Once again the carriage jolted him upwards, and he sighed deeply. They’ve been inside it for who knows how long now, traveling somewhere they had no idea about, chatting to each other so that time felt like passing quicker, but without much success. Nakol scratched his temple and grimaced, cursing in his mind profoundly as he was rethinking the choice he made to help those paladonians and their secret mining task. They were given absolutely no clue as to what they were looking for or where they were taking them, the soldiers simply awaited them outside Faye in a jagged, aged carriage, pulled by what looked like the great-grandfathers of horses and stared at them to hop in. Samek dared to launch a few questions their way, hoping to get some clarity as to what this task required of them, but the soldiers simply stood silent, no word muttered, not a single movement made.

  But after all, what could be so out of this world for them to do? They just needed miners to mine, plainly simple and they just happened to carry about them a few hungry pickaxes that could not wait to indulge in some tasty rocks. And Nakol knew without the faintest of doubts, that there simply was no one else in all of Galaria more prepared and suited to carry out any mining operation, other than their trusty band.

  Another pothole lurched the men upwards and they all simultaneously bumped their head into the wooden, sturdy roof, covered in a thin layer of cloth. They could not help themselves but swear to their heart’s content, some of them slapping the wooden planks with a swift, angered motion, while others rubbed their heads, overwhelmed by the agonizing wound that pulsated in their scalp. Nakol found himself doing both things in a gracious fashion. The hit he suffered seemed to have discarded his former thoughts and made room for new ones, this time in regards to the place they were presently at.

  With a quickened move, he shifted his gaze to his left, where a pair of blue, embroidered shades clung from the lowered roof, dancing violently in the sudden movements of the carriage. Struggling, Nakol managed to catch glimpses of the outside world, all in an effort to try and determine their current location. He squinted, trying to make his way through the radiant light that blinded the lands beneath it and barely managed to make out a few figures, riding atop horses. He cocked his head forward and threw his palm over his eyebrows, vaguely making out the helmets of those that rode and understood they were those annoying Paladon soldiers escorting them. In an effort to look beyond them, he drew closer to the moving shades and peeked outside. His twirling eyes could not decipher where they were located, none of the buildings around, plains and hills being recognized by them. One of the riders snapped his fingers, gathering his attention with a sporadic whirl, pointing to Nakol to return to his place. He beamed stupidly and returned inside the darkened carriage, his face grimacing almost instantaneously as it found itself behind the safety of the grainy shades.

  He fell back on the wooden, achy bench and bit on his lower lip in an effort to understand where exactly they were headed. It clearly looked nothing like Faye, the grass appeared paler, less alive and the buildings boasted none of the beauty or charm of those belonging to his home village. Then it occurred to him like a flash of lightning that the pathways they traversed were deeply sunken, potholes at every few meters that threatened to eat the wheels that squirmed beneath them with sudden rustles, which were uncharacteristic for Faye or any place he frequented. Realization dawned on his face that they were riding for at least two hours now, which clearly placed them at a reasonable distance from home.

  He bumped his shoulder into one of the miners that sank unbothered in his place, his back arched forward as he slid downwards, looking almost like he was melting away. Startled, the miner adjusted in his seat and looked at Nakol with narrowed eyes.

  

  
• What did you do that for, you idiot?


  
• Mostly for fun. But also because I am bored. Primarily because I have no idea where we are but we’re clearly far from Faye.


  

  Nakol pointed a confident finger towards the shades and the man leaned on one side to look outside. He returned to his initial place and shrugged.

  

  
• Well, what’s your point? We’re supposed to mine, maybe they have found a stupidly large amount of gold or whatever those fuckers use to cover their royal asses with and are leading us to it.


  

  He scowled at the man for a brief moment, taking in every word he uttered.

  

  
• Yeah… you’re probably right. After all, have you seen how they look?


  
• Their faces? No, they never took their helmets off until-


  
• Not their faces, you dumbass! I meant their armors, look at them, they shine brighter than the sun. And those huge crystals are something I’ve never seen before.


  

  Both men bowed slightly forward in an effort to analyze the soldiers more thoroughly and they found themselves intrigued at the faint sight of their helmets. They had those wide blue crystals, in the shape of an upside down pyramid, protruding forward and covering the entire surface of their faces, with sharp, delicate edges. In all their mining years, they both agreed with a curious nod that they’ve never seen something quite like it. Their curious eyes shifted downwards towards their breastplates, a blend between red and white, where the red began from the shoulders and dripped below, creating this unique, surreal, melting design. The armor looked surprisingly thin, with pauldrons extending outwards, its shape twisting upward into a sharp edge on which sat a bronze colored puny face, staring out front with a blank face. Behind their left pauldron, a waving small white cape clung to the armor, whose design they were unable to fully grasp. The constant shuddering of their carriage made it almost impossible to discern their gauntlets, but they managed to catch glimpses of them, another blue crystal painted on their knuckles revealing itself, the size of a coin.

  

  
• Oh shit. They really do shine brighter than the sun.


  
• You can say that twice, friend. How rich must one be to dress like this? To have this sort of soldier roaming around, carrying out his wishes? Nakol inquired


  

  The man beside him squinted his eyes, once again reexamining their armors with newfound appreciation for how beautiful they looked.

  

  
• Filthy fucking rich, my friend. Maybe we should’ve asked for a better pay from their royally filled pockets. the man chuckled, softly pushing Nakol’s shoulder forward


  

  Nakol whirled around suddenly and lifted his eyebrows, wanting to express the idea that maybe they should make a new deal with them to get even more lazugs, but his squinting eyes creeped downwards as his plan fumbled faster than a baby learning to walk.

  

  
• What? the man asked, his face furrowed


  
• Oh, nothing. I thought I had a good idea for once in my life, but I was terribly disappointed once again.


  

  They bursted into laughter and fell carelessly back on the bench, stumbling off of it in the process and proceeding to laugh even more. His wandering thoughts about where they were headed evaporated, replaced by a game of who could come up with the best jokes about the soldiers that escorted them at the moment. Mikon, a shorter fellow with a long, braided, deep black beard went first, but the gazes of those around him pressured him into fumbling his joke delivery and his head fell in defeat. Alizion emerged slightly forward, his older back releasing a crinkling sound, catching everyone’s attention with a shush as he prepared a joke that blew his brethren away, their bellies ravaged by laughter. Hael rested quietly, his bushy black eyebrows furrowed as he thought of something even greater to utter, but waved dismissively and tilted backwards, giving the others a reason to unanimously sneer. Nakol’s turn came up, his brethren eyeing him attentively. He wiggled a finger back and forth, his mind struggling to come up with something that will knock everyone down completely.

  

  
• Ey, boys, boys, boys! Where are our manners? Let’s not be so harsh on these poor souls. I believe (Nakol leaned in closer, gesturing for the others to follow him) that the reason they are so shiny and so beautiful is because… they are actually just a bunch of little girls, whose feelings we may hurt if we’re not too careful with our mouths!


  

  Nakol shouted strongly, devoted to letting his words out, and as soon as his brethren heard his joke, they all cracked up, tumbling around the already narrow carriage like crazed monkeys.

  Instantly, their party was disbanded as the carriage came to a standstill so violently, it glued some of the miners to the thin wall that separated them from the horses. They groaned, lifting themselves back up without success as the shades came apart, light blinding them without remorse. They all marched out the carriage and stood in line, slightly tilted by the declining hill they sat on, looking at the soldiers in their faceless helmets.

  As Nakol glanced around, his eyes met more soldiers that all stood unwavering, their backs straightened with acute preciseness, the puny capes that rested on their left shoulders dancing happily in the soft breeze. Not one of them made any unintentional move, only walking with purpose, their heads locked at all times on them like a hungry hawk watching its prey. Two soldiers emerged from the front of the carriage, carrying effortlessly a clump of pickaxes and tossing them at the base of the miners’ feet carelessly. They sluggishly leaned forward and picked them up, arming themselves with their trusty companions. One of the soldiers knocked harshly twice on the carriage and it jolted out of their way, making room for a shallow basin to emerge from down below.

  The ground on it looked soft, with a few bulging, uneven rows of yellowish grass giving it some well-deserved depth. A few, massive pieces of white rocks, with sharp, pointy edges draped alongside the walls of the emerging grass. Nakol lifted his eyes slightly towards the sky, and squinted hard as he tried to absorb the pinkish blue color it portrayed, dotted around with a few greyish clouds that shifted constantly, forming new and intricate forms with each passing moment. They all gasped slightly, their eyes darting around the place, desperate to absorb the beautiness that surrounded them. Two soldiers blocked their vision like a wall and caught their widened eyes, ceasing their amazement in an instant. In unison they each lifted the pointing finger, their white gauntlets reflecting the sunlight, making the miners struggle to evade them and gestured towards the serene basin, directing their vision towards it. The soldiers turned into statues, keeping the same steadfast position and seemingly waiting for the miners to walk towards it. Nakol took charge, whirling his head to meet them both as he walked by and gave off a slight scared grin, picking up the pace towards the place they were meant to go. As soon as they all walked by them, the two soldiers shifted their heads gradually towards the miners and stood stiller than the calmest of waters, their protruding blue crystals gnawing viciously at them. They unanimously swallowed dryly and tiptoed down the hill towards the basin, their pickaxes jerking around frightened.

  ~

  Drawing all her remaining energy, Amixia flung the hammer once again into the molten metal in an effort to shape it to her will. With her back arched forward, forming an unpleasant position through which she could already feel the rising pain in her back muscles, she could barely feel her petite arm after the long period she’s been using it relentlessly for. Her vision was getting blurred by the droplets of sweat that slid from her forehead like an untamed river and fell on the ground, instantly turning into steam by the burning fires emanating from the forge beside her. Once again she struggled to lift her arm, her face grimacing beyond recognition, despair shrouding her facial features and stumbled her arm downwards, the hammer landing on its cheek. Her head fell into defeat and a sudden rage caught her by surprise, the girl wishing only to toss that damnable piece of metal into the forge to never be seen again. But she recuperated and with a quick movement and a bite on the lower lip, she continued the motions she’s been doing for who knows how long at this point, stumbling more and more as she progressed further.

  The thick slab of metal that was slightly jolted occasionally on the anvil, appeared devoted to not wanting to bend to her will and to take on a new shape, no matter how much her puny muscles tried forcing it. The task was not even that complicated, she just had to create a sickle to add to the ever-expanding arsenal of Faye’s farmers. She felt the pain in her lower back growing more intensely with each new hit the slab endured and a vague sensation of trembling took hold of her. Under her garments, she felt water flowing without a care in the world, her whole body soaking in it and no matter how much she pulled on her clothes to let air flow through, it still was not enough. In a last attempt of lifting the hammer, her right arm shook beyond any ounce of control and the moment it fell, she dropped alongside it on the ground, her whole body paralyzed by the effort it had been through. Her eyes stood open, but her gaze fell into blurriness and she could not make much sense of what was happening or where she was. A dim ring started in her ears that progressively got louder and louder, until all the voices around her were fully distorted and muffled. Suddenly, like a calm wave, a pair of strong, soft hands pulled her from the ground gently and lifted her. With her mouth slightly open, she could feel the dryness of her lips that begged to be given some well deserved water and her eyes wandered around aimlessly, unable to make sense of where they were. With what little strength the girl had, she reached for what she could faintly make out to be an older man’s face and whispered to be given some water, until her head fell and her eyes shut completely.

  Slowly opening her eyes, Amixia’s blurry vision was slowly recovering and alongside it, she could understand the world around her better. Right in front of her, sitting at a dark tan wooden table with grey iron feet, Wymmel and the rest of the blacksmiths awaited her awakening, their faces twisted into deep worryness. As she lifted her head, the girl reached for the backrest of the bench she sat on and in an instant all the faces drew closest to her, extending their arms in an effort to help her up on her feet. She readjusted and sat straight, her head giving off a slight bothering pounding and she licked her lips, feeling them already moisturized. The inevitable back pain latched onto her and progressively became worse and worse, making the girl scowl, reaching with one arm behind her in an effort to relieve some of it.

  

  
• Are you alright? a pitched voice broke the silence and forced Amixia’s focus to switch from her pain


  

  The girl muttered no word and chose instead to murmur an affirmative to the question. She glanced in the voice’s direction and noticed the young boy Hurik, his distinct blonde long hair and baby face illuminated by the rays of the setting sun that pierced through the smithy fiercely, the dazzling light blinding those brave enough to look in its direction. Her eyes shifted towards the boy’s chest and noticed the slimness of it and in that moment, it occurred to her how much alike the two of them were physically, even if he was significantly younger than her.

  

  
• You should’ve taken a break, Amixia. You cannot overwork yourself like that.


  

  Wymmel’s words felt like a cold scold and in an instant, she gazed at him with narrowed eyes, feeling the urge to lash out and make it known that she had everything under control. But that was a huge lie. The reality of it all was that she fainted while working, not because he was overworking her, but because she could not keep herself from pursuing the desire to finally finish that stupid sickle. She felt everything her body called on her to do, to drink water, to take a break, to rest her arms a bit and chose to ignore it all in a desperate attempt to finalize what she started. Her puffy eyes slowly moved downwards and her nose began sniffing slightly. She allowed herself to be drawn out of the present and pulled into her wandering thoughts, as a strong feeling of sadness encompassed her like a dark shadow. Why did it not bend to her will? What did she need to be able to turn that forsaken piece of metal into something useful, something that could actually be used as a tool that could generate income or that could be appreciated by its wielder? Why was she so incapable of finalizing the task?

  Wymmel gestured for the other blacksmiths to return to their duties quietly as he leaned in next to Amixia, hugging the weeping girl. The warmness of his chest felt like a wave of love that grasped her heart and stilled it, and she allowed her head to sink slowly into him. After all she’s experienced and how frail her body felt, Amixia sensed she could finally begin recovering the lost strength.

  

  
• I didn’t mean to be angry at you. he whispered


  
• It’s… ok. I overstepped and I knew I had to stop, but I just… couldn’t.


  
• Why? Why do you push yourself so hard when you know your limits?


  
• Because I hate my limits! she lashed out, pushing herself away from him


  

  Amixia’s face suddenly morphed, her nostrils flaring as her palm formed a fist. She gazed into the forge’s direction and noticed the fiery opening of it, flames crawling outwards towards the overarch like in a desperate attempt to escape and go wild. In some way, she could see herself as those same flames that flickered before her, their full potential unable to be released because of the cage that was the forge itself, which kept them under its command. Those same fires stirred within her, the desire to surpass her present condition being restrained by her own body that did not allow her to blossom and grow beyond her present self. And she could feel a massive wild wave of hate surrounding her entirely, ushering her to tear the entire blacksmith into minuscule bits. The limitations imposed by her lack of strength did not give her peace whatsoever, fueling the rage that was growing fiercer and fiercer with each passing moment. She recalled Nakol constantly lecturing her on the need to love who she was, how she looked like, to appreciate what she had instead of focusing on what she lacked, and yet every time he spoke of such things, it managed only to make her eyes roll, even though she tried her best to actually listen and follow his advice. Her eyes shifted quickly towards her arms and she wondered how could she love herself when this was her limit? When a hammer… one simple, stupid hammer managed to make her faint after a couple of hurls? When the muscles on her arms were so thin, one could wonder if she actually had any in her or just skin and bones?

  Amixia’s face sunk roughly into her palms and the tears streamed across her childish cheeks like a wild cascade. Wymmel’s face narrowed and he placed a palm on her shoulder, stroking her gently. The girl felt the warmth emanating from it and it gave her a little comfort, knowing that someone stood by her in such moments.

  

  
• I’m… sorry. she sobbed, revealing her red, swollen face to him, tears piling up around her jaw aggressively


  
• You don’t need to apologize, child. he responded, smiling brightly, pushing away a few hair strands that fell unevenly on her nose


  
• But I… do. I don’t know what’s gotten into me.


  

  She spoke low, sniffing firmly, wiping the tears away with stumbling movements. Wymmel grabbed her chin gently, forcing her head to sit up and to look him in the eyes.

  

  
• I’m here for you, child. All of us are in fact. (he gestured around the room to the other blacksmiths) We all care about you and are here for you whatever you need.


  
• I know. (she whispered, her voice breaking) I really appreciate that.


  

  Another wave of crying took hold of her and tears flooded her face again, the corners of her mouth stretched upward violently as the eyes stood slightly shut. Wymmel grabbed her by the shoulders and gave her a firm hug, stroking her back carefully, his mouth twisting as he felt sorry for the girl and the emotional discharge she went through. Amixia’s thoughts were racing like frenzied horses, images of past events intruding ferociously and giving the girl even more reason to succumb to her tears. But as the thoughts shifted, so did her reasoning for crying. Presently, the image of a person arose in her mind, fueling Amixia’s rage even further and shifting her sobbing from one of sadness, to one of anger and helplessness. A person that she could not recognize as being something else other than a monster, leeching the happiness of someone right out of their hearts and tossing it into a dark corner, breaking the spirit of those around and making them question everything they represent, causing so much despair one would soon wish to die, rather than to breathe the same air. A person whose face she could never forget, no matter how much Nakol tried to help her in that regard. A person that she knew played the strongest part in what drove her to reach for such stubborn goals and aspirations. She squeezed her fists behind Wymmel’s back, shaking slightly, making the man frown and look downwards towards her face. But all Amixia could see as she stared into nothingness in that moment was the picture of her now passed father.

  Without even a hint of a warning, Amixia pushed herself away from his arms, readjusted her posture and her voice, wiping away what remained of the tears of her red face and lifted herself up, making for the forge where the slab of metal awaited patiently. She grabbed the hammer clumsily and returned to her duty, this time hurling the hammer back and forth more aggressively than before, her eyes widened with tangible anger. Wymmel muttered no word, opting instead to watch the girl perform her job and he could feel the mood in the room shifting slightly. No longer did she portray the helpless girl from before, which needed love and care to be brought back from her grief, now she resembled a ferocious woman, unyielding in her desire to acquire what she longs for. The way her vicious eyes were locked onto the metal, the wild throws of her hammer, the veins forming around her fist from all the pressure it endured, made Wymmel raise an eyebrow. There’s been multiple moments like these when she allowed her feelings to get the better of her, but as he remembered those moments, the realization kicked in that this was the first time ever she exploded in such a way. There was no doubt in Wymmel’s squinting eyes – the Amixia that fell victim to her sorrow was not the same one presently hitting that piece of metal.

  If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  ~

  Their stockpile of resources was dwindling, which Gakeh knew meant only one thing. The company has been summoned in the main hall by Kalah which was presently intoning his speech, feeding the markins the desire to pillage, murder and steal for their own benefit. Everyone crouched quietly on one knee, their heads bowed down, no word muttered, only Kalah’s voice echoing through the chamber like the cry of a savage animal. The dark pits in his eyes, illuminated only by the web of tiny purple veins grinned as he spoke about smashing the heads of humans with their feet, a devious smile invaded his face as he talked about burning people alive and watching them flee for their life, desperately looking for a source of water to escape their torment and finding none. He squeezed his fist hard, purple veins glowing and protruding from it aggressively as he yelled out loud for the markins to claim what it’s theirs for the taking, since no one could oppose their might. How foolish to think this way, Gakeh thought to himself.

  He knew all of it was an excuse for Kalah to satisfy his hunger for more blood. The stockpiles looked fine for all he cared, they still had enough resources to most likely last them a couple more days, a period of time in which the markins could have procured some more themselves, instead of plotting another attack. But the captain receives what the captain asks for. Thoughts raced in his mind about how much better this situation could have played out with him at the helm, how they could have used the time and effort that came with destroying to build and expand. For a brief moment, Gakeh envisioned himself sitting in front of the markin company in Kalah’s place and giving them a speech that would actually carry some value, that would embolden them to pursue a greater purpose, a higher calling. Oh, yes, what a delightful scene that will be. The markins will bow to him out of respect, not out of necessity or fear. He will show them a way that would make sense, he will provide them with a clear, distinct, tangible calling to become a mighty nation. He shook his head, composing himself and washing away the intruding thoughts. While he loved thinking about how great things will be as soon as he takes control, he did not wish to allow his thoughts to impair his judgement and steps moving forward. His head must remain clear and focused on the now.

  As he finished his speech, Kalah gave the markins the signature they all awaited. He lifted his sword up and shouted “I am unshackled!”. In an instant, the entire room came to life, as the roars of the markins shouting “We are unshackled!” reverberated aggressively. All of a sudden, he could feel anger growing within him at a rapid pace and he glanced around the room, noticing the same thing happening to his brethren. He’s sensed it before, almost like a wave that threatened to swallow him whole and leave room only for rage to rise and seize control of him. Gakeh struggled to keep his composure, focusing his mind on the present, while some of his brethren did not follow the same path and were now shouting like wild animals, smiles and frowns dancing unkempt on their faces. As he analyzed them, a new question slowly crept into his mind which made his thick eyebrows fight for a chance to narrow themselves. It struck him as interesting how there were many occasions when he struggled to muster any facial expression associated with any positive emotion, but when it came to wrath it came so easy to succumb to it, it almost felt like the natural thing to do. His thoughts were forcefully pushed aside as everyone ascended on their feet and marched towards the exit with newfound purpose.

  They all intruded in the camp and Kalah gestured with one fat finger to Gakeh for a table to be brought forward and placed in front of him. He obeyed, found the nearest wooden table, grabbed it fiercely with one hand and placed it down with a thud. The captain reached for a map sitting in his brown bag attached to his left hip, unrolled it and placed it on the table, his dark eyes carefully examining it. The captain breathed heavily and Gakeh registered that, giving him the cue that Kalah simply could not contain his excitement any longer. Once unveiled, the map revealed the north-eastern side of Galaria, their camp being marked with a black dot and the nearby villages with a red one. The whole company formed a circle around it and gazed at the map, carefully looking for a place to march towards. Out of nowhere, the captain pressed his finger on a dot west of them and yelled passionately “There!”. Gakeh leaned in closer to see exactly where he pointed and as the finger was lifted, flashes of the place appeared in his mind. They’ve only seen it from a distance a few times, but the place was quite big in comparison to the villages around, encompassed by a high wooden wall reinforced with iron rods and sheets. It had to house at least a thousand people if not more from the size of it. And in an instant, he realized what massacre will take place over there.

  Once again he found himself questioning Kalah’s decision making and asking in his mind if this was really worth it for perhaps a few resources that will not even last them that long. He felt his sharp jaw fighting for a chance to clench and there was this vague feeling of wrongness at play, but his body quickly took control back and pushed aside any of that, replacing it with a blank stare. His eyes anchored on the captain and he examined him intently, taking in every minute detail, from the devious wide grin displayed without remorse, to his purely black eyes, the purple veins in them moving excitedly, even the rubbing of his massive palms together. He glanced around the other markins, trying to see if anyone else noticed those details, but none of their faces mustered any emotion that could be read. A dim sensation of frustration passed through him and allowed his eyes to sink downwards with a faint sigh.

  Kalah turned fast, his bulging belly touching a few warriors and tossing them aside and shouted for everyone to hop in the carriages and move towards Ozin — the village he chose for them to invade. The warriors hurried and followed his command, thudding on the ground with each step they took, pulling the reins of a few balmaks, disturbing them from their slumber and attached the carriages to them. Everything was set up in what seemed like the blink of an eye and Gakeh found himself atop his black, white striped balmak, Kalah in front of him riding his own. The captain gestured for the balmak to step up front, turned around elegantly for him to face the markins and he unsheathed his sword, lifting it up in the air.

  

  
• Markins! Tonight, we march for our benefit! (his gruff voice made a few birds flee from a tree behind him) We descend on those sad piles of flesh and we crush their bones, we smash their heads, we tear them apart and we show them… who the markins are! We claim what we want, when we want and whoever dares stand in our way… we teach them pain! Pain, oh beautiful pain! We’ll watch their blood pouring out of them like cascades, all while they reach for help but none… will come their way. They shall feel the markin way.


  

  Gakeh stared at him during his entire speech and he witnessed the anger brewing within him, the shaky movements as he spoke about murdering them, the droplets of saliva falling from the corners of his mouth, the sporadic eye movements. Again, that bickering feeling of anger touched him and threatened to claim him and he shifted his head to one side, regaining composure. His sight fell on a carriage filled with markins and saw the angry excitement brewing in them, aroused by the captain. Kalah turned to face the forest beyond the markin camp and tilted the sword forward, cruelly hitting the balmak with his feet and the animal lunged into the forest. The entire company followed his command and they ran behind him. In between the jolting, sporadic movements of his balmak, Gakeh found himself focused on the situation at hand. How could his brethren be so blind as to follow Kalah, without even a hint of doubt in them? How could someone like him be given the possibility of leadership? What struck Gakeh in that moment, was that the captain was successful in provoking anger within him after all his unsuccessful attempts. He grimaced, felt his entire body tensing, the purple veins around his neck bulging violently, his fists grasping harshly the reins around the balmak’s thick, soft neck. “How can he be the captain and not me?” he thought as they rode deeper into the dark forest.

  ~

  Now and then the woman shook sporadically, which jolted Zykon up to his feet to check on her, only for him to realize she was still asleep. With a deep sigh, he returned to his white stone chair, scratching his temples. Ever since he’s heard the news, he found it hard to sleep or to leave her side. His poor mother suffered a blow to the head so hard that it may cause her to lose her memories altogether, or at least that’s what the doctor strongly believes. He pressed against his eyelids and felt the quivering of his jaw emerge, the boy doing everything in his power to fight against his body’s urge to liberate the emotions accumulated. In his head, he replayed the moment when all of it happened, when they were attacked and he froze in place like a scared cat, incapable of taking any action worth mentioning. The exact moment his mother hit her head on the cold floor echoed in his mind, giving him time to analyze every single detail about the entire scene, which allowed the tears to emerge and sink down on his face. He remembered the way she ducked them both to avoid the projectiles, the loud thump that came from his mother’s direction and when he turned to meet it, the blood already emerged out of her head, dripping on the sandy ground. He squeezed his fists and leaned forward, looking aimlessly at the floor, tears parting the dust that settled on it. How could this happen? Why was he subject to this much torment? First his city, now his mother, who knows what will come next. His own life? A strong feeling of powerlessness built up inside him, bickering the boy relentlessly. It was fairly clear to him – he lacked what was needed to survive in the environment they inhabited. He had the chance to save them both, to push back against some of Famah’ugh’s people, if only he could have tapped into the training Master Delemon walked him through since he joined the covenant. And yet, he found himself unable to do anything but sitting in place, terrified of what was happening, lacking the strength that was needed of him. Now his mother paid the price for his inaction.

  His cheeks welled up with rapidly emerging tears. Zykon placed his palms behind his neck, pushing down fiercely, biting hard on his lower lip until he left a visible mark. He shook back and forth, slow at first and then progressively faster. On repeat, the thoughts flowed through his mind without his consent, struggling to keep up with their pace. His eyes landed upon his mother, sitting on a make-shift bed, a thin white mattress distancing her from the silver wooden frame. She slept with her head slightly curved, tilted to the left, towards Zykon’s position. Her head was surrounded by a thick bandage, which looked tightly fitted. Lifting one hand slowly, he placed it on her left cheek, caressing it gently. His eyebrows narrowed and he felt his lips jutting out as he examined the defenseless woman. There was nothing else he could do presently, besides being by her side and aiding her in whatever she may need when she were to wake up. They did not even get to speak that much after the attack, the woman barely able to form audible sentences or to understand where she was or what happened to her. Zykon clung to one tiny grain of hope that maybe she will make a full recovery, that maybe the healers misjudged the severity of her condition. After all, they don’t have infinite wisdom or knowledge, they are just a bunch of people that studied the arts of healing and dedicated their lives to saving others. Not everything they say is true, they can also make mistakes.

  With one swoop of the hand, he wiped the tears from his already red face and the mucus below his nose and forced himself to smile. Leaning in closer to her face, Zykon gave the woman a kiss on her forehead and whispered “I love you, mama. You’ll be alright.” Giving the woman another stroke on her head, he lifted himself and made for the exit of the healer’s chamber, taking in the cold morning air outside. He glanced to his right and noticed the sun slowly lifting up over the walls, painting the sky in shades of deep blue. To his left, people were tirelessly at work rebuilding parts of the city, the walls being the main focus for the moment. Man or woman, everyone came together and gave a hand in the reconstruction of Kaluh’a’jul, pushing aside any other duties they had. A newfound appreciation for his fellows arose within Zykon, recalling no other moment when everyone got together this well before. But then again, he pondered on the fact that something on this scale had to occur for them to come along as well as they do presently, which made him form a slight frown and shift his eyes from their direction. Before him, in the farther stretches of the city, he vaguely made out a figure that stood next to a group of elders, children and adults. Zykon closed the distance slowly and squinted his eyes, making out the figure of Master Delemon praying for the group of people that sat with him, pressing his thick, strong palms on their heads. The boy’s eyes widened in surprise and hastened to join his side. The more he approached, the more he heard the crowd gathered whisper among themselves, expressing their gratitude for Master Delemon’s gesture, calling out to Hrrysthoo to hear their cries and grant them healing. He squeezed between the people and appeared behind Master Delemon, carefully watching his every move and word spoken.

  

  
• It shall bless you, old one. It shall heal your wounds, shall cover your scars and shall provide you with a way out of this. Trust in It.


  
• Ah, thank you, thank you, master! Bless you, bless you! the old man responded with a stutter, making room for another person to take his place


  
• Be blessed by It, dear woman, put all your trust in It’s love and care for you. Be not worried by those sands, be not worried by your flesh. It shall bless you.


  
• Great, great is It’s name! May he guide you as well, master, thank you for your words! the woman touched Master Delemon’s robe and hugged it, her face beaming


  

  Behind the woman appeared a young girl, above the master’s knees in height. Her eyes looked sorrowfully at the ground and she advanced slowly and unsure towards the master. Zykon noticed the sadness enshrouding the young girl’s face like a dark veil and an urge inched him forward partly, a call to hug the girl and comfort her tugged him. He returned his left foot from its starting position and controlled his feelings, allowing Master Delemon to continue his prayers. Gently, the master bowed on one knee and placed his right hand on her left shoulder, searching for her avoidant eyes.

  

  
• It’s alright, little one. You don’t need to worry. I understand how you feel and I can assure you, It will take care of you and will wash away your sorrowness.


  

  Finally, the little girl hesitantly moved her face to meet that of the master’s, revealing a thin, cinnamon colored face with wide, round, deep brown eyes, a pair of narrow lips and an aquiline nose. From where Zykon stood, he could see the girl’s face steadily begin to quiver, until she exploded into tears and reached for Master Delemon’s neck, hugging him fiercely. The crowd gasped unanimously, visibly moved by the girl’s act, some of them even reaching down towards her to stroke her short combed golden hair. Departing slowly from the master, she reached for a small grainy satchel attached to her grey robe and revealed two white wooden figures, a man and a female. The child looked at them, her chin trembling aggressively and extended her tiny arm forward for Master Delemon to take them. He grinned slightly, placed his arms around the girl’s palms, enclosing the two figures and pushing them closer to her chest.

  

  
• It will take care of them, child. Your parents are sure to be safe. Keep those figures as a reminder of their love for you.


  

  The young girl forced a smile that came with more tears and left the master, slouching towards the temporary orphanage that operated inside a damaged, yet functional building. Zykon pressed his lips together, narrowly puffing his cheeks as he gazed at her departing from them, alone, left to fend for herself in a world that was changing before their very eyes, hungering for violence.

  The sun was now high above, blinding lights radiating the environment, the shades of blue more vivid and diverse. As he stared into the distance, Zykon could make out heat waves emanating from the white sands that covered the ground, allowing him to feel sweat dripping from his forehead sluggishly. The crowd that gathered for Master Delemon’s prayers was now just one more person, who lifted quickly, the boy whirling his head to meet the noise of shifting sands. The man turned and hurried towards the marketplace and Master Delemon placed his strong arms behind his back, watching the man depart with a smile on his face. The boy strode alongside him and gathered his attention with a slow rotation of the head.

  

  
• Zykon. I’m glad you stood by me.


  
• M-my pleasure, master. I figured I ought to keep you company. Plus, I thought it would be nice of me to pray alongside you.


  
• Yes. I appreciate you for doing that. (he chuckled) It’s a shame those people must endure such troubling times.


  
• I agree. Zykon peered at a group of children playing cheerfully, sensing sadness invading his eyes and weighing them down


  
• Follow me, please. There’s something we must discuss.


  

  With a sudden turn, the boy marched alongside Master Delemon throughout the city, eagerly anticipating what he would say.

  

  
• I have discussed with the Primal in regards to our current situation and how to best approach it and we have come to a conclusion that we believe will work the most in our benefit.


  

  The boy’s eyebrows frowned, blocking any incoming noise from his ears, submitting them to only listen attentively to what was going to come out of the master’s mouth.

  

  
• The covenant of Kaluh’a’jul will begin a mission across Bahar to recruit people to our cause and faith, not forcefully, but willingly.


  

  Zykon shook his head and shrugged.

  

  
• What do you mean, master?


  
• The Primal has entrusted the covenant to turn people to our faith and our ways through benevolence. Therefore, we are to help, aid and care for the people of Bahar to the best of our capabilities and to instill in them our beliefs kindly.


  
• But… what if they respond with violence towards us?


  

  Master Delemon clasped his arms below his waist, a warm grin materializing on his face.

  

  
• Then we leave. We are not meant to cause any more unnecessary violence. Our ways must be different than those of our aggressors.


  

  The boy scratched his jaw, his narrowed eyes fixated on the ground.

  

  
• And what if… we cannot stop violence from occurring? What if we are forced into a situation where we must fight for our lives?


  
• That is why we have our Guardians, isn’t it?


  

  The master’s words penetrated through Zykon, his eyes widening at the muttering of the word Guardian.

  

  
• The… Guardians?


  
• Indeed. (the master acknowledged) We have been entrusted with them by It to protect and serve, to abide by It’s commands and wishes. And if we find ourselves in situations where our faith is dragged into such peril, we will use them accordingly. This is how we’ve been instructed.


  

  Zykon remained silent and allowed his mind to process the details given to him. On one hand, he saw how the plan could prove useful, recruiting people to their faith through kindness rather than hatred, will prove to others that violence is not the path Kaluh’a’jul embarks on, nor is it one they should either. Besides that, he understood that showing love in a situation where they just suffered a massive attack that brought Kaluh’a’jul to its knees, would make individuals question how such a thing was possible and how they were able to portray such goodwill, even after all they’ve endured. Hearts were sure to be won over. However, flickers of doubt arose in his mind about just what sort of reactions they will receive, especially from those belonging to Famah’ugh and San’themonio. As Master Delemon already mentioned, violence was out of the question, reserved only for the worst situations imaginable. And yet, the more Zykon taught about their current place and the conflict in which they were tossed in, the more unclear everything seemed. The plan had obvious benefits, but there were still questions to be answered about just what will await them along their journey.

  

  
• In light of the journey we will embark on (the master intruded) we must officiate you as a full-fledged member of the covenant.


  

  Zykon’s eyes darted on his master.

  

  
• You did not think you would miss such an important task, did you?


  

  The boy’s eyes widened as the realization dawned upon him. He babbled in an effort to express himself clearly.

  

  
• I-I… are you sure, master? I can still learn a bit more befo-


  
• There’s nothing else that I can teach you, Zykon. It is now time for you to use the knowledge acquired and follow the path of It forward, abiding by It’s will. Besides, you did not think you would join us in our mission without your own Guardian, right?


  

  Zykon’s eyebrows lifted quickly and his mouth opened slightly to mutter the phrase “My own Guardian?”. He stopped in place, his thoughts ravaged by the idea of his own Guardian. He recalled a moment when the master spoke about the Guardians and said “To be chosen by a Guardian means to be worthy and capable of delivering and abiding to It’s commands.”. He licked his lips in anticipation, envisioning himself wielding a sword, or probably a shield, or a pair of daggers, or even an armor since the Guardians never took the same form for everyone, its metal nature shaping in accordance to what it deemed necessary for the wielder to possess.

  As he caught himself daydreaming about his personal Guardian, he readjusted his posture and his voice, suppressing the desire to acquire such a powerful artefact. Master Delemon caught the boy’s sudden movements and the change that occurred on his face and approached him.

  

  
• What’s wrong? the master asked, visibly worried


  
• I… found myself yearning too much for the Guardian and I did not want to allow such feelings to cloud me.


  
• I understand. Wise of you to do that. Do not allow your feelings and desires to come before your duty to It, Zykon. Never forget that.


  
• I won’t. the boy nodded, forcing a grin


  

  Without warning, an image intruded in Zykon’s mind, sending shivers down his spine. He envisioned himself holding his Guardian in battle stance, surrounded by piles of corpses, butchered and cut into halves, blood engulfing the ground he sat on. And he knew without a shadow of doubt in his mind that those bodies belonged to Famah’ugh. With a violent shake of the head, the image was dispersed into nothingness.