Pale clouds drifted beneath the hot midday sun and cast shadows over the pure-white sand of the beach. The deep blue water of the calm sea glistened serenely in juxtaposition to the sound of hooves thundering in the sand towards the party. Ben counted six riders in dull, black-plate armor and helmets with various weapons strapped to their backs or sheathed on their hips that bobbed with each gallop of their steeds. The men reined in their horses to a trot as they came within about twenty paces by Ben’s estimate. The horsemen slowly encircled the party as if to cut off any means of escape.

The young man observed the aggressive formation with keen eyes and felt excitement and adrenaline begin to flood his veins. He tightened his grip on his spear and, with immense effort, willed himself to maintain an impassive face. Ben felt surer of himself; even though his body was still comparatively weak, he had spent what would have been the equivalent of several months for an average person tirelessly sparring with a superior opponent in his domain. The feeling of resentment towards himself for being weak and incapable still lingered, though much less severely, in the back of his mind.

I wonder if Ainsle feels this way all the time…

A rider with comparatively shinier armor lifted his visor to reveal a long-waxed, grey handlebar mustache in front of a reddened, puffy face. The man spoke in a condescendingly nasal tone as he addressed Jor, who stood at the front of the group.

“Identify yourselves!” He barked.

The Archer straightened and made a fist with her right hand as she lifted it, forearm parallel to the sand, to her left shoulder in what Ben assumed to be a salute of some sort.

“Squad Leader, Jor Vasylius.” She reported in a formal tone and relaxed her salute before gesturing with an open palm behind her to each party member. “This is Vanguard, Ainsle O’Seighin, and these two are our traveling companions.”

“I suppose your traveling companions have names? And documents to verify their identity?” The red-faced man’s nasal drone grated on Ben’s ears.

“The tall one looks a bit shady, Guard Captain.” A voice made tinny by a steel helmet spoke from behind the group.

Ben felt Ann’s Aura billow from her being in suffocating waves, intending to smother and drown. Though he didn’t feel the brunt of the Aura, the understanding of her intent came through their connection, and he watched with a grin as the small Keeper, with a significant presence, stepped forward.

“You would bar a Keeper of __ph__r_?” She spoke with an intimidating authority, and the armored men flinched at each syllable as if the words were blows.

A sharp headache assaulted the young man as he heard fragments of the God’s name. His grin faltered, and he closed his eyes to dispel the throbbing in his temples. Ben made a mental note to get to the bottom of the phenomenon, as previous attempts to inquire why he was deaf to the names of the Gods had led to the birth of dangerously distracting events. He forced his eyelids open once more as Ann continued.

“Less wise men have known better. For the sake of expediency, I’ll forgive the slight if you and your men return from whence you came.”

The Guard Captain sat motionless atop his piebald steed, his eyes were wide with abject fear, and his substantial mustache quivered. Jor cleared her throat and spoke with a slight tremble in her voice.

“Guard Captain, was it? Look, we were stationed at an outpost in the Vale of Moons. On the Fringe.” Jor paused to emphasize the location of the outpost. The man’s eyes widened to a near-impossible size. She continued.

“The camp was overrun several days ago, and we’ve had to hike through the Shattered Tooth Mountain pass to get here. We’re tired and on our last nerves, and I have to deliver a report to a member of the Council of Blades who happens to be in your city. So, I’d appreciate it if you’d be more accommodating.” The latter was said with a deceptively sweet tone that Ben hadn’t heard her employ before.

Through their bond, Ben felt Ann’s Aura slowly subside, not through the fatigue of use but because she deemed it no longer necessary. Ben had wondered whether or not her bond of supplication would feel jarring to his senses, but he was surprised to find that over the few days of travel, it felt instinctual more than anything else. He was torn from his musing by the clinking of plate armor.

The Guard Captain seemed to have regained his composure as he straightened his back from atop his mount.

“Very well. Be on your way then.” He babbled and gestured for his men to leave before turning his horse and riding back towards the city in a gallop.

Ben heard the passing horsemen mutter: “Council of Blades?”, “a Keeper in those rags?” and something unintelligible about the Fringe.

Ainsle spat and grumbled. Ben noticed that she had been uncharacteristically quiet during the exchange. He looked towards the Berserker, and the re-emergence of her mocking grin suggested that she caught the attention.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

She mimed a flick of the hair, which was comical to Ben as the diminutive, older woman’s hair was always neatly tied in a high bun. She put a hand on her hip and posed suggestively.

Oh no… Here we go…

Ben sighed internally.

“Didn’t know you fancied the finer wines, Benny.” Her attempt at a seductive drawl was made terrifying by her low, raspy voice.

Ann snorted, and when Ben snapped his head to face her, she turned her expression to stone. He held her wide, blue eyes in his gaze and expected the façade to shatter. Naturally, the Keeper didn’t relent, and Ben sighed as he cupped his face in his palms.

“You’re terrible. Both of you,” he groaned, and Ann let out a light feminine chuckle.

He faced the Berserker again to find the same impossibly wide grin on her face; her one pale blue eye appeared to mock his discomfort. Fortunately for the young man, she had given up on the act, and the party began the long walk to Honeydew. Once everyone had settled into the rhythm of the trek, He turned to Ainsle.

“Hey Ainsle, about those guys earlier…” he began.

“Poor cunts wouldn’t know if a Dragon was staring them in the face. Those types don’t last long in the real world,” the old woman interjected with a coarse sigh.

“Yeah. You didn’t have anything to say?”

She shrugged. “Squad Leader said, let her talk. So, I shut my trap and let her talk,” she said matter-of-factly.

“I see.”

Ben thought; for all the old woman was resentful of the military, she was a good soldier. Maybe too good. Another thought struck him, and he faced Ainsle once more.

“So, you’ve decided on what you’re going to do once we reach the city? I mean, after the business with the Councilor is settled, you really want to retire somewhere over the hills?” the young man spoke between breaths as the sand seemed to drain his stamina with each step he took.

Ainsle’s grin wavered for a heartbeat. “You know, you’re getting pretty damned dangerous the way you read me,” a pause. “I’ll have to think about it,” she said without a hint of humor.

Jor glanced at the old woman, her brows furrowed and lips drawn in consternation before hesitating and, as the young man supposed, deciding to refrain from commenting. A silence born of the unexpected answer from Ainsle saw Ben focusing his efforts on placing one foot in front of the other.

The presence of the hot afternoon sun was an unyielding fifth companion to the sweaty and exhausted party nearing the gates of the port city of Honeydew. Ben’s tired eyes watched as ships, fishing boats, and other indiscernible buoyant crafts crowded the glistening water outside the city like ants around a hive. Honeydew was a large city surrounded by tall, uneven walls made of a light-pink, sun-bleached stone. Buildings constructed with the same material peered over the battlements atop the wall, with roof tiles of varying shades of pink, yellow, and white.

A long line of people, who Ben thought might be refugees, snaked toward half-open, massive arched gates made of woven black steel and thick wooden beams. Clothes, pots, and even a large bedside table were among the items the young man observed the men, women, children, and elderly had brought with them in what spoke of an unplanned flight from their homes. Although he considered he should perhaps be more compassionate to their plight, Ben gazed up at the cheerfully blistering sun and dreaded the thought of having to wait in line for what may be hours.

What’s one little queue? They’ve probably had it worse than us-

He sighed.

Jor stopped and turned to face the party before lifting an open palm to instruct them to do the same. Her big green eyes bounced between Ben and Ann.

“We’ll be heading directly to the gates. The guards we encountered earlier would’ve, no doubt, spread word about an odd group approaching the city from the Fringe. The people of this city are no strangers to newcomers, being that its lifeblood is trade with Hauluvians from the Yeltic continent. But,” she turned to regard the mass of refugees, “with so many refugees here, I fear the worst has come to pass.”

“Does this have something to do with the tear expanding in Moonvale? Did the undead attack them as well?” Ben asked as he regarded the tall, raven-haired woman.

“Yes, I’m afraid so, and I’m not sure what attacked their village. It’s unlikely to be the dead, as bodies are put to the pyre after death by order of royal decree to avoid the occurrence we suffered at the outpost.”

Ainsle interjected in a rasp, “There’s nastier fuckers out there than a few stiffs walking around.”

Jor nodded in agreeance as Ann spoke up in a soft voice. “Dark’s Champions are awakening and rallying their troops in answer to the convergence.”

Both the Squad Leader and Berserker remained quiet for a few heartbeats after the Keeper’s casual remark. Ainsle sniffed and faced the crowd, her eye squinted, and a grimace replaced her usual grin. Jor cleared her throat and brushed at her dusty, off-white skirt.

Ann met the Archer’s gaze with cold blue eyes. “I know what the nobility thinks of my order. The slander, I’ve heard it all. You and your kin can deny it all you want. The coming of _eph__re’s Ruin is imminent, and those who don’t har-” The Keeper’s eyes twitched, and she turned to Ben, whose eyes began to roll into the back of his head. She gasped and rushed to support the young man’s unsteady form.

Ooowwww…

“What the-,” Ben mumbled weakly.

“My heart, what’s the matter?” Ann asked, voice stricken with panic.

The young man felt like a spiked ball had begun growing from the center of his brain. The pain was blinding, and he felt like he would collapse after hearing fragments of the God’s name. The blonde woman gently guided his body to sit on the pure white sand. Ainsle and Jor looked on with concerned expressions, yet they kept their thoughts to themselves.

Ann began to hum her abridged version of Gialessi’s reprieve softly, yet Ben didn’t feel the agony subside. Her eyes grew wide, and her chanting stopped. She fell to her knees on the sand and gripped his hands.

“Forgive me. Forgive me, my Champion. I won’t speak His name again. Please forgive me,” the Keeper blabbered in dismay.

Between pulses of the throbbing headache, Ben made out a whispered conversation between Ainsle and Jor.

A low, coarse voice spoke, “…to the Keepers. Honor them…”

“…fuse to believe in the raving prophecies of fanatics! We must…”

“…fucking care! I’m not a bloody lapdog of the Empire anymore!”

The women became more animated in their discussion, and by the time Ben began to feel the pain relent, the pair were shouting at each other.

“Where are the dozens of other ‘Heralds’ now?” Jor spat, “They’re ash, Ain. All of them. Deluded and manipulated into doing the bidding of the Order.”

“Heralds, like Harbingers?” Ben spoke, and the Squad Leader stiffened. Ainsle glared at the Archer with an angry blue eye.