The remains of this so-called ‘camp’ was deafly silent. Backpacks and supplies left abandoned were scattered about. The lesser bronze golems, now standing as if proper warriors with spears in hand, roamed about… inspecting, lingering, rummaging…

Glaring down while standing tall behind that Company ensign’s now former tent, was that giant of a bronze golem—towering, though by no means comparable to that crystalline colossus golem.

It was similar to the lesser bronze golems but less skeletal, being bulkier and more armored in appearance. Though, it had that rather distinct triangular-shaped ‘head’ of sorts; though, it had an actual neck and was with glowing ‘eyes’. Veins of ghost-pink radiance were weaved throughout its figure almost as if such were an adhesive holding together what would otherwise be a pile of oxidized bronze scrap, connecting to that pulsating radiant ‘heart’—the source of its entombed soul.

It had no weapon; it was old; it was damaged; it had been defeated; it thought it had died; it had been sleeping; it had been dreaming; it was enraged and extremely annoyed.

Something had woken it up.

Something had enspelled it.

Its magical eminence, that wisp-dusty radiance, was supposed to be bronze in color, not this…lightish-pink.

Though, such clear realities were not why it was so annoyed. A few wearing such alien attire shot at it! It had never seen such thundery alien weapons that could so easily pierce its armoring.

This was its body; in a strange and esoteric way, it could ‘feel’… and those pellets or whatever had stung worse than wasps… Odd, that it even knew of such a feeling to compare.

And worst of all, two out of those four dipshits escaped. It hated that; it had never allowed any to escape its clutch. Yet…during the moment…it had not any the idea of what to do; everything had happened so abruptly. Its control and management of its lessers was lackluster—as withered as it itself.

Without its proper input and microing, its lessers could take their own…initiative which often led to questionable decisions.

It and its lessers were connected together, woven into a single whole by the strings of its own ‘soul’… Extensions of a single being, even if independent.

The bronze golem stared off into the distance, noticing the trailing tracks left behind by the wagons’ wheels.

Its lessers were still following.

It was determined to kill those two surviving inbred fucks specifically—not even the rest of those alien whoevers. It wanted to chase them to the ends of this world. Though, the presence of something unexpected would make such…difficult.

“Oh poofy, what a mess…” so abruptly commented a feminine voice approaching from behind, “This was not meant to happen… There were not meant to be witnesses…”

Having long already felt this presence lingering behind, the bronze golem was not caught by surprise. It turned around, visual sensing the hooded cloaked figure…whose eyes were ignited in that same radiant ghostly lightish-pink flowing through it itself.

No hostile urges; usually, it was filled with hostilities to all. Yet a force deep within it…gave warmth and comfort by her presence; it felt calmed and eased by staring at her.

It was bounded to her…in a way not even it could understand, for…it had not even known it could be bounded in such an arcane way. She was the one who resurrected it, her magic and soul giving new life to its own. She was the one who snatched it from the dream to which it so wanted to return, yet it was unable to be angry.

The cloaked figure passed by, entering the camp’s remains, inspecting around. Already, her behavior treated the lesser golems standing at attention as if they were her own.

The figure sighed; “Idiots, all they had to do was move on as though they saw nothing, but noo… one had to be smart and observant”—she sighed again—“What terrible timing… Middle of nowhere, detailed scouting and insurances that nobody would be close to notice, but Fortune had be wicked… and she brought the duplicitous United Trade Company—out of everything—during the night of retrieval… What were they even doing here, this far inland?! Ugh, I should have waited…” She was clearly speaking her thoughts aloud to herself.

The cloaked figure went silent as she…strolled through, halting at the outer edge of this once occupied spot, staring…into the direction the wagons had clearly fled.

“…and they got away…with memories of what they have seen…” her thoughts bled out.

The bronze golem stomped its way behind, having been following her…for…some reason. Already, its own behavior…treated her as if it was her own.

“And why do I have this odd sense that I am being watched suddenly?”—she turned herself around…noticing the bronze golem staring behind—“Oh…that’s perhaps why…”

An interesting one, indeed, this girl was.

“Shoulders, once great knight… if I may” she requested.

The bronze golem stepped closer and kneeled itself down, the metallic clanks and squeaks sounding around. The cloaked figure carefully climbed on and gently seated herself atop its shoulder…on which she could mostly fit.

“Oh well… Let the coyotes cry, this changes nothing of the plan… At least we know their guns would be useless, which is something…” she sighingly remarked; “We must leave, assemble your legion and start marching; I will guide” she commanded.

The bronze golem began to march, its legion of lessers following in organized synchrony. Although it could not speak, it could still tell.

“Oh? You sent a few after them? Convenient but unnecessary...” She was able to know, even though she did not hear any voice nor see any words; she simply…knew, since it had told.

Hard to describe really…what this experience was; incomparable, truly, to ordinary processes.

“Wait…there was a problem? You had losses?? Withdraw them, then! Now! We need every single one!”

“They escaped; we must accept that, lest we create more witnesses in chasing them…”

“You will have your revenge in time; we all will…”

“And how did those losses happen? Did they have adventurers, too?”

“…what do you mean by something worse?”

How fascinating, indeed

When random chance brings two separate stories

Into an accidental intersection

Utterly irrelevant to the intended plot

But I could always make them relevant

Whether they desire so or not, equally irrelevant

Sol to…eight

New possible proxies identified

Coordinates marked

Send the persona when ready

This could be their…opening debut

----------------------------------------

-|-

Silence. It was eerily silent, deathly so, besides the sounds of turning wheels and clopping hooves… and the groans of the rescued soldier…who was somewhat hurt. He laid where Antica would normally be sitting, breathing heavily…exhausted utterly.

Antica herself occupied the wagon’s back edges, sitting between the opening split… legs dangling out as her ignited eyes fixated on the road behind, her Remnant small-arm readied in hand.

Novea tended to the rescued soldier, assessing his condition; though, she was no medic nor life mage. “…water?” she asked, her waterskin in hand.

“I have my own… but thanks…” Four replied with such exhausted breaths.

“…no, you don’t” Novea replied, her finger pointing to his waist.

“Huh?” he sat himself up somewhat, inspecting…realizing… ah, he was missing his own water bottle, not to mention his shot satchel and belt… having had fallen off during the…chaos.

“…so, water?” Novea asked again, waving her waterskin.

He…simply nodded, accepting it. He drank in a rather odd fashion, avoiding any contact of the tip with his lips. Once done, he handed it back, Novea placing it off to the side.

“So, you aren’t a…dragoon or…carbine-person, what were you doing on that horse?” Novea inquired, sitting down in her usual spot.

“…was not mine, our…cavalry stopped to…rescue us, but I was slow and…the one I was to ride with was speared… I took over the horse… Only a miracle of Trinity allowed me to survive so far…” he answered.

He then shifted his weakened attention more properly towards Novea; “…thanks for…stopping and…saving me, I would have…been eaten…by those…things” his breaths thanked with…gracious voice.

“It is not me…you should be thanking, I was useless…” Novea…replied, voice rather mellow.

He let out a single faint chuckly breath; “Rightly…that one, I know you…are a Guild shadow assassin or spy, but…her? That was… I have not ever seen such… ‘magic’? The word is, right? Or spells…like that…” he remarked, glancing at the silent Antica.

“…magic, right… Yeah, magic… That’s why her eyes were…so…strongly castery… She is a strong spellcaster, uniquely so…” Novea remarked, glancing in kind, perhaps bending things.

“Heh…honestly, I was so panicked, I did not even notice…the eyes…” he remarked, his breaths still very tired. “Well… I need to…”

“Yeah, rightly… rest, you deserve it…” Novea said.

The soldier went silent…as he leaned himself back, slumping…relaxing, his exhaustion taking absolute hold.

“…so did they…” his breaths uttered; his eyes could no longer remain open, his mind retreating…as slumber’s obscurity fell.

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“Yeah… you’re right, so did they… I am…so…sorry” Novea agreed, voice nearly lachrymose…riddled with self-blame and guilt.

Going silent, Novea looked at Antica who still had yet to turn an eye behind for even a glance. She had so many questions. That shooter… Those…bolts… Magic? She did not know, but such did not seem like magic even if magical.

So many…questions, indeed; she only had even more the longer she stared. Yet she knew…now was not the time to start asking any questions, let alone those which…even under normal conditions…would never be answered.

Yet she did not need to directly ask such…to simply talk.

“…I helped…by the way” Novea said.

“Hm?” Antica mumbled as her ignited eyes finally turned for a glance.

“When you…jumped out, I…took your…rifle—only a few shots were left, and I was scared of…hitting you… but…I tried to help…” Novea explained…a bit awkwardly.

“Oh. I did not notice.” Antica straightly replied, her eyes returning to their prior focus.

“I also…forced the wagon to stop… The driver was adamant to not…so I made a few…threats, maybe…” Novea…said and…admitted.

“You…honestly had me…scared there, but I guess…you had everything handled… I mean, I know…a lot already of your…expected prowess, but…to see it…in person…was… something else…” she added, more awkwardly.

“Hm.” Antica flatly mumbled, her mind far too preoccupied for conversating.

“That man…would have been butchered…if it hadn’t been for you… You saved him, you know?” Novea remarked.

Antica glanced coldly; “Yet I did nothing for the twelve dead.” she bluntly stated, before returning her attention to the road behind.

“…‘twelve’, that is a specific number” Novea, observant, remarked, her voice…more cold, “I do not know how you could know how many were killed… What, did you count the screams?”

Antica remained quiet, silence being her response.

Novea looked down and away…before back at her, “You believe they are following?”

“I know they are.” Antica bluntly replied.

“…and you just ‘know’?” Novea interrogated.

“Yes.” Antica replied, even more blunt in voice.

Antica pressed her finger against her right-ear, whispering rather quietly and in her own tongues, before evaluating that thing on her left forearm. Her finger began to tab and press…doing something, before returning her attention to the road.

“And…let me play guessing, your—and this is ironic for me to say—but your magical awareness has something to do with…that thing on your arm and that…other thing in your ear? And that whispering… I noticed you…whisper earlier in the same way too—that thing on your arm also…glowed?…or mirrored? Or… I don’t even know the words to make…” Novea stated, voice more…strict.

Antica was silent, before she finally turned a frozen glance; “This is the worst time for speaking these questions that do not concern you, spy. Stop asking stupidly.” she so coldly stated, freezing Novea’s spine.

“…s…sorry” Novea apologized, her mask-obscured eyes withdrawing down and away. She pushed too far…she recognized… She did not even intend to, but…as if instilled into her soul, she saw an opening and had to take it.

Novea went completely silent, unable to even glance at Antica. She felt far too…strange and…messy on the inside; her thoughts were disorganized and…uncooperative. She began to mellowly stroke her corvid… So soft…so warm, she embraced its affective comfort.

Yet…so much still lingered in her mind.

Novea…finally relooked at Antica, staring at that strange foreigner and that strange cloak of violet and outlined hexagons.

“…who even are you?” her thoughts abruptly slipped from whispering breaths.

“Hm?” Antica mumbled, glancing somewhat.

Novea averted away; “N…n-nothing…” she replied, flustering.

Antica withdrew her glance, Novea returning hers.

Truly, Novea had been so thoroughly reminded that…for everything she did know about this enigma before her eyes, she, nevertheless, knew so little. Despite the past couple days of cordiality, not to mention…that instance of oversharing, they were ultimately strangers—aliens to one another.

She realized that she had no idea…whatsoever…who Antica truly was. And something within her…really wanted to know, and not merely because she was ordered.

“…it really is…way too easy…with me, isn’t it?” her muttering breaths whispered to herself.

-|||-

Hours had passed. The sun was making way to rise. They finally felt safe enough to stop… not for a break, but to reassess everything—to take headcount, to check what was left behind, and to see who was hurt. Everyone was out and about, including Antica…who simply stood with her eyes closed.

The brown-highlights that were following had long disappeared, Bee no longer detecting them. However, she knew best…an inability to detect did not necessarily imply safety. Though, for now, she could lower her guard.

“[Nine infantry and three calvary missing… Certainly dead, many of us are hurt…]”

“[Trinity’s damned spears… grazed me, shoulder’s cut…]”

“[My arm got sliced too…]”

“[…sorry I wasn’t a carbineer…]” the fourth nightwatcher apologized.

“[You might as well be one, having never rode a horse before yet managed to survive and catch up…]”

“[I left my backpack and rations…]”

“[Most of us did…]”

“[Damn it all…]” the ensign blurted, “[Twelve certainly dead… We are low on our supplies, and we left behind the horses’ feed…and grass here doesn’t look well for them to eat…]”

The ensign stepped away, making way towards one of the transport wagons. Laying…wounds tightly wrapped with the coats of those willing to provide…was that second nightwatcher…barely clinging to life.

Four, naturally, followed along… He had yet to check on Two; the carbineer who had plopped him onto that wagon was already there, checking on him in kind.

“[What is his condition?]” the ensign asked.

“[Grave. I was surprised he was still alive by the time I arrived, never mind not falling off as I rode…]” the carbineer answered.

Indeed, Two’s condition had only deteriorated the past several hours. The bleeding was no longer an issue…but his gashed wounds were dirtied and with the risk of infection—that thing which killed far more in war than combat.

“…[Oh Trinity, our Father, King of Heaven, and His Son, King of World…]” Four’s breaths exhaled in prayer, “[He is not going to make it, is he?]”

“[Not if we continue course]” the ensign answered, before his eyes lanced straight to Novea…who was next to Antica.

Novea could immediately tell from his certain stare…what was about to come.

“You!” Thus, the ensign stomped his way to the Raven, the soldiers around turning to stare; “You know what that… What those things were, correct?” he interrogated.

Novea sighed; “Yes… I do know…” she…admitted.

The ensign grimaced with a slight twitch; “And you said nothing about them?! About the risks! The danger! The threat!” he lambasted.

“…yeah, I said nothing… I didn’t even think to say anything...” Novea…simply agreed, her corvid masked face resisting the urge to avert down and away.

The ensign tsked, half of such legitimate anger towards her, the other half projected anger towards himself; “Why?! Why did you not even think to warn us! Had we known, I could have prepared the men accordingly! But instead…”—he ughed aloud—“We are doing you and your Guild’s bureau of spies a luxury of transporting you so that you can play your petty political games, the least I expected was that you would use your expertise so that half of my men would NOT BE KILLED!” he snapped with rising shout.

The ensign inhaled and exhaled, over and over, before looking around…seeing his men’s staring eyes; an abrupt silence ensued. Even if they sympathized, such was unbecoming of their commanding officer.

“…you finished?” Novea, seemingly unaffected in voice despite…being affected within, coldly asked.

The ensign…fixed his posture, awkwardly adjusting his collar, aheming; “I apologize…for that…”

Ultimately, he felt as guilty as the Raven he so lambasted.

Novea sighed; “What I was unable to say before…that… was that…I said nothing because there was supposed to be nothing—those were not…thought to be around anymore… they were thought to be destroyed or buried by time” she explained.

The ensign…nodded, having calmed down mostly. “…Understandable I suppose, but now is better than never: what do you know?” he inquired; “We can’t have those…things wandering about molesting our routes”.

“A bronze golem, a bronze golem lord specifically… They are Diamond to Onyx ranked—so, dangerous, mainly because of their lesser bronze golems…which they can have a lot of—dozens, hundreds… old accounts even spoke of thousands” Novea explained.

The ensign ughed in a nose-pinching sigh, “Lovely, so it’s at the head of its own abhorrent golem army…”

“Yeah… so, this a very…nasty cracked jar, but as I said…they are supposed to be dead or buried… and the Guild’s…understanding is not wrong—the Bureau verifies and double verifies…” Novea stated…

“Clearly you were wrong, considering we were just attacked by one!” the ensign interrupted, his composure…perhaps not as restored as desirable.

“Let me finish before you…ahem”—she caught her tongue—“what I was moving towards is that the reason bronze golems even appear after… oh, you all don’t even know the… Rightly, whatever, regardless: not all of them are fully ‘dead’, but were permanently put to sleep—yes there is a difference—and either it woke up on its own or…someone somehow woke it up” Novea…explained, albeit more disorganized than she wanted.

“Someone might have woken it up, you say?” the ensign repeated, nodding away…stepping back slightly.

“Yeah…but that is as…unlikely as it waking up on its own… It would take a powerful or…special unconventional type of spellcaster to…do that…” Novea stated.

« Ita’stne? » Antica quietly murmured. Indeed, that would explain the grey-blue highlight which had been seemingly present… They had ‘awoken’ it…

Novea quickly shifted her attention to Four; “You…” she began to ask, “you were…close to it, rightly?”

“Close to it, close to all of it” Four answered.

“This might be a weird question, but…what color was the…magic or [sorcery-eminence] on it?” she asked.

Four took a moment’s pause…thinking; “A rather pale light-pink…I think?” he finally answered.

“That confirms it, then…” Novea stated, “its…mana-glow is not supposed to be anything near that branch of colors; usually, it’s a bronzy-coppery color… So, someone did wake it up and…bounded it to themself…somehow”.

“…fantastic, so there is a powerful magician at the head of that bronze golem and its army” the ensign exhaled, his mind still processing…this…suddenty.

“On the sunny side, the lessers of a lord are…soul-bounded to it—so if you kill it, you kill them all” Novea added.

“Well, all of this seals my decision, then” the ensign began to state, “We must to head for the closest Company outpost immediately, not only to inform them of…this, but…”—his eyes turned to his men—“we are in no condition to continue traveling any farther… The panicked flight made us leave much behind—munitions, rations, even our horse feed—and we have wounded… One is in desperate condition and will die if he is not brought to immediate help”.

“That is…all true…” Novea admitted, voice more…lowly, “but…neither that nor the bronze golem are my concern—I have…we have…one priority; I cannot delay on that”.

The ensign grimaced… baffled, quite so, to hear such a thing after all that which had just happened. But before he could reply…

“So… we are in”—Novea eyed around—“grass around is…stupidly tall, so Tall Grass…which means the closest Company outpost is…due southwest…in Candlelight, and there is a Guild branch there…” thus she stated, “So… tell the Guild on my behalf when you get there”.

The ensign tilted his head, surprised yet also…slightly confused.

“Considering the…losses, you don’t need two wagons, rightly? Leave us one; we will…continue on our own” Novea specified.

The ensign turned to his men… “[Would we have the capacity for one transport?]”

“[Technically, but not with him badly hurt… He needs space]” a soldier replied.

Four sprung to attention; “[Sire, we could move him to the resupply carriage; I can stay with him and…watch over… That will free space]” he suggested.

The ensign nodded, swinging his attention back to Novea; “Fine, that is acceptable…”

“Alrightly then, we will collect our things” Novea replied.

She gently elbowed Antica and began to walk, Antica closely…carefully following, as the two made way to the resupply wagon’s back.

Antica remained outside alongside the corvid which hopped onto her hooded head, while Novea climbed aboard to retrieve her carry bag, waterskin, and anything else she might have left within.

“… ‘out of supplies’, but behold in here…a trove, doorknobs don’t think to just take from what’s in here… How obedient of them…” Novea muttered as she collected. Waterskin and such affixed to her belt, she hopped out with her carry bag now strapped over shoulder, tossing the revolving-rifle back to Antica. “You left that” she stated.

“I give thanks” Antica, having instantly caught it, replied, placing the rifle’s strap over her shoulder as the corvid relocated from atop her head back onto Novea’s shoulder.

The two stepped aside from the supply wagon as Four along with another…carried Two’s figure to that same wagon, gently placing him within.

Returning to the ensign, he pointed to a now emptied wagon; “That is the one we are leaving you…to the sulking protests of its driver…”

“…thank you… and I am sure…the Guild will compensate him…” Novea thanked in reply.

“Oh, they will” the ensign bluntly stated; “But be lucky, I decided to give the one in the better condition… I am…upset, but not dishonorable” he added.

“It’s appreciated, truly” Novea thanked again.

“Well, good luck to you both, then… We still have an outpost to resupply, so we will make our way soon enough, but in the meantime”—he handed Novea a special letter of sorts—“the Company facilities in Huckleberry will provide their support, be assured” thus the ensign said in finality before saluting a goodbye, departing off…to mount atop his stallion.

Novea sighed; “Well…looks like it really will be just you, me, and a wagon ‘nd horse… Funny, rightly?” she stated cordially, glancing at Antica.

“I suppose so…” Antica flatly replied, the irony, perhaps, not lost on her in kind.