The eve of Chaos 40th, Lord Ros slowly sat up on his rack, staring blankly at the stone floor. A few candles by his bedside faintly illuminated the room and spilled shadows all over the wall. He rubbed away the crust in his eyes, stood up, and yawned.

What time is it? Can’t be time for the Festival yet, someone would have woken me up by now.

While gathering his thoughts, he noticed he was not alone. Of the four racks that sat pushed up against the opposing corners, the one parallel to his had a sandy-haired man sitting upon it. Beside him was a fine iron cuirass and accompanying greaves.

“You're awake.” The knight smiled and slapped his hands off his knees. “Would you mind helping me strap my armor?” He stood and grabbed his cuirass.

“Sure thing, Sir Galiard,” Lord Ros replied. He crossed the room. “Is it almost time for the Festival?”

“Nightfall will be upon us within the hour,” Sir Galiard replied.

“Then there is no time to waste.” Lord Ros helped Sir Galiard with his chest piece before strapping it down. “Tight enough?” Sir Galiard nodded. “And done.” Lord Ros moved away to look over his work.

“Thank you, Lord Ros,” replied the knight. He grabbed his cloak and threw it around his shoulders. “I know you and Benard were close, I can’t imagine this is going to be easy for you.”

Lord Ros stared blankly at the wall. “Benard was a good friend, and an even better Witch Hunter. I have mourned him since his death. It wouldn’t be fair to him if I let his Festival sour my mood.” Lord Ros moved back to his rack and knelt down to retrieve his cloak, mail, and boots. “Have most of the others returned?”

Sir Galiard reached under his bed and grabbed an arming sword, unsheathed it and examined its iron edge. “Nearly everyone has returned, save for a few and the Commander. They arrived while you slumbered.”

“Good. Rupert, Divas, Taucki, and Benard all deserve a proper send off. It’s a shame the Commander hasn’t returned, but they’ll be at peace seeing everyone gathered.” Lord Ros tied his boots. “Who will be conducting the ceremony?”

“Lord Gremmelt plans on taking the place of the Commander if he has not arrived by the time we begin,” Sir Galiard replied.

“Let’s just hope he makes it.” Lord Ros threw his mail over his head and fastened the cloak around his neck. “I should probably speak with Lord Isle. I didn’t really go over in detail what happened in Waldenhauf.”

“He is at the forge with Gremmelt and his Nameless whelp, Eija. Apparently the boy has already cut down a Shylar tree.” Galiard chuckled and gently shook his head. “At this point I think we should hand all the Initiates over to Gremmelt. He definitely has a knack for training”— Galiard shrugged—”that or he’s extremely lucky.”

“That boy is progressing fast—almost as quick as Naja did.” Lord Ros reached under his bed and grabbed his arming sword before fasting it to his belt. “But that is what we need if we are to face off against the Daughters of Chaos.”

“The Order has faced down many covens in our time.” Sir Galiard gently placed his hand on Lord Ros’ shoulder. “This one shall be no different. We will hunt them, we will find them, and we will bring their heads back to the keep. Just like always.”

“I hope you're right,” Lord Ros replied. Suddenly, fire fanned up from the floor and surrounded the knight and Lord Ros.

“You will see soon enough.” Sir Galiard tapped his hand on Ros’ shoulder as the fire engulfed him. His flesh and hair melted away until only bone remained. “The Daughters of Chaos are nothing to worry about.”

As the fire spread from Galiard to Ros, his gaze was drawn to the doorway. Standing there, with a curved dagger drawn, was Lord Isle. His bandages were burning away and a sinister smile stretched across his pale face.

“Interesting theory,” Lord Isle said as he slowly walked through the flames towards the two men. “Tell me more.” His eyes lit up with savage intent. Just as the bones of Sir Galiard burned to ash, Lord Isle plunged the dagger into Ros’ heart and he woke up.

Ros flung himself from his bed and wildly swept his gaze around the candle lit room. His breath was heavy and sweat poured from his brow. “What… Where is… fire?”

“Calm down,” said a voice from behind him. Ros slowly turned his head, meeting his eyes with the sandy-haired knight who sat on the opposing rack. “You were only dreaming.”

“Sir Galiard?” questioned Lord Ros. He studied the man’s face, looking deeply into his dark brown eyes.

“Yes,” replied the knight before standing up. “You must be anxious. No worries. The Festival of the Fallen is almost upon us.” He moved to Ros and placed his hand on his shoulder. “With it we will all be able to put Benard’s memory to rest.”

Fear filled Lord Ros’ chest as he scanned the ground for flames. He moved his gaze to the door and held it there, waiting for Lord Isle to come through. “Yes,” Lord Ros slowly replied. “Just a dream.”

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It felt a lot more real than any dream I’ve ever had. What was that all about? The fire, then Lord Isle with that dagger? That wasn’t a blade forged by Tomaro.

“I need your help with my armor. Nightfall is within the hour, so there is little time to waste.” Sir Galiard crossed to his rack and pulled his iron cuirass close to his chest. When he turned back he noticed the unease in Lord Ros’ eyes. “Is everything okay?”

Lord Ros puzzled at the strange dream for a moment longer. “Sure, I can help you. But I should speak with Lord Isle.”

“He is at the forge with Gremmelt and his Nameless whelp, Eija. Apparently the boy has already cut down a Shylar tree.” Galliard chuckled and gently shook his head. “At this point I think we should hand all the Initiates over to Gremmelt. He definitely has a knack for training”—Galiard shrugged—”that or he’s— ”

“Extremely lucky?” Lord Ros said before Galiard could finish.

“Exactly!” Sir Galiard smiled gently. “Now, if you would be so kind.” He turned, showing Lord Ros his back and the leather straps that needed to be fastened.

“Sure,” Lord Ros replied, moving towards the knight. He fastened the straps, replaying the dream in his head. “The boy is progressing fast. Almost as quick as Naja did.” As he strapped the final one down, he added, “But that is what we need if we are to face off against the Daughters of Chaos.”

Sir Galiard turned to him and moved his arms up and down, testing how everything sat. “The Order has faced down many covens in our time.” He gently placed his hand on Lord Ros’ shoulder. “This one shall be no different. We will hunt them, we will find them, and we will bring their heads back to the keep. Just like always.”

Lord Ros’ heart jumped in his chest and stirred him Frantic. Wildly looking at the floor around them, he said, “I hope you are right.”

“What in the Gods are you looking at?” Sir Galiard turned and examined the cold ground. “Is there a spider or something?” he asked as he turned back.

“It’s nothing,” Lord Ros replied, pushing his unease aside momentarily. He dropped down to the floor and retrieved his boots and sword from under the bed. “I should get going,” he said, quickly tying on his boots.

“Sure,” Sir Galiard replied. “I know it must be hard for you, considering how close you were to Benard.”

“Closure will be upon us within the hour. With his Festival, we can all move on.” Lord Ros gave Sir Galiard a final nod and walked slowly towards the door.

What was that just now? Some kind of premonition? It felt too real to be a dream, and nearly everything happened again. Why was Lord Isle there? Why did he say “interesting theory?”

He paused in front of the door. Staring into the dark oak, he held his breath and slowly opened it. Greeted only by torchlight, Lord Ros blew out his breath along with his anxieties.

Strange… I need to go to Lord Isle with this… Or maybe I shouldn’t… After all, if it is some kind of premonition, then Lord Isle might be a danger to me. Wait. What am I saying? Lord Isle trained me. He was my master! He would never betray me. And why would he? He has been with The Order since it first began. The only two people who have been at it longer are the Commander and Lord Gremmelt.

Lord Ros shook the thoughts from his head and pressed down the hall until he reached the stairwell that led to the first floor of the keep. Passing through the great hall, he stopped when he saw an enigmatic blue and white robed figure with a brown wide brimmed pointed hat.

It was an older man, holding an ornate wooden staff with a bright red Xhroma crystal embedded into its head. The man had dark skin and a fine gray beard that hung down his neck. He read from a huge leather bound tome while slowly smoking from a long slender pipe.

He feels vaguely familiar…

Just as Lord Ros was about to speak, the man held up his hand to stop him. “I am the Wizard, Lycon.” He tilted his wide brimmed hat back with his pipe, revealing his dark magenta eyes. “I am here waiting to speak with the Commander. No you cannot know what about, and lastly”—his gaze shifted and now fell directly on Lord Ros’ forehead—”no, I don’t know if your dream was a premonition or simply a manifestation of your fears.”

Lord Ros was stunned silent.

“How did I know?” The Wizard smiled and tapped his temple. “I am the King’s Wizard, afterall.” He motioned towards the door. “Now, weren’t you on your way to see Lord Isle?”

“Yes…” Lord Ros looked at the Wizard with a mix of horror and interest. Can he read my thoughts? Is that possible?

“It is,” replied the Wizard. “But it isn’t what I am doing, not really. I’ve simply seen this situation play out before, in my own dream. Now”—he turned back towards his book and waved his hand dismissively—”off you go.”

Lord Ros could not resist the command. His legs moved on their own and carried him out the door, with his hand grabbing the handle and closing it behind him. As he thrust himself out to the courtyard, he was greeted by a purple-black sky stretching across the horizon.

It’s almost time, eh, Benard? I hope you don’t expect too much of me. I'm not sure what I'm going to say at your Festival, but I have a few ideas.

Ros’ eye was drawn towards the western wall where the Festival of the Fallen was always conducted. The stone tablet used in the ritual burnings was kept clean, and dry logs and kindling were kept out of the rain in a small shed a few paces away.

Soon they will carry out the others and let the fire burn them away. We, of course, don’t have your body. You choose to beckon Torment, and for it, your flesh suffered long after your spirit. Damn it, Benard. I can’t believe you left me with such a mess. How am I supposed to figure this out? Where do I even start looking? Did you even want anyone to start looking? Why can’t Blackgrave be searched for?

He clenched his fists and took a deep breath. I’ll tackle these thoughts after the Festival. For now, I have to speak with Lord Isle.

The courtyard and idle Witch Hunters passed by like a blur as Lord Ros beelined his way to the forge. Inside, he found Lord Isle with Lord Gremmelt, the boy Eija, Naja, and the smith Tamaro.

“I see you are awake,” Lord Isle said as Ros entered.

Lord Ros stared uneasily at Isle for a moment. “That I am, Lord Isle, and I am ready to discuss the details of Waldenhauf.” Naja perked up for a moment and shot her glance towards him.

“How are Juniper and Haldor?” she asked.

“Not as good as when you left them I’m afraid,” replied Ros with a shameful glint in his eye.

Naja nodded. “Things in Waldenhauf were complicated when we left. What are they planning to do?.”

“They said they were heading east, in search of a new town where they might be accepted. Other than that, I don’t know where they are going,” replied Lord Ros.

“What two townsfolk do is of no importance,” snapped Lord Isle. He glanced at Gremmelt. “Ros and I will take our leave and finish any last minute preparations. After you brand the boy, it should be time to start.”

“We’ll be outside as soon as we're done,” replied Gremmelt.

Lord Isle gave him a nod and took his leave with Lord Ros close behind. Right before Ros left, he turned back and looked over at Eija.

“Just wanted to say, good job cutting the Shylar Tree, and good luck earning your wings.” He smiled. “If you think this one hurts, wait until you feel the next one.” Lord Ros gave the boy a final look before heading for the door.