Indigo’s back is blessed by the heat of the morning sun that bleeds into the cave and onto his skin. He gasps as he wakes to the sounds of guards, their armors clinking and clanking, as they run from something big—something even they would rather escape, and face the consequence of their king’s wrath instead, than fight.

Without a second wasted, Indigo jumps up, gathers his things and throws on his cloak, before he heads out to investigate. His eyes widen. He freezes upon seeing a monster well worse than the supposed threat of the cave-dweller he’d faced last night. Oh crap, Indigo thinks, oh crap, oh crap, oh crap—it’s the Council!

“Cowards! You dare run after wiping out a village and hundreds of innocent lives?” a mage’s voice booms across the shore. Indigo recognizes his violet-and-golden-clad cloak as one exclusively gifted to the most respected war heroes of his time. “And pray tell, gentlemen, which one of you here has stolen the secrets of the dark arts from us?” He marches on toward a terrified army, who insists that, whatever the mage speaks of, is clearly untrue.

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“We have no Craft users among us, you crazy old bastard! Leave us alone!”

Indigo had meant to run away, or at least, far from this particular scene. Yet, upon hearing the mage’s words, he pauses. His lips part, quiver even. Wiping out the village? What is he talking about?

Perhaps one or two lives were lost, but there must be a mistake…they couldn’t all have—

Footsteps near. Indigo knows he cannot stay longer. He grabs his things and leaves as a new battle is born behind him, in the presence of his dissipating shadow, pinched and elongated by the sun.