Kiur and Xander saw a navy blue portal open. Fizzling in and out of existence, the round-shaped door made way for the dwarven guide that had first greeted them in Kuara.

He regarded them warmly, and behind him, the portal widened and pushed forth a small, yet sturdy-looking boat rocking forth from the underground city’s river.

“My friends.” The dwarf motioned to the boat. “Let us return you to the city. Master Noah entrusted me their trusty ark to escort you back.”

“Finally!” Xander let out an exhausted but thankful sigh but grew wary when he came closer. He kicked the dinky ark. “I’m not confident this thing can carry us at all!”

“It will certainly not sink, boy.” Xander shuddered at the way the dwarf said that. His smile looked murderous. “Though I can promise it can at least carry two of us. Maybe three if the waves show mercy to insolence.”

The dwarf laughed in a thin voice, scaring Xander. The low crashing of waves from the portal and against his feet startled him further.

Kiur nudged Xander. “Have you ever heard of the saying ‘Never look a gift horse in the mouth.’?” he asked as they the boat to ride the peaceful river.

“Got it, I was rude. No need to remind me.” Xander shrieked from the ripples hitting the boat.

“It’s as if you try to invite bad luck upon you.”

“I get it! Ley off of me before I fall off!” Xander cried out, holding onto the boat’s port and Kiur’s shoulder. “I had some terrible experiences with boats. I don’t like them.”

Kiur raised an eyebrow. “Aren’t you a water mage?”

Since Xander wasn’t calming down, Kiur focused his attention on the passing buildings and their intricate designs. The facades varied from sandstones to marble to clay and wooden constructions, but they didn’t seem out of place.

They lined up perfectly in the myriad of shapes and layouts, though something else nagged on Kiur’s conscience—it was the fact that this place shouldn’t exist in the first place.

His eyes glanced at a candle inside a building. He peered inside.

There was a family. A mother, a father, and their daughter dressed in azure and coral-coloured robes as they sat before the dining table—reminding him of his lost family.

The girl then noticed Kiur’s passing glance and waved at him, smiling brightly. He wanted to wave back but pulled his hand back—he thought he saw a kindling blue flame inside her chest.

“Beautiful place, ain’t it?” asked their guide, rowing them effortlessly through the stream.

“Reminds me of home,” answered Kiur, noticing Xander was already dozing off instead of panicking. Kiur felt his eyes growing heavy. He didn’t know when he slept last time. “I don’t think I know your name. I’m sorry, I’m tired.” Embarrassed, Kiur scratched his neck.

“Oh, it’s alright. I never told you. It had been a few decades since I had to use it anyway,” the dwarf’s eyes smiled at Kiur. “Call me Daedal, my child.”

The way Daedal addressed Kiur was warm, almost fatherlike. Kiur wondered if Daedal had children, but before he could ask, they had already docked the boat.

There wasn’t much of a father figure in Kiur’s current life. Even with his recent, and late mother, there was only one person in his life Kiur considered a father from both lives. One who took care of Lotte, bathed, dressed her, walked her to school or attended each event of hers—with only the occasional presence of her mother.

She missed her father dearly.

“I need to do better—for my late family and my current one,” thought Kiur as he followed purposefully behind Daedal and back to the upturned boat.

The now empty hall felt far too large, tremendously inflated with an otherworldly feeling of emptiness. Previously filled with exuberant warriors, it was deserted except for Noah—back in the form of a woman—sitting on the wooden throne like a lone and brooding ruler.

A familiar image flashed into Kiur’s mind of the giant goddess, who spread out her dark downcast wings and called for Kiur. Her hand was outstretched for him to take it, but he was brought back to reality by Noah’s voice.

“You two returned rather early.” Noah sounded cold and collected—nothing like her previous chipper tone when they first met her. Maybe that was her true self when she was alone. “Did you settle your little conversation?”

“Not much to do when you suddenly throw us into that position,” answered Xander for them. “I had my suspicions but couldn’t have imagined that we were both reborn people, right, Kiur?”

Kiur was distracted; he didn’t hear what Xander said. “Ah, yes, sure,” he replied flatly, searching for someone. “Where’s Cylia?”

Noticing their other companion to be gone, Xander joined the rudimentary search from where they stood but couldn’t see her anywhere.

“Where’s Cylia?” they both repeated the question to Noah, who sluggishly batted her eyes.

“We need to talk about something-” The second Noah spoke, they heard wooden dishes and cups clatter from one of the long wooden tables.

A hand crawled up from below with a groan so croaked and sluggish that they thought it came from a dying animal. “Oww, my head- Where’s everyone?”

It was Cylia, face flushed red and a crow’s nest for a hairstyle with her bun askew. She stripped over her feet, hit her abdomen against the table and fell over again, sending more dishes down to the floor.

“Isn’t she a minor- who allowed her to drink!?” Kiur exclaimed and rushed over to her to check if she was alright. Cylia was out of it, mumbling something he couldn’t translate.

Noah merely shrugged. “Not my problem. She joined the drinking on her own accord. My Einherjar tend to be quite the drinkers. Besides,” Noah fastened her halt on her throne, sending out a ripple of magic to stun Kiur and Xander. “My headache is killing me, so listen closely. The Summer Solstice is coming. You have a choice to make.”

Noah attempted to take another drink from her keg, only to find it empty. Begrudgingly, she placed it down and unfroze Kiur and Xander.

They huffed for air and stood quietly before Noah.

“By my estimation,” Noah began, rubbing her temples. “You’ll not reach your destination in time, no matter how hard you try. You three will probably die when the Summer Solstice hits the earth and sends you all to the Nether.”

The two swallowed bile. Noah’s sharp words cut pieces of truth into their plan they have never revealed, but it seemed to be as clear as day to the enigmatic leader. Crossing the Navarrien Desert, two months before the Solstice, was next to impossible. Kiur knew it, but not like they had any other option.

With a sly smile, Noah reached out to them with a hand, grasping their minds and memories with images of dread and despair. Their haggard buddies were lying in the desert with the sun scorching their bodies dry, turning to nothing but a pile of bones—swallowed by the ancient dunes, with their bodies and souls joining the ranks of the dead.

Noah brushed her hair back. “This is a once-in-a-lifetime offer I present to you. Either you go out and risk certain death through the desert. Or,” the pressure dissipated. Noah stood up from her wooden throne. The cold wind blew inside the halls and let her silvern hair dance. “You stay and remain alive in Kuara until the End of the Solstice.”

—❂—

REISZER CAMP: THIRD ELITE, SVEND MACNAUGHT

The Reiszer forces returned with their new slaves that couldn't be saved from the raids, leaving the camp deserted. The desert’s heat near the savanna was getting unbearable, and Macnaught and his remaining forces could barely take it.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

He had done his part. He was ready to head home and receive his reward before being assigned another ridiculous task. Though he knew it wouldn’t be possible, not with Tomoe staying in his care.

“I would recommend you stay several metres away from me,” growled Tomoe, and Macnaught quickly stepped away—then some more for good measure.

Sitting on a big makeshift box with a red blanket draped over it, Tomoe lazily pressed her knee against her chest. Her wheezing didn’t get better. They winced from the bagpipe-like sound of her lungs.

Against all better judgement, Tomoe refused treatment and instead resolved to become a potion addict. However, no matter how many she already consumed, she wasn’t getting any better—maybe she just liked the acerb taste of it.

On top of it all, her whole appearance was a mess.

Her dishevelled hair was caked with blood. She was still wearing her tearing uniform with which she had arrived—days ago! All the spilt blood of hers and her enemies had dried, staining her torn hakama pants and gi jacket with permanent stains.

Macnaught held back his gagging reflex, fearing he might get gutted if she noticed. His eyes watered. “By Baldr’s golden beard, woman, please, take a bath!”

“Macnaught,” Tomoe startled Macnaught. He prayed to his forgotten gods that his death would be swift. “What are you staring at me for?”

“If I may, First Elite Yamamoto,” Macnaught coughed for a pause, reflecting on his next words to not become a head shorter. “Perhaps You could reconsider and let our medics help you? You’re gravely injured and at risk of inflicting an infection or worse. We have decent healers at our disposal. Fresh clothes will be, of course, provided and-”

“No need,” rasped Tomoe, grasping for where her heart was. Whoever she fought did a number on her, thought Macnaught. “I prefer to keep my distance from your lot.”

“With all due respect…,” Macnaught hesitated and pulled on his braided beard instead of bashing her head. “I don’t think that’s wise-”

“Keep your opinion to yourself. I’ll ask for it when I need it,” growled Tomoe, emptying a vial in her hands and throwing it at where the slave warriors were training.

Macnaught’s slave warriors.

“I can’t accept this,” Macnaught grated with his teeth. It was he who purchased them, kept them under his care, and it was in all his right to use them as he saw fit. His eyes fell on one of his peculiar slaves, Hessian. “It’s all his fault. I should have killed him sooner.”

Tomoe took another swig of her potion. “Thralls,” she slurred, bringing all slaves to a halt from their training.

Training that was exclusively allowed by their new master, who also provisioned them with all the extra rations they could spare. An odd idea deemed Macnaught since the Western Reiszer didn’t care about keeping their slaves fed.

Starving would have been their logical etiquette—one he would have welcomed with open arms if someone had asked him. Festering allegiances and strength between them was far too dangerous and asking for an uprising.

One of so many he had to quell over the years, but knew they were growing more frequent and bloody. Other slave masters even resorted to getting rid of their entire stock.

Macnaught sighed. “I should have done that after all, and spare me the trouble.”

“Gather before me.” Tomoe, still sitting on her box, sat up straight. Her bones creaked back into place due to the effects of her neglected treatment and potion intake. Macnaught was still wondering who her opponent was to leave her in such a state.

“I would like to shake his head.” Macnaught sneered at this. A Reiszer of enough strength to be regarded as one of the top fighters in their nation was now reduced to a pitiful state. “You first take my thralls and then refuse my gracious help. You are too full of yourself, woman-’”

Macnaught shut himself up when Tomoe glared at him. Could she read his mind, or was she warning him, sensing his ire? “Prostrate,” Tomoe then commanded, turning back to the slaves.

One by one, the slave warriors gathered into seven lines, each including ten of them. They bared their necks before her, showing no signs of rebellion or disrespect—yet.

“Come on, thralls.” Macnaught’s sneer grew. “Show her your true colours.”

“Hessian, step forward.”

“There he is,” Macnaught grimaced at the sight of the slave’s formal leader.

A wild young man with dirty, wild and black hair with a hint of purple at the tips. His sunstone-glowing eyes sharply antagonised anyone they looked upon. Macnaught could barely control him when he first purchased him. Hessian was unpredictable and dangerous. Brilliant in combat, but hardly for anything else.

He hardly obeyed and only did so when it was necessary. Macnaught believed the other slaves would bring him in line, as competitive as they all were—not join him.

“So why? Why are you listening to her and not me! I kept you alive, you ungrateful-”

“First Elite Yamamoto,” Hessian knelt obediently. Almost like a dog, but Macnaught knew better. This man was a wolf—no chains could keep him in place. Like the Fenrir wolf of the old tales, Hessian would rather bite someone’s hand off than be enchained. “What are your orders?”

“My orders?” Tomoe mused playfully, twirling a blood-caked hair strand of hers with her crimson gloved hand. “Remind me, what do you hope to achieve by your request? Freedom for your people? Same rights? You know it’s not possible, do you?”

Macnaught gulped from Tomoe’s passive-aggressive giggling, laughing directly into everyone’s faces with her attitude.

And the worst part of it? She was absolutely right, and no one could do anything about it. Equal rights was a lie only the luckiest could enjoy. Macnaught clenched his fist. “And I’ll be one of them.”

Hessian’s eyes met with Tomoe’s and Macnaught's in complete and utter defiance. “We want to prove that we are strong, not just a weak force you can throw at others. We are not cannon fodder.” Hessian glowered at Tomoe. “Give us a chance to be employed as warriors under your care. We will do anything we can to prove ourselves.”

“Anything you say?” Tomoe’s green eyes turned to slits. They were glowing in the dim light of magic underneath her red and cracked fox mask. “What do you suggest, then? Another raid? Bring back every single Escapee? What will it be, pup?”

“Anything,” Hessian answered promptly. “We will do anything you say.”

“Hmm.” Tomoe rubbed the base of her mask, observing Hessian and the rest of the slave warriors. They were all so eager to prove themselves. She got the perfect task for them and snapped her fingers. “Bring me the venom gland of a female Scorpion Person.”

Dumbfounded, they responded with a resounding, “Huh?”

Tomoe leaned forward from her box. “Did I stutter? We got reports that Scorpion People are decimating the returning troops, making any retreat impossible for those left behind. Killing one shouldn’t be too much trouble, or is it?”

“We will go at once and fulfil your order, First Elite,” answered Hessian, who was the first to head toward the desert.

One by one, the other slaves followed after Hessian, their eyes fixed closely on his back, afraid to be left behind as they were sent for the hunt. They didn’t know the dangers of fighting the Scorpion People. Alas, they had little to no choice.

Soon, there was not a single slave warrior left in the camp. All of them blindly followed Hessian. The only ones left behind were Tomoe, Macnaught, the dissatisfied warriors and the thralls who had long given up on freedom but saw a glimmer of hope in Hessian.

Hope that things could change.

“Tch,” Tomoe clicked her tongue, dangling one of her feet over the box, “a little opposition would have been interesting.”

“Are you going to grant them their freedom if they succeed?” Macnaught asked.

“Who knows,” Tomoe shrugged. “Not that I care. I’m more interested in another thing to accomplish. Sadly, though, this would have to wait another eight months.”

“And what would that be? The enigmatic task of your uncle?”

“To hell with my uncle,” cursed Tomoe, shattering her potion and popping open another one presented by a thrall. “Who cares what he thinks? No, I’m more curious about getting my hand on the golden boy.”

The mere mention of the name confused Macnaught before his expression turned to shock and horror. An arm crept out from within the box, crawling itself up on Tomoe’s ankle and scratching it bloody with its long, broken nails.

Macnaught shouted, jumped and drew his shortsword to defend himself. “What is that!?”

There was an arm inside the box, an arm riddled with bloody wheat-coloured hair and a bestial eye glowing in the dark. It was gripping onto Tomoe’s ankle, ripping apart her skin to her muscles, but she didn’t even flinch.

Instead, she pulled out a short crimson tanto sword from her sleeve and stabbed it through the box, which turned out to be an iron cage. Letting out an agonising and guttural scream, the creature inside howled in pain, only to quieten down when a popping sound came out.

The arm went limp ‌as she dislocated its shoulder.

“W-what was that?” repeated Macnaught, jittering and frozen in place.

“Hm?” Tomoe looked at the blond man and whipped the blood off her sword with a quick swipe. “Nothing. Where was I? Right, I think we should try another raid after the solstice. I’m rather curious about this boy, as he is the brother of the man who equalled me in battle.” Tomoe rested her gloved hand against her chin. “I wonder how much he will squirm.”

Macnaught didn’t respond. He was ultimately terrified of the woman and the beast inside the cage that was now trying to break it open. It couldn’t do it, and Macnaught was relieved. He didn’t want to meet the agitated monster hiding inside it or get on its bad side.

“Oh, golden boy,” cooed Tomoe playfully, her fingers drumming against the edge of the blade. Her eyes glinted in the reflection. “How I wonder your blood will shine on my scarlet blade. How strong will you grow? What would your brother think?”

The beast's resistance inside the caged box grew, and so did Tomoe’s laughter. Macnaught resigned himself earlier to his tent. He needed a break.