Candles, lit and reflected flames off of beaded sweat. Weary eyes, creased over sea-dried skin and morning stubble of faces I may have passed but never took the time to remember. Cold breath left misted trails in the dry night air, like magic once inhaled, and left clouded remains on long-tarnished helmets before disappearing once more.

Eyes met mine then looked down.

Another pair of eyes met mine and looked down.

Blacked eyes met mine and remained, and a handle of a twin bladed falchion was placed in once blackened, now grayed hands before me. He said something, but I didn’t understand his words.

Everything felt slow, sounds distorted and distant, as the helmet was placed upon my head. There were soldiers running in patchwork armor around me, griffins screaming, and orders being commanded by a man I had never seen before as he stood atop a crooked wooden podium.

Approaching the hill.

No fliers.

Scouts captured.

Herculea.

A night raid.

I turned to see Cylie beside me, borrowed armor looking bulky and large against her small frame. Her eyes were without the familiar joy that I had come to know and I could not find the words to bring her spark back, so I remained silent, only nodding, and she did the same in return.

I was not in the first row of soldiers, nor the last, and followed close behind the rust speckled backplate in front of me. The only sound under the vast night sky was the rumbling of hundreds of armored feet, making their way over dusty dry ground, weaving through long-dead trees. There was no torch to light the dusted path, and those around me marched forward, feet practiced like that of a well-worn trail horse.

There was no valiant speech. There was no heroic rallying cry.

There was nothing more to say.

To live in the Barrens, you had to defend it, and those around me seemed to have accepted that fact long ago. And so I followed them, for every body mattered, and we were to hold a sword for those who couldn’t.

We were far outside the gates when the soldiers stopped, though the darkness hid our destination. In the distance, I saw a line of turquoise flame, illuminating what could only be helmets of Herculea or Selphene soldiers, but I could not tell. Nor did it matter.

There was a nudge at my side, and I turned to see Aixel, head bent as he lowered to my level.

“There’s only about a hundred or so - mostly serpent riders and archers so keep your head low,” he whispered.

I nodded as if I understood his words. He stared at me for a moment, perhaps seeing through my facade.

The war horns sounded once more, and there was a clamor of metal sounds, scraping and adjusting, as those around me began to straighten and ready themselves.

There was another tug on my arm, this time on my left, and I turned to see Cylie looking at me. She was pointing to her neck, and even in the starlight, I saw the small silver binding chain where it hung above her armor. She was smiling, but her eyes still seemed sad.

“We choose our deaths - chin up,” she said.

Before I could respond, there was another horn, and a flurry of metal pushed me forward. I was running, keeping pace with those in front of me, automatic and numb. My vision was obscured, periphery framed by my helmet, as I followed those before me. I turned to where Cylie had been standing, but she was already gone, lost to the sea of armor, Aixel too.

There were screams, shouts, cries of pain and victory above the clashing of metal as the turquoise flames approached. Silver arrows fell like hail from above, and a drum beat somewhere in the distance. I looked up to see only the blanket of night above, silent and watching, as the arrows fell those around me.

I’m not sure how much time had passed, but I once more found myself alone, standing among silver and gold piles, sweat drenched and warmed by magic that was not my own. I could only hear the sound of my own breath, and watched for perhaps too long a moment, as my clouded breath left traces of white steam before me. I refused to take any more lives. I refused to draw any more blood from the blade. I refused to take any more magic than necessary.

Yet, even in this bleak survival - even in this mere defense of my own life and those around me, soldiers still disappeared, sometimes armor in all, before my outstretched hand. These faces, though spitting at me, screaming at me, calling for my death - were only following the lessons and paths of those before them. This was what they were taught - what we were all taught, and what would make them question decades, centuries of written words.

To be chosen by a Guardian to fight for the protection of Lucerna- an honor beyond any that the realm could offer, and every blood and void mage brought down meant one step closer to a safe and whole nation. And I could see this righteous fervor clouding each stare I crossed.

Yet in every face I crossed, I also saw my mother, my father, my sister.

“Betrayer!”

I looked up, but even in the now bright light of the moon, the voice’s source was shrouded by metal crashing, shouts and cries.

“Traitor!”

There was another clash and shout, and I found my legs stumbling forward, automatically towards the commotion. The crowd cleared, and a silver soldier stepped two slow paces towards me. Silver adorned armor, filigreed and embellished beyond anything on the battlefield, with sword still wet, dripping to the fogged ground. He had to be at least a head taller than I, posture tall and opposing. Another step and I remained frozen, watching the dark viridian cape drag behind him, like a cat stalking prey in the grass.

This would be it. This would be my death.

There was no Ciro nor Milea here to save me. No Cylie or Aixel in sight.

Another step.

I was done, done fighting. I would not survive this, and when my feet would not move, even the knight before me seemed confused, tilting his armored head to the side as he watched me in studied consideration.

Another step, then another, and I patiently awaited death by the reaper before me. Perhaps he would pity me, turning his sights on a more worthy opponent. Perhaps he only wanted the Halmore armor, starkly contrasted against the silver and gold around us.

Another step and he was nearly an arm away from me, only fogged breath as a barrier between us. I closed my eyes, awaiting the first blow. And for the first time in a very long time, tears yet again began to form at my eyes, and I let them fall unhindered. A coward, even at the end.

I waited, and waited, but when nothing happened, I braved perhaps a last look, and saw the soldier not standing before me, but kneeling. His sword was beside him, and he was reaching towards my hand.

I watched, paralyzed as the knight wrapped gloved hand around mine, pulling the twinned falchion blades and pointing them at his own chest. The blades dim purple flames glowed against his silver helmet, reflecting on curving thorned horns, and my breath began to quicken.

I tried to speak, but the words caught in my throat. Was he cursed? Perhaps bewitched? A fae trick?

“What are you doing?” I breathed.

“I made you cry.”

No.

No.

Lumo.

I was shaking, and my legs felt as though they might give out. He seemed to realize my approaching fall and suddenly stood, hands holding my sides upwards as I began to sway. I searched for his face in the dim light, seeing only the curve of his jaw peeking beneath his silver adorned helmet, but it was enough to confirm his true identity.

“Lumo?” I choked.

He raised a hand, slowly lifting my helmet’s caged face cover, and I noticed that he too was shaking. There was a static moment as calamity crashed around us, and I wanted nothing more than to see his face.

“Well now, isn’t that interesting…” he murmured, more to himself than I.

He stayed, studying my face for a moment, gloved thumb resting lightly on my chin. He then took a slow step towards me.

“Dearest Mira, you do not belong here,” he said, voice soft, coaxing, and a fresh batch of tears began to grip my throat. “Though there is no one I would rather bear witness to this.”

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He then turned, moving behind me as he rested his chin on my shoulder.

“If this works, it’ll be quite a sight,” he whispered, clear even in the cries and screams that surrounded us.

I waited, watching, holding my breath as he raised a hand upwards in front of me, palm outward as his other arm pulled my waist to his, holding me steady. I listened as he began to whisper, something frantic, chanting like an ancient spell but I could not make out the words.

Suddenly, there was a loud rumble of metal, and I watched several soldiers, the rest still obscured in the dark, lurch forward, propelled by some unknown force. Lumo’s fingers moved once more, only slightly, and he began to move his palm upwards.

I watched, awestruck, as dozens, if not hundreds of silver armored soldiers began to rise into the darkness, pulled upward by their armor. There were screams, shouts of surprise, as the knights clinged to their lifting chest plates, kicking their legs in protest. From below, blood and void mages alike stood frozen, looking up with weapons still, some in mid swing.

The silver twinkling armor rose further, guided by Lumo’s hand, until he suddenly closed his fingers into a fist. With a low whistle, the floating bodies suddenly turned into white mist, disappearing into the stars and the black abyss above. There were shouts of surprise from below, soldiers turning, confused or concerned by the invisible force.

Lumo’s hand lowered slowly. He had stopped his melodic chanting, and was instead taking slow, measured breaths of exhaustion.

“It… worked,” he whispered between gasps.

I stared, searching the darkness, terrified.

“Are… they dead?” I said, afraid of his next words.

“No… No,” he replied with a low, amused chuckle, “Just upon Herculea’s doorstep.”

It was then that my legs finally gave, and he tightened his grip around my waist before lowering with me as my knees hit the dusty ground. I watched as he gently pulled the helmet off my head, cradling me against him as he let out a maddening shout, deep and gut wrenching into the darkness.

Those that remained around us clamored, confused, wandering like lost children, stumbling forward blindly in the dark. I let my eyes close once more, leaning into his armored chest and sighed in absolution. I felt Lumo’s chin rest atop my head, and a gloved hand was placed on the side of my face.

“Mira!”

There was a shout, and I opened my eyes once more to see Cylie, daggers at the ready, staring at me. She took a determined step forward, and I raised a hand to stop her, sitting upright.

“No - It’s okay. I’m fine. Everything’s… fine,” I said, crawling forward and upwards off the ground.

As I straightened, I heard a low laugh, and looked back to see Lumo on the ground, back on the dusty dirt and palms raised upwards in a state of total rest and surrender.

“Just fine,” he laughed.

Cylie still seemed on edge, posture still defensive as she made another cautious step towards the mysterious Herculea armored knight on the ground.

“Who are you?” she demanded, stepping between us.

“I… I’m not so sure anymore,” he let out with a laugh. “Are you a new friend of Mira’s? How lovely… Lovely.”

“Gods, are you Lumo?” cursed Cylie, staggering forward, “Did you do… that? I… I thought it was some sort of new fae trick… I… Gods.”

Lumo responded only with another quiet laugh, a victim to his own bliss.

“I can’t believe it actually worked…” he muttered to himself, turning his head towards me, “Mira… It really worked, Mira…”

I watched the fire, waiting to awake from a dream. Cylie sat beside me. She was saying something, voice cheery and bright, but I found it hard to hear over my own racing thoughts. She was carefully tending to her two sparkling daggers, sharpening their blades after the shortened battle. We were behind Barros’ home, in front of the campfire we often sat beside to regroup after a long day’s work, yet, it did not feel the same.

Lumo was inside talking with our host in private, and I found myself turning towards the small window every so often to make sure he was really there. And he was, now adorning his golden mask, jaw tight and serious as they discussed matters far more important for me to comprehend at the moment.

Aixel was across the fire, silently listening to Cylie’s frantic words as she recounted what had only happened mere hours before. Doris slept beside him in her small, heavily cushioned wooden box. The suns had begun their rise, glowing everything golden, and finally warming the chilled night air.

The back door opened, jolting me forward and awake from my self-induced spell, and I turned to see Lumo making his way toward us. I quickly turned back to the fire, feeling strange and unsure of myself.

There were so many things I wished to say - to ask and clarify, and as all of my words folded atop each other, they barricaded my throat, leaving me wordless and awkward and grateful that I had a fire to stare at.

Cylie suddenly stood as he approached, giving a strange little bow as he sat on the log beside me. I found myself too afraid to look over at him, and stared only at his knee, close enough to touch yet feeling so far away.

“Lumo - Could you please, please, tell us how you did that?” said Cylie, practically jumping.

Aixel stared at her, nostrils flared in annoyance.

Lumo leaned forward, placing his chin in his hands, and I could feel him looking at me but I was not yet brave enough to look back. It was an odd feeling, having someone once so familiar feel like a stranger once more. It was only last night, nerves frayed and unfolded in the horrors that surrounded me, that I let him hold me. Yet now, in the early light of morning, I could not bear to look at him, masked or not.

“Well - the armor is magicked,” he said, carefully considering each word, “Magicked and linked to Herculea… So I was able to bewitch it… and send it back home… much like that of the transportation powders.”

“What do you mean you were ‘able to bewitch it’?” suddenly asked Aixel.

Lumo turned to him, staring for a curious moment before responding.

“With my magic,” he said flatly, “There are spells, ancient ones, I’m sure you’re aware. I was able to find the right words, and thankfully, it worked.”

Lumo gave a small smile as Aixel only shook his head before the void mage continued his stare into the fire.

The strange sudden tension, untrust on both sides, left me feeling horridly warm in my armor. I leaned back, taking off my gloves and taking care to avoid anyone’s eyes.

“Either way - You saved hundreds of our lives. So thank you,” said Cylie brightly.

Suddenly, Lumo seemed to stiffen beside me.

I turned, concerned, only to see him staring at my hands, folded in my lap. There, before me, were my own grayed fingers, still blackened at the tips, newly alight in the suns’ brightening glow. I looked back to see him frozen still, jaw tightened and strained.

“MINARE.”

In a blink, Lumo was standing, palm raised forward. Aixel was floating, body straining and contorted as he fought against the sudden spell, eyes wild and confused. Cylie let out a scream as Doris tried in vain to jump to him, chattering nervously.

“Lumo, stop!” I shouted, grabbing his outstretched arm.

But he remained stoic, frozen like a statue, with jaw tight and staring at the suspended void mage. I watched, horrified, as Aixel’s hand began to split, revealing tiny suspended void-gnats, slow and swirling. His eyes closed, face lined tight with pain, as his body slowly began to tear at its seams.

“Please! Let him go!” I screamed.

Lumo seemed to stagger slightly at my words, and his lips pressed tight together.

“He's still in there, Mira. Festering, feeling, tainting your magic. He’s still in there - a plague, a vampire, waiting - waiting to consume all of you,” said Lumo, straining.

“He’s my friend… please…” I pleaded.

Lumo hesitated for a final moment, before letting out a frustrated shout and lowering his hand. Aixel suddenly dropped to the ground, body crouched and breathing heavily as he held his arms close to his chest. He was staring at Lumo, eyes wild with confusion and anger. Cylie ran towards Aixel, but before she reached him, he was a cloud of void, spiraling towards Lumo.

Lumo flew backwards, a familiar flutter of cape, as he avoided the incoming insect cloud. Aixel materialized again, seething, rushing towards Lumo, wooden blade at the ready. Lumo stepped backwards, calm with palms towards the rampaging void mage, as he looked to me for direction.

“Aixel, stop!” shouted Cylie.

“Both of you, please,” I begged.

Suddenly, Lumo reached behind Cylie, grabbing her two newly polished daggers where they lay next to the dying fire. Then, to my surprise, he threw one to the stalking Aixel. Aixel grabbed the dagger, shaking his head.

“Bad luck,” he muttered as he placed his wooden dagger back into his pocket.

“Sorry miss, this should only be a moment,” said Lumo as he spun the blade in his palm, “None of your tricks, and I won’t do any of mine, fair?”

Aixel only gave a maddening smile before he rushed once more towards Lumo. He was once again avoided with a swish of cape. The two then both lowered, at the ready, careful and waiting for the other’s next move.

“What are you doing?” I shouted, landing upon deaf ears.

Cylie only stood, dumbfounded beside me as her weapons fought against each other.

They continued their practiced dance, carefully trading attacks, each narrowly avoiding the other’s sharpened swipe. Aixel held his blade with dagger facing downward, like practiced hunter, taking lunging sweeping attempts and jabs at Lumo’s chest and legs. While Lumo, quick and careful, kept low to the ground, studying Aixel’s every step, quickly predicting every incoming stab and carefully turning away moments before impact.

Lumo was smiling now, enjoying the impromptu sparring session, as they only managed to make contact with each other’s clothes. Aixel gave a madding laugh of frustration as he switched hands once more. Lumo only nodded, taunting another approach from the void mage.

Aixel took the bait, once more rushing forward, only to have Lumo spin behind, catching Aixel’s neck in the crook of his arm, as the other grabbed the void mage’s wrist. Aixel dropped the dagger into his other hand, only to find Lumo’s dagger already at the side of his neck.

They both paused, breathing heavily in the standoff - each equally ready to take the bloody upper hand.

“Truce?” said Lumo between breaths.

Aixel hesitated for a moment, perhaps struggling with his own pride, before he gave a quick nod of agreement.

Then, much to my utter relief, they slowly lowered their weapons, and I was finally able to breathe again. Cylie ran forward, lips tight and brow furrowed in anger as she ripped her daggers from both of their hands.

“Dung for brains boys,” she grumbled to herself as she examined her weapons.

Aixel collapsed to the ground, clutching his side as he caught his breath, exhausted smile on his face. Lumo was staring at me, also working to slow his breath, though he wasn’t smiling anymore. I stared back, unsure.

He looked down, taking a few breaths before slowly making his way towards me. He then stood in front of me, still looking down.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, “I’d quite like to talk with you in private if you can spare me a moment.”