The trio stood across from the five corrupted dark elves. Glaring at them as the explanation settled upon Oreon, who gripped his daggers tightly. The weight of the revelation hangs in the air.

  "Assassination unit," He muttered under his breath. "Great...Just...Great. Who would have thought the high and mighty elves needed such a thing? You'd think you're already overpowered enough with just magic." Oreon glanced over at Celestia. "Did your father really have a hit squad on his side? Seems a bit...overkill. Don't you think?"

  Celestia's jaw tightened, a flicker of shame crossing her delicate features. She didn't meet Oreon's eyes.

  "Every kingdom has its shadows." She said quietly, her voice carrying the weight of old guilt. "Father believed some threats couldn't be resolved through diplomacy alone. The Jaegers were his answer to those who would destabilize our realm through subterfuge or assassination."

  Her sapphire eyes finally rose to meet the gaze of the five corrupt elves who stood before them. "They were supposed to be loyal. Bound by sacred oaths to the Valerian family and the kingdom of Vel'Andria itself.

  "You know, I'm starting to think elves and humans are more alike than anything," Oreon replied, glaring back at the Jaeger group. "So far, every elf outside of you two acts just like humans do. I guess backstabbers run in every species."

  "Backstabbers? Don't lump us with your species, human." She stepped forward, sticking her hand out, forming a shadow ball that stretched and formed into a black, red, silver wheel blade that fell languidly around her wrist. "Keep your weak thoughts to yourself." She said as she glanced back over at Sylvanie. "Hiya, Sylvie. Long time no see." She said with an almost friendly voice, a tone that Sylvanie recognized.

  Sylvanie's grip tightened around her scythe's handle. "...Yvonne." Her eyes burned with a volatile mixture of fury and... something else. Something that looked almost like she was hurt. "Out of all people. You..." Sylvanie took a step forward.

  Yvonne's grin only grew wider at Sylvanie's reaction. "Aww, don't look at me like that." She twirled the wheel blade lazily around her finger. "You're going to make me feel bad."

  "Feel bad?" Sylvanie's voice cracked slightly before hardening again. "You were my best friend. We fought together, trained together. Why the hell would you..."

  "Save your dramatic questions for another time, princess." Vexes took a few steps forward, now standing out in front of the group. "Her decisions came with the rest of ours." He bowed slightly. "Former Queen of Vel'Andria, it's been...Some time..." The last words were drawn out as Vexes slowly lifted his head to lock eyes with both Celestia and Sylvanie.

  Celestia's composure wavered, her hands trembling slightly at her sides. "Vexes..." The name left her lips like a prayer turned curse. "You sat at the council table of elves. The highest ranking an elf of any kind could earn. Highly decorated in your accomplishments, and my father's right-hand. Yet you still chose to side with the Order and their misguided concept of purification." She steadied her voice and stood tall as she faced down Vexes. "Explain yourself."

  Vexes let out a slow, deliberate breath—almost theatrical in its patience. "Save your political banter for someone who is...easily persuaded by lies and provocations." He slowly stood and leaned back, allowing himself to stand upright, no longer bowing.

  "Lies?" Celestia's eyes widen slightly. "I speak the truth. I—"

  "Your truth." Vexes cut her off as his eyes, marked by the holy insignia, swept across the trio before landing back on Celestia. "Our perspective is...different." Vexes continued, hands clasped behind his back, his stance subtly altering to resemble that of a scholar. "Your father, the high-elf king...Was indeed...Many things amongst his people. Courageous. Diplomatic. Beloved." A pause. "...Manipulative..."

  Celestia's breath caught in her throat, her composure cracking for just a moment. "Manipul—You dare defile the name—"

  "—I served your father for over three centuries, princess, or should I say...Former queen. Though I guess you didn't sit on the throne long before the Order arrived." He closed his eyes for a moment before reopening them. "I watched your father. Countless times, the diplomat you hold in high regard, the one who would smile at ambassadors while ordering their deaths in the same breath. Seen him weep for fallen soldiers in public while privately calculating how their sacrifice benefited his political standing." His eyes bore into her. "Your father was a brilliant ruler. But do not mistake brilliance for virtue. In the end, he was nothing short of... tyrannical." His pink tongue slowly slid from his mouth.

  Celestia's hands clenched into fists at her side. Her body fidgets slightly as if Vexes's words had slightly shaken her.

  "You're lying." The words came out hoarse. "Father would never—Father wasn't—he wasn't perfect, I know that. But tyrannical? He dedicated his life to—"

  "To what, Princess?" With a slight tilt of his head, Vexes spoke gently, with a hint of patronage. "To peace? To prosperity?" He let out a chuckle, shaking his head slowly. "Tell me. Do you remember the Amber quarries? The ones your father assured the council were operated by willing workers. A variety of Mundane Elves?" He paused, letting the silence do its work. "Well, there was no variety. Dark elves. Hundreds of them. Chained underground for decades, mining mana crystals to fuel the kingdom's magical infrastructure. When they died, they were replaced. When they revolted, they were silenced." He folded his arms as he continued to keep eye contact with Celestia. "Dark elves, who were unfortunate enough to remain stagnant and unable to change their status...like the ones in your precious kingdom."

  Silence followed as Celestia's lips parted, but no words came. Her eyes searched Vexes' face for any sign of deception—any twitch, any tell that would let her dismiss his words as fabrication. But there was nothing. Only the cold, unwavering certainty of someone who had carried this truth for centuries.

  "No... That's..." Her voice faltered. She swallowed hard, her fingers curling into fists as her sides. "That's not... No, it can't be true. I wouldn't have allowed discrimination amongst our kind, especially the dark elves. I would have put a stop to it. There were no reports, no records indicating that—"

  "And why do you think that is?" The blue-haired corrupted elf spoke up. "Who do you think wrote those reports while your father tried to organize his own version of purification?" He continued.

  "Eilist..." Celestia gasped, her voice still unsteady.

  He adjusted his glasses with one finger, the holy insignia in his pupils glowing faintly behind the lenses. "Every report you ever read passed through my hands first, Your Highness." His voice was measured, academic—devoid of malice, which somehow made it worse." Every census. Every mining yield. Every casualty report from the quarries. I rewrote them all, amongst others, on your father's orders." He tapped his staff lightly against the ground. "You never saw the truth because you were never meant to. You were never meant to understand what your father truly wanted." He pressed on.

  "Watch your tongue four eyes." Sylvanie slowly directed her gaze towards Eilist, who only chuckled in response.

  "He wanted a purge. A purge so that only the high elves would stand tall. He had no intention of letting dark elves, or elves of any kind for that matter, who didn't bend the knee to him, stand in his kingdom as he brought in a new era. He wanted to dominate. Not just in hierarchy, but across all living creatures, including—" He glanced over at Oreon. "Humans." Directing his eyes back to Celestia. "Have you ever questioned why certain elves who stood against Vel'Andria finally kneeled to your father's kingdom?" The insignia in his pupils began to glow brighter. "The Sea elves of Ledecka. The Scorch elves from the drylands. Have you never wondered why there are so few of them left?" He continued.

  Celestia's world tilted. The ground beneath her feet felt unsteady, as if the very foundation of everything she had ever believed was crumbling.

  "That's...No. The Sea Elves joined the alliance willingly. Father brokered a treaty with their elder council. I was there. I read the accords myself. And the Scorch elves—their numbers dwindled because of the Blight. The disease that swept through their territories. Father sent healers. He sent them help. He—"

  "—Sent them death." Eilist finished for her, his voice remaining calm. "The treaty you speak of was signed under duress, Your Highness. The Sea elves' elder council was given a choice—bend the knee or watch their coastal cities burn and sink in the very waters they cherished. I drafted the ultimatum myself." He paused, letting each word land. "And the Blight? It wasn't the Blight that you're thinking of. In fact, it was engineered. A magical contagion developed in the lower laboratories beneath the royal palace. Laboratories you never knew existed because your father made sure you wouldn't."

  Celestia's legs nearly buckled. She caught herself straightening her spine through sheer force of will, but the color had drained from her face. Her eyes glistened, threatening to spill over.

  Oreon looked over at her and shifted closer. "Celestia..."

  "I've heard enough," Sylvanie stepped forward. Her voice was low as she positioned herself in front of her sister. Her eyes were blazing with hatred. "How dare you?" Sylvanie growled. "How dare you get in my sister's head with your Jaeger tactics. Destabilize the mind, then move in for the kill. The same tactics you used before you killed your targets." Her red eyes began to glow as her expression turned cold and heartless. "I'll kill you, every single one of you will die here today." She declared.

  The air around Sylvanie crackled with dark energy, shadows pooling at her feet like living things, writhing and stretching outward as her fury fed her magic. Her scythe hummed with a low, resonant vibration, the blade's edge flickering as the solid steel began to become wrapped in dark energy, and tendrils finally burst out around the trio.

  With his arms still folded, Vexes watched the display with a detached, clinical gaze. He didn't flinch. None of them did.

  "Whoooo! There she is!" Yvonne exclaimed, her wheel blade spinning lazily around her wrist as she watched Sylvanie's rage intensify with what could only be described as fascination. "I was going to say, taking the shard was going to be easy, if all we had to do was deal with the human. But look at you. All shadowed out."

  The bald, scarred elf let out a low, rumbling chuckle—the first sound he'd made since revealing himself. His massive arms uncrossed as he cracked his neck. "Little Sylvie has really grown." His deep voice echoed across the square. "But it's always threats with you, little girl. You were always the loudest of the royal brats. Quick to bark. Slower to bite."

  Sylvanie's eyes snap to him. "Grunk." The name dripped out of her mouth with hatred. "You'll die first."

  Grunk's scared face twisted into something resembling amusement. "Still got that mouth on you." He rolled his massive shoulders, joints popping audibly. "Good. Makes it more satisfying when I finally shut it."

  "Enough." Vexes raised a hand, silencing the exchange. "Believe it or not. We are actually not here for you, though this little reminiscing has been...entertaining. We have other orders that need to be addressed." His gaze shifted, landing squarely on Oreon. "You. Human." The word dripped with curiosity. "You carry something that doesn't belong to you."

  "Lots of things don't belong where they end up. World's funny like that." Oreon glanced around at the five pairs of eyes staring directly at him. "Though I don't remember this belonging to you either, just like everything you showed up in doesn't 'belong' to you." He shifted as he glanced down at the tendrils circling the three waiting to strike their opposition.

  Vexes grinned. "A foolish sentiment. One, only a mere human could make." Vexes continued as he tilted his head. "Ah, but you're not just a mere human, are you?" Vexes taunted him. "No, our orders were to retrieve the shard that was stolen and the human that stole it...The purifier's son." Vexes gritted his teeth as Oreon's eyes widened, and he quickly turned his head behind him to see Grog and his gang still hiding behind the barrels, but now their eyes widened at the revelation.

  The silence that followed was deafening.

  ".... What did he just say?"

  "The purifier's...son?"

  "He's been hiding amongst us this whole time?"

  "That bastard brought this upon Haven Crest!"

  Oreon's jaw clenched as he jerked himself back towards the five corrupted elves in front of him. "Great." He thought to himself. "Just what I needed." He continued to talk to himself mentally as he glared at Vexes. "Son of a..." He muttered under his breath. Behind him, he could hear Grog and his men shifting, their whispers growing louder."

  "Does that mean Meara knows?"

  "I bet he was hiding it from the whole town."

  "No wonder he runs off all the time."

  Vexes seemed to drink in the chaos his words had caused. "Oh, did I let a secret slip?" He sounded sarcastically sorry. "My sincerest apologies. Though I suppose it matters little now. You'll be coming with us regardless."

  Sylvanie's eyes narrowed at the comment. Both Celestia and her already knew the secret about Oreon since he shared it when he helped them escape from the fortress when they first met a few days ago. Her glare intensified, and so did her powers.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  "Celestia...Listen to me." She spoke slowly, almost whispering to her as she eyed Vexes, who kept his sights on Oreon. "Whatever the truth about father will have to wait. Don't let them get into your head. Right now, we can't afford to lose ourselves through sheer words alone." She glanced back at her sister. "You didn't do anything wrong, so don't blame yourself for anything that was out of your control." She returned her gaze to her enemies.

  Celestia stood still for a long moment, her eyes unfocused, staring at nothing. The revelations about her father, the quarries, the Blight, the treaties signed under threat of annihilation—they swirled in her mind like poison in clear water. Every memory she had of him was now tainted, every lesson he'd taught her now suspect.

  "Was everything a lie? Was I just another piece on his board? "She thought to herself.

  "CELESTIA!" Sylvanie called her name louder.

  The sharpness of her sister's voice interrupted her thoughts. Celestia blinked, her eyes refocusing as the world snapped back into place. "Pull yourself together. Not here, not now."

  She drew in a shaking breath—then released it slowly. When she spoke, her voice was quiet but steady. "...You're right." She placed a trembling hand on Sylvanie's shoulder and squeezed gently, almost as if she was using it to anchor herself. "I'm here, I'm with you." Her eyes, still glistening, hardened as she lifted her gaze to meet Vexes'. The grief was still there—raw and bleeding beneath the surface—but she pushed it down, locking it behind the same composure that had carried her through the fall of Vel'Andria.

  "Father's sins, whatever they may be, are not mine to answer right now." Light began to gather at her fingertips, soft and golden. It spread outward in a thin, shimmering veil that settled over Oreon and Sylvanie like a second skin. "I will not falter here." A queen-like voice returning despite everything.

  Vexes observed the golden light encompassing the trio, his amusement giving way to a more serious demeanor. "Interesting." With a small head tilt, he scrutinized the barrier, his curiosity akin to that of a researcher. "So, the light still answers to you. Even after everything." He unclasped his arms, letting them fall to his sides. "Even with the wavering of your mind, you're still able to summon your magic."

  Eilist adjusted his glasses again. The holy insignia in his pupils pulsing as he analyzed the magical barrier Celestia had woven. "Her output is impressive given her current state. Emotionally compromised, mana reserves likely depleted from healing the human and the boy earlier." He tapped his staff against the ground twice. "Not to mention, two days isn't nearly long enough to fully heal, and your magic won't hold. Not against all five of us."

  "Doesn't need to hold against all five." Sylvanie bared her teeth in something that wasn't quite a smile. "Just long enough for me to cut through a few of you."

  Yvonne let out a delighted laugh, spinning her wheel blade faster. "Oh, Sylvie, we get to play again! Just like old times!" She bounced around a bit. "It's just too bad it's going to end the same." She got into her own fighting stance. "You've never beaten me, not once."

  Sylvanie's grip tightened on her scythe. "Who said I couldn't have beaten you?" Sylvanie responded. "Let me make it clear for you, Yvonne...You were never stronger than me."

  Vexes glanced at Yvonne and then back at Oreon. "I grow tired of this...Purifier's brat, hand over the shard and come with the Order. Your father would like to discuss your punishment with you...personally."

  Oreon's heart pounded against his ribs as he glared at Vexes, who had just released a secret that not only Grog and his goons had heard, but probably the people lingering and hiding within their houses as they peered out from the windows.

  "You and my father can kiss my ass." Oreon pointed his blade at Vexes for a moment. "It doesn't matter what that zeolitic psychopath wants. He's not getting the shard, and he's definitely not getting me."

  "Well, then..." He leaned forward a bit, almost in a bowing position, but he spread his arms apart in a grand gesture. "Then I guess...there's nothing left for us to talk about." As soon as the words left his mouth, Divia and Yvonne charged forward, passed Vexes towards the trio.

  The moment Divia and Yvonne surged forward, the world erupted into violence.

  Yvonne came in first—fast, impossibly fast—her wheel blade screaming through the air as it carved a wide arc aimed directly at Sylvanie's neck. The dark elf ducked beneath the spinning blade, feeling the wind kiss her scalp as the blade passed inches above her. She pivoted on her heel and swung her scythe upward in a vicious counter-slash, the dark energy trailing from the blade like smoke from a wildfire.

  "There's my girl!" Yvonne laughed as she caught her wheel blade on the return, deflecting the scythe with a metallic shriek that sent sparks scattering across the ground. She spun with momentum, turning the deflection into another attack—a low sweep aimed at Sylvanie's legs. "You've gotten faster, Sylvie! But not faster than me!"

  Sylvanie leaped over the sweep, planting one foot on Yvonne's extended arm and launching herself into the air. She twisted mid-flight, bringing her scythe down in a devastating overhead strike. "Shut up and fight!"

  The blade slammed into the ground where Yvonne had been standing a heartbeat before, cracking the stone and sending a shockwave of shadow energy rippling outward. Yvonne had cartwheeled to the side, landing in a crouch with that infuriating grin still plastered across her face.

  Sylvanie growled as she placed her palm on the ground, causing tendrils to shoot out instantly, extending quickly and whipping towards the Red-haired elf.

  Yvonne's eyes widened—not with fear, but with exhilaration. "Ohhh, new tricks!" She vaulted backward as the first tendril lashed at her ankles, then twisted sideways to avoid a second that shot toward her midsection like a serpent. A third caught the edge of her sleeve, tearing fabric as she wrenched herself free. "Almost got me-!" She flung her wheel blade forward, the spinning disc carving through two of the tendrils as it arced toward Sylvanie's face, who only tilted her head to the side, causing the disc to miss her head completely. The severed shadows dissolved into wisps of dark smoke before reforming behind Yvonne, reaching for her from her blind spot.

  "Behind you," Sylvanie said coldly.

  A tendril wrapped around Yvonne's ankle and yanked. The red-haired girl yelped as she was pulled off balance, her back slamming into the ground. But even as she hit the ground, she was already moving, catching her returning wheel blade and slicing through the tendril binding her in one fluid motion. She kicked herself back to her feet, enjoying the warm-up.

  Meanwhile, Divia had shifted her form slightly, so only her clawed hands would appear sharper as she moved in towards Oreon, but Celestia had advanced towards Divia.

  Stepping in front of Oreon, Celestia quickly, but calmly, moved Divia's clawed hand that was trying to slash Oreon out of the way and drove her other hand palm-first into her stomach, causing Divia to jump back, but landing on her feet perfectly.

  "You won't touch him," Celestia said, taking on a fighting stance that suggested that she was also trained in how to use her magic in hand-to-hand combat.

  Though brief and hard to spot, a flicker of surprise was evident in Divia's crimson eyes. She straightened from her landing, rolling her wrist as if testing whether Celestia's palm strike had done more damage than she'd let on. A thin smile crept across her lips, though it didn't reach her eyes.

  "Well, well." Divia tilted her head, her claws flexing at her sides with a soft, sickening click. "The princess can actually fight. I seem to recall that all you wanted to do was become a healer. You couldn't stomach a battle without wincing." She began circling slowly, sizing her up. "Tell me, did you learn that from your mother. She was the only one who would get her hands dirty if necessary."

  Celestia's expression didn't waver, though the mention of her mother sent a hairline fracture through the composure she'd so carefully rebuilt. She tracked Divia's circling with measured steps of her own, keeping her center low, her weight balanced on the balls of her feet. Golden light pulsed faintly around her fists—not the gentle glow of healing, but more condensed.

  "My mother taught me many things," Celestia replied evenly, her eyes never leaving Divia's. "Including how to recognize when someone is looking for an opening."

  Divia's smile faltered for just a fraction of a second. "She noticed."

  The dark elf's circling had been deliberate—not just sizing Celestia up but subtly positioning herself to flank toward Oreon again. Celestia had adjusted her stance with each step, cutting off the angel without making it obvious.

  "You always were perceptive," Divia conceded. "Fine. Let's see how much the princess has grown."

  Divia lunged—not at Celestia's center, but at her left side, claws raking in a wide, sweeping arc designed to force her to dodge rightward and open a path to Oreon behind her. It was a feint wrapped in an attack; the calculated cruelty Divia had perfected over decades of service.

  But Celestia didn't dodge right. She stepped into the attack, catching Divia's wrist with her left hand while simultaneously driving her right palm forward, light erupting from it in a concentrated burst aimed directly at Divia's chest. The impact connected—not fully, Divia was too quick for that—but enough to send the shapeshifter skidding backward, smoke rising from a singed patch on her dark robes.

  "Tch." Divia hissed through her teeth, glancing down at the burn mark. Her eyes snapped back up, and for the first time, there was genuine irritation in them. "You're going to regret that."

  While his companions were in their own bouts, Oreon stared at the remaining three—Vexes, Eilist, and Grunk. Vexes hadn't budged from his position, arms folded again, watching the two fights unfold like someone observing a chess match.

  "Three against one," Oreon muttered, spinning his daggers in his hands. "Seems fair."

  "Fair?" Eilist chuckled softly. "My dear boy, nothing about this situation is fair. You're outmatched, outmaneuvered, and—if I may be so bold—out of your depth entirely." Following this, he directed his staff at Oreon, and a dark, snake-like energy projectile was launched. Oreon rapidly adopted a defensive stance and sprang out of its path, the blast whizzing past Oreon, blowing up a building on impact.

  Oreon hit the ground rolling, debris and dust raining down around him as the building behind him crumbled into rubble. He came up to one knee, eyes wide, staring at the smoldering crater where the wall had been.

  "Okay." He breathed. "Don't get hit by that."

  Eilist was already preparing another shot, the holy insignia in his pupils spinning faster as dark energy coiled around his staff like a living thing. "Impressive reflexes for a human. However, it won't do you any good here." Before Oreon could react to Eilist, Grunk was coming down on top of him. Oreon, however, eyes shot up in shock, but nimbly dodged, making Grunk miss his target entirely.

  The impact of Grunk's landing sent cracks spider-webbing through the ground. Oreon didn't waste a second—he pivoted, slashing at the massive elf's exposed side. But Grunk was faster than his size suggested. A meaty forearm intercepted the blade, the dagger barely scratching the scarred flesh.

  "Gonna need more than that, boy." Grunk's fist came swinging around like a battering ram.

  Oreon ducked, feeling the wind from the punch ruffle his hair. He rolled backward, putting distance between himself and the brute—only to find Vexes suddenly in his path.

  Oreon's blood ran cold. He hadn't even seen Vexes move. One moment, the man had been standing twenty feet away with his arms folded, and now he was right there—close enough that Oreon could see the faint golden flecks in his otherwise dark eyes.

  "Shit," Oreon tried to jump back and create distance between him and Vexes, but Vexes was quicker, a lot quicker. He simply backhand Oreon, the back of his hand connecting with Oreon's jaw, sending his body flying back, crashing through the barrels that Grog and his men were hiding behind.

  The barrels exploded into splinters and stale ale as Oreon's body tore through them. Grog and his men scrambled like rats, cursing and stumbling over each other to get clear. Oreon hit the ground hard, skidding to a stop on his back, his vision swimming with stars and the taste of copper flooding his mouth.

  "Crap..." He wheezed. "That's going to hurt tomorrow..." He breathed, but in his mind. "That. That wasn't even a real hit." The realization settled in his gut. "He wasn't even trying. It was like he just waved at me."

  "He's gonna get us all killed!" The scrawny man with the patchy beard screamed.

  "Aye! He's been lying to us this whole time! Lying to the town! He's the purifier's—"

  "Will you shut up already!" Oreon yelled back, silencing the individual as he slowly stood up, facing toward Vexes, who remained where he was with Grunk and Eilist standing behind him, ready to attack at a moment's notice.

  "Geez...I can never catch a break." Oreon gritted his teeth as he glanced over at Grog, specifically. "Grog...I need you to listen to me and do me a favor." Oreon began speaking, tightening his grip around his daggers as he kept his eyes locked on Vexes.

  Grog stared at Oreon like he'd grown a second head. His face was pale, sweat dripping down his temples, and his hands were shaking as he clutched the remnants of a broken barrel like it was a shield. The other men behind him looked equally terrified, some already inching toward the nearest alleyway.

  "A fa-fa-favor?!" Grog sputtered, his voice cracking. "You want a favor from me?! You—you brought these monsters to our doorstep! You've been hiding who you are this whole time, and now you want—"

  "Grog." Oreon's voice cut through his panic. "I'm not asking you to fight. I'm not asking you to be brave. I'm asking you to grab old man Silas and take him to the tavern. Take him and anyone still in their homes." Oreon glanced over at the still-burning building that Eilist had blown up, then at the people who remained peering through the windows, and Silas, who was still where Celestia had left him. Sitting up against the wall of his shop, unconscious.

  Grog's mouth opened and closed like a fish gasping for air. His eyes darted between Oreon, the unconscious Silas slumped against his shop wall, and the three Elven warriors standing in the street like monuments to everything he'd ever feared. For a moment, it looked like he might refuse—might turn tail and run without looking back, leaving everyone to their fate.

  "You're insane," Grog whispered hoarsely. "You're absolutely, completely—"

  "Grog!' Oreon glanced over at him. "Stop stalling and do something right for once in your life!" Oreon yelled at him. "Listen, I don't care what your beef with me is; we can solve that after this, assuming that we all make it out of this alive. But right now, I need you to take an old man and anyone too scared to leave their homes and take them to Meara's tavern. If you don't, and this keeps going the way it's going, people are going to die! Innocent people who don't have anything to do with this! So, stop standing there like a scared idiot and move your ass!"

  Grog was about to retort, but something shifted in his expression as he glanced over at the three dark elves and then back at Oreon. He couldn't quite put a finger on it; maybe it was the way Oreon's voice cracked at the end—not with fear, but with genuine desperation for people who weren't him. Maybe it was the sight of Silas, the old man who'd given Grog, unbeknownst to the rest of the town. Silas didn't mind Grog around. Maybe it was shame. Whatever it was, Grog's jaw tightened, and for the first time since this nightmare began, his hands stopped shaking.

  "You better not die, runt." He turned his back to Oreon. "The old lady will kill me if you do."

  Oreon, who had his back facing Grog and his eyes on the elves, responded. "She'll probably do that anyway once she finds out you lied to her and sold me out, but maybe I'll put in a good word for you, so she doesn't go overboard."

  Grog grunted in return. "Alright! You heard him! Mick, grab the old man! Darren, start banging on doors. Anyone still inside, we're moving to Meara's! Now, damn it, MOVE!"

  The men hesitated for half a heartbeat before Grog shoved the nearest one forward. Mick-the scrawny one with the patchy beard—scrambled toward Silas, hooking his arms under the unconscious old man's shoulders and dragging him as gently as his panicked state would allow. Darren bolted toward the nearest row of houses, hammering on doors and shouting for people to get out. The others followed suit as Grog glanced back at Oreon over his shoulder.

  "You owe me a drink after this." He said gruffy.

  "I owe you another punch in the face, but sure, if this turns out well, we can hash it out over drinks," Oreon replied.

  Grog snorted—something between a laugh and a grunt of disbelief—before lumbering after his men. His heavy footsteps faded into the chaos of banging doors and shouts as he began to help evacuate whom he could, leaving Oreon alone in the ruined street with three elves who could each kill him in entirely different and creative ways.

  "Admirable," Vexes said finally. "Sending the civilians away. Pragmatic. It tells me you've already accepted that this place is about to become a real battlefield. However, it also tells me that you care about these people. You, with the blood of the purifier who cares about the flock he's meant to shepherd himself. How utterly distasteful."

  "You seem to have the wrong idea about my father and me." Oreon returned. "I don't know what kind of crap he told you, or what self-delusion you're wrapped up in. But we've had no kind of father-son relationship. So, there's no hidden destiny that I'm tied to because of him. Hell, if anything, you could say I never needed him to begin with."

  "Then you live a pointless struggle," Vexes remarked. "All the reasons I will return you to the Order, willingly or not."

  Oreon pointed his blade at Vexes, slightly narrowing his eyes at the corrupted dark elf. "Then I guess we're starting round 2."