Jorish held his spear, the rough gritty fabric irritating his skin as he faced his opponent, begging to be taken off, to revel his body in the sunlight. Yet, he stood motionlessly, feeling the spear’s jaggy wooden shaft as his opponent moved in, holding his own spear.

 The strike was slow, lacking power and speed, Jorish stepped backward as he avoided the strike before moving forward with his own spear. The lack of sunlight not a barrier against his powerless opponent. As his spears flickered forward, he crossed eyes with Dyce, who stood suffering in this fight, as Jorish felt pity and anger pop within him.

 Indeed, it was Dyce who suggested training without using any Energy, and for Jorish that wasn’t a huge constraint. Indeed, not having the sunlight replenish his body and boost his strength limited him, but he was a body practitioner, and Dyce was not.

 He wouldn’t say he didn’t understand what Dyce was thinking about, he too had the same thoughts. Fighting Vencel as the darkness covered the world, leaching his powers into nothingness. He hated how powerless he was, yet he had no answer. Perhaps Dyce was the same, looking for an answer for his own issues.

 Jorish came back into reality, afraid that Dyce would get mad at him again if he didn’t give his all while they fought. He took a deep breath as he began moving in, his spear swinging over and over, overpowering Dyce.

 Each clash, Dyce fell back a step, his face getting uglier and uglier. Holding many emotions, frustration, anger and for a moment, a hint of despair. Jorish felt his own face distort, somehow finding an answer to himself. This is not the way, He knew, fighting like that, neither of them could fight anyone who was truly strong. He watched Traves’ and the Sovereign’s fight, back in Slenham, he watched power. Victory isn’t going to be achieved that way, yet he hated his lack of an answer.

 Finally, as one hit after another landed, Jorish spotted a gap in Dyce’s defense, stepping forward as he swung his spear widely, pushing Dyce’s spear to the side before Jorish stopped, his spear pointing at Dyce chest as he fell.

 Jorish sighed, pulling back his spear as he extended his hand towards Dyce. He took his hand as they stood up, moments later Anise entered, looking at them wordlessly. The trio stood silently, no words spoken out until Jorish interrupted the silence.

 “Dyce, Anise. You guys up for a walk?”

 Several minutes later, the trio moved out, leaving their camp outside of Graus-toke. They walked silently, every once in a while breaking that silence as a wild monster came upon their group before they dispatched it effortlessly. They kept walking, Jorish trailing, moving without a destination, unsure of how long they walked, was it a few minutes? An hour? A few hours? Jorish didn’t know, and didn’t want to know.

 The trio walked, they have fought together for months, seen the darkest sides of humanity yet they also the brightest. They saw the evils of war, the darkness hidden in the shadows, yet they saw the brightness of the human heart, the brotherhood and unity as they fought together to prevail.

 Suddenly, after the endless silence, Dyce spoke, his voice trembling.

 “Why… Why are we so weak?”

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 Everyone stayed silent, wordless. Jorish knew it was hypocritical, they were strong, stronger than most. They were practitioners, and some of the strongest practitioners at that. Yet, they touched upon the peak for a few moments, they gazed at power, and they couldn’t grasp it.

 For a moment, and just a moment, Jorish wondered if they stayed at the sun-touched cities, would they have felt so powerless? Jorish hated the thought, he hatred regret, and most of all, he hated his own cowardice in that moment. He looked at Anise, seemingly aged ten years in the last few months, death and agony taking a toll on her. He turned to Dyce, his once unbreakable conviction, his own justice in shambles.

 Why?

 Jorish wondered, why is it that way? Was power truly the answer? Were they just simply… not strong enough?

 No.

 A memory ran in his mind, a shadow of blood, a hint of crimson. Traves was one of the strongest, if not the strongest, person Jorish has ever met, and even he held that glint, the sign of loss and pain. Perhaps, the stronger he gets, the less he would lose, yet it would be there, regardless.

 Then… what is the answer?

 Jorish didn’t know, he looked around, his own words stuck in his throat, unable to speak. He saw Anise and Dyce, looking the same, wordless. None spoke anymore, but none needed to. They all knew the questions, and the answers.

 Finally, as time flowed, everyone turned, beginning to head back. They knew the war wasn’t over yet, they had perhaps controlled most of the free cities by now, taking the strongest opposition and causing them to join their forces, yet until the Witch falls, all will be for naught.

  -  -  -  -  -

 Jorish held his spear, his back straight and his head held high. The last days' events had left a scar, burning through everyone’s convictions and thoughts, yet he was the squad’s leader, and he couldn’t afford to look weak or dispirited. He looked at his battalion as they headed towards their destination, now separated as they moved to take the last few smaller cities which were separated.

 He looked over the map, their destination was Aleron, a small city with a strategy logic, yet a bit far from the core of the free cities., and the city closest to where the Witch’s incidents were heard about. He had the furthest march, all troops planning to reunite at that city after they are done from their battles, joining up there to hold the line.

 Their march went on, eventless almost, they had been interrupted by a pack of wild monsters, and they accidentally came along the camp of some raiders, yet there were no signs of anything from either the Witch or the remaining armies, they moved as the world was quiet, eerily so.

 Finally, several weeks after their march began, they were only a week’s distance away from their destination, when Jorish saw something on the horizon. At first, he suspected it was another hideout for thieves or criminals, yet as he got closer, the location got more clear, the lack of defenses and its simple buildings told him enough, it was nothing more than a random village, a big one, yet just a village.

 Jorish ordered the army to stop, as he decided to approach the village, only Sayaka accompanying him. As he got closer, he noticed an old man standing near the entrance of the village, a kind smile on his face. Jorish couldn’t put a number on his age, but he felt old, ancient even, yet he didn’t give any signs of power. He was just an old man, one who had experienced much of the world.

 As they got closer, Jorish stopped, bowing slightly, speaking.

 “Greetings, I am Jorish, leader of the fifth battalion of the Wolnosci. We apologize for distressing your village, we have been passing through, and we will be on our way.”

 The old man stayed silent for a moment, looking at Jorish for a moment as a look of astonishment flashed on his face before it turned into a wide smile as the old man shook his head.

 “No, no. It is alright, young man. I would like to have some of you over as guests if that is fine with you.”

 Jorish’s brows furrowed as he asked. “Are you sure?”

 The old man nodded before turning, walking back to the village. “I am, I would be happy to have you all here.”

 Jorish nodded, following the man as he asked. “Thank you, how may I call you?”

 As the old man replied, Jorish froze as the man’s words replayed through his head, the lines connecting. He stood still for a few seconds as everything connected, the line echoing in his head.

 “Young man, you may call me, Malik.”