“A measly ten Third Tails? Bastards!” A coarse and boorish yell ripped through a grand hall.

The many wood adornments mounted against the high stone walls shook and trembled in response to the pronounced voice.

“I asked for enough Third Tails to man every stronghold atop our wall! How are we supposed to defend, much less attack?” The same voice continued.

“Lord Isin, Grand Warden of the frontier… Arslan and Atlan have granted your request for Third Tails under the main clan. To ask for more despite receiving ten is preposterous. The hunt for the blood-born is beginning to stretch into the Outer Valleys.” An equally coarse voice responded.

“Bah! I’ve heard enough from you, send word to your master.” Irin grumbled.

The face of the man twitched at Irin’s words. He lifted his posture away from the slight bow, something too valuable for the reprehensible Grand Warden he was addressing.

Levin, a Third Tail under the direct command of Arslan was responsible for Isin’s outburst despite this being their first meeting. Glancing behind himself, there was another ten fellow Third Tails who were under Arslan.

Each was personally hand-picked and raised by Arslan to slaughter the blood-born, but now they found themselves on the other end of their lands, bickering with a loud uncouth man.

He deeply exhaled, releasing some of the pent-up vexings from Lord Isin.

As they first arrived at the northern frontier of their land, they came upon Isin’s councilmen first. Though they were expecting the welcoming personally from the Grand Warden himself, they understood that Isin must’ve been too busy to appear.

So they ignored the forgotten decorum.

But the company of the four councilmen… Levin’s patience ran dangerously thin as they conversed. Each of them was vulgar and bearish. Not a single trait was worthy of the esteem belonging to the leaders who defended the frontier. Even the odd abundance of wooden trinkets and decorations that littered the fortress spoke of their crass kind. Nothing like the cities and fortress within the Heart Lands.

Levin, together with the other Third Tails arrived expecting to be deployed amidst the Frontier Wall. They were ready to battle another formidable, but old foe, the Crested.

They were to fight valiantly, but what they found was a deplorable Grand Warden and his followers. It was hard to believe the drunkard before them was to be called a lord, despite being of the Fourth Ordeal.

“Get those lesser vassals factions to delve to out there! That’s what most of them did before, didn’t they? Hound them up and throw them out there, the unruly lot!” Lord Isin continued to berate Levin.

But Levin could only handle so much from the rash exchange of the old drunkard:

“That ‘before’ you call was centuries ago, before the rise of the Red Sky. They won’t agree to such things easily. Everyone has grown meek when it comes to the Outer Valleys, rightfully so. And besides, they aren’t that unruly as yourself, you old drunk.” Levin scoffed.

Isin’s flushed face was dark with anger. “Hold your tongue, boy.”

Throwing a bottle of fine wine at Levin, but hitting one of the Third Tails posted behind him, Isin followed with sulky words:

“You know nothing of the Crested. Whilst you were battling the blood-born in the south, who do you think slaughtered enough of those bark-skins to hold them from swallowing our land? Leave them alone and they’ll consume us all.”

Though, Levin did not relent:

“And you know nothing of the blood-born. The frontier south has seen enough blood to flood the Crested to death. We owe a drunkard nothing.”

But Isin continued, “Do you think eleven Third Tails could force me to placate my demands?”

“Demands?” Levin tauntingly asked.

“Aye. Demands, boy. I’ll cave your chest in, even as you transform. Your ribs will meet the scales on your back.” Isin said darkly, suddenly possessing the bearing befitting a lord.

“Even a Fourth Ordeal would perish under this many.” Levin hissed back.

Thick tension hung in the air between them as well as an eerie silence. Levin was in front of ten Third Tails, whilst Isin was heading a table of four other councilmen.

“Now, now, we mustn't bicker and fight here, Lord Isin, they are our comrades!” One of Isin’s small councilmen suddenly interjected.

“Shut your mouth, Baidar. Even the Tailed Brothers — Arslan and Atlan themselves wouldn’t disrespect me as much as this mere Third Tail mongrel would.” Isin dismissed.

Baider grimaced and silently sulked at the retort of his Lord… he wasn’t done.

“But my lord, what use is a dead Third Tail? Let them man what stronghold they could. They’ll request for more help themselves.” Baidar snarkily said as he sneered towards the row of Third Tails across the hall.

In the next moment, Isin howled with laughter, as though he came upon the secrets of the world.

“Aye! Baidar you’re right! Drink! You counsel me well at last!” Isin bellowed, undisturbed by his lonely laughter.

“I was waiting for the command. A lord cannot drink by his lonesome!” Baidar flippantly quipped.

He quickly obliged his dear lord’s words, taking a tight hold of the neck of a large wine bottle from the many scattered atop their council table

He downed a flowing swig, joining his lord, disregarding the spill onto his fur-lined cloak and rugged armor. Loud laughter followed, his howl blending with Isin’s.

Even the other two councilmen joined, both sharing the same bearing as their lord. Loud, tasteless, and hearty.

Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

Altogether, their howls filled the grand decadent hall. As they did so, Levin threw a puzzled look at the group of lord and councilmen drinking rigorously.

‘We must fight alongside these brigands?’ He scowled.

He was just about to reproach them until Isin addressed him with an odd tone:

“Boy, you don’t need to spread your Third Tails. Come along with me to the foremost stronghold of the wall, The Woodsbane Stronghold, I’m sure even you green lot has heard of it. We’ll head out tomorrow.”

“Not tonight, ‘my lord’?” Levin scoffed.

“Aye. This wine will knock the scales off your shaft!” Isin snapped back boisterously.

‘Old drunkard.’ Levin thought as he dismissed himself and his fellow Third Tails. Another bottle barreled towards them, but his men dodged it as they bit down on their patience. They didn’t know where their dwellings were, something he couldn’t rely on the rulers of the fortress to know.

Levin and the others stormed out of the grand hall. But as he did so, he threw another glare at the bellowing table behind him.

‘Even the table is of wood…’ He mused with a frown.

—

“Come!” Kiran suddenly grabbed Osias and slung him over his back.

Osias turned to try and see what was chasing them, but he couldn’t see past the dense mist. Besides, the distant rumbling was all he needed to know. Something titanic was approaching.

It was only a mere day after they came upon the tree-wielding giant. After that, they didn’t encounter much of anything aside from finally breaking away from the forests.

Yet as they traversed the rolling plains under the mist, Kiran perked his head in alarm.

It was too sudden, but also familiar.

‘Is it the same thing from back then?’ Osias warily thought.

Once again, Osias remembered the chilling encounter with the creature that had come from behind the mist on their first day. They only came to survive that encounter by latching onto Kiran as they entered the domain of the Ashen Maggot — both an ill-fated encounter, but fortuitous as they escaped.

Back then… he couldn’t even catch a glimpse of what made Kiran run so direly.

So for Kiran to run at his full speed with Osias grabbing hold of his back… it was uncannily similar.

Despite all they’ve grown, it was humbling, like a bucket of water washing over Osias’s head. He knew, deep within his head that running was something natural. It’d be foolish to fight needless battles for pride or anything else for the matter. But even so, he had just one wish to continued to gnaw at him.

To not feel as though he was merely drifting along powerlessly from one death to the next.

It was revolting, leaving a horrid taste in his mouth. To simply swallow down this powerlessness.

Enough with relics, whimsical dreams, and plans for the future. They may die in the next moment.

All Osias could do was curse it all as he survived. But then, the familiar welling feeling swelled, the desire to be of use. It overwhelmed him from his thoughts to the very grip of his hilt.

‘Can I help fight?’ He wondered. But he shook his head in contempt. What kind of thought was that?

Is he so eager to die? Every time that feeling to be of use arose, he became thoughtless and rash, overcome to be purposeful with all he had been given.

But a thunderous tremor took him out of his rumination. He cracked his head towards the source, anxiously waving his head to try and see anything… something.

Yet he couldn’t find any signs of their pursuer despite the increasingly loud tremors.

And so they continued to run, unknowing of how close the unknown creature came upon them.

—

Was it hours? A day? Osias didn’t know. It grew impossibly dark at some point with his knowing. Night grew longer and longer, quickly approaching winter. He couldn’t tell apart black from black. All that blinded him was the same.

It was frightening, no matter how many times the dark of night had come for him. They were traveling through an already obscured land where he could barely see past a few steps in front of him. So for what measly awareness he had to be completely snuffed for almost half a day… it was suffocating no matter how much he tried to push it aside in his mind.

He knows. He knows very well that he will rely on Kiran’s senses regardless if it is day or night, but even so, the darkness made his blood run cold as they fled.

Every second passed miserably slowly as they ran from the unknown beast. Until the approaching tremors died off, Kiran finally slowed to a stop and abruptly left to scout their new surroundings, wary of both their pursuer and new enemies.

As they ran, Osias became increasingly more anxious and perplexed, the constant flow of familiar land felt as though they were traversing into a circle. But Kiran shot down his ceaseless worries, such was the result of an Ordinary who couldn’t see past the mist to discover the changes atop the land at such a height atop his brother’s back.

He deeply breathed in, still deathly rattled on their escape.

Twice. Twice has a creature, perhaps even the same one pursued them over vast distances, yet never revealed itself.

Osias turned over to Kiran, seemingly unaffected by their flee. His walking figure was all Osias could see with the thick darkness that surrounded them, and even then he could barely make out Kiran’s figure. It was still unsettling how calm and indifferent Kiran looked to be… something Osias could never become used to.

As though Kiran was detached from the world itself, untethered from the very world below his feet.

“How?” Osias unexpectedly asked.

Kiran simply raised an eyebrow in response.

But Osias continued, “How do you feel nothing after that? To wave it off. We were chased for over a day, yet we don’t even know what chased us. We don’t know why it withdrew. We don’t know anything!”

Kiran didn’t say anything for a while. Each step forward was the only sound that prevented absolute silence from hanging between them. Soft crunches of the grass and dirt below sounded repeatedly.

“What good will worrying do?” Kiran then asked.

“Nothing. I know worrying will do nothing. But isn’t it normal?”

“Normal…” Kiran quietly echoed back.

“Yes, normal. There is so much I still don’t know of you. Is it because of your First and Second Ordeal?” Osias probed.

“Enough. I’ll tell you of the Ordeals when it's time for you to hear.” Kiran dismissed, continuing to march.

Osias took a deep breath and swallowed down everything he wished to ask. It was always such a taboo to talk about Kiran’s Ordeals.

At least Osias was given a rough time where he’ll know.

‘When it's time for me to hear.’ He thought between weary steps. Kiran was likely waiting until it was just before he’d undergo his First Ordeal—

“Hm?” Osias uttered as he almost wandered into Kiran.

In the next moment, Kiran turned to look at him and said:

“Osias. Walk back slowly. A fift—no, a hundred paces at least then turn east for another hundred and wait.”

Osias needed no further instruction.

‘He’s… he’s not coming with me?’ A slow realization dawned on him.

Slowly, Osias turned and walked the straightest line he could possibly make. One step turned to two and then three. He counted each step silently as a cold sweat began to run down his back.

It was still dark, impossibly so. And his breath turned heavy as though the black of night wrapped around his neck.

Between thirty paces he brushed a hand around his neck, a pitiful attempt to make sure it was still there.

‘What. What is it?’

His steps became slow as though he was wading through a thick mud, and the crimson armor he donned turned as heavy as stones.

‘Fifty. Fifty-one.’

He breathed in and out deeply, trying to rid of the suffocating feeling that swelled in the back of his throat.

‘I’ll die.’ He thought.

He clung to the numbers Kiran gave him dearly.

‘Eighty-three. Eighty-four.’

His helm felt tight. He wanted to rip it off of him so he could breathe properly.

‘One… One hundred. East. Now east. Where?’

He shook his skittish head and lifted his wobbly legs.

‘There. One. Two. Three. Four.’

It felt as though the sky pressed down on him. He wanted to collapse despite walking a mere hundred or so steps.

‘Twenty-three.’

Why? Why did it feel as though he was being strangled?

‘Fourty-one. Fourty-two…’

‘Seventy-six. Seventy-seven.’

‘Nine-nine. One hundred.’

Then he collapsed, and his body gave in as he reached a hundred. The tension that had gripped his throat for so long vanished, leaving him gasping desperately for breath, free at last from the suffocating force that had dragged him down.

He coughed and hacked. His heart felt cold while his legs burned with exhaustion.

But through his throes, a sickening realization slowly dawned on him.

‘It's just like before. It is just lik—’

Suddenly, the world trembled. It quaked and roared. It felt as though the titan of bone they came upon had returned from death.

The ground below groaned as though it was in agony, the source of its woes was coming from…

Where Kiran was.