Vita mutatur non tollitur

The mercenary couldn’t count how many times they heard this expression in the endless dark void they were in right now. This must be death. They thought. In their line of work, dying on the battlefield was a common occurrence, even for a veteran mercenary. The death of their father, along with that of his formidable mercenary company, was proof of that. All at once, a pang of sadness came upon them. The memory of that day, the day they lost everything, always eluded their grasp, no matter how hard they tried to recall it. There was only one thing they could remember: being the only one to make it out alive. And finally, their turn had also arrived. If they ended up meeting their father in the afterlife, if it existed, the sellsword was sure that he would burst out laughing after knowing how their child perished. At the thought of reuniting with their late parent after two long years, the dying mercenary ‘smiled’. Death was less terrifying with that prospect in mind.

Vita mutatur non tollitur

If only that annoying murmur could stop. Alas, their attempts to hush it up had all failed: when they had previously tried to speak, no sound had come out from their lips. It was as if their physical body wasn't here, even though their sight and hearing were still working. This was what made them conclude that they were now a soul on the verge of crossing over.

Vita mutatur non tol-

The whisper suddenly stopped. The mercenary felt relieved: they could finally enjoy a bit of silence until their soul was ready to pass on. Or so they thought until a dazzling light overwhelmed their vision. A few minutes passed before the familiar murmur could be heard again along with a new addition.

Vita mutatur non tollitur. 98 lives remain until the true end.

"Thou hast finally awoken, forsaken warrior."

The sellsword blinked furiously. Light seeped through the slits of their helmet, indicating a change of scenery. Once their vision became clear, their eyes were greeted by the morning sky. Weren't they about to pass away? Filled with questions, they turned their head to examine their surroundings but stopped after hearing something fall. At that point, they realized that part of their body was trapped under a pile of rubble, probably the remains of the watchtower that collapsed. They slowly rose from their supine position, trying not to make sudden movements and cause debris to fall.

"Thou art in trouble. Let me assist thee."

After these words were spoken, the rubble on their body became lighter to the point that it began floating above them. The mercenary didn't waste time: they moved again and later stood on their feet unscathed. Fortunately, or rather strangely, their limbs weren't broken. At a glance the leather armour they were wearing was intact, but quite a few scratches were visible on its dusty surface. The pieces of iron armour that protected their joints were instead dented, as it was their helmet to the touch. There was no need to say that all their equipment required repairs or better replacement.

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However, their check was interrupted by an abrupt noise. When they turned their head towards the source of the sound, the sellsword found out that the floating debris was once again subject to gravity, falling ruinously on the ground a second later. In its vicinity stood the unknown helper, a hooded child who could barely reach their chest in height. What immediately caught their eyes was the child's cloak. It was as if a starry night took tangible form and wrapped itself around the youngling.

"Thank you for helping me. Are you here alone?" they asked while moving closer to the kid. There was nobody in this run-down area, except for the two of them. Not a single word came out of the child's mouth, left uncovered by their uneven mask. The unanswered question was followed by another one.

"By the way, did you use magic to make that rubble levitate? I've never seen something like that in my entire life. I'm sure you practiced a lot to manage that spell."

Praising the kid was just an attempt to get them to talk, but that didn't mean that the compliment was untruthful. Magic was a craft difficult to master: you could count on a hand the number of mages who could cast an intermediate-level spell. High-level spells were mostly forgotten over time, particularly after the death of the last archmage almost a century ago. Even if the spell's tier was low, being able to utilize magic without chanting, notably at such a young age, was already a great feat. The mercenary could cast Ignis, the sole low-level spell they knew, just by saying the name of the spell thanks to the intense training they underwent under the watchful eyes of their father.

The child finally moved their mouth, however what they said next wasn't what the sellsword was expecting.

" 'Tis not the time to converse. The beast is approaching."

By the voice, it seemed that the child was a girl.

Before the mercenary could ask the meaning behind her words, loud noises originated from a few blocks away from their location. Judging from the gradual increase in volume of the sounds, something was coming in their direction and it was huge. All of a sudden, the noises halted. Without even understanding what was happening, the sellsword rolled on the ground to dodge dart-like objects that were descending from the sky. After successfully evading the attack, they looked back at the spot they were standing on a moment before the assault. In that place was now plunged a large sharp spine, taller than an average adult. They shivered at the thought of being pierced by it. Now that they thought about it, they were certain that more than one spine was shooted at them. A dreadful idea played out in their head. The mercenary immediately searched for the little girl and heaved a sigh of relief after confirming that she was safe. She had made a shield out of the infamous rubble with the help of her magic, effortlessly protecting herself from the fired spine, which was now falling on the ground as well as the mage's makeshift buckler.

They approached the magic user and asked, "Was that the work of the beast you mentioned earlier?"

She kept silent but adopted a defensive stance, debris once again floating and ready to be thrown at an invisible enemy.

"It hath arrived" was all she told them a moment before the deafening noises resumed.

This time the sounds, or rather footsteps, were quicker. It didn't take long for the beast to finally emerge.

"What the hell is that thing!?"