later…

Ow.

I… ow.

OW!

The heck is with this wound?

It feels like it's burning, like someone just put salt in it.

From what I can feel, the cut is a nasty one; a wavy and uneven depth that would take forever to heal properly.

And what's more, my skin almost immediately begins to swell like a balloon around it, inflaming as blood rushes to the scene, bringing the immune system along with it.

As if the blade put something in me; a foreign entity that my body looks to remove.

It stings, worse than a normal cut.

Behind you!

But I-

I leap away, and something slams into the ground with a loud clang behind me; it's accompanied that loud scraping.

How did it get behind me!?

Like someone was pulling three files across stone, or a metal fork was dragged across a ceramic plate.

It makes me wince, but I only stare when I turn, as a humanoid monster in ravaged armor lunges at me again, swinging about a unique sword that scores into the hallway's walls as it comes careening down at me.

Kindling, accept this meager flame!

Fire engulfs the crawling beast, making it retreat. It doesn't die, like the fire barely phased it. It doesn't make a sound, like it was a living statue.

It looks more like Melina pissed it off.

Run!

I take off, feeling adrenaline make my arms and legs go cold.

What?

I round a corner, not bothering to take a look back.

What was that!?

I barrel down the hall, running for the stairs that go up to the third floor. I didn't get a good look at it; it was too fast. It was a metallic blur, like trying to distinguish a single blade on the rotor of a flying helicopter.

A Bloodhound Knight.

What is it doing here?

A what?!

Blaidd said a similar thing once; I was partly hoping eh made it up.

Lance, you need to listen to me: Do not stop running.

Find Edgar, find a group of soldiers. Summon Roard if you must. But find anyone.

Do not face it alone. You will die.

Never fight a Bloodhound Knight alone.

Her light, which kept pace with me, breaks away, firing back down the hall.

Wait!

I almost stop, but I keep moving. I hear that scraping gaining ground behind me.

Where are you going?

I will try to buy you time.

When you travel too far and I can no longer bear it, I will catch up.

But whatever you do, do not stop, and do not return to the breach.

If we made it to the breach, then we could escape. We could go somewhere else, far away where my assailant cannot catch me. The Site of Grace should be exactly where I need to run to.

Why not?

It has your scent, if it came from the second floor then it must have already found our room.

If there is a second Bloodhound Knight, then it will be waiting to ambush you there.

Do NOT risk it. Find the warden.

Kindling, accept this meager-

I run up the stairs to the third floor, Melina's voice cuts out as soon as my light leaves her.

I hear flames roar a second later, along with a violent scrape across the floor, as if that creature leapt backwards.

I run and run, not sure where I should go.

I need to get to Edgar, his room should be-

The Bloodhound Knight appears from seemingly thin air, rounding the corner I was about to run down and slashing up at me with a blinding speed.

Crap!

I throw up my arms last second to shield me; a horrid stinging sensation travels up my forearms.

"Agh!"

The blow sends me back, leaving me to tumble. Without a moment to spare, that creature appears behind me, again, slashing at my face with three gnarly claws jutting out of its non-dominant hand.

Maybe there is more than one of them.

I roll away, missing the claws.

But the blade comes down, nearly taking my hand off.

It nicks my pinky finger, barely nicking it. Nothing more than a papercut, nothing compared to the gash in my neck and the horrid wound across my forearms.

Even so, I feel something terrible course through me.

Something that sends my immune system over the edge.

The swelling gash on my neck, the inflamed wounds across my forearms; that simple papercut on my pinky finger. It all goes haywire, like my body just short-circuited.

The papercut swells like it's infected, stretches to a point it's no longer natural, and it bursts. Bursts like a balloon filled with blood.

The gash on my neck, the swelling releases like a plastic bag popping.

And that inflammation across my forearms?

Those red walls of angry skin surrounding those nasty cuts?

The cuts erupt with blood, like the inflammation surrounding it discharged all at once.

My own blood; my lifeforce; it hemorrhages out of me, stealing my heat away and making me go light headed.

I fall to a knee in a new puddle of crimson, vision doubling, and that blade-

Kindling, accept this meager flame!

The Bloodhound Knight retreats, disappearing like a mirage.

Prince of death, stay your growing blade. Queen Marika, hid your sacred rune.

Return the grace of gold to thee, under the light of the Erdtree.

Heal.

The heat returns, I draw in breath like I was forced underwater.

"Ack!"

I cough, shivering.

What?

Lance, get up! Now!

Melina... What happened to holding it off?

It did not care for me. It disappeared without a trace. I could not even see its runes anymore.

I run.

Weapon. Weapon. I need a weapon.

Leave it. It is useless.

But I at least need to defend myself.

It will do you no good.

If she's saying it, then-

I bust through Edgar's door, and I'm outside.

Wait. No, I.

Do NOT stop!

I got turned around, I'm up on the ramparts. This isn't Edgar's room. I'm on the wrong side of the keep.

"Tarnished?"

I wrench my head left, panic in my eyes.

It's a Morne… It's Drew.

A soldier that was one of the original five that accompanied me with Dalia when we went to retrieve Irina; He's still carrying around that warhammer of his. His shield's strapped to his back, and he has a torch in his off-hand.

He looks confused to see me, but suspicion befalls his eyes when he notices my countenance.

"What?" He barks, taking a step forward. "What happened?"

Other soldiers guarding the ramparts look over, drawing closer to see what the commotion is about…

I don't know what the name meant, it rang a bell when Blaidd mentioned it, but I don't know what they were like.

I do now.

"A Bloodhound Knight has infiltrated the castle."

Something grabs ahold of Drew's face, a primal sort of fear.

Like learning there's an active shooter in the building, his face contorts and his eyes flood with fear and unease. It sends home just what it is that attacked me.

"Sound the alarm!" Drew bellows, flagging down a group of soldier onlooker in one of the towers up here. "Sound the alarm!"

The other soldiers that heard what I said start shouting, running with their swords drawn to spread the word. The sound of a bell starts ringing loud and clear atop the tower; the other towers along Morne's walls start to ring as well.

Their conjoined cacophony sends the entirety of the castle into a frenzy, windows begin to glow and bonfire are lit aflame. Soldier rush out of their barracks down below, a large number quickly assemble in the courtyard, and-

The door to the keep behind me swings open; more soldiers spill onto the ramparts.

Some give me looks, but most look toward Drew.

The bell on this side of the castle was sounded first; the danger is here. That was the thought going through everyone's minds, and these men that just arrived are the first responders.

Drew frowns deeply.

"We have an intruder. A Bloodhound Knight."

Mummers run through the accumulated crowd. Drew starts barking orders, assembling the force that came to him into an operation to find this elusive assailant.

"Sweep the keep, find and secure Neil and the warden, they may be its target."

He says other things, but without warning, that feeling returns.

I stiffen up.

This thing is somehow concealing itself until it attacks, in a way even Melina can't properly track it. It seemingly teleports, attacks quickly, and is as silent as death itself, besides a telltale noise of blades scraping against stone.

It is a formidable opponent.

It's loud, with ringing bells and echoing shouts and my own heartbeat beating in my chest. I could never hear such a sound like scraping.

But that feeling comes in force, and I look up…

On the back of the keep, up the wall of the tower Edgar and I first spoke alone, and where I met Ranni; above all our heads…

The Bloodhound Knight watches me.

Like a gecko stuck on a wall; like the xenomorphs from the movie Alien.

Its up there.

I feel fear grip my heart.

"T-There!" I shout.

Soldier's heads swing skyward; the meager firelight reflects off that dented houndskull bascinet. The unique blade hangs down like a bat, and those claws dig into the bricked stone; it stares at me and only me.

The soldier's voices rise, Melina homes in to burn the monster again.

It preps to lunge at me like a cougar from the treetops, and I stand here without a weapon, watching with wide eyes.

The Bloodhound Knight disappears, shifts out of frame in a blur.

The danger comes for my head, and all I can do is-

"Arrrrrrrrrroooooooooooooouuuuuuuuuuuuh."

Wait...

Wolves are never this far south.

A dark mass wielding a giant sword collides with an invisible force midair, just above my head.

I can't tell what happened, it was over before I could blink.

The Bloodhound Knight tumbles across the rampart path, scraping to a halt.

A foot away from me, a large man with the head of a wolf lands on all fours, facing the knight with a low growl emitting behind his bared fangs.

"Darriwil." Blaidd snarls.

The soldiers are frozen in place, I watch dumbstruck. Darriwil hunches like a threatened cat, before becoming a blur, disappearing.

But Blaidd becomes something of a blur too, running on all fours with that large blade strapped to his back.

The blast of wind he leaves behind when he leaps is strong enough to send my hair flipping about.

He clambers up the wall of the keep in a frenzy, chasing something that can only partially be seen.

He mounts the edge of the tower, vaults over, and disappears from view.

Noises of blades clashing into blades sound, the growling and snarling of Blaidd echo about up there.

A blast of white light and a sweeping cold envelops the top of the tower, and a dark and lanky sillouette leaps off.

It's Darriwil.

Half of his armor is covered in biting frost, one of the blades of his claws are missing.

He launched south, falling by over my head, past the ramparts, and on the other side of Castle Morne's southern walls, down to the ocean far below.

Soldiers run to the edge; I join them in peering down.

The Bloodhound Knight is gone, nothing but the calming ripples of a recent splash show on the surface of those dark waters below.

It retreated? They never retreat.

I look back up, finding Blaidd looking out over the edge of that tallest tower, giving the sight of Darriwil's disappearance disdain.

He spits a broken claw blade away, growling.

He doesn't give chase. For reasons, I don't know why, but he looks disappointed.

He hunches, snarling like a frustrated wolf.

I hear him mutter something to himself, but I can't make out any of it.

"Oi, is that…" One soldier breathes, looking up at the wolfman silhouette looming over us all.

"Aye, I think it is."

"What is he doing here? Never seen him this far south."

The mummering continues, but I can't help but find a smile spreading across my paled face. After all that's happened, I'm happy to see a familiar face again.

"Oi! Blaidd!" I call.

The soldiers around me give me confused looks; Blaid himself looks down at me. He gives me a look, one filled with hidden insanity and discontent, but that seems to be normal for him.

"Oi, how about our signal?" Kalé once said, last when we shared time around a campfire together. Blaidd gave him a perturbed expression, leaning in. "You mean when you would snap your fingers all the time?" Kalé gave him a big grin with his eyes, puffing his cloth cover as he exclaimed happily "Yeah." "You fool, that only works if I can hear it."

I raise a hand, pushing my thumb and middle finger together.

With a crisp pop, I snap my fingers.