“So we’re going to Kinoa to find a retired Pioneer to help us against the Fheitgr?” asked Ratchet.

“Precisely my friend, and may I add, he is an old acquaintance of mine,” Piotr said as he maintained his steady pace. Looming ahead was the fortified Valence Gate, bustling with guardsmen and finders alike. Valence served as the town’s main gate, the walls standing thirty feet tall. Hanging from the mouth of the archway was the retractable iron gate. Providing excellent vantage points of the Barakat plains were two tall stone towers.

A guardsman stationed at the gate raised his middle and index fingers together in a two-finger salute.

“Mister Henlein, sir, Chancellor Abrahams informed us of your departure to Kinoa. Your transport has been arranged at Roe Stable just beyond the gate.”

“Wonderful! Thank you, my friend; you've been a great help. We shall be on our way then.” Piotr shook the man’s hand to show his gratitude.

Christi trailed behind the group. To her left were the high walls of Barakat. Moss and greenery creeped along the foot of the walls. The stonework was chipped and darkly grey, with guardsmen pacing the ramparts. Three guardsmen stood idly; she felt their glares upon her. She glanced over in their direction, the trio whispered. At her current pace and route, she would soon pass just by them.

“Hey girl, come over here for a sec. Got something we want to ask ya” the tallest of the three said, beckoning her over.

Christi ignored him and pressed forward until the same man stepped in front of her, obstructing her path. She attempted to sidestep the tall man, but he continued to stand in her way. A deep frown dominated his face.

“Now that’s just downright rude; we only wanted to ask ya a question. Hey, you listening to me?”

“Move out of my way,” Christi hissed at the man.

"Relax, will ya? You haven’t even heard what I’m about to ask ya,” the guardsman laughed wickedly.

With an exasperated Christi punched the guardsman square in the gut, he keeled over to the ground clutching at his stomach. Without delay, she was wrestled to the ground by the two other guardsmen.

“Bitch has got a mean streak, goddamn,” one of her assailants barked.

“Fucking Fheitgr, savages the lot of em,” the other snarled.

“Get off!” Christi screamed. She squirmed side to side, but their grips never waivered. Unfortunately for one of the guards, he had failed to realise that Christi’s prosthetic arm was more than meets the eye. With a thought her arm burst into flames.

A guttural scream sounded from her left as the man fell backwards clutching his arm that had been singed. The other guard relinquished his grip; this was her chance. Pushing herself up, she made it about halfway up to her feet before she received a sharp kick to her stomach.

“Fucking bitch!” roared the first guardsmen.

Christi was sent tumbling backwards; she clutched at her stomach and raised her head. The guardsman whipped out his sap, a blunt club, and quickly advanced. She tried to jump to her feet, but it was too late. Pain exploded across her face, again and again, blow after blow. The metallic taste of blood trickled from her mouth. Heat rose in her body, her rage tempered with every strike. Steam vociferated wildly from her arm, and suddenly her muscles tightened. Her body was bursting with energy—energy that needed to be released.

As the guardsman came down for another strike, Christi delivered a swift kick to his jaw. With all her might, she kicked. The guardsman was sent flying backwards, sprawling onto his back.

The two men rushed to his side, the colour drained from their faces.

“Axci above, she broke his jaw,” one of the two whimpered.

Christi rose to her feet; the guardsmen drew their weapons, but their bodies displayed no conviction. They pointed their saps at her, their hands shaking.

“Stay back! You hear me?! Stay the fuck back!”

Christi wiped away the blood around her mouth. The heat inside her once again dissipated. The power was invigorating but fleeting. She needed to learn how to maintain it for longer, like the warrior on the pier did. Unbridled strength—that’s what she needed. She stalked away, leaving her three tormentors in awe.

Piotr, Ratchet, and Sam all stood around a carriage. Four six-spoke wheels supported a wooden bed of planks. Two benches lined the frame inward on either side. A perch for the driver rose above the seating. Leading the carriage out front were two Atfur. She recognised the animal. Four powerful limbs, a white mane, and a long, elongated head. The atfur was the primary animal used for transportation in Barakat.

Ratchet sat idly in the carriage, and Christi slumped down opposite of him. Piotr and Sam rounded the carriage, completing their checks.

"Well, let’s get going then. No time like the present,” Piotr climbed into the carriage, joining Ratchet and Christi.

“The reins are yours, Sam.”

“Thank you kindly, sir,” Sam tipped his hat.

Sam hoisted the reins, and the group pulled away from the stable. The walls of Barakat consumed the horizon behind them as the carriage trotted along the beaten country road. Every few seconds, the carriage would lurch and bounce as the wheels dipped into potholes. Piotr, Christi, and Ratchet gazed back at Barakat.

“Still can’t get over the size of those walls,” Ratchet said, breaking the silence.”

"Impressive, aren’t they? A hundred years they’ve stood. You can thank Jax Reveil for that. He was the architect responsible for revamping Barakat’s overall design during the trade boom period.”

“Could’ve stood to have made the streets a little less cramped.”

“Believe it or not, that was an intentional decision. Jax was known for his optimal usage of space. Barakat bolstered a far greater population back then.”

“How much are we talking?”

"Oh, about a hundred thousand.”

Ratchet’s brow raised, and subsequently his face hardened.

“And then the Creuse disease came along.”

“Fifty-four years since then. Town isn’t quite what it used to be,” Piotr concluded.

“There she is, Kinoa!” Sam shouted.

Dwarfed by the Mor Mountains above was Kinoa. Cobblestoned single-story houses, unlike those found in Barakat, were spread out sporadically. Rolling hills swept the town; maroon ceramic tiling blanketed the roofs. Orange leaves spiralled downward, littering the town in colour below. The air was cool and minty.

A lone tanned elderly shepherd herded a group of what looked like walking black clouds upon a nearby hill. Christi leaned over, analysing the creatures and new surroundings.

If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

“Clout, funny-looking things, aren’t they?” Ratchet chuckled.

The carriage slowed to a halt as the group parked in what looked to be Kinoa’s town center. Here stood a bed of colourful flora encircled by onyx slabs, with a dilapidated well standing alone in the middle. A large gathering of houses was situated here. Adults and children alike shifted their attention towards the new arrivals.

A large, square-faced man called out to them. He was tanned and draped in a white stained shirt. The two sleeves were rolled up to his elbow, revealing a set of beefy, tanned forearms. On his head he wore a black woollen flat cap.

“Hello, howrya?! What brings you here?!” He shouted as he walked to meet the group.

As Piotr stepped down from the carriage, he prompted confusion from those around him. Of course, this was largely due to the helmet he wore. Not many would pay no heed to a man sporting what looked to be a clock on his head. The tanned man’s face twisted in confusion as Piotr made his acquaintance.

“It helps others tell the time,” Piotr told him.

Rambunctious laughter erupted from the tanned man as he patted Piotr on the back.

"Hahaha, you’re a gas man. I’m Hannes, and to whom do I owe the pleasure?” he said, extending a hand.

“Piotr Henlein of the Pioneers.”

"Ahh, so you’re one of those fellas; sure, we have a man just like yourself living here. Horace is his name; would ya know him?”

“I know him well; that’s precisely what brings us here. Could we perhaps trouble you for directions to his home?”

Hannes slung his arm around Piotr’s shoulders and ushered him forward to one of the nearby houses.

“Of course, but first, why don’t ya come inside for something to eat first?”

“I appreciate the offer, but I must decline.”

"Ahh, I won’t keep ye long.”

“I’m sure we can spare an hour, Piotr; besides, it’d be good to familiarise ourselves with the locals,” Sam chimed in.

“You just want food,” Piotr replied flatly.

“What baseless accusations!” Sam smirked.

"Fine, but no longer than an hour; we mustn’t forget ourselves,” Piotr sighed, wagging a finger at Hannes and Sam.

“Lovely! Mary! Put on the kettle!” Hannes shouted at a brunette woman ahead.

“No please, and thank you in this household. Is there?!” She yelled back.

A group of kids began swarming Christi, all intrigued by the girl’s unusual appearance. The average person in Kinoa was sallow-skinned, green-eyed, and dark-haired. Christi was like a fish out of water. They began listing off their barrage of questions.

“Whys yer skin so dark?”

“Whys yer hair so greeny?”

Christi brushed past the kids; she didn’t have time to waste. She scanned her surroundings; as usual, she had her fair share of ‘admirers’. People who couldn’t take their eyes off her, people who judged her. Even here, it was no different. She began hiking up one of the nearby hills.

Ensconced beneath the orange-leafed Oag tree commonly found in Barakat was a petite girl. She picked and discarded leaf after leaf.

Maybe she knows where this Horace guy lives. It couldn’t hurt to ask, Christi mused to herself.

"Hey, I’m looking for a man who lives here called Horace. Do you know where he might be?”

“Why are you asking?” the child asked blankly.

“He’s a friend of my mentor.”

“What’s a men-tour?” the child enquired.

“It’s like a teacher.”

Springing to her feet, the child looked quite happy with herself.

“Mister Horace is my men-tour then; he teaches me all kinds of things. Like about the world and plants. What does your men-tour teach you?”

“About Mana”

“Really?! Well, Mister Horace has also taught me a little too. What else has your men-tour taught you?”

Christi needed to steer this conversation in a different direction. She didn’t have the patience to keep talking in circles.

With a thought, she ignited her arm. The little girl’s jaw dropped in astonishment.

“Woahhhh, that’s so cool.”

“I can show you more if you bring me to Horace.”

"Ok, I’ll take you. Follow me!” The girl skipped along.

Christi followed at a steady pace, not letting the girl vanish from her sight. Near the peak of the hill was an isolated house. Facing the Farage Sea, the view was breathtaking. Above the full breadth of the blue serene waters, a hazy fog blurred and blended the sea and horizon. A pillar of sunlight unfurled into a lane of its own atop the still waves.

“We’re here!” The little girl snapped Christi back to her task at hand.

An ornate wooden table seated an elderly man with slicked back hair. A small tree provided ample shade for the seating area. Curled up in a ball atop one of the seats was a small creature she recognised, an Alfox. A popular domesticated animal here in Anriel. Orange fur, white thin hairs poking out either side from its black button nose, and a bushy white patched tail.

Next to the elderly man was a Madra. Another domesticated animal that was often kept as a pet. A fluffy cream-coloured coat, drooped ears that flopped to either side of its head, and a tail that wagged side to side

The elderly man turned, revealing his hawk-like face. The fluffy Madra galloped over, jumping up to the little girl. She laughed giddily as it licked her with its long pink tongue.

“Come here, Mac!” its master called.

With haste, the Madra retreated to its master’s side, who scratched under its chin. The speed of the tail wagging side to side increased. Christi had interacted with a few Madras growing up in the city as a child, but this particular breed was something she had never seen before.

"Oh, hello Fran, come for tea, have you? Who is your friend?” said the elderly man.

“She said you’re a friend of her men-tour, and she wanted to see you.”

"Well, that’s quite interesting; come sit. You can tell me all about this mentor of yours,” he beckoned the two.

Fran sprinted ahead and jumped up to one of the four chairs. She stroked the lazy Alfox’s fur. Christi approached cautiously and reluctantly sat.

"Well, then before we delve into the topic of who your mentor is and why you sought me out, I suppose some introductions are in order. I’ll start. I am Horace Ashton.”

Even their mannerisms are the same, Christi thought, noting how similar Horace and Piotr behaved.

“You’ve already met Fran, and you are?” Horace asked her.

“Christi,” she responded.

“Well Christi It’s a pleasure. Fran mentioned your mentor was a friend. Who might that be?”

“Piotr Henlein.”

Horace smirked upon the mention of Piotr’s name.

“So where is he? At the very least he could say hello in person.”

“He’s in town below; we came here to ask for your help,” Christi responded.

The smirk wiped from Horace’s face.

“Whatever it is, the answer is no. I’m retired; I’d like it to stay that way.”

“Barakat needs your help.”

Horace sighed. “I’ll bite then, with what?”

“Fheitgr mercenaries.”

"Well, that is a problem, but what am I to do? I’m an old man; my fighting years are well behind me. The most I can offer is instruction. At minimum, that’s a year of training. Given the impromptu house call, I would assume that’s time you don’t have.”

Christi didn’t answer him; Horace smiled.

“Piotr is more than capable of handling Fheitgr, believe me, I made sure of that. One old man can’t tip the scales. But I won’t let you leave her empty-handed; I’d be a terrible host if I did so.”

Horace placed a key on the table.

“In the house upstairs there’s a chest; inside is a weapon that converts mana. It allows one to fire projectiles that are quite effective against Fheitgr. I assume Sam is with Piotr?”

Christi nodded,

“Give it to him; he’ll know what to do with it.”

Christi grabbed the key and stood up.

“Thank you.”

“It’s the least I could do; tell Piotr he owes me one.”

Christi began to walk away.

“And Christi.”

She stopped and looked back at him.

“Take care of yourself.”

A sincere smile rested on his face.

“I will.”

Christi entered the house; white curtains draped the windows inside. The layout was quite simple. A sink, table, and cupboards occupied the kitchen. Upstairs, she found what she came for—a large trunk at the foot of a double bed.

Christi explored the room, and a framed photo caught her attention. It was Horace, though he was younger. Holding his hand was a Fheitgr woman. She was tall, lean, and elegant-looking. Dark green hair framed her oval face. Golden irises further accentuated her beauty. The two stood under a small, white-leafed tree. Christi recognised it; there was no doubt about it. It was a Yharnam tree. She placed the photo back.

Returning to the trunk, she inserted the key and twisted. The lock clicked, and with a lift, the trunk’s contents revealed themselves. Inside was a dark trench coat similar to Piotr’s. Pinned to the breast of the uniform was a gilded cog with twelve sides. Placing the clothing to the side, she found what she sought. A long silver barrel with a hooked handle. A sling hung from the barrel to the handle. She grabbed it and slung it over her shoulder.

Horace sat alone as the sun set. Golden rays illuminated his face, and the wind blew gently. He pulled out a locket from his pocket. Pressing a small button at the back, the face of the locket clicked open. Inside was a picture of him and the golden-eyed Fheitgr woman looking smithen with one another. With his thumb, he rubbed the picture. Heavy footsteps and a ticking noise alerted him to another presence. Turning, he discovered the source. Sunlight bounced off the armoured surface of the knight.

“Do I know you?”

“You know my master.”

“Please enlighten me; I haven’t the patience anymore to hazard a guess.”

“The boy you condemned to save Piotr Henlein.”

“Today has just been one massive trip down memory lane,” Horace chuckled.

“My liege has ordered your execution.”

“I see, my sins have finally caught up to me.”

Horace leaned back in his chair; he regarded the locket. He held his head high. It was time; he inhaled deeply, breathing in the cool air one final time.

“Any final words?”

“None.”

With a quick swipe, the knight separated Horace’s head from his shoulders. The locket dropped to the grass, and the knight plucked it up. The knight analysed the photo of Horace and his wife inside. It set the locket back on the table and departed.