“Prepare my horse.” The low noise that squeezed out of Noah’s throat was more an animal's growl than human speech.

“You are rushing again.” William plucked the note from his friend’s grip. As he read its content, his brows furrowed. “So Nekor and some of the fugitives are near Silverwing Planes. Hmm, north-west from Yalda… considering the current weather conditions… three days ride if you don’t want to kill the horses.”

“A bit over a day if we use the relay stations on Via Draconis,” added Duncan but was almost immediately cut by Neli.

“And arrive exhausted only to face a dozen powerful shamans? Besides, Noah hasn’t fully recup-”

“I’m going, mother,” Noah interrupted her, his tone making everyone in the room shiver. “And no one can stop me.”

“Alright,” William stroked the stripe of paper flat on the table, “even if we, for a moment, ignore the fact that you riding out endangers Ildemar’s defenses; even if we ignore that your health, both physically and mentally, is not at its best, how are you going to face those rogue shamans?”

Noah didn’t answer, gripping his hands together. Seeing the frown on his face, William continued.

“You’ve ordered everyone from the Wolf Mountain tribe investigated. So, I’m sure that you are not stupid enough to take potential traitors with you who could stab you in the back at any time. As for Red Dawn…”

The man’s eyes trailed to the side. One of the crates below the tall windows was covered with green velvet and on top of it lay a deformed hilt. Strewn around were a dozen needle-like shards that glimmered in the sunlight. The once lustrous crimson pattern covering the silver blade was now dim and akin to a thin layer of mud and rust, giving Red Dawn’s remains a battered and decaying look.

“You would be facing a kush-turgan and the elite warriors from two tribes without your best weapon and protection,” concluded William and leaned back in his chair. “The Duke of Norden can not participate in such a suicidal mission.”

Duncan and Neli nodded, the worry openly written on their faces. Noah remained still, eyes fixated on his clasped hands. After a few seconds, he finally spoke out.

“There is one point where you are mistaken, Will.”

Standing up slowly, he walked to the wall near the fireplace and pulled the tapestry aside. On the white stone, the crest of the Two Gods - two crescent moons intersecting over a scepter - was carefully chiseled, its size almost that of a grown man.

“Do you really think,” he pushed the tips of the two moons and something in the wall clicked, “that the only thing protecting me against Binshi magic is a magical Binshi sword?”

The stone relief split open down the middle with a hiss, revealing a deep dark niche.

“Oh, no!” Nelli suddenly gasped. “Noah, don’t…”

Next to her, Duncan’s face also looked ashen as he gently squeezed the woman’s hands and whispered “It’ll be fine.”

Seeing them so unusually distraught, William hobbled out of his seat and came next to Noah. As he peeked over his shoulder, curiosity and worry mixed on his face.

Inside the niche, a full set of armor stood propped on a wooden stand. Every plate and rivet was obsidian black. The light, streaming in from the windows, glided over the matt surface, giving it a velvety gloss. The metal was carefully crafted into possessing not just battle functionality but being a true piece of art. The helmet was shaped like a lion’s head, the roaring snout protecting the face of the bearer, and the curls of the mane swirling to the back of the head and neck, every single hair meticulously carved into the sturdy steel. The pauldrons were formed into life-like lion paws, digging into one’s shoulders with their hooked black claws. The breastplate, as well as the greaves protecting the lower legs, had scenes of lions hunting game etched into them - darker lines on the ink-like surface, invisible until the light got reflected at the right angle.

Even the gauntlets looked like talons, but compared to the lack of further embellishments on the rest of the armor, save for the prowess of the blacksmiths and their intricate craft, there was a large red gem embedded in the left gauntlet. The right one only carried the indentation where a second gem had once been inlaid.

Next to the Armor, a halberd a head taller than Noah was leaning against the wall. It was just as black as the rest of the set but there were some silver scratches and chips along the hilt - not enough to compromise the weapon's integrity but plenty to show that it had been well used.

“What in the names of the Fathers…” William looked with round eyes, his hand involuntarily stretching out towards the black plates.

“Halt! Don’t touch-”

Noah’s warning was a second too late. The moment William’s fingertips made contact with the metal, he screamed and jolted back, tumbling to the ground.

“T-The h-hell!” Will’s teeth clattered as Duncan jumped from his seat and helped him into one of the chairs. He shivered and his breath came out with difficulty. “What is this thing, Noah!? It… it…”

“Did it speak in your head?” The old knight patted his back with enough force to break some bones. “You’re tougher than you look, lad. A weaker person would have fainted.”

“It… It screamed in my mind!” William panted and downed the cup of water Neli offered him in one go. “It screamed for blood. For vengeance. It showed me images…”

The young man clasped a hand over his mouth and closed his eyes for a second. When he opened them again, his gaze bore straight into Noah.

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“What sort of black magic is this?”

“Black magic?” His friend caressed the armor without batting an eyelid. “You are talking about Nerodris - one of the Church’s holiest artifacts. Crafted by Saint Marcus the Builder for the first son of Saint Arslan, it is imbued with the power to negate magic. There is also a portion of Saint Ursule’s powers in the armor. The more enemies you kill, the stronger the protections should become… with a little catch.”

“The screaming? And that bloodlust I’ve felt…” William frowned. “So, only the imperial family is protected from all that. Because of your blood ties to Arslan.”

“We aren’t protected,” came the quiet reply.

William’s wide-eyed gaze wandered between his lord, Duncan, and Neli, their stern faces more vocal than any lengthy explanation.

“Damn. Oh, damn you, you crazy… Argh!” The young man dug in his hair and gritted his teeth. “Are you telling me… You’ll put that thing on and chase after Nekor while it screams murder in your scull? I am against it!”

He turned his burning gaze to Duncan and Neli.

“Aren’t you two concerned? Why aren’t you trying to stop him?!”

“He’ll be fine,” replied the old knight, but his expression was far from placid.

“He’ll be fine? Are you joking? He’ll get himself killed out of stubborn recklessness!”

“I won’t.” Noah put a hand on his shoulder, forcing his friend to look him in the eyes. “I’ve worn it many times before, Will. You came to serve under me after The Blood Moon Carnage. How do you think I dealt with Binshi magic before Yanosh’s death? Before Red Dawn was made into what it is now? Before the Wolf Mountain tribe became life-bonded to me?”

“As long as his will is strong enough, he won’t succumb to madness.” Neli cupped her goblet and peered into its empty bottom, her assertive words directed more at herself than at William. “And Duncan will be with him.”

“Naturally.” The old knight puffed his chest. “Calm down, lad. Our lord isn’t a weakling to lose his mind because of some scrap metal.”

“You know this isn’t necessary.” There was some desperation in William’s voice. “Let the kush-turgans deal with them. Or the barons. Or even the Shadows. Your presence isn’t needed.”

“And potentially let a traitor intervene?” Noah shook his head with a smile. “This isn’t like you, Lord Steward.”

“I serve you! My job is to keep you safe!” William hung his head between his shoulders. “But you would ignore whatever I have to say, right?”

“Absolutely.”

“You've won then?"

"Seems like it."

"Good. So, you'll take Bishop Petronius with you.”

“Yes… Wait, what?” Noah was taken aback.

His friend lifted his face and there was determination written all over it.

“If this is a Church artifact, a member of the clergy who is touched by the grace of the Gods can subdue it in case it goes amok. Bishop Petronius, despite his nasty personality, has decades of experience with artifacts and purification rituals.”

“He does have a point,” said Neli, and Duncan snorted in agreement. “Besides, giving him a chance to pour out his anger on some Red Hands might make him more cooperative in the future.”

“Or deepen his hatred for all Binshi,” mumbled Noah and sighed. “Alright, Bishop Petronius will have the honor to assist the Duke in protecting the people of Norden. In return, I'll reconsider taking away his post and he will receive some farmland for his services.”

“You could just order him to do it,” rumbled Duncan but everyone ignored him.

“A stick and a carrot.” A dark smirk twisted William’s lips. “I thought you hated politics.”

“Liking it and doing it are two separate things.” Noah rubbed his face. “Now get to work. I want everything ready by nightfall.”

His friends went for the door with Duncan supporting the still wobbly William. At the threshold, Neli turned around. Her eyes lingered on Noah’s hunched frame and his furrowed brows.

“I’ll bring you some honey milk,” she said quietly. “Try to get some rest.”

“Thank you, mother.”

When the door shut behind the three, Noah walked back to the niche and the black armor. He put his hand on the breastplate, his features becoming strained and rigid. The metal felt unnaturally hot to his skin, the whispers and screams in his head almost drowning any other noise.

He had lied to his friends. No, he had just omitted the truth.

Compared to all those years ago, when Llewellyn had gifted him Nerodris before his departure to Norden, the malice the artifact exuded had increased severalfold. Well, it wasn’t surprising, considering the number of Red Hands he had slain after Yanosh and Orhana’s murder.

The artifact had the power to protect its bearer and amplify his battle instincts, his bloodlust, and his fearlessness in the face of an enemy. The lives it absorbed made the metal sturdier and the magical wards more resilient. But there was no such convenient protection without a price. If one was to falter; lose his concentration and give in to the voices, an indiscriminate monster would be born. Noah had experienced this in the months after his friends’ death. Back then, he had welcomed the madness. It filled the void in his soul. It made taking human life… easy. The world was so clear under Nerodris’ bane - everyone on the other side of his halberd was the enemy.

The carnage had lasted until the day he had looked into Gregor’s eyes and recognized the youth’s terror. The demon reflected in them had scared him back to his senses. Since then, he had locked the wretched armor away. Yanosh’s last magic had saved his mind and soul while giving him a blade to protect his loved ones.

A sad smile found its way onto Noah’s face. From around his neck, he pulled out a small satchel and opened it. A large, red gem rolled out in his palm, its faint light flaring up and waning in the rhythm of his own heart. Noah’s gaze traveled to the armor’s left gauntlet where its twin sparkled menacingly in the sunlight like a live ember.

Yanosh had the gift to turn things meant for destruction - broken, vile, and twisted - into shields against darkness and despair.

He had created the Star of Norden from the blood and the weapon of his enemies as means to preserve peace. With his last breath, he had turned a simple sword into a tool to vanquish evil spirits and shield its bearer from malice.

Yet his greatest achievement was shaping a young, arrogant boy into a ruler who would unite Norden.

Noah’s eyes stung.

Red Dawn was now shattered, destroyed by stabbing its own creator… Killing Yanosh forever. The Star was losing its light, its protection compromised by the one it was supposed to protect. And the ruler…

Noah gritted his teeth.

The ruler was behaving like a little child. Whining about how hard everything was. Wallowing in misery, doubt, and self-pity. A failure. A sniveling weakling.

“Pull yourself together,” muttered Noah. In his hand, the Star’s heart flickered, accompanied by a screech coming from the black armor. “Oh, no. You won’t be snuffing out this magic. But don’t worry. I’ll feed you soon enough.”