---Lucent, Capital of Westerweald---

---Castle Lysandus---

“Tell me again, boy. Slowly.”

Carliah Argent glowered down at the child who had come to them from the foot of the Ashfalls, half mad with thirst and exposure to the storms that had battered the earth these past few weeks since the beginning of the new Archon’s ascension.

Beside her stood Artorious Pendragon, his eyes staring at the boy with laser focus.

The child did not balk in the face of the Lightborn. In fact, it was him that the boy had said he must speak to, barging through the city with such determination that even the newly appointed Greycloak guards had wavered before attempting to turn him away – and would have done so if Artorious had not intervened.

“Breathe, son,” Carliah told him. “You are among friends here. We who wear the mantle of the Grey do not fear the truth, or its messenger.”

The drenched child straightened his back, hardened his resolve, and addressed the Commander of the Grey atop her new pearly-white throne.

“A spider, my Lady,” he said. “A big spider wearing a blue hat – with one red eye. It – it killed everyone. It killed my father.”

Artorious stiffened.

A spider…

“And yet it let you live,” Carliah said. “Why?”

The boy did not answer at first. Artorious could see that he was holding back tears.

“I… I don’t know, my Lady. All I know is it killed my papa.”

The boy stood, visibly shaking at the recent memory. Carliah nodded when it was apparent they’d get nothing else from him.

“Alright, son,” she said. “Dreksis, Caius, take this lad to the kitchens for some supper. He could use it more than us.”

“I want to fight!” the boy suddenly exclaimed, ignoring the two men who advanced toward him.

Carliah simply looked at him with pity.

“…My Lady,” he added.

She rose from her throne and stepped toward him, slowly, and to the boy’s credit, he did not back down. Even Artorious had found it difficult to meet her blazing eyes in his childhood. The boy was made of strong stuff.

Not that it matters in the grand scheme of things.

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“How old are you, boy?” Carliah asked.

“Twelve, my Lady. B-but I can hold a sword! My papa trained me. He taught me good, my Lady.”

She took a knee before him then, drawing some raised eyebrows from the other soldiers in the marble throne room.

“Real warriors bow to no man or woman,” she said. “A warrior’s first lesson is this: stop calling me ‘my Lady,’ and one day you might know me as ‘Commander.’”

The boy’s eyes twinkled with hope. Artorious saw it as he’d seen it countless times. Carliah worked her charms, and young men swooned. He’d been there once, a century ago… just a dumb boy wanting to play at being a hero…

She had a knack for seeing the fires of vengeance in the eyes of young men. She had a knack for knowing, almost instinctively, how the suicidal drives of youths could be used.

“Now go,” she told the child. “Eat your fill. Tomorrow, you will report to the barracks of Lucent, and we shall see what can be done with you.”

When the child then left the hall, dazzled by all accounts, she turned to Artorious with a prideful smile.

“Well?”

The Lightborn stiffened. “Rachneros,” he said. “He’s using him as a host, which means he’s cleared The Festering Den. His next Delve will probably be The Twilight Sepulcher – it was the same pattern Gyko followed. After that…”

Carliah cocked a golden eyebrow.

“Go on.”

“They may vary the pattern,” Artorious finished. “To confuse us. There’s at least five Delves they could take next, but if it was me… I’d take the chance and complete a Grade C. Probably he could get a far stronger host that way.”

“Unless someone beats him to it,” Carliah smirked. "You know which one they'll shoot for?"

"I have a hunch," Artorious replied. "Call it intuition. His hybrids will do anything to allow him to escape my blade. But I would imagine they have probably won him to their cause by this point. If we head him off at this Delve, we can slay the Boss and lay in wait. Even if his hybrids see it coming, they'll probably see it as a challenge - one that I doubt their new leader will be able to back down from."

“There’s that patented Lightborn logic we like to see,” Carliah sniggered. “It is right that you should know our enemy's mind. After all, you’ve got the closest link to the Archon out of all of us, don’t you?”

Carliah came close to him, enjoying his pain.

“I’ll bet you can feel him getting stronger right now, can’t you?”

“These storms are no coincidence,” Artorious replied nonchalantly, nodding to the dark clouds that now dominated Argwyll’s skies. “They match the storms from Gyko’s time.”

“And all of Westerweald remembers them well,” Carliah agreed. “In that case, I think it’s time we stretched our legs, Arty. Don’t you think?”

“If it’s a chance to kill the Archon in its crib you wish for, then I can handle it myself.”

Carliah narrowed her eyes, hand resting on the hilt of her blade. “Did you forget our little deal, Arty? Where you go, I go. When it comes time for you to do your duty, it will be my eyes you will meet as you plunge your blade into the Archon’s heart. Don’t forget that.”

“I could end you and everyone else in this castle before you had a chance to draw that blade,” Artorious replied. Calmly, with cool and collected confidence.

“So, why don’t you?”

The two Greycloaks stared each other down from a distance of mere inches, both daring the other to take up arms and do what they wished to do.

But eventually, Artorious just sighed and moved past his Commander.

“Four of us will be enough,” he said. “A small strike force can move quickly and won’t slow me down in the process.”

Carliah simply watched him go with a sly smile as she began to make preparations for what would be their first real battle against their eternal foe – one which, this time, would end it for good.

“Seeing boys like that young lad,” she said as both she and her Lightborn left for the Armory. “It reminds me why we do what we do.”

“It does?”

“I beg your pardon?”

Artorious didn’t stop to meet her eyes again. He knew by her tone that she’d actually meant what she’d said. He didn’t know if that made things any better or worse.

“It does,” he said.