The salty, cool breeze of Primera's eastern shores blew heavily against the dark, jaded, and grim stone towers of the city of Vandralis. House Blackstone, standing alongside a fraction of the fearsome Azanean forces, now rode west toward the Capital City.

  Inside one of Blackstone Keep's sleeping quarters lay a wounded and beaten Xhiamas, who sustained heavy wounds in the recent fight against the Circle of Gluttony.

  The monster's massive glaive struck him between the ribs and nearly tore him apart. Despite being blessed with an inherited but rare magic of foresight, he was surprisingly unable to perceive it in advance, and the incident came to him as a shock. His instincts had kicked in at just the right time, deflecting enough force for him to be ultimately blown away instead. The pain was unlike anything he had ever felt, but he thanked the Stranger that he was able to live another day.

  A trusted servant of the Blackstones who had been tending to his wounds entered the empty room carrying a fresh harvest of assorted fruits, a striking sight in these difficult times.

  "Excuse me, milord," she said, placing the basket onto a nearby table. "I was instructed to send these to you. I hope you enjoy them."

  "A thoughtful gift from Godric, no less." He replied to the nurse, wincing in pain as he adjusted himself.

  "I'm sorry, milord, but it was not Sir Godric who had sent for these."

  "Is that so?" Xhiamas raised an eyebrow. "Then who should I thank for this generosity?"

  Without a moment's notice, steps echoed outside the room. They were guarded, yet carried a familiar sense of warmth too. Xhiamas' eyes widened as he saw the figure standing at the door.

  "Ziyad," he uttered with a sense of disbelief. "You stayed."

  "Yes, I did," Ziyad replied, striding into the room with supernatural grace. "Godric already has a formidable escort accompanying him to the Capital. Besides," he let out a chuckle. "I wouldn't worry about him dying on us anytime soon."

  "Would you excuse us, my dear?" he asked the nurse, who bowed and quietly left the brothers alone.

  Ziyad picked up an apple and took a bite after polishing it on his cloth, savouring the sweetness of the fruit. Sitting down at the edge of the bed, he stared at his brother.

  "You want a bite?" He asked after taking another bite.

  Xhiamas grunted as he slowly propped himself up. "I know you did not stay here to offer me fruit, Ziyad," he replied. "Why are you here? You know as well as I do that you are needed at the front."

  "Why, to ensure that you live, of course. I wouldn't want one of our finest warriors and commanders dying out on us. Also, most of the fleet remains unaccounted for. I am to scout out the eastern coasts alongside Jophiel and the rest of the forces that Alexander was able to spare."

  The room was silent for a while. An awkward moment befell the two, separated only by the burning of a nearby candle.

  "Brother—"

  Both spoke the same word at the same time, cutting each other mid-sentence. Xhiamas slowly lay back down and motioned for him to go first.

  "Brother... " Ziyad chuckled as the word in his mind was foreign, yet carried a bittersweet tinge of memory to it. "Never thought I would still live to see the day when I would hear you utter those words again. The last time you said that, you left me at the mercy of our family, before disappearing to find your own destiny."

  The room fell deathly ill.

  "If any god out there were kind enough to grant you the chance to go back to that exact moment," Ziyad stood and paced around the room before turning. "Would you still do it?"

  "I would. No god or outer being will ever steer me away from this course. I had no regrets then, I do not have regrets now, and I will have no regrets should that opportunity ever arise." Xhiamas replied with a steely reflection in his eyes.

  "Figures," Ziyad shrugged as he looked outside the window, admiring the ocean view as the sea breeze blew against his hardened face and tattered clothes. "You were always the stubborn one between us two. It was a hard journey, as I'm sure you know. Did your magic of 'foresight' foretell that this would happen? That I would be able to survive thus far?"

  "I did not need to resort to magic," Xhiamas responded. "I had faith in you the entire time. You were stupid, yes. But to give up? No. You do not have it in you to yield. It is contradictory to your very being—an insult, at the least and a killing blow at best." He continued, lowering his guard and breathing heavily as he lay back down.

  "You know me too well."

  "We are brothers, are we not?" Xhiamas replied, leading the two to share an acknowledging laugh.

  Ziyad spent minutes inside the room, accompanying Xhiamas as he rested. It was not long after that when a messenger knocked on the door in a hurried state.

  "G-good evening, milords," the scrawny fellow uttered, catching his breath. "Lord Ziyad, we've received word that Sir Jophiel found a portion of the fleet from Azane, but they're currently under heavy siege from the enemy." He continued. "Your intervention is direly needed."

  Figures.

  Ziyad wasted no motion and stood on the window, stone and waves crashing far below him.

  "Where are they now?" Ziyad asked, preparing his dagger.

  "They're about three thousand paces north of Vandralis, near the coastal town of Sailor's Woe, milord." The messenger replied. "It'll take more than three hours on foot, and thirty on horseback. You'd best hurry."

  Ziyad looked at his brother, who gave him a confident nod.

  "Be careful out there."

  Ziyad only smirked in response. "You know I never am." The shadowwalker jumped from the window, shocking the messenger, who screamed and rushed quickly to the window, only to find no trace of him anywhere.

  "W-where did—how—what..." The messenger failed to find the words and stared at Xhiamas, dumbfounded. "How did he—"

  "Apologies for the trouble, my friend," Xhiamas said, chuckling. "He always had a thing for theatrics. It would be best not to dwell on it too hard." Exhaling slowly, he settled back into his bed and closed his eyes.

  In the northern coast of Sailor's Woe, the skirmish raged on furiously. Primerans and Azaneans alike fought against the unending onslaught of the enemy forces, strangers united against a common foe. The ambush began an hour past noon, mere minutes after Blackstone soldiers met up with the separated fleet. Fire, smoke, and dead bodies were scattered everywhere, and neither land nor sea was safe from the chaos.

  The allied forces were nearly pushed to the brink of defeat, but rallied together after the timely arrival of Jophiel, who shot down countless hordes using ranged weaponry from the Skyloom. Cheers erupted from the warriors as the one known as the Artist entered the fray, wielding his trusted paintbrush, which was comically the same length as its user.

  Seconds after Jophiel dove into the fray, the forces were reinvigorated—pushing back the unworldly forces with renewed vigor and strength.

  This continued for what seemed like hours, and by the time Ziyad stepped out of the shadows, the battle was nearing its end.

  In the distance, he saw Jophiel engaged in combat. He had no visible injuries and seemed to be enjoying himself as he breathed thoughts into reality—the battlefield became his canvas, a new masterpiece in work. At his flank stood a small number of soldiers who protected his blind spots. Ziyad looked to the walls of Sailor's Woe, where he spotted most of the army and town huddled behind a protective wall of magic.

  They had no healers, but the Skyloom's medical equipment proved enough to stop any further casualties. Jophiel dashed to his left as Ziyad emerged from the shadows, cutting down a nameless one after jumping out of the darkness.

  "Glad to see you in high spirits!" Jophiel jested as Ziyad retracted his dagger. "Truthfully, I wasn't expecting any help. I thought you'd be with the others."

  "I stuck around for personal reasons," Ziyad responded as he and Jophiel put three more monsters down. "What's the current situation?"

  With one wave of a hand, Jophiel manifested a transparent barrier around the two of them and the soldiers, cutting off sound and any means of danger as the Nameless attempted to break down the wall using force, but to no effect, as the spell repelled all forms of danger, sending ripples across its surface with each clubbing blow.

  "Well, to start, the town sustained casualties, but the Skyloom and the barrier we made earlier are working wonders in keeping the injured and civilians safe from further harm. Our soldiers caught the brunt of the chaos. As you can see, most of them have sustained injuries. The remedies I bought from Azane are buying them time, stopping wounds from opening, but they need help."

  Ziyad cursed but remained calm despite the pressure. "And what of the enemy? Has a Circle appeared?"

  "Thankfully, no. But these beasts are moving exactly like the ones we fought back in Nakarrah—too precise, relentless, and coordinated. We've suspected that their leader is out there, but my runes haven't detected anything. Whoever's leading the enemy, I have to admit that they're good. I haven't picked up their mana since the start of the battle."

  Just then, a fearsome roar echoed through the air, demanding everyone's attention. Jophiel and Ziyad spun with weapons drawn, only to find crude contraptions being wheeled in—catapults made from what seemed like a mess of rotting bodies and wood. Despite their unnatural design, they held up nicely and made a striking impression.

  "By the Stranger, what are those things?" Ziyad asked, gritting his teeth.

  "Well, the design is a bit...gruesome, I dare say. But you have to commend their creativity." Jophiel quipped, leading Ziyad to roll his eyes. The Primerans were seemingly unnerved by the sight, but the Azaneans looked on, unbothered, and were seemingly welcoming the new threat.

  "Steady yourselves, men!" Jophiel commanded. It didn't take long before the first volley struck. The forces looked on as the Nameless loaded ammunition onto the catapults and flung large chunks of stone through the air, completely missing their ranks, and were instead flying towards Sailor's Woe. Jophiel looked on, confused at the sight, but immediately cursed as the stones bypassed the barriers and crashed onto the town's buildings. Screams of citizens and soldiers rang out, caught by the onslaught.

  "Cowards!" Ziyad screamed. "They figured they couldn't beat us upfront, and so decided to take it out on the innocent instead!" He looked to Jophiel, who was painting out sigils in the air. "We have to do something, Jophiel!"

  "Already ahead of you on that one." He whispered a few words, and stones of pure white manifested on top of the catapults. They looked on as they began their descent, but were shocked after seeing the stones rebound, repelled by an unseen force.

  A barrier.

  "Gods be good, they've gotten better," Jophiel grunted. Ziyad stepped out of the barrier, daggers drawn. "Let's do this the old-fashioned way then." Ziyad, with the wind at his back, ran at breakneck speed toward the catapults, cutting down Nameless beings left and right. Behind him, Primerans and Azaneans alike roared defiantly, meeting the enemy head-on. Steel met steel, and blood colored the battlefield once more.

  Another volley of stones flew past the allied forces, and the town braced for another strike, but this time Jophiel was ready. The elite soldier wasted no time conjuring solid walls of dirt and wood, meeting each stone mid-air and making them drop underneath an empty spot, void of any life. Cheers erupted from the civilians as Jophiel barked orders, rerouting his own forces back to the town to check on any possible casualties.

  Ziyad was already midway up the hill where the catapults were positioned, ducking and weaving through slashes and swings of axes and swords as he fought his way up. The Nameless stationed at the site looked at him with blank stares and made their way towards the shadowwalker, but dropped dead mere seconds after engaging in battle with Ziyad.

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  He signaled the forces below him to quicken their pace, but was cut off mid-command as an arrow whizzed through the air, barely missing Ziyad by mere inches. Ziyad turned to his left and saw a man dressed in black with his arms and legs decorated with strange tattoos. His face was obscured, covered by a dark red cloth, and he held a bow, with an arrow already waiting and nocked in place.

  "You missed." Ziyad teased the man.

  "Did I?" His opponent replied in a calm and steady voice. Ziyad turned and saw a soldier of Blackstone lying dead on the ground, the arrow protruding from where his right eye would have been.

  The shadowalker redirected his attention back to the stranger, who looked at him with sunken eyes, devoid of any expression.

  "You don't seem to be a Circle," Ziyad flashed his daggers, waiting for an attack. "Who are you, stranger?"

  "It's none of your concern. I do not wish to fight you, warrior. But you are interfering with the Master's plans; therefore, you must be removed." He pulled back the string and aimed at Ziyad. "This next one will be between your eyes."

  "Let's not waste any time then."

  What came after was a series of arrows darting towards Ziyad. The stranger's instincts, including his speed, were too fast, too unnatural, for him to be an ordinary individual. Ziyad found himself struggling to dodge the flurry, forced to call upon the shadows for assistance. He blinked in and out of the shadows and back out again, only to immediately dodge arrows that would have killed him if they had landed.

  He's good, Ziyad thought. He's certainly enhanced by magic, that's for sure. But something feels off...

  Ziyad was able to close the gap between them and flung a dagger at the stranger, only for it to be deflected by a sword. His opponent had strapped the bow on his back and now entered a defensive stance. The sword itself seemed ordinary. Unlike Alexander's Dawnbringer or Godric's twin blades, the weapon had no distinct features. That feature, however, did not help in decreasing the tension.

  Both individuals were poised to strike and attempted to move in to engage in battle, but came to a halt as flowers began to fall from the sky.

  Flowers? Is this Jophiel's work?

  He glanced at the town, but frowned after seeing Jophiel tending to the wounded, with the Nameless already a considerable distance from the area, seemingly retreating.

  Not him? Ziyad thought. If not him, then who—

  The flowers exploded into a burst of smoke and powder of various colors as soon as the first petals touched the ground. A small amount of the strange dust came into contact with Ziyad's exposed forearm, turning it into a deathly shade of violet. He began to feel weak, losing feeling in his arm, and instinctively covered his face with his cloak, stepping back.

  He could hear the stranger muttering in annoyance.

  "Tch. You again with your petty theatrics. Why do you continue to interfere with our plans?" The stranger, seemingly backed into a corner with Ziyad and an unknown assailant, decided to retreat, disappearing into the forest behind them.

  Ziyad's forearm began to wither at an alarming rate. The smoke had dissipated already, but its effects still lingered. He groaned in pain as he collapsed to his knees, the poison now seemingly making its way up his body. He was too focused on surviving the ordeal that he hadn't noticed the figure walking up in front of him.

  "You shouldn't have interfered with my business. Now look where that got you," the voice said. "Hold still, let me help you."

  Ziyad looked up, already beading with sweat, as a man in rugged clothing knelt and touched his withered arm. He had messy hair and handsome features, with his face covered in dirt and dried blood. Ziyad hesitated for a moment, jerking back, but allowed the man to work his magic. In just mere moments, the pain slowly subsided as his forearm regained its original vitality, returning to its former self.

  "By the Divines, that man is hard to take down," the man grumbled, seemingly annoyed. "Not only were those extracts hard to find, but they were also exceedingly expensive."

  He turned his head to the right, looking at his shoulder.

  "Yes, yes, I get it. But it will take time for me to track him down again." The man began to speak, seemingly talking to no one in particular.

  "And what exactly do you mean by that?"

  Ziyad looked on in confusion as his savior continued an imaginary banter with himself, engaged in a serious conversation with an invisible force, or a made-up figure.

  So my savior is a madman? Ziyad thought. Stranger guide me.

  The shadowwalker heard a cape flapping in the air and saw Jophiel land on the ground beside him, a look of concern on his face.

  "Ziyad, are you all right?"

  He nodded in response, leaving Jophiel to exhale in relief. "Thank the Divines. We sustained a few more casualties, but we'll pull through—" Jophiel stopped after noticing the man in front of them continuing his own imaginative conversation.

  "Umm, care to explain what's going on?"

  "I have no words."

  "Excuse me, umm, good man. Might we have a word?" Jophiel asked. The man turned his attention to Jophiel, who stood in shocked silence after catching a glimpse of his face.

  "Jophiel?" Ziyad asked, tilting his head in confusion.

  "Oh, Lord Jophiel. A pleasure to meet you again." The man bowed while placing a hand across his chest. "It's been a while since we last saw each other."

  "Lord Dewblossom?" Jophiel asked, rubbing his eyes. "Is it really you?"

  "The one and only, good sir. One moment, I head to the distant west, trying to start anew, and the next thing I know, Primera is in shambles. I had heard my homeland was at war, but I didn't know it was that bad."

  "I'm sorry," Ziyad said, interjecting himself between the two. "But who is this man?"

  Jophiel cleared his throat, trying to regain his composure. "Ahh, yes, I believe introductions are needed. Ziyad, this is Lord—or rather, former Lord, Caine of House Dewblossom; oldest son of Isaiah Dewblossom, a prominent figure in the Southlands. You've never met?"

  Ziyad shook his head. "Believe me, I would have remembered someone like him if we had met before."

  "Hmm, well, he's quite...acquainted with your brother, Xhiamas. And not in the good way."

  "You don't say?" Ziyad looked at Caine, who resumed his banter with himself. "What happened?"

  "Let's just say something big happened months ago. It'd be best if we let him explain. Caine?" Jophiel called out to the former lord. "Would you care to join us? I believe we have much to discuss."

  Morning light broke through the windows of Xhiamas' room, rousing him from his sleep. He found himself in better shape after sleeping soundly the night before. His body was still battered, but he'd regained enough strength to stand. Being an awakened being had its benefits, including an increased regeneration rate. But being one also invited different kinds of danger. The keep was quiet, and Xhiamas decided that it'd be best to start getting back into shape by slowly regaining his strength, starting with making rounds around House Blackstone's seat of power.

  The halls were empty as Xhiamas made his way deeper into the building. Normally, he'd hear servants or soldiers making rounds, checking for any sign of danger, but the place was as quiet and vast as the canyons in Azane. Sensing something was off, he made his way into the keep's kitchen, where soup was currently being boiled in a large iron pot, but no one was there to keep watch.

  Confused, he picked up a piece of freshly baked bread and took a bite. Footsteps echoed through the open door, and Xhiamas, despite his limp, jumped out of the doorway in an attempt to stop the person. His sudden appearance shocked a maid, who screamed, nearly dropping a dirty plate.

  "Milord! You almost killed me with shock. If I may ask, what are you doing outside your quarters?"

  Xhiamas stepped back, cheeks red with embarrassment. He cleared his throat before fixing his posture. "I—I'm sorry about that. I was simply wondering why the keep seems to be empty."

  "Oh, that's what it was. You see, milord, we have quite a guest on our hands. I was actually off to fetch his third serving."

  Xhiamas tilted his head in confusion. "And who might this person be?"

  He decided to find out the answer for himself. Asking for directions to where the mess hall was, Xhiamas slowly made his way there, where he heard a voice echoing from the hall.

  "—It's a mess out there, I'll say that much. The people are troubled, and look to Primera to save them." He caught the voice saying. Xhiamas was nearing the doorway, but a thought crossed his mind.

  Where have I heard that voice before?

  Curiosity got the best of him, and he entered the mess hall, which was filled with other servants and a few guards who were eating breakfast. He spotted Ziyad and Jophiel standing with arms crossed. Behind them, an obscured figure was seen eating, his table filled with fresh meals and fruit.

  "I apologize for disturbing the peace, but what—" He stopped midway as he caught a glimpse of Caine Dewblossom, the knight who had pursued him and Wyatt's friends during the course of their escape months ago.

  "It's you." Xhiamas looked at Caine with an unreadable expression, unable to decide whether he was happy that the man still lived or annoyed that he might cause trouble again. The lord had fallen on hard times since the last time they met, now dressed in rags, with makeshift armor. He still carried the poise of a nobleman, but he was more...unhinged.

  Caine quenched his thirst by drinking water from a wooden mug and leaned forward, forearms touching his thighs as he crossed his fingers together.

  "Ahh, Xhiamas. I never forget a face. Especially one as annoying as yours. Come, eat."

  Xhiamas, for a moment, forgot he was still injured and stepped forward in a rush, but was held back by Ziyad and Jophiel.

  "Easy, brother!" Ziyad pleaded. "I know you two have a troubled past, but trust me when I say that we need his help, especially in these times!"

  "He's right, Xhiamas. Caine here has pledged to help Primera win this war."

  Xhiamas scoffed at Jophiel's words. "And what good would a disgraced knight be in this war?"

  Caine stood up and slowly made his way toward Xhiamas, who had now calmed down enough to listen to reason. "I believe I can offer more than what meets the eye. Despite our...differences, I was always genuine in my acts to help the kingdom. I take my role as a knight more seriously than others. You know that better than most."

  Xhiamas was about to respond, but stopped after seeing Caine swat an unseen figure from his shoulder.

  "Yes, yes, I'll get to that part. It'd be best to explain it to Sir Byronard, but we'll get there when we have the time."

  "I understand, we'll set off as soon as we're done here."

  Xhiamas looked on, puzzled at what he was witnessing. Ziyad and Jophiel looked back and shared the same sentiments.

  "Believe me, we're as clueless as you are. But I'll believe it'll make sense once we get word to Sir Byronard. Caine here has been through much, and I can tell you that he's changed." Jophiel said.

  They looked on in stunned silence as Caine began arguing with no one in particular, seemingly lost in his own world. Xhiamas blinked repeatedly to check if his mind was playing tricks on him. Servants and guards alike exchanged confused glances.

  "Whether it be for better or for worse, on that, I'm still debating which."