On a warm summer evening, many, many years ago.

The seasons here were never consistent. Once, the days' haar was rough and cold above the seas and the land; once, the nights were hot and humid from the sweat - sometimes, the days were like the nights and the nights like the days.

A man ran through the dense forest, his iron soles falling on grass still wet from yesterday's rain. Crimson blood fell from his cheek and arm onto the ground below, leaving a clear trail for the hounds to follow. He desperately tried to close the wounds by tightening the stained cloth on his arm, but it didn't help. This wasn't sustainable; how long had he been running? Where was he even running to? What would the man do if he somehow managed to escape? ....I need to rest, the man thought.

Leaning against a tree and letting himself fall, the man sat down firmly onto the ground. He held his head and looked over at the trail of blood he left behind, knowing he couldn't stay for long - any sort of trace was enough for them to find him. Yes, escape was impossible, so logically, only one option was left.

Then let them come.

The outskirts of Altiron's Forest, evening.

A person whose gender could not be distinguished from voice or face alone sat on a finely-carved wooden chair inside a tent. They were dressed in elegant, lilac-colored garbs reminiscent of a priest and had gleaming, golden eyes; suddenly, their peace was disturbed by another dressed in tasteless and roughed-up clothing entering. The androgynous person scowled at the intruding mercenary, before motioning with their hands to get to the point. "The target's stopped moving and surrounded. We're ready to move at Your order, Your Eminence", he said with a slight hint of anxiety in his tone.

Despite being an uncultured sword-for-hire, the man did not dare to ignore decorum against somebody of their standing. The scowl slowly dropped, and was instead replaced with a grim and twisted grin and a wicked glow in their shining eyes. You've run for long enough, haven't you? I'm going to skin you from head to toe in the nave! The priest blinked and regained their composure, delivering their words and motions with an almost mechanical articulation, "You have my permission to proceed. I will be right behind you."

Yes, I haven't been this excited in a while! They stood up and walked out of the tent before the mercenary, not bothering to hide their sinister smile.

A clearing below the canopy of Altiron.

The man's eyes opened as he returned to the forest, the scene of an androgynous priest in a tent disappearing from his sight. His blood had already dried up and the grass he tread on had erected itself once again. Just like the flowers and flora, he slowly stood up and brandished a damaged sword with his right hand, the senses in his body delivering a myriad of sinister premonitions. They're going to be here soon. I should get ready. With no concern in his mind, he held the blade up against the palm of his hand and sliced open a large wound, letting the scarlet liquid drip down the chipped steel. Streams and blots formed on the clear surface of his weapon, creating an image which would reveal his future. Unfortunately, it doesn't seem like there's an easy way out of this.

Seconds later, a powerful shout washed over him, forcing the man down onto his knees. The voice was neither male nor female, carrying an authority that made the target want to genuflect and worship the origin. His nails dug painfully into the dirt below as he struggled to regain control of his body, his joints and limbs feeling as if they'd rusted over or frozen.

"Anweit Lleranstva, traitor of the people and last remaining marauder. For your horrible sins, the Church has decided to imprison you; you should thank the Bishop for his mercy. Now, come here without resistance."

Anweit fought with all his might against the divine-powered voice, his legs and arms moving as if a puppeteer was controlling a marionette by the threads. One foot, then the other - left, right. Slowly, the distance between the two became less and less, the androgynous priest carrying a false smile full of poison and vice - just a little more, and the man was already within measure of them. He struggled and raged internally, his muscles and veins twitching as he attempted to escape; his anger spread outward and his face contorted into a hideous mess, black and red veins spreading from his heart and up his neck. I'm not a slave, nor a believer...so, let go of me!

He thrashed about, and soon let out an ear-piercing scream that pushed away the nearby mercenaries and the priest alike with a red wave of energy, vibrating the air and pulling apart the ground. Anweit's pulsating body slowly cooled down while he looked over towards the shocked orator, still stunned from the roar. You're first! He didn't pass up the chance and stomped on the ground, using superhuman strength to propel himself forward and pierce them before they could speak again. Unfortunately, those blessed by God not only possessed strange powers, but also a body that could resist a thousand poisons and take a hundred strikes - the androgynous priest unnaturally bent their head and spine in a way that made them appear like a trapeze artist, shifted their weight onto their left hand and threw themselves out of harm's way. The world twisted and turned in waves before returning to normal.

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...Why aren't they using their authority? Is it because they can't use it constantly, or because the mercenaries would get caught in it as well? Either way, this is beneficial for me. Anweit grabbed the hilt of his sword with both hands and quickly turned around, slamming against the side of a hired soldier that attempted to sneak up on him. The man's body was perfectly cleaved through, delivering a swift and painless death. The top half of the bisected person was thrown at another mercenary, whom Anweit swiftly rushed and engaged in close-quarters combat with.

The battle was long and brutal, but the wounded marauder could not hold out for long, even with his superhuman ability and gift of prophecy. The blood he splattered on his blade beforehand dried up, and the future he now entered was unknown. "Dodge this one!", coming from above, Anweit slammed down onto another mercenary who was attempting to block the strike with his legs and pushed him into the ground, feeding his foaming mouth with a serving of dirt and soil. The marauder stood tall, looking over at the remaining fighters with a low gaze and dead eyes to terrify them; but intimidation was only intimidation. His body was gradually falling apart from the countless slashes on it, his prior bloodletting imperfect due to his injured state and a lack of information. Before death, he decided he'd take the instigator of all this down with him - the priest.

"You're next!" Anweit roared and drew out his remaining power, but soon found himself back on the ground and on his knees. The blood blinding his left eye disappeared, and the wounds were gone, and the dead mercenaries were laid out harmlessly on the ground as if they were sleeping. He attempted to look around, but realized he could barely move his neck. ...I should have known. If the Church really wanted to capture me, it wouldn't have been that easy to win. Besides the Gift of Servitude, they brought along Sight, as well? Haha....I guess I really am a big shot now, eh? He thought with a poor attitude and looked up at the sky that fell apart like shattered glass, the illusion dispelled completely. A cold, metal shaft was pressed against the back of his head by somebody he couldn't see. Through his power of prophecy, however, Anweit could still observe the person behind him.

Messy brown hair that reached down to her shoulders. A white shirt with long sleeves and a grey vest. A brooch on the left side of her chest, grey pants that were held up by a black belt. The dark gloves hid calloused and trained hands one wouldn't expect of a woman from the diocese. Her green eyes had a stern look to them, and freckles spread across her otherwise clear skin. Accepting his fate, Anweit used all of his strength to push himself into the executioner's firearm.

"If you're going to kill me, then do it now. If you can do me a favor, at least cremate me and send me on a trip to Yleran", introducing some levity, Anweit struggled out a soft chuckle. A subtle click could be heard as the woman behind him pulled back the hammer, then his vision went black after a loud bang.

"Vile bastard. Let us go, Your Eminence. The wolves will take care of the corpses here", the woman said, ignoring the fact that the mercenaries were still alive but unconscious. After all, it was only less people on the payroll for her. With a nod, the androgynous priest followed the woman and disappeared into the woods, leaving everything to rot in the forest.

The inconsistent seasons passed. Snow fell, then melted beneath the powerful sun. The spring dew dripped from the leaves that soon wilted during autumn, crumpled and colored a variety of browns, oranges, yellows and reds. He was naturally assaulted by the elements, but his corpse refused to corrode. With the passage of time, the hole in his head closed up, but the recovery of internal organs and his brain would take far longer. Months and years of absolute blackness passed and Anweit's spiritual body dissipated, completely rejoining nature as nutrients for spirits and wisps. Nothing remained, until the light of the sun during the peak of august fell down on him through the window.