*Crack*

Ander snapped on his heels, blade in hand to face the stalker in the shade. Twilight hung over the Vernwood; in the dark, his eyes were poor beneath the forest’s leafless mane. He could see no further than a near growth of Twintrees, but the feel of a shade was fresh to him. Something had been following them. And it had been following them since their first step in the woods. The hairs rooted in his neck were on end, and he remained at ready, his eyes scanning the black air. When Calvan took notice, he called out, “Are you alright, Ander?”

“There is something following us,” he spoke, his face and ears red with chill. With the loss of light, so did the day's warmth flee Sylvee. It seemed winter would not go without a fight.

“A shadow in a land of shadows,” replied his partner. Calvan rested a hand on the hilt of his common sword, his face just as chilled as Ander’s. His leather cap did little to warm him. “Pay it no mind. If it wishes to follow, then it will do so at its peril.”

“For when it finds what we hunt,” Calvan went on. He dipped once more to his knees to run a hand across the shapen earth. A footprint lay there, but the light had faded so that its image would not meet the soldier's eyes. A smirk came on his lips as he went on, “You know when it learns that we hunt an Inagnivorr, it will run and become the darkest shadow any man has never seen.”

“Are you some kind of poet? Is it so hard to speak plain?” Ander relinquished his post, moving to stand beside Calvan. Indeed, it was too dark now to see the footprint in full detail. The young Herros sourced from his pack a dry torch, and patted his form for a shard of flint. When he found none, he looked up to Ander, torch in hand.

“Have you a sparkstone? Any flint? It seems I’ve misplaced mine.”

“There’s no need. Lend me a respite,” said Ander. He left Calvan beside the footprint as he approached the trunk of a wide oak tree. The skin of his palm slid against the solid bark, riddled with holes and lines of growth, and when he leaned into the tree, he whispered the words of the light-Alff tongue. His words were spoken low, but all the trees heard him.

“Somā jora thalan.”

‘Light our way’, is what he said. The oakwood groaned, and all its barren twigs and branches shook upon its post. The trees around them became lively with it as if they had a mind to spring from the earth. It lasted no longer than a minute, and when the movement ceased and silence regained its foothold, something truly wonderful came about. The dormant pillars of the forest bloomed with white flowers, and from those flowers there came spores into the sky. They floated down from the canopy, like blossoms in the winds of Arkkon. When the flowers sunk into the bark, the spores became alight with a heavenly glow. Darkness was felled, and the forest - for the first time since autumnfell - was alive.

A gasp fled the soldier’s tongue, and a divine curse was made. “...By the gods…”

Calvan stumbled to his feet, struck in bizarre amazement at the slowly falling lights. There were thousands of them, like a sea of gentle firebugs. But without the buzzing of wings or harp of pestilence. The air turned warm from the spores, and the crimson made on their face from the cold was washed away. Their ears and hands unthawed behind the coating of their gloves, and the frost in their breath was blown asunder. In the brush, the small furs buried in the soil scurried upon the earth, mistaking the light for daybreak. The soldier had no words at first, and when he looked across at Ander, leaned against the mighty oak, it took great effort to speak.

“It can’t be…” His voice was as light as the grace of the floating spores. “Of all the men of Elyon and all the mystics of the world, how have I come across a magii?”

“When you swear on the gods, be sure to swear on the foul ones.” Calvan’s comment had struck a nerve, but the young Idris buried it. The small glade they stood in - no wider than a dozen men stood abreast - was lit. His ask of the trees had been answered. And he had spent little strength in making it so. Bella would be proud.

Calvan did not lose his marvel. Questions came upon Ander, “Are you an Easternman? A Magii from beyond the mountains?”

Ander shook his head. His shortened hair did not flow with his movement. “I am not,” he replied. “I am a man. No more, no less, and I bear the scars to prove it.”

“How can that be? To be a man and a Magii all the same… you could fit all of your kind in a small ballroom, and it would be a meager event. How could a Markman like yourself be so curious - and I mean no disrespect!”

It is better he thinks us a Markman, than a thief, a part of Ander’s mind spoke. Indeed, he would rather be seen as a gold-driven mercenary than a gold-driven felon. Though the differences are not vast. One man steals property, the other steals lifeblood.

“There are few of us, yes,” stated the Magii. “And for good reason.”

“But what be the reason?” Came Calvan. His facade of a knowing soldier was dropped, and it seemed a young man's curiosity was upon him. “How come there are so few Magii of our kind? I hear stories from Ironvaurd and oathbound who have traveled to the Dry Sea and the places beyond the peaks of Aeon. They tell of a land swarming with magic and wonder, and powerful mortals with great wings beating above and large titans below the soils. And I think, ‘Why is that land not here’?”

“Why the dragons have gone and why the titans are at rest, I know not. But yes, the only men of us Magii are the royal charities and the rangers,” Ander began. “Them, and my mentor, and me. But perhaps there are more hidden souls, as I am.”

“But why so? You said it yourself. You are a man, and nothing more. If so, then why isn’t every man a Magii?” The soldier seemed to have great interest in the subject of magic. His eyes bore the wonder of a child. From the day they spent hunting, Ander had learned that Calvan was near his seventeenth birthday, only a short span older than himself.

“Have you ever tried being one?” Ander sent his partner a knowing look. “It is infinitely easier to light a room by remembering a sparkstone than to spend months, if not years, upon ancient books. It is easier to plow a field with a mule than it is to sow seeds with a cast. And most pressingly, where would a man learn magic? When was the last time you saw a light Alff? Dark elves? Maybe, they’re as common as Feylings these days. But the light elves keep to themselves, and it was by chance that my mentor found a tome of theirs. And a tome is all she has.”

“And this mentor?” Calvan cocked his head, and his right brow rose to an arch. “You have kin? You are a Lone, are you not?”

“Just because my first family does not live on, does not mean I cannot home with another.” Ander left the side of the oak growth to kneel before the footstep. Calvan tore his eyes from the light show to join him. The ground was lit enough now to see clear the marks and cracks of the print. It was massive, the size of a man’s chest, if not grander. There bore three growths from the heel, with sharp angles dug from razor claws, and jagged lines from the touche of scale. To imagine a beast with such a sole was a terrifying image, but for the two men, they knew not such terror.

“Should we follow this one?” Ander looked to the soldier at his side. Calvan had been entrusted with all their strategic moves. He wore the most experience in this endeavor, after all.

“*Tsk*, no, we shan’t,” the man climbed to his feet, his hands pressed to his waist. We wore a curled lip and a sneer of disappointment.

“How come?” Asked Ander.

“It’s old, too old for use. I would say it left this print an hour ago, if not later. To follow it would be the same as following a shadow of a shadow, or… a better metaphor than that, you understand. It would be pointless is what I am trying to say.”

“So then what now?” Ander stood. The two-towered at the same height, without a fraction of an inch to differ. “Really, why have we come across so few tracks? It leaves a step in the mud, and then the trail dies off right after!”

“For such great beasts, the Inagnivorr is light on its toes,” replied Calvan. “The prints we have found so far are mud ones. See how deep it is? It stuck a heel in the ground when it was soft, and that’s the only track sit leaves. That, and beaten bush. *Sigh*, what to do.”

“Since dusk is here,” began Ander. Now was finally time for him to calm the roar of his stomach. A full day length of searching without a meal to spare, and he was as ravished as his days on the streets of Vimbaultir. “Might we break our fast? It’s been a solid sixteen hours since I have eaten, and at this point, if a poor squirrel crosses my path, my stomach may force me to eat it.”

“Hah,” Calvan gave three short laughs. No more, no less. “Perhaps we should eat. Even a small meal would give us the boost we need. It would be foolish to find the monster on an empty stomach.”

“Agreed.”

And so, with both hunters guided by their gullets, the boys found a spot upon the earth to have a quaint meal. For their packs, they sourced drinks of water and boiled milk, long chilled by the cold of the early spring day. The food that they had was travel grub, and by extension, quite awful. A dozen or so stale crackers, and a roll of smoked pork, salted with bryne to stave off rot. Fortunately, they had no shortage of blades to cut the food with. Ander used his own knife to section the pork. It all felt so… familiar to the young Idris.

“So,” came Ander, waiting to speak with an empty mouth, “have you ever been so lucky as to see the Inagnivorr? With your own eyes?”

“Would I see it with someone else's?”

Ander deadpanned, and his stare screamed the words, don’t be smart with me.

“Actually, yes I have. Twice, even.” Calvan loaded a cracker with a healthy serving of pork. “The first time was my second hunt, and I caught the gleam of its scalemale. That’s what I call it, scalemale. It truly is armor, for when I found it for a second time I tried to spear its side with my sword.”

“And?”

“And I was knocked out cold in return,” huffed Calvan. “Its tail whipped around like a club, and *clap*,” he threw his hands together for effect, “it all went black.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that,” he replied. “I was blessed enough to fall into a thornbush, and after it killed the rest of the hunters, I and a few others were all that remained. I tell you, if ever I’ve seen hell, it was when I woke up in that bush. Since that day, I have learned from hearsay that one must cut between the blades. A rather obvious fact given to a rather foolish boy, hah!”

“Saved by a thornbush,” Ander nodded, the irony not lost to him. Though it was thinly veiled, and nothing more. “What a way to survive.”

“Yes, what a way to survive…” The young Herros stole a bite of pork as his words drifted into the air. The tree spores were as bright as ever, casting light into even the most concealed places.

“Why did you become a soldier?”

The question was a spontaneous one, and clearly, Calvan had not expected it. The boy perked up, but only a second later did his demeanor return. When he swallowed his food, he spoke, “Why did I become a soldier, you ask?”

“You said yourself that you run with the blood of farmers. Why give up a peaceful life to chase a rabid beast?”

“I will admit, that is an excellent question, Ander. One I find myself asking all too often whenever the skies turn grey.” Even though Calvan wore a smile, Ander could see past his front. There lay something beyond that grin, and it was a dark thing.

“I suppose I found it my duty to swear a sword to defend my land. My lineage is one of peace and tranquility, but the world is full of wickedness and evil. Who am I to sit on some farm beast and plow a field while men younger than me spill feckless blood? Maybe when my tenure is up, I carry away my soldier’s treasury, and then I will settle on my father’s plot and work the land. But until then, I have work to do.”

“And hunting the Inagnivorr is such work,” Ander pressed further. He did not wish to put Calvan in any discomfort. He knew better than most folk that the past was a dangerous memory.

But Calvan did not respond to the question, at least not promptly. The crackers and Pork were gone now, but the tea Ander had brewed still lofted with steam. Ander was content to leave the subject be, but just as he turned down to sip from the tea, the soldier spoke up.

“Perhaps there is more to my office than just the sense of duty.” The blonde soldier was still as a rock, speaking to the earth more than Ander. “I will admit… And it is a hard thing to admit, and even to my brothers-in-arms, it is something I speak rarely about.”

“Then you need not speak of it,” Ander’s words were swift. “You must forgive my interrogation, I did not mean to press into painful memories.”

“No,” rushed Calvan. The soldier was looking up now, away from the earth to show what was hidden in his eyes. It was the same frozen flame Ander had seen before. “It is a gift to be able to speak plain to someone, if you would yield me an audience.”

Ander placed his tea at his side to lay his hands flat on his legs. His stare was telling of a focused mind. “I would gladly.”

“Thank you… In truth, I took up arms so that I could be here. Not a soldier, but rather, a hunter. A hunter that targeted a beast who came close to taking his life…”

“The Inagnivorr,” Ander’s voice rose in a whisper, “you knew it before taking your oath.”

“Aye, I did,” continued the soldier. “I knew the Inagnivorr well, more so than most men, but not as well as some of my closest friends. It had been set upon the land in a minor strife of minor gods nearly half a decade ago. Or so I have been told. A mere soldier does not have access to great tomes or whispers from a continent away. All I know is the battle had nothing to do with man’s hand, and yet we knew bore the consequences… It tore through my land, claiming lives, and rending the ground to ice and ash. Burned trees and soot, and frozen fields and glaciers ten yards tall. Nothing remained of the folks I once knew, and it was that very day did I rode into Vimbaultir upon the back of a mule to swear an oath to our lords. To enlist as a soldier. To leave my family behind to the lands they had left, and to do my part…”

“...In felling the beast.”

“And avenging all those who fell before me, yes…”

The reason stung deep into the burned blonde. Deeper than any monologue had before. Short and painful, like a rusted blade, or a winter maiden, or a sudden inferno, or the wrath of beasts and me alike. No tears fell from Calvan’s face. The grief was too palpable to fall as water and salt. When Ander had first laid eyes on Calvin, he had thought that there could never be a more mirror image of himself. It was the moment his new friend finished speaking, did he realized how foolish that thought was.

Truly, there had never been such perfect twins.

“This happened two years ago, I presume?”

“Indeed, it did,” Calvan nodded his head. “And though I have questioned my strength and my ability, never have I questioned my resolve.”

From his side, Calvan undid the latch of his scabbard to unsheath his blade. It glistened in the light of the forest spores, as if fire danced upon its sharp steel. A word spoken by Leon hung in Ander’s mind. “A man only draws his sword to use it,” the blonde warrior told him, an odd dozen months ago. And even though Calvan did not intend to slice or spare with his blade, the purpose it was drawn to serve was clear.

“This blade is my vow,” commanded Calvan, the grief replaced by resolute might. “And though I have failed before, I will not fail again. On the life I have in me, I will slay it before another free life is claimed..”

“A worthy vow for a worthy man,” touted Ander. Though dark clouds of darks hung over them, and doom festered in their breath, both men were dressed in prideful smiles. Not pride in themselves - such sin was a path to the grave. But rather pride in their vows. Such was the virtue that bred honor and duty. A chain linked both men, forged of respect and toned steel.

When Calvan’s blade found shelter at his hip, Ander posed the man a question. But really, it was a question for himself.

“When your work is done, and your arms are laid,” he said, “what then? What comes next for you, Calvan Herros?”

“I will go to my family. Father, mother, and brother, and I will be whole,” Calvan crossed his legs beneath him. “After my tenure in the brazen, that is. But when that day comes when I am free, I am free to join my family.”

“Really,” Calvan scoffed, “in the end, what is there other than family?”

“Nothing else is so worthy. Nothing else is so important,” Ander’s voice scratched out. Their smiles had faded, and the soldier eyed the thief with the same pity the latter had sent him not a minute prior.

“May I ask a question, Ander?”

“You have every right,” he replied.

“Were you born a Lone?” The leather-armored man asked. “Did you know your family?”

“...I did - I did know them, and I loved them. My love for them was stronger than every ball of flame in the night sky, and every wave in every sea. Not that I have ever seen the sea, hah.”

“Did your family have a surname, Ander?”

“They did, a peasant one for a peasant home,” replied the young Idris. “The Idrises of Syl… The Idreses of Sylrel.”

“By… The…”

“-You need not speak their names.” Ander raised a hand to silence his friend. “The gods took my home, and my friends, and my family. I am the last Idris, and I carry the burden to live on for all those who failed before me.”

“You carry a vow, just the same,” mouthed Calvan. Their tone was so low that it could scarcely be heard over the night's ambiance. The spores - those little lanterns in the air - were as bright as ever, no matter how quiet they hung. “There are many who would see you as an omen, a cursed wanderer. If it is any consolation, I see you as a man. A burdened man, but all great men must carry a burden.”

“And we are burdened by purpose. Most men live with scant reason, but we bear purpose.”

“That we do… But you say the gods took your home, you can’t mean… I seek to avenge my fallen, and you have the right to do the same, but the Astari.”

“I mean every word I say,” growled Ander. Rage burned hot in him. He held no contempt for Calvan’s question; he had made the same one a hundred times over. But with every doubt, there sprung a well of resolution. He was certain of his goal.

“If one can stand, then one can fall. I have been beaten and bloodied, and torn apart, and yet here I stand. I would not be alive if it were not for a greater purpose. I will never let go of my ashen kin, and though I am a man, I will be a man who slayed a fallen god.”

“...”

Neither had words to follow up on Ander’s claim. Poetry was the tool for the dreamers, and the Idris had no will to be one with them. He did not dream. He foresaw, and every night he saw glimpses of a certain future, paved with golden blood and sweat and sweet fruit. The sweet fruit of atonement, and greater more - revenge.

“Then to the just gods, and the forces of good in this realm-” Calvan broke the silence, raising his cup of tea into the air. Steam wafted off it to join the glowing air. “-May we pray that our purpose be swift and strong-”

“-And as grand as those we fight for.”

“From this day-”

“-Until the end.”

“Lumithos” “Lumithos”

The twins shared a call of prayer, and they clinked their tea together. Little did they know that deliverance was at hand.

*Screach!*

“Rrrraaaagggghhh!”

A high, thunderous blare sounded, far off to the east. The Vernwood shook at the sound. The branches of the trees pulled close together, caught in fear. And the ground and underbrush became as silent as the dead. All of nature was frozen, save for that terrible, horrifying roar.

“Rrrraaaagggghhh!”

“That roar!” Calvan leaped to his feet, his kit scattered on the ground. His tea was spilled, and the earth drank it up to leave not a patch of wetness. He shed not even a glance at the mess as he moved to pull Ander to rank. The soldier’s command was stark. “The beast is here! Due east!”

Ander was caught in the moment, but no sooner did he gain his focus. The air, once warm, had become crisp, and Calvan’s breath bellowed with frost. And it was silent now. As the last Idris mended his kit, he sent a word to his friend. “You are certain? You know it is the Inagnivorr?”

Calvan had already begun off, but with Ander’s words, he turned back with a solemn look. He was painted well the passions burning in his heart.

“Never has there been anything more certain.”

“Then we are off!” Ander pulled tight the strap of his shield as he roared. The true hunt was at hand.

The light of the tree spores was lost, and the dark became their path. Armed by padded gear and blades alone, they chased the direction of the roar. Cries of men bled in the distance, rattling calls that shook even the most heartened hearts.

“Gods!”

“The claws! Claws!”

“Mercy! *Grrkk*”

Death rattles boomed one by one, and with every further bloodied howl, the blonde men’s legs ran faster. They were in a full sprint, headfirst into the black of night. The last of twilight was gone, and clouds swayed low in the sky, bending the moon and stars to heel. Their blades sheered to taste the frigid air, painted black with night, swinging hurridly at their sides as they dashed. The roots of the trees rose high in their way as if the plants were saying ‘Do not go. Do not go.’

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But they did not listen.

“There! In the near! Torches!”

“Back, you rabid beast!”

“Krrraaaakkk!”

A light shone at the end of their way, and when their feet brought them nearer, the light cleaved into three. Three torches were held aloft by three figures, painted black by night. It was a band of hunters, cornered in the woods. And between them, stalking between the trees, there roamed a shadow. A shadow as grand as a home, with writhing growths like massive snakes, and scales as sharp as axes. And when the beast’s jaw came undone to show its teeth, Ander swore he saw into the face of death incarnate. His legs ran all the faster for it. For in that monstrous thing, he saw a beast even worse. With a face of fire, and a heart of evil.

“Melō té; great Essa, we call your name!”

Ander squinted through the forest; they were still a good distance away. A figure had fallen on his knees, his hands crossed as he begged into the sky. The great shade crept near, and no sooner there spewed a torrent of red, a tidal wave upon the brown of the Vernwood. Another deadman’s groan joined the rest, and there became only two lights through the wall of wood. Though they were no more than figure to him, the young Idris could see their terror.

*Shift*

Something darted through the tree line. A shadow, keeping pace with the two warriors. The bush of trigs and crack of the dormant wood was clear above the commotion. Ander saw but a glimpse of a glimpse of it, and no longer did it holdfast in his mind. For he had a larger mare to deal with.

“We stick together!” Called Calvan over his shoulder. The soldier was pulling ahead in the footrace. Ander pressed himself harder, his soles hammering the brush.

“We shall!”

“Rrrraaaagggghhh!”

The first thing Ander noticed was the bodies. Four upon the ground, and two still breathing. The dense foliage gave way to a clearing, nearly fifty yards across with a dense overhang of wood. The Inagnivorr, painted by torchlight and luminance, stood tall upon the scene. It was the thing of night terrors, and then some. Growths the size of logs sprouted from its scales, like a scorpion’s tail, with sharp claws rooted in their ends. Though it had no sight, there lined rows of teeth that cloud split a bolder with ease. A foot in height, every one of them. And hung beneath its maw was a large sack, with rolls of scales able to split as it inflated. Light came from inside it, frozen blue, and firey red. The sight was paralyzing, but for the two warriors, it brought no fear.

Calvan’s prayer had been answered, and their deliverance was nigh.

“To us!” Cried Calvan into the field. The cowering hunters took notice, but so did the beast. It spun with blinding speed, and with a roar, it darted toward them. The pair split with dashes to the side, halving the beast as it rammed beyond them. The grip of the forest held down the reptile, but only for a second as the *snap* of logs sounded and trees were torn from their roots. Its neck was free, and no later was it growling with a foot rutting into the ground, hungry for more.

“To us!”

Calvan called again as the blonde regrouped behind the Inagnivorr. Its tale, a serpent of spikes and scales, thrashed the ground in wild movements. The men with torches escaped their cravenness and were about to break for the swordsmen. The further one entered a dash, only a few yards out, but the further made no such progress.

For inside the gullet of the beast, a yellow flame took hold. It burned bright, brighter than the sun in the sky, and as it bor its hundred teeth, a great flame lept off its tongue. It swallowed the man whole, amidst cries of burning agony, and when the fires died, a burning corpse remained. The wood was alight, but the cold kicked it out, and the man’s torch laid without flame. The smell of searing flesh kept the air. Ander knew it well, and the scars on his form buzzed with numbness. But in the moment, his blood pumped hard

“Keep it turning!” Calvan held his broadsword out with one hand. The shard of steel wasn’t fit to be the beast’s toothpick, but he never faltered. “It turns slow, but it strikes fast! Stay clear of it!”

“What’s your name?” Ander blurted to the hunter. The man was of middle age.

“Herman!” Sounded the man.

Ander sent him a swift nod. “Do not die, Herman!”

With no further words, the hunters made a dash for the beast. The Inagnivorr had begun its charge but found no victim to ram. The men had skirted its path, and with perfect precision, Calvan levied a strike at its rear leg. He had managed a cut between the scales, and a cry sounded from the beast. Purple fluid drained from the callus armor.

“Vvrraaaaaaggghhhh!”

“Do not linger! Hit it and run!” Ordered the soldier, retreating to the brim of the glade. Even though it wore no eyes, the men could see the beast’s rage. The purple ceased to flow from the monster’s leg as it had healed its wound.

“We must find the core!” Shouted Calvan. The hunters were split amongst the opening. “We can inflict no permanent wound. We must find and shatter the core.”

“Then we shall!” Roared Ander. The Inagnivorr took in the boy’s cry, and the writhing growths upon its back sprung into the air. It was a sight of utter disgust. Three limbs shot at him, and three missed as he skirted their path. A fourth was on his heel, but with his shield, he deflected the mass. It was no easy feat, and he was thrown upon his rear. In a flash, he was risen again.

*Shreek*

Across the tract, Calvan and Herman made their strike. The torchman’s bearded ax failed to make it through the scales of the beast’s belly, but Calvan pierced it whole, digging his blade to its hilt. Purple blood flowed free, and the beast writhed upon the grass. The thrashing of its limbs was as swift as a snakebite, and it was a miracle that the two men escaped, alive. While the Inagnivorr’s focus was lost, Ander lept forward and lodged his falchion between the scales of the beast’s growth. The same violet blood formed in a fountain swell, and a coat of it became on his face. It was warm, as all blood was, but when the initial sensation faded, Ander found himself swept from the world.

His perception was flipped. His eyes saw beyond the physical realm, and the strings of the ethereal plane were hung before him. A great shudder took his body. His breath had become quick, and his eyes dashed across the glade, quicker than ever. With vision beyond anything he had felt before. Regardless of never having felt such rushing power before, it was obvious to him what had happened.

The Inagnivorr - a weapon of the gods - flowed with blood rich in arcana. The purest arcana mortals could ever taste, and his body had taken a great dose of it.

Then a shout came from his right.

“Ander. Run!” The words blared with urgency.

The call was too late for him to take notice, and when Ander turned, he found the maw of the Inagnivorr roaring before him. A blue light shined in its throat, and before he could run, a torrent of frost was unleashed on him. It dug into his skin. Daggers of ice carved their edges true, and winds blew with stark cold that could freeze Anosverg over. What was a few seconds felt like an eternity to the young Idris. But when the blizzard yielded, Ander stood, unscathed. His body buzzed with a faint glow - flames napping on the creases of his garbs - and the purple blood upon his face slowly faded away.

It was quiet after that. Even the beast did not know what to make of it. Luckily, Ander did.

The thief swung his blade high to pierce the underchin of the monster, slicing through the soft and unarmored flesh that hung there. No blood sank through the cut, but the beast howled in rage and pain before it scampered away and off the blonde’s blade. It moved like it had no bones, in frantic strides, shifting and morphing to snake its way beyond the forest wall of the glade. Shadow took hold of it, and beneath the canopy, it stalked with the faint red and blue light still in its jugular.

The three hunters sprinted for the center. Calvan and Herman stared in disbelief. They said nothing at all, but Ander spoke all that needed to be heard.

“Its blood is rich in Arcana!” He said in a manful voice. “Spill its blood, and I will fell the beast!”

“How so?”

“By means such as this. Anos vorā!”

Ander slid a hand down his blade, and there summoned fire on its edge. It raged at the air but it did not dare sear the hand he wielded it with. There was still much arcana in his blood, even after his defense against the winterbreath. And from such a toll, a small line of blood fell from his nose. The others did not comment.

At that instant, the stalker of the wood returned to the glade. It slithered out of the wall, screaming with all its lungs’ might as it charged them down. Its body, as malleable as sludge, slid side to side as it chased them down. The growths on its back were poised to strike, stingers and claws at the ready. Herman was stolen by shock, but Calvan took his stand and ran toward his foe. A warcry fled his lips, and as the Inagnivorr struck at the soldier, Calvan evaded with not a moment to spare. Its limb became stuck in the grass, and using the chance Ander ran his fire blade through the thick of the growth. The severed mass fell limp on the soil, and the beast roared in pain.

“Rrrraaaagggghhh!”

It was more of a screech than a roar now, and a pool of dark gore grew about the stump. Ander dropped to his knees, digging his hands deep into the pool. The strength zapped through his mass like lighting down a rod, and he could feel the energy swell like the pounding of a thousand hearts. The Inagnivorr had already regrown its lost limb, and a half dozen growths were ready to eviscerate. But they never found their chance as Ander called another cast.

“Enkas vass!”

Spears of rock and ore struck from the ground, piercing the gut of the beast. It cried and failed as it tried to flee, but the spikes kept it stuck. Shards of broken scales fell with tides of blood, and growths darted like flies in the sky. For an instant, Ander saw none of it. When the cast was made, he was left, reclining on his knees with a low buzzing in his ear. His eyes were unfocused and lost, and his mouth was hung open in laze. Blood streamed down his upper lip to fall from his chin, and quick shutters would steal his form. And then he would be perfectly still.

“Ander! Rise!”

Calvan jerked him back to the present, and Ander found the blade at his side. His soul was going beyond what his body could channel. Cracks were forming in the spikes of stone, and soon the beast would be free. Now was their chance to strike. To do real damage, they had to find and shatter the core.

“Find the core!” Ordered Calvan. “While it is immobile!”

They attacked at once, all three of them abreast. They cut clean through growths and hacked through the thicker scales of its legs and underbelly. Every touch of blood sent shocks through Ander, and the taste of his own iron was fresh on his tongue. It was all too much, but the fire on his blade made an equilibrium. Though they cut, and tore, they found no sign of a core, and every wound would only grow back, and every felled scale would sprout anew.

“It’s breaking free!” Herman shouted, a finger levied at the spikes. With a final roar, the beast tore free from the trap. Its wrath upon the men was fierce and quick.

With no time to flee, the Inagnivorr pivoted jaw agape, and in a single bite, all of Herman was consumed. There was a human cry, but only for a moment, and when the beast swallowed, the memory of the man was gone. The two blondes had seen much that day, but that was a cut above all that came before. The swiftness of it all was enough to make them wish to hurl.

But there was no time to hurl.

“Guard!”

Calvan howled, and the two made their guards as the monster bore down on them. It ignored Calvan as it centered on Ander. Its teeth were aimed to bite him in two, but his falchion became lodged between them with just enough space to keep him free of their grip. As the Inagnivorr roared, a gale of saliva came forth to stick to Ander. Once more his body buzzed with arcana. But the monster was just too massive, and in a second, he would be mince meat.

There was little he could do, inch by inch the beast came closer to the boy. The tips of its teeth were pressed upon the black of his garbs, and then he felt the ping of pain against his sternum. He roared as he fought, but it didn't matter. Such strength could not be conquered.

“Calvan!” He groaned through gritted teeth. “Help!”

*Slash*

*Crack*

*Screach*

The beast fell off him as it tranced back, wringing its body out like a caught snake. It spun on its heels as it struck its arms into the forest, glancing blows at the trees and brush hidden there. Though the night was dark, Ander could see a clear shadow in the wood, dashing back and forth. It had the monster’s attention, but when it faded into the canopy, so did the Inagnivorr lose interest.

“Calvan?” Ander shouted into the glade, bolting to his feet. His partner was not five yards away, wearing a look of mutual confusion.

“What was that?”

“I don’t know!”

It only took a moment for the monster to turn back at them, with bared teeth and rabid hunger. Calvan’s eyes shot open, and his finger pointed up to land on the monster’s nape.

“Look! It’s the neck!”

“What?”

“The core is in the neck!” Calvan pointed toward the nape of the beast. It was growling, and around its neck there wrapped four of its armored growths. It was covering something there.

“The core!” The realization struck Ander. “But how do we reach it?”

“Can you hold it down once more?”

The Inagnivorr pounced on them, but the hunters fled to the right. As they ran, Ander’s mind churned with thoughts of casts, and soon, one came to him. It would expect the spikes now, but it would never suspect the trees to turn on it.

“I can!”

“Hold it down and find its side. We have to mount its back!”

“On its back?” Said Ander. Such a claim was ludicrous, but with a second thought, he remembered just where they were. Insanity was at home with fellow insanity, and so he obliged with a nod.

“I’ll get it to strike! When it misses its mark, you trap it down!”

The two split, with Ander running along the edge of the glade as Calvan dashed toward the beast. The scorpion tales bored down on him, but he evaded them like a dove threaded an eagle. The soldier made it right before the beast, and there he planted his feet. Such an easy prize was irresistible to the monster, and it lurched forward, teeth armed to tear the boy apart. But all it ate was air, and Calvan had fled safely away.

It was off balance, and it was then that Ander called to the trees. “Rothanos anee!”

The whole Vernwood shook, and as swift as lightning, the roots of the trees became borne from the dirt. They held the monster, brown and black with endless grip. It tried to thrash. It tried to flee, but it found no escape.

Ander could feel the blood trickle down the lobe of his ear to crash upon the black of his shoulder. He knew no difference between the sky and the ground, and the scars on his arm and palm, and temple burned with scorching heat. The boy tried to hold focus, but it always slipped his grip, and he would become dazed one more time. His feet were weak, but they kept him standing tall. He fretted that his body could not handle such a great toll. Men were not built for such power.

Once more, Calvan had to bring him back to focus. “Ander. NOW!”

With a jar of his head, Ander bolted forward to the side of the beast. He could worry about the consequences after he had managed to survive. As he approached, he saw Calvan dip to a knee with his hands held out to receive him. He understood the query, and without slowing down he took a step upon the soldier’s hands to jump into the air. He dug his blade between the scales, and with a free hand he aided Calvan to his side. They were hung in the air now, three yards above the ground.

They held onto the beast with the holds made by the scales, and Ander drew his sword from the monster. It was screeching like a Wrathen, and above them loomed vicious growths ready to split them into pieces. The limbs fell on them one by one, and one by one they were deflected. The climb was brutal, but the nape came into view at last. But the monster was always thrashing this way and that, and their balance was poor on its back. The trees were holding admirably, but loud pops and cracks came in quick succession. Their window was coming to a close. They had to find the core.

Together they dashed for its nape, fending off the dozen writhing growths. Its dorsal was lined with great spikes, two feet in height with tens of them lined in echelon. They proved no challenge as they marched forward. Ander called greater flames to protect them as if a band of inferno men had their back. It was much to focus on, and the strings tore at the thief’s fingers. But he set the pain aside and fought with all he had. Even without magic, Calvan warred with equal might.

At last, they were at the nape, and their blades were released on the growths guarding the monster’s neck. The woods cried with groans of fatigue, and one by one the roots slipped. They wasted no expense. One growth was cut in two, as was another, and another, and soon was the nape bare and unguided. Fire danced around them, and Ander’s vision was beginning to blur beyond use. It was only Calvan’s resolution that kept him aware. The blood of the Inagnivorr never stopped flowing, but arcana wasn’t a problem. A barrel could hold all the water in the world, but only one pale-full at a time. Any more, and it would burst.

“We must find it!” Calvan shouted. The Inagnivorr’s writhing was coming to an apex, and it was near impossible to stand. So they fell to their knees, blades in hand as they plugged the steel into the beast. Deafening blares flooded the air, and the growths and legs of the monster beat the ground like a great drum. Purple flooded the hunter’s vision. They stabbed without relent, feeling for the slightest clue of its core.

*Screach*

“Ahhhhh!”

*Screach!*

“Crack”

The smallest sound of the crack of crystal sounded above all the Vernwood. The resulting wrath of the monster was unparalleled. They had found the core, and no sooner did the monster break free, spurred on by rage and absolute pain. It wept its horrid cry as it threw itself against the ground, over and over. They were flung promptly from the back into free fall. Twenty feet did they tumble. Ander was only saved by an impact against the beast’s leg, and then a growth, keeping his speed slow enough to land with only marginal pain. He felt it all along his form, and when the adrenaline stopped flowing, all of his fatigue and pain came to him.

It was nearly unbearable. Far more than men were made to handle. The Inagnivorr screamed all the while.

“Ander! Look out!”

The growths and claws of the monster were beyond rabid and flew in a frenzy about the glade. One found a path toward Ander. The man made his teeth teeth, pushing himself up as he assumed a weak stance. His shield held firm, and the growth glanced off him into the air. His falchion never left his right hand, and so he swung it against the scales, but it did not break flesh. There was little strength in his arms now. And that is when the second growth caught him.

His eyes failed to alert him, and from his right, there sped by a massive growth. It grazed his shield, and immediately the wood shattered into a thousand shards. The steel of its brim was crumpled, and it fell from Ander’s hand. A sea of crimson followed it. The mass continued to fly beyond him, and out of sight.

*Pierce*

Having dropped to his knees, Ander held his bleeding arm above his head. It was hard with how little strength he had left. He watched as the crazed beast roared a final roar before scamping into the treeline, leaving the field coated in torn wood and painted with purple blood. The cries continued to call in the distance, as did the sounds of timbering trees. The last image of it left his vision, and at last, the glade was quiet. Frost and flame did linger there, a final remnant of the carnage.

*Groan…*

As Ander wrapped his bleeding arm, a groan called from his behind. He turned to look, and immediately his eyes went round. Words were caught on his tongue, and the image he saw made his heart slow.

It was Calvan. Leaned against a trunk, sword in hand. With a great mark of red on his stomach. His boiled leather was torn, and deep flesh was open to the air. It was an oak he leaned against.

“Calvan!” Ander scurried forward, finding the side of his friend. The soldier’s eyes were glazed, and they wandered off into a distant sight. He tried to hold down his wound, but it did nothing to curb the bleeding. The young Herros never let go of his sword.

“Look at me, Calvan,” Ander took hold of the man’s head. He saw his eyes try to focus. He had to keep his attention, he had to keep him looking forward. He cared nothing about his own injury.

“Look at me!”

“Ander…” his voice was not above a whisper. “It is… over.”

“No, no!” Ander affirmed. “It is not. You must look at me… Look at me, as if you see your family. Your father, your mother. Your brother. You must not die here. You must go to them!”

“I am… going to them… Ander.”

There came no reply from the blonde thief. With one hand he held Calvan’s head, and with his other, he gripped his shoulder. Tears began to fall from the soldier’s eyes.

“I am going to my family…” he began, placing a hand upon his friends, “where they wait for me in the world beyond our own.”

“What…?”

“My family is dead, Ander,” he mouthed. “Taken in ash by the beast we fought. Two years ago did it strike, and all I knew was rendered to soot…”

“Ander…”

“I am the last of my blood.”

“No, look at me.” He cared not for such last words. Ander did all he could to stave away death. “You must live.”

“I made my vow upon the felled, and now am I to join them…”

The hand Calvan held his blade moved upon his lap. With the last of his life, he raised up the sword to press into Ander’s chest. “... I swore no more would die so long as I live… And I did not keep my vow. It is now you who must keep it.”

“For all of those who came before… And… All of those…”

“Who may come hence,” Ander finished his words. Life was draining fast from Calvan, and his face was going pale. Death loomed near. There was no fending it off. Ander could see that now.

“Will you hold this vow?... Brother?”

Ander released the dying man’s hand. He took the hedge of the blade and squeezed it tight. Red ran from his palm. He stared down at Calvan and spoke with resolution.

“You may fall here… But you will live on… always.”

“Hah… Hah, *cough* *cough*,” ragged breaths came out of Calvan’s mouth, and his eyes were now dark with bloodshot. His hands fell limp, and it was like looking into the white of a skeleton.

“Thank… You.”

“For what?” The burned boy asked. “If I had held my shield true, you would have lived… I led you to death, why thank me?”

“For giving me… someone… to die with…”

“For so long have I been… alone.”

“Please,” Calvan’s words were said in a rasp, and soon would they be said no more. “My family lies in ash.”

“Send me… to… them.”

The last of the strength left his body, and his head fell back against the oak. Laze took his eyes, and just like that, Calvan Herros was a dead man.

The wind picked up through the glade, taming the low-burning flames as brush rose in the passing air. There was a howl all around, a low whistle from the shadows at every turn. Ander did not act straight away. He stayed his hands, the hands now covered in the blood of beasts, and the blood of heroes. But even the greatest of heroes driven by the greatest of grievances were no match for death. All were prey. All were made to die.

He raised an empty palm, and with a single stroke, he closed the corpse's eyes. He then leaned forward to lay his forehead against Calvan’s. His skin was already cold, and it was there he whispered to the oak tree.

[Ljosa tongue for ‘let me send him to that place’]

When he leaned back, the roots of the tree became alive. They wrapped about the corpse with gentle care, and layer by layer they took his form. The other growths of the forest shifted away from the oak, crawling in their groves to make room around the lonely tree. But it was not alone. Never would it be alone again.

Before letting go, Ander had undone the scabbard at Calvan’s side. He hooked it to the left of his belt beneath his sash. His falchion was already sheathed, and in his hands did he hold the broadsword of his fallen friend. One would have been mistaken to assume it to be light. There was a heft to it, and it was heavy with more than steel and grip.

When the trees became still, Ander looked upon the earth in reflection. His fatigue was gone with the wind, and a familiar fire burned within him. He knew well the grief of loss, and at that moment, his eyes were dry of tears. There was a greater vice for pain within him, and the ashes took light.

With a roar, he held the blade up before cleaving it into the trunk of the oak wood. He called upon the flames, “Anos!”

The growth was set ablaze at once. The inferno took every inch of bark, and sapling, and twig, and the glade was cast with light. Smoke rose in a great column, and in the black, flies of rising ash and embers lit up like…

“Little lanterns.”

Ander stared into the flame. His skin felt none of the heat, for it all burned inside him. The wind rose up again, and in its whistle did he hear the words -

“Avesh yarala urv fah nahra suntheea.”

“Havo rath er lure ne faranos.”

“Hēr ne requa te hez ikos.”

For that moment, and only that moment, he heard beyond the words of the high tongue. The meaning was clear to him.

“Ashes rise but no tears fall.”

“The vow is yours to keep, and care for.”

“For we are the last of our blood”

The rising light swarmed around the burning oak, and against the black of the night sky, they formed a tapestry. Familiar scenes came to him: a burning village, a frozen gutter, a black fur, a warm trance. and most new of all, a monster in the night. Ander bit against his lip, but never once did a tear fall from his cheek. The flames were too bright now, and all of his body blazed with renewed strength. A second wind for a lost soul.

He bid a hand into the flames to draw his new sword. He waited for it to cool and steam, before pressing against his chest. With the hot steel against his garbs, he murmured, “You may lie here, amongst the ash.”

“But so long as I hold you, you will never die… no matter how many times they tear us down.”

A pained look stole his face, and beneath the veil of his closed eyes, vengeance burned bright, unmatched by all the stars of the sky.

His voice became grim as he hissed, “But the beast. Will. Fall.”

The ashes never ceased to rise, and all the Vernwood sang a sorrowful song for the last Herros. A man born of vengeance, just to die at a later date. But he was with his kin now, in that world beyond their own. At peace in a warm paradise that flowed with milk and honey. And as Ander bid farewell to the burning tree, he walked beneath the veil of the woods to disappear into the wall of darkness. The embers did not flow, and it was black.

High in the treeline, with a mantle upon her head and a flowing clock draped on her form, Nallia let out a held breath. The smoke was rising to her area, and she would have to move. But she stayed with her eyes lingering on Ander. All of her body was tense.

“Damnit, Ander,” she groaned with concern. Her mare Lilyshade waited some distance away. She was in the long haul, stalking her brother for almost a day. And now, more than ever, did she fret for him.

“What the hell are you doing?...”