Arrival

"Manyu." Barion spoke, "Would you mind if I asked more questions about your past?"

"If you must, but do so quickly." He replied, "Once we arrive in Gria, the last thing I want is for anyone besides you lot to know about it. I'd be chased out of the city with pitchforks."

Fusala had estimated that the group were within a day's travel of the capital. Their combined strength had reduced Demons to mere annoyances, and a handful of those which had stepped up to the convoy were quickly dispatched in a matter of moments. However, as Dorma was quick to point out, the concentration of Demons within Gria was beginning to grow troublesome, and it was unlikely that the average trader or traveller would be able or willing to brave the highways for much longer.

"Crucibles will continue to appear within the Henklomeon Steppe." She had told them, "When the north is overrun, Demons will surge into Tor, and that will be the true beginning of this war. What few skirmishes have unfolded already will pale in comparison to what lies ahead."

Of course, most of them already knew that. Only Pale was truly ignorant as to the full, unrestricted strength of Demonkind.

"So, how I understand it is that you became Demon King in order to create a single evil the world could unite against." On that day, Barion and Manyu had taken the stagecoach, leaving them ample time to speak, "But, why couldn't you have joined us? If you had, we might've stopped this cycle 500 years ago."

"I was just as ignorant as you of the truth all those years ago." He answered, "I was convinced that the conflict between Hero and Demon King was a plot by the Goddesses to ensure a world of everlasting peace, rather than a cycle destined to repeat time and time again. When you defeated me, I thought it was over. But in the years following that fateful day, I uncovered evidence to suggest that all of our efforts were for naught."

"Why didn't you tell us?"

"Would you have believed me?"

"That's…" Barion muttered, "No, probably not."

"We four--myself, you, Dorma and Shilahi, are the only individuals to have endured through two consecutive Demon Ages. Even the long-lived Elves cannot claim such a feat." He continued, "I'm almost certain that no matter how long it takes, another Hero and another Demon King will rise from the ashes of their destroyed homelands to do battle yet again. More than likely for the very same reasons that we once did."

"Then we need to stop this farce at the source."

"If only we had every piece of the puzzle. As for myself, I'm keen to see just how our enigmatic Luna fits into the situation."

"Do you really think… this world is being influenced from something beyond the reaches of the sky?" Barion asked, "The Crucibles… the metal tower on the Plains of Ip… if they are connected, and if they did fall from the sky, how could we ever oppose something like that?"

"A Hero's duty is not to question what is and is not possible, Barion."

"That's very funny coming from the one who was trying to stop us."

"I was never going to stop you." Manyu countered, "If I stood even the slightest chance of winning, then my ideals will have meant nothing. I struggled for a world of unconditional peace--one spearheaded by the Hero of legend. But knowing now that it was all useless… even I can't tolerate that."

"I'm just glad that you're on our side this time around."

When the sun finally set on that unassuming duo of carriages, it was decided that the final push to Gria would be made through the night, so as not to waste any time. For Barion, riding into the capital seemed like such a distant memory. When he arrived in Gria over a month ago, the world was as simple as could be. His delve into the abnormal goblin burrow that afternoon was only the beginning of a much darker future.

An enveloping curtain of rain best exemplified the changing times. From a distance, one would think Gria was the fortress of some evil king, with the piercing silhouette of its castle towers blotting the starry night sky. From their position, it was common to see caravans of traders moving goods from the country's fringe settlements, or hoping to peddle exotic luxuries from other lands. Barion wasn't certain if the sight of Tor's shining jewel was comforting or distressing.

"Hoh. So that's the so-called 'capital of the world', is it?" From the wagon, Pale admired the city's grand walls, "Never in my life did I imagine ever stepping beyond the boundaries of the Steppe. I've heard humans aren't the most tolerable sort."

"Perhaps in the countryside, but our alliance with Elvenkind is proof that times are changing." Dorma replied, "I think people are more likely to take notice of your silver prosthetics before your ears, however."

"They can stare as much as they like. For my people, the scars of battle are worn proudly."

"I believe we'd best work out a situation for hiding our Homunculus companion first of all."

"Please do not worry, Lady Dorma." From the flaps of the wagon, a face wreathed in shadow emerged, "I have proven myself quite capable of hiding my presence within large settlements."

"You bind to shadows using a curse-bond, don't you?" Dorma asked, "You'll slip by the average commoner, certainly, but once we're inside the castle, a proficient sorcerer will have you pegged in an instant. You'll need to introduce yourself at some point."

"Understood."

"Do you trust Manyu, Dorma?" Pale asked out of the blue.

"Not in the slightest." The sorcerer's smile didn't falter for an instant, "Although, I don't think he's liable to pull anything. So long as he does our bidding, I'll tolerate his presence for as long as it takes."

"You don't think a former Demon King is going to betray us?"

"It's been 500 years, Pale." She replied, "Not even an Elf could comprehend just how much time that really is. We've all matured since our days as young men and ladies… and even if it doesn't come close to atoning for his sins, Manyu seems to have calmed down the most out of us three."

"Just how evil was he?"

"Well, we were all rather passionate about our ideals back then. Just children with too much power, fighting to determine the fate of the world. It's a bit embarrassing to recall, if I must be honest."

"Was the Steppe much different back then?"

"Aside from the countless Demons scouring its plains? From what Barion has been telling me, I don't think so." Dorma answered, "I imagine that's mostly due to its refusal to join the Holy Alliance following Manyu's defeat. Or, I should say, its inability to."

"There isn't a single man or woman capable of uniting the tribes together." Pale explained, "Too many differences exist between our ways of life and the beliefs we hold. Many have tried, but few solutions are effective besides controlling the Steppe with power and fear."

"Some would say it's your way of life which causes those problems to begin with."

"Most of us cling to tradition. Even myself." Pale lowered her head, "Perhaps changes need to be made, but I don't know of a single person capable of making those changes."

"Please don't think all is lost." Dorma comforted, "Why, my own homeland was ruled by a despot until recently, and historically, our relations with Tor have been poor. Nowadays, we freely trade with one-another and enjoy a treaty of open borders. If you search thoroughly, peace can always be attained. Perhaps you could attempt to unite the tribes yourself?"

"Me?" Pale replied, unbelieving, "No… I'm no leader. Not in the slightest."

"Well, certainly not with that attitude." Dorma smiled, "Barion speaks highly of your tenacity. You're almost certainly more capable of it than you think."

"We have more important things to focus on at the moment."

"That's true, but don't think that such a lofty ideal is unrealistic. If what you want is truly best for the Steppe, then people will follow you. Perhaps we're preoccupied with this terrible war today, but envisioning what lies beyond will steel your resolve."

"You're quite the optimist, aren't you?"

"Of course. What else could have seen me through my journey 500 years ago?"

The partitioned evacuee camp lingering outside of the city walls was teeming with activity, and had been expanded to encircle the castle town completely. Sturdy palisade walls formed a kind of militant pathway leading up to the stone bridge flanked by Gria's main gate. Those who had been moved into the camp were not particularly sickly or hungry, but simultaneously quite fearful of their circumstances, forced to juggle family members between unsecured tents, separated from their homes and livelihoods. Many of them awaited entry into the city, where many of the residences made vacant during the plague of Mu'un were distributed to the most skilful of the evacuees--people who could contribute to the decimated welfare of the country.

"At least His Majesty had the forethought to save as many of his own people as possible." Manyu commented, seeing silhouettes dancing between thin imperfections in the blockade, "Villagers were simply left to the whims of Demonkind 500 years ago. Good for the continued wealth of the nation, naturally, but not so for its survival."

"I doubt those walls could stop something as mundane as a charging bear." Barion added, "It's just an illusion of safety against Demons. A fictitious border made to corral people."

"Oftentimes, that illusion is what makes the difference." Manyu replied, "Whether they're effective or not, those walls invoke a feeling of safety. I wouldn't call it a bad decision."

"Maybe Dorma and the other should have approached the city first… I doubt either of us will be recognised." Barion muttered, "Well, no helping it now, I suppose."

"I'm surprised, honestly. You must have done a swell job of holding Demons back in the Steppe if there are so few wandering around Tor."

"Just don't make me regret leaving, is all I ask."

Due to the large number of people attempting to gain unlawful entry to the city, the presence of guards at the gates had increased dramatically. As expected, Barion and Manyu were stopped rather abruptly, but the tune of the guardsmen quickly changed when Dorma came rolling up behind them. Naturally, a member of the royal council wasn't going to be refused entry no matter how crowded Gria had become. In a matter of minutes, the two coaches were steadily rising up the cobbled streets. The generally low presence of traders within the city meant that their presence drew the eyes of many citizens, especially as they crossed into the upper district.

"Not much of a Hero's welcome." Manyu commented.

"It isn't as if they had someone keeping a lookout for us, you know." Barion replied, "And you're the last person deserving of a Hero's welcome."

"Not much has changed in 500 years." His eyes went from side to side, "I still recognise most of these streets."

"What isn't broken, doesn't need fixing. Isn't that how the saying goes?"

"-Only, Gria was in desperate need of fixing back then…" Manyu muttered, "Whereabouts are we going to be keeping the coaches?"

"The trading district is just up this road. I own a warehouse, so let's put them up in there." Barion pointed to a fork in the road, "...At least, I did own a warehouse. Hopefully I still do.