The sun rose, and it shone upon the path in front of me, illuminating it, even though I could barely see it.

Eyes narrowed to slits, I focussed all my will and energy on locking the warforce in place and maintaining a steady pace as I ate up the kilometers.

Not a single thought was present apart from the word, “Yamal.”

Time slowly passed, and a small trail of blood flecked with sweat was left behind me as I shambled my way forward.

In the distance, I could see the smoke rising from Yamal, the warforce potion having lasted much longer than I had thought it would.

Either that or I had been more efficient in controlling the wastage of warforce than I thought.

But I was spent, the familiar throbbing starting slowly and building up.

Anguished, I stared at the smoke a clear hour away. Yet it could be as far as a day away in my current condition.

Quickly running through my options, I smiled grimly as I realized I didn’t have any available to me.

I could only make one last attempt, and hope to reach Yamal before I collapsed. But wait, there was one thing.

Summoning a flower of thorns and gingerly holding it to avoid its malevolent thorns, I stared at it for a long moment before I shrugged.

With quick strokes of my dagger that I had recovered, I sliced off all the thorns from the flower and then bundling it up, and scratching myself in the process from the stubs of the thorns, I threw the entire thing into my mouth and chewed as blood dripped from my mouth.

Swallowing, I felt nothing, and disappointed; I set off running again, much slower than before.

As the pain mounted, and my pace flagged, I looked at the smoke and, taking a deep breath; I yelled out as the Horn of Valor flew out and blew.

Throwing caution to the winds, I activated all the warforce I had left in me, and I began sprinting, my leg awkwardly hitting the ground. But it didn’t matter to me. All that mattered was the smoke in the sky that was getting closer and closer to me.

I ran desperately until I could run no more. Then, I staggered, clutching my heart; each step, leaving a clear footprint behind.

Until I could blurrily see the gate of the city and the people coming out of it.

But I could go no further and, sinking down to my knees, I gazed at the gate, regret filling me.

How could I give up like this?

How!

But I really could not move. Thunder boomed inside my head, and every part of me felt like it was starving. Unable to think, unable to open my eyes, I knelt there.

As darkness approached, I remembered the light. And I remembered hope.

And the Horn of Valor blew and far away, a group of people paused as they turned back simultaneously to the place they had just left.

Close by, a man shot to his feet and golden aura flaring, he flashed away.

Closer still, a pair of hands reached out and grabbing me by the shirt pulled me up.

Opening my eyes, I could vaguely make out a familiar face.

“Mo-Moreno,” I croaked out.

Only for him to spit in my face and cry out, “It’s because of you. It’s all because of you!”

Almost unconscious, I whispered, “Duncan, Dun-kirk, Forest of Death. G-Go.” and everything went black and my heart beat one final time weakly.

---------

Vaguely, in the darkness, I saw a glimmer of bright gold and I ran toward it… not knowing why I was running. Only knowing that running was very important, that it was something I had to do even if I perished.

The glimmer of gold shimmered as I ran toward it, growing bigger and bigger, until I reached it and, with a start, I woke up.

And found myself in a familiar place.

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The adventurer’s guild.

Shouting out, or trying to shout out, I finally managed to croak out, “Duncan, Dunkirk, Cathy, Forest of Death - Please-,” and trailed off as a golden-haired man grabbed me firmly and said, “Don’t move.”

Nodding weakly, I looked to the side where Sir Patrick stood, rage writ on his face.

Then, as I looked around, I saw a group of adventurers approach and the one in the lead, with a severe expression on his face, stepped forward and spoke, “Faustus Drayke, you are suspected of fleeing and leaving your comrades behind. Desertion, in other words. You will be imprisoned until events prove otherwise. Do you have any words to say in your defence?”

Jaw agape… I looked at the man in the lead before I stuttered out, “Ex-excuse me?”

Frowning, the man repeated himself, and Sir Patrick’s expression twisted in more rage.

At that moment, a powerful voice sounded out. “No Drayke shall be imprisoned for crimes that he did not commit as long as I am alive.”

And a dangerous aura flared forth.

Grunting, the men behind the severe-faced man also released their auras while the severe-faced man stepped forward and glanced at the person who said it.

My brother, Aaron Drayke.

He stood there, scowling fiercely as a heavy aura shrouded the hall of the adventurer’s guild.

Behind him, more auras flared forth in succession as the entire mercenary troop stood, proud and raging, behind my brother.

The severe-faced man then unleashed his own aura, a red aura that reached the roof causing piercing sounds to sound out and he stepped forward while tapping on the sword that he had summoned, horizontally in its sheath.

“You would dare?”

“I would,” my brother said as he walked forward.

The red aura then charged at my brother only for another red aura to brilliantly erupt with a roar and meet it midway where the two auras tangled around each other.

The severe-faced man grunted, but he didn’t move a step back. Neither did Sir Leonidas, my teacher.

Both stared at each other and the tension in the hall increased palpably.

Until I summoned all the strength left in me and strongly interjected, “I did not run. You will find the three - Duncan, Dunkirk, and Cathy outside the forest of death.”

The severe-faced man glanced at me and curtly said, “It is your word against a veteran adventurer’s word. Irrespective, procedure has to be followed and you will have to be held until you are proven innocent.”

My brother growled where he stood and the mercenary troop moved forward a step and a fight seemed imminent.

At that moment, the last person I expected to come forward, spoke, “Sir William, I think that this is a misunderstanding.”

The severe-faced man, Sir William’s eyebrows shot up as he asked, “You think that this is a misunderstanding? Three adventurers might be lying dead in the forest of death, and you call that a misunderstanding?”

Staunchly, Farrah spoke out again, “Yes. I believe that it is a misunderstanding.”

Cocking his head, Sir William asked, “Why?”

“His wounds.” Farrah spoke.

“There are no wounds,” Sir William said as he examined me.

Puzzled, I looked at myself, and then at Sir Patrick who was white faced below the expression of rage and his lack of an aura, and I understood.

In awe, I touched my broken wrist, which was now perfectly fine, and my shoulder and side - both of which had smooth skin over them.

The pain was still there, but all my wounds had healed and I whispered, “How long was I unconscious for?”

“9 hours,” Farrah said tersely.

Snorting, Sir William spoke, “Is his lack of wounds the reason you are saying he is not guilty? In my eyes, that just makes him more guilty.”

Silently, Farrah pointed at the scraps of my armor, now truly destroyed.

Sir William glanced at it and his brows furrowed as he took in the various damaged parts that scored the armor like scars. Scars of the previous fight.

Hesitantly now, he spoke, “I see them, but it could have been caused by the boy himself.”

Then, clearing his throat, he said, “It doesn’t matter. We are not here to carry out an investigation. There are people doing that already. We are here to make sure he doesn’t abscond.”

At that moment, the dangerous aura coming from my brother receded as he stepped forward. “On the honor of the Draykes. I swear that my brother will not abscond because he is innocent.. But he will not be put in a cell either.”

Sir William turned to face him as his aura also began receding and spoke, “I cannot do that. Rule 3.7 of the Adventurer’s code states-,”

Then he trailed off as, from outside the guild, loud calls began to be heard.

Soon, the door to the guild slammed open, and a group of people rushed inside, carrying two supine forms.

Sitting up straight, I looked at Duncan and Dunkirk, then at Cathy, who stood beside them. Questioningly, I jerked my head at the two, and Cathy nodded as she smiled, and I fell back, relieved.

They lived. That was all that mattered.

As a doctor rushed to the two who were laid on a nearby table, I struggled to my feet and as Sir William and his men watched warily, I staggered to the doctor and spoke, “I can help.”

Looking at me dubiously, the doctor was about to say something, when Cathy cut him off and said, “He’s the one who stitched them up. He knows what he’s doing.”

Nodding decisively, the doctor then shot off a series of questions at me regarding the wounds that I answered as quickly and succinctly as I could.

Then we both got to work, ignoring the rest of the gathered crowd, and one face that had a very complicated expression on it.

As we worked, the people buzzed around us, but we were oblivious to them. A long time later, as we finally finished our ministrations, I grinned at the doctor, before my head spun and I fell back; the darkness taking me again.