"The White Church decrees this so. In the betterment of ourselves in search of enlightenment to god-hood, we should accept our mistakes and be penitent, even if it means sacrificing something in return. Only then shall we complete penance, and be one step closer to enlightenment."

-Section from the Decree of Penitence, by High Bishop Carson the Sorrowful

Lower Alandriel was once a safe haven for everyone, free of discrimination and poverty, solely being a place to live. However, with the plague came despair. That despair ruined everything it touched, which just so happened to be the whole of Lower Alandriel. Eventually the White Church got involved, and bodies began to pile up quickly. Metre high clumps of carcases stacked up against a local store or even taking up an entire street. The process of burning and burying the bodies was too slow compared to the constant renewal of the corpse's supply. Soon enough, burnings and burials went from a daily occurrence to an almost hourly one, with no hope in sight for it to end or even get better; only worse. For Lucan, or Lanyon you could say, it was saddening to see the place he once grew up in be destroyed in such a manner. It had been two weeks since Daniel's disappearance, and Lucan could only wonder if the boy had ended up in one of those corpse piles to be burned and buried, with no chance of even figuring out which skeleton was whose.

Occasionally, a body or two in the piles would wriggle and writhe with the last scrap of strength left in their miserable lives. Yet, it was incredibly surprising if a body partially stood up and slithered away from, as if nothing was the matter. And that was exactly what happened. A partially clothed, and seemingly young, boy crawled out of the pile and started meandering towards his destination: a street not far from the entrance to Alandriel. All that poor boy could focus on was a relatively large estate you could barely see the tip of above the peaks of the other buildings. It was strange, Lucan thought, that the boy would not try to go to the closest sign of civilization but rather an out of the way house, the Birch Estate, which no-one except him, Igo and a few others visited. It was going well for the boy, until the trail of grime left by him shuffling on the floor caught the eye of a noble couple making their way through the entrance of Alandriel. Following the trail to the boy who caused it, the couple's expressions soured immediately upon seeing the filth that caused it.

"Oh, dear, look what the cat has dragged in!" the pompous man exclaimed, pointing at the boy on the floor with his iron-capped cane.

"Honey! You shouldn't use such vulgar language. That sort of talk is reserved for those unfortunate souls that live in such a dreadful place like this. Although, honey, I shall agree on that statement of yours." the embellished woman retorted, "Shall we see if we can put that poor soul out of his misery, I daresay."

The couple gracefully strode over to the boy, constantly looking over their shoulders to the others watching as if to say this is how someone should act, rather than what your kind does. The two nobles were now looking over at the boy, who noticed their shadows looming over him and looked up to them, hoping for anyone to save him.

"Honey, this... thing seems hardly worth saving. I think we should move on from this nonsense!"

"Now, now, dear, let's deal with this rationally now. I shall do the deed. Move along Florence, get back home to the estate- I will follow soon after."

"Oh, honey, you spoil me so," the woman moaned, before turning back to a small carriage that held mountains of luggage and a feeble maid who was trying to push it along, "Hurry it up, Mary, or no porridge for you again!" she shouted, her face crumpling into that of some strange creature, before turning back once more and softly saying, "Good luck, Oscar. I shall see you shortly."

And so, Lucan was left with the sight of an overdressed woman with her worn-out maid walking up the main street to Upper Alandriel, and a man full of hubris staring down at the boy, which the boy also reciprocated. A boy, wearing a familiar set of clothes and, despite being bloodied and dirtied, a clear head of blonde hair, which was whitening at the tips. Then, that man launched his cane into the boy's face, twisting it and pounding it as he pummelled the boy. Muffled screams and grunts followed, as streams of tears flowed down paths on the boy's cheeks that seemed almost cemented onto them by the constant use of them. Upon a close inspection, most of the boy's limbs weren't attached correctly at all. They were, in fact, a jumble of limbs at the wrong angles forced onto the rest of the body with small red stitches. Or were they stitches? As the amount of times the boy convulsed by the beating performed by the man, the 'stitches' were far more clearer. Those 'stitches' were actually small strands of solidified blood stapled into the skin, and that was what was keeping it together. Yet, blood cannot be manipulated that way unless you have an art specifically for that, such as a Blood Art. But even then the detail and dexterity required to do that with the art is only seen among the highest ranks of the Guild, and the shape of the blood does not follow and set shape seen in any of the Blood Arts. It is as if the user of those Blood Arts had unlocked their full node and was using the Blood Node ability, the free manipulation of all types of blood. Yet the only person who could do that would be Ender. If Ender was involved, who could this boy really be th-

"...-igo..." the boy muttered so quietly that anyone without some manner of enhanced hearing wouldn't even be able to be audible. Even to someone who had that ability, whatever the boy said would be unrecognisable. Unless it was to a person who knew that name. Igo. There is only one boy that age, with that hair, with that appearance who knows Igo enough to beg for help from him. Daniel.

A shadow streaked across the street, from where a suspicious man once lay on top of a small fence, to the boy being beaten. That noble who was stamping his cane down upon that helpless thing on the floor suddenly realised that he was missing that very cane. It had been cleanly cut through by that shadow, with one half of it falling to where the boy was, now unconscious, and the other still in the hand of that noble, staring half-dumbfounded half-outraged at where the other part of his expensive cane now was. That shadow had to be an art. What else could it be? In Lower Alandriel, even though almost everyone had an art, they were certainly not of any use. The diversity of the arts was almost none, with those bearing it only having utility ones. If someone had an art that was even remotely useful in combat, there would only be two places they could be in: Upper or Middle Alandriel, which was commonly referred to as the merchant's district. And that art was more than combat related. It was shadow itself. And there was only one person who is said to be able to control shadow and darkness itself with their art. The Rogue. And that individual was now next to the noble, picking up the boy on the floor.

"Hey, y-you, were you the one who did this!" the noble man demanded, staring at the man who darted across the street with intense rage, "I will let you know, I am in fact-"

"Quiet."

And there was quiet. More than quiet even. Complete and utter silence for all who heard that statement, bar the crackling or corpse fires and the bustles of city life far from where they were. For that man who uttered the order, let slip a fraction of the power he was hiding. And the noble was met with the full brunt force of that power. So, of course, that noble was now doubled over, his eyes rolling into the back of his head, and froth streaming out of his mouth. On that day, for the first time in over two decades, the man known as the Rogue re-emerged.

* * *

In the main cathedral of the Guild, Igo propped himself against one of the many giant pillars supporting the grandiose structure. Compared to the lean and fit men and women walking the halls of the Guild, a slightly fat man like him stood out like a sore thumb. The only people who wandered the cathedral were either Guild Members or people related to them, so for there to be a man who looked like he could ever be a Guild Member based on his shape and wasn't going anywhere or waiting for anyone was peculiar indeed. However, Igo was waiting for something. News; news from anyone no matter how bad or good. Just, news. News of the missing boy who had been gone for just over two weeks now. The missing boy Avo, Gulliver and Lucan were all looking for; but by now, most had given up. The only one who still bothered looking was Avo, Gulliver thinking it irrational to look for a single boy that could never be found not just because of the amount of time he was missing for, but that even if they found a corpse it would be more than likely in ashes in one of those Lower Alandriel piles, and Lucan thinking it had been too long like Gulliver, now nonchalantly stumbling around Lower Alandriel with barely a scrap of hope left for the boy's safety.

Despair. A fitting word. A word that could not just explain this situation but the entire world. The entire world plunged into a deep vortex of despair, unable to see the light it once basked in. No saviour. No hero. Just... despair.

Although in that pool of anguish a single man withstood it all. A man who embraced that despair and engulfed himself with it. A man born in it; a man who thrives on it. A man who's reign of terror sends shivers down anyone's spine if they dare think of it. And that man now stood in the entrance to the Guild bearing news. Igo had never seen Lucan so anxious or stressed in his entire life; nor had he ever been in such a rush. What news did he bear to make him run to the Guild? Good or bad? Any news would be adequate. Any news on that missing boy. Yet, it just so happened that the missing boy was that very news, and he was being cradled in Lucan's arms.

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"Lu-Lanyon!" Igo screamed, panicked and loud enough for even those far away in the academy to hear. Lanyon had taken a leave from work in the academy in order to look for Daniel, with the last day of that leave being today as well as Victor looking over his class for him, "How is he?!"

"He's in dire straits. I can't even fathom how the boys still alive, " Lucan said alarmed, meeting Igo in the middle of the Guild hall, grabbing the attention of the Guild Members there and even some of the office workers in the back of the structure in addition to the tellers who organised transactions for Guild Member accounts, "We need to go to the infirmary and hope there's space for him; you know the place is always full."

"Got it. I'll grab the boy and try to keep him alive while you get a room in the infirmary, right?"

"Yeah, here," complied Lucan, handing over the half-alive half-in-smithereens boy to Igo.

"What on Alium-"

"Just try an' keep him alive; see you later!" issued Lucan, taking over command, as he ran at break-neck speed over to the right side of the Guild, and the infirmary. As per Igo's reaction, the boy was in a worse state than he had initially thought. Limbs falling apart at the seams, a completely bloodied and ruined face and a cold dead stare as if his eyes saw not the light that radiated the Guild halls. Daniel was, to say the least, in a state that could be hardly called living.

Iago couldn't even figure out what to do. His Duskwalker Arts had no use here except from a possible Memory Transfer, although that could possibly kill him in this state, on top of the fact that he had minimal knowledge of healing or even keeping someone alive. Iago knew basic first aid from when he worked as a Guild Member, but not only was he rusty on them, he never had to perform them because of his luck as having a Spirit Art user as a teammate. Lucan was now gone, somewhere in the infirmary by now, his only hope for keeping the boy alive vanishing. Asking other Guild Members would cause too much of a stir if Iago's suspicion of who did it was correct, which might cause him to investigate Lanyon, which was not only the very worst case scenario but something that spelt doom for the entire human race; after all, a battle between the second and third most powerful mortals in existence with one of them being guaranteed to be lost in the process, is a too heavy a loss to risk taking. All Iago could do was hope that the two men's wrath for each other didn't consume everything in its path. And all Iago could do now, was keep a boy alive long enough so that their confrontation wouldn't happen early; and try to catch up to Lucan, of course.

* * *

"Please just call the head nurse!" Lanyon begged an assistant, who was preparing a bed for a boy she was told about by this panicked man. This very man came running in, with another older friend carrying this half-dead boy, and begged for help from the head nurse, Cynthia herself! How preposterous, after all-

"I keep saying, she's busy dealing with a mass expedition failure! We can't afford to let her come and take care of this child!" the assistant nurse retorted, while also trying to keep the boy alive who now lay on one of the infirmary beds, "We will try our best but-"

"The best isn't enough right now!" Lanyon screamed.

"If you aren't going to co-operate then get out and let us nurses do our work!"

"You-"

"Lanyon." a soft voice from the side rang out; Igo, "You know what the nurse is saying is true. They can't do much more, and neither can you."

"Of course I can do so much more," moaned Lanyon, retreating towards Igo, distraught.

"Let's not spoil their focus, and just let them do what they do; their best."

"..."

"Come on, lets-"

"No, Igo. I can... do something." said Lanyon stalely.

"What're you-"

"Igo. I'm sorry but..." Lanyon interrupted again, a look of sadness on his face, "I- I think it might be time for him to return."

"What?!" Igo exclaimed, stunned that Lucan would actually risk exposing himself to everyone for the sake of Daniel, a boy that he seemingly couldn't care much at all about, "You can't- You just can't do that. Do you really want-"

"Goodbye, Iago. Lanyon's going to sleep." another voice spoke from somewhere. It was not from Lanyon or Igo or even from the nurses. It was from Lucan.

"I'm sorry. I-"

"Do not apologise for making me do this, father. It was Lanyon's wish," that same disturbing voice said in an almost emotionless tone. It was then that the other nurses in the room realised that that voice was coming from the same man who begged for the head nurse, "I shall see you later."

Lanyon, or rather Lucan you should now say, disappeared. He simply... vanished. Vanished off to somewhere, from right where he once stood.

"I would like to request to see the head teller, so I can manage my account."

A man appeared in the teller's quarter of the Guild hall at that moment (situated roughly at the back half of it when coming in through the entrance), seemingly out of nowhere, and in front of one of the teller booths. That man was swathed in darkness, fitted with a sturdy and war-torn tunic, an assortment of blades along his belt, two weapons in particular standing out; a jewelled golden dagger alongside another one, this time made of black steel with a name imprinted on its pommel and complex engravings on the blade itself. When the man had appeared, anyone even remotely a part of the Guild was put on guard, after all, if even some that were Gold ranked didn't see him enter the room, how powerful could this man be?

"Huh?"

The teller in front of that man was oblivious to what had just occurred, confused that even though he thought he had finished with the queue of members he was just dealing with, another man that wasn't there initially had come. And even more perplexing was the fact he was calling the head teller of all people. However, the many other tellers behind the booths all saw what happened and began to comply immediately.

"I'm sorry, what did you say? I didn't quite catch that." the teller spoke, shaken from the reaction of the other tellers behind him.

"I would like to meet with the head teller in order to manage my account."

"Are you sure it is the head teller who manages your account, or have you confused him with another one?"

The teller hadn't misheard it. This man was asking for the head teller, who only manages one account which has been inactive for decades. Each teller was assigned to a Guild Member's account to manage, no matter what rank they had, with each teller handling hundreds of accounts at a time. The head teller, however, had only ever managed one account. The Rogue's account. And since the Rogue's disappearance the head teller always insisted that he would only ever manage that man's account, not even allowing it to be terminated, even if it meant sacrificing his position, according to a promise he once made with that accursed individual. Everyone who worked as a teller knew that. Everyone else who did not simply assumed that the head teller just does not manage Guild Member accounts. Then how would this man want to request the head teller to manage his account, when to public knowledge the head teller does not. How-

It then hit the poor teller like a tonne of bricks. A shadowy cape. Two signature and unique daggers. A voice and manner so arrogant yet emotionless at the same time. Everyone knew who that person was, even if they were only given the first detail. It was the Rogue he was describing. But he wasn't describing the Rogue, the teller was describing the man in front of him. The man who the teller now realised was the Rogue. With that realisation, it took every scrap of self-control in order to resist screaming and or running away. The teller instead jumped out of his booth and now lay prone and stunned across the floor.

"What on Alium is all this ruckus about!" someone shouted, bursting through a crowd of tellers that had formed in the back of the booths. That someone was a tall yet stout man, white light glimmering off of his smooth, bald head, parading to the front of the crowd and finally meeting eyes with the concerned trouble-maker. In the face of that someone, his angry and crunched expression melted away to reveal his true face, a soft and beaming look of admiration as he locked eyes with that man who appeared.

"Its... It's good to see you., Lu... -Lanyon''

"It's good to see you too, James."

"Are you sure you want to do this, though?" James said content, his previous happiness washing away to a stone cold glare looking down upon Lanyon.

"Yes. Just give-"

"No. I want to be clear on the fact that you're serious about it, so I'm going to confirm," James cut in, "Code, Duskwalker."

"Fine then. Confirm Iago, twenty third of the seventh month of Wintertide, the one thousand five hundred and fifty sixth year AT." Lanyon completed, in a dead voice and looking away from James, the entire crowd that had amassed around them confused.

"Final Confirmation. Raigeki." said James, the entire Guild Hall almost silent, waiting for a response. If this man truly was the Rogue, something as historic as his return isn't something you want to miss. The silence hung in the ear. It hung for a little too long, before a voice whispered, possibly even whimpered a single word, inaudible to the rest of the crowd, yet recognised by the head teller,

"David."

At that moment, James flung a tiny object towards that cloaked man, with Lucan catching it just above his shoulder. A small platinum badge engraved with two dashes.

"It is good to see you back, Lucan."