In the wake of Uncle Falo's passing, Edgar found himself navigating the murky waters of sorrow and isolation. His world, once illuminated by the warmth of kinship, was now draped in the shadows of loss. However, as the relentless tides of time ebbed and flowed, they brought with them a semblance of healing and an unexpected turn of fate. Prince Lockdar, who had ascended to the throne following his father's passing, emerged as a beacon of guidance and companionship in Edgar's life.

In the grand halls of the King's castle, Edgar embarked on a journey of transformation under Lockdar's tutelage. The castle, with its towering spires and sprawling corridors, became a sanctum of learning and growth for Edgar. Here, amidst the tapestries of history and the echoes of ancestral wisdom, he was inducted into the intricacies of noble life. Lockdar, a mentor in both title and spirit, introduced Edgar to the art of dignified comportment and the subtle dance of courtly etiquette.

But Edgar's education extended beyond the ornate walls of the castle. He delved into the labyrinthine realms of ancient languages, each script a gateway to forgotten eras and lost civilizations. In the castle's extensive library, he pored over tomes and scrolls, his mind absorbing knowledge like parched earth soaks up rain.

Moreover, Lockdar recognized Edgar's innate affinity for the martial disciplines. He ensured that Edgar's training was comprehensive and rigorous. In the castle's expansive training grounds, Edgar honed his prowess with various weapons. The sword became an extension of his arm, the dagger a flash of deadly precision. With the bow, he could strike the eye of a bird in flight, and with the spear, he could pierce the hardest armor.

Under Lockdar's watchful eye, Edgar transformed from a solitary youth into a multifaceted young noble, equally at home in the opulent halls of the castle and the rigorous training grounds. In this crucible of noble upbringing and martial discipline, Edgar emerged as a figure of resilience and refined skill, a testament to the enduring spirit of his lineage.

They resided in the Sun Lands, governed by King Lockdar Menums. These lands, part of the Damaria continent, were renowned for their beauty and considered the most splendid territories in the world. The Kingdom of the Sun, with its grandeur and might, stood proudly as a beacon of strength and prosperity, its influence casting long shadows across the world's stage.

King Lockdar, upon ascending the throne, wielded his authority with a balance of might and mercy, his reign characterized by the valor of the sword and the resilience of the shield. Under his wise and just rule, the kingdom flourished, casting off the shackles of past adversaries and old vendettas. Edgar, who had grown under the king's tutelage, became an integral part of this new era, his name synonymous with bravery and prowess.

In his service to the king, Edgar faced the tumult of war, his mettle tested in three pivotal battles under the Sun Lands' banner. It was in the heat of these conflicts that he forged his legacy, each clash a chapter in his tale of valor. However, in his final battle, he encountered a peril that nearly cost him dearly – a grievous wound that threatened to claim his right leg, a stark reminder of the harsh realities of war.

Now, at the age of twenty-four, Edgar had matured into a warrior of repute and stature. Tall and formidable, he was the embodiment of martial excellence, celebrated as the finest fighter in the Kingdom of the Sun. His skill had grown to such a degree that he even bested King Lockdar himself in combat, a feat that spoke volumes of his extraordinary abilities.

The boy who had arrived in the kingdom a decade ago was now a distant memory. In his place stood a man marked by the trials of life and battle. His long, black hair flowed like a raven's wing, and a slender scar etched across his left cheek – a memento from a clash with bandits – lent him an air of daunting presence. His piercing eyes, sharp and discerning, were enough to unsettle even the most resolute of foes.

King Lockdar, who had seen the potential in the young Edgar, had meticulously molded him into a warrior of unmatched skill and honor. Edgar's loyalty to his king was unwavering, his sword a symbol of his commitment to the kingdom he served.

It was midday when Edgar was summoned to the throne room by King Lockdar. Whenever he was called to this grand chamber, it usually meant capturing and bringing to justice the most feared bandits or assassins. But today's summons hinted at something entirely different.

Upon entering, Edgar found the throne room filled with at least fifty knights. King Lockdar had positioned his throne amidst them, grasping the sword forged by Edgar's uncle ten years prior.

As was customary, Edgar knelt before his king. Lockdar gestured for him to remain so. The king then placed the sword on Edgar's left shoulder, a clear indication of what was to unfold. Edgar realized, in that moment, that a lifelong dream was about to be realized.

"Edgar Argyle, I declare you a hero of The Kingdom of the Sun," proclaimed King Lockdar.

Edgar was astounded. Being named a hero of a kingdom was the highest honor. He was now entitled to bear the kingdom's coat of arms on his armor – a red rose crossed with a sword.

The last hero of The Kingdom of the Sun had been Lockdar himself, who was also the last hero of Tuzmad. Edgar noticed a chest at the king's feet. Lockdar then removed a necklace from around his neck, to which a golden key was attached.

King Lockdar handed the key to the young hero, advising him to open the chest. Edgar did as told and upon opening the chest, he discovered inside Lockdar's knight armor and his cape, as black as a starless night.

"Thank you, Your Majesty!"

King Lockdar clapped his hands, signaling the start of the ceremony in honor of the kingdom's new hero, a traditional celebration. As the knights enjoyed the feast and the music provided by castle musicians, the king pulled Edgar aside, adopting a grave tone.

"Our time is nearly up. You know what I have prepared you for, don't you?"

"Yes, I remember. Where do we start? Where can we find this fanatic? Do you have any idea?"

"I believe it's time for you to return to Tuzmad, as a spy. You will be a shadow, as I have taught you. Draw no attention to yourself, and most importantly, do not make contact with Tenzim and Turalon."

Tenzim and Turalon had been his best friends. Edgar hadn't seen them in eight years, but he often thought of them; they had supported him immensely after his uncle's death.

Edgar was puzzled, then asked the king why he should avoid them. He genuinely wanted to reach out to the two brothers, but the earnest look in Lockdar's eyes made it clear this was a serious matter.

"Turalon and Tenzim are now leaders of the Circle; you remember the order, right? Turalon is also a powerful healer, and Tenzim has become the captain of Ludrol's army," Lockdar explained.

"Ludrol? He's still alive?" Edgar asked in surprise. "And how did those two jesters end up with such high ranks?"

"Those jesters are assassins. They've done the king's dirty work, and it seems he has rewarded them well."

Lockdar then instructed Edgar to don his new armor. Following the king's advice, Edgar lifted the armor from the chest and, assisted by two knights, clad himself in the shimmering black armor. It fit the young hero perfectly—lightweight yet incredibly durable. Edgar asked a knight to strike him in the chest with a sword.

Uncertain, the knight hesitated, but the king encouraged him to proceed. Heeding the king and the new hero's suggestion, the knight drew his sword and struck Edgar with full force. The sword shattered into three pieces, leaving the armor unscathed. All the knights were astounded, having never seen such resilient armor.

"I know only two swords strong enough to pierce this armor," Lockdar declared. "Mine and Edgar's."

"Thank you once again for the armor, Your Majesty! I will leave now, and I will inform you as soon as I learn anything," Edgar said respectfully, especially in the presence of other knights.

"Perfect, now hurry!"

Edgar left King Lockdar's castle and headed to the stables where his horse, Lightning, a gift from King Lockdar, awaited him. Lightning was a large, powerful white horse. When Edgar first received Lightning, the horse was two years old, but now, at twelve, he was the fastest steed Edgar had ever ridden.

He saddled up Lightning and set off for Tuzmad. The journey would take three days and three nights, requiring him to cross the vast and dangerous Lymdor Desert, one of the largest and most perilous deserts known. Rumors abounded that the sands of this desert came alive to claim the lives of travelers, but Edgar wondered how much of that was truth and how much was merely folklore to scare children.

As Lightning galloped like the wind, Edgar planned to spend a month in Tuzmad to investigate certain rumors, then return to The Kingdom of the Sun. He was skeptical of Laryus's words, yet in his years, Edgar had heard whispers about this so-called Lord of Demons.

Together with Lockdar, he had battled one of the demon's minions, barely managing to defeat it. The only way to kill a demon without magic was to pierce its heart or behead it. They were fiercely aggressive in battle, aged three times slower than humans, and possessed ten times their strength.

The sun had fully ascended in the sky, and Edgar, exhausted from the heat, stopped for a break to eat some of his packed food and drink water. As he rested, he heard a strange sound in the air, like the flapping of bat wings but much louder. He saw a huge shadow sweep across the sand beside him, but when he looked up to the clear sky, he saw nothing. Something had passed by, and he was certain it wasn't a hallucination or a mirage caused by the blazing sun. He couldn't explain what it was that he saw. After finishing his break, he resumed his journey, aware that he hadn't even covered half the distance yet. Finally, the sun set, and the coolness of the night began to set in. The desert was a place of extremes: scorching by day and freezing at night.

In the oppressive heat of the Lymdor Desert, Edgar's steed, Lightning, trudged wearily, its flanks heaving with exhaustion. The relentless sun had drained every ounce of energy from the noble horse, which had not tasted water nor grazed in what seemed an eternity. By any ordinary measure, a lesser horse would have already succumbed to the harsh demands of such a merciless journey.

Beside Lightning, Edgar himself was a picture of weariness. Collapsing in the sand, his body was pushed to its limits. The vast expanse of Lymdor, a desert more formidable and treacherous than any he had ever known, stretched out endlessly before him. In his previous travels to the Kingdom of the Sun with Lockdar, they had wisely circumvented this arid wasteland. However, in his quest for expedience, Edgar had chosen to brave the desert's heart, unwittingly gambling not just time, but life itself.

As exhaustion tugged him toward the brink of unconsciousness, a sudden, unnerving sensation jolted Edgar awake. Instinctively, his hand flew to the hilt of his Phoenix Sword, gripping it tightly as he leapt to his feet. The sword shimmered ominously in the sparse moonlight, casting ghostly shadows on the sand. Edgar's eyes darted around, searching the darkness for the source of the disturbance, but found only the endless desert.

Whispers of the desert's madness echoed in his mind, tales of weary travelers losing not just their lives but their sanity in these barren wastes. Could he be succumbing to such a fate? Edgar banished the thought; he was not a man easily undone by superstition. Yet, the rustling returned, more pronounced this time. Whirling around, his sword poised for battle, Edgar faced the origin of the noise and beheld a sight most bizarre.

Before him stood a creature like none he had ever encountered - a grotesque, legless being that seemed to rise directly from the sand itself. The creature had no discernible features, no eyes to see, no mouth to speak, nor ears to hear, its form appearing to be crafted entirely of the desert sands. Edgar's breath caught in his throat; he had crossed swords with barbarians, clashed with demons, stood toe-to-toe with a cyclops, even encountered the raw might of an ogre, but this entity was an enigma beyond his wildest encounters.

In the stillness of the desert night, Edgar faced this surreal apparition, his Phoenix Sword in hand, his heart pounding in his chest. The desert had thrown its most cryptic challenge yet, and Edgar knew that the tale of this night would be one to echo through the ages.

"Who are you, and why do you wander my lands?" the creature asked in a deep and terrifying voice. "What are your intentions? Are you a thief, a murderer, or just a passerby? It's very important that you don't lie to me, as everyone who has lied to me has lost their life. I have the gift of knowing when a man lies to me."

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"My name is Edgar Argyle. I bear no ill will, I only wish to reach Tuzmad, and this is the shortest route. I've told you who I am, now it would be polite for you to tell me who or what you are..."

"You're quite brave to speak to me like that. You seem sincere, but not enough. I am the spirit of this desert, Mestafol. If you wish to leave here alive, you must tell me your purpose."

"I've been sent by King Lockdar, the ruler of The Kingdom of the Sun, to Tuzmad. I am just a soldier wishing to fulfill his command."

"And what is his command?" Mestafol inquired.

Edgar fell silent. He was uncertain what to do or who this Mestafol really was. It could very well be a demon sent by the Lord of Demons. It was said that he had all sorts of spies, some masquerading as humans, spirits, or animals. Edgar didn't trust this creature, or spirit, or whatever it truly was.

"I can't tell you, my mission is secret. You could easily be one of those I'm trying to avoid. You ask me to reveal everything, but I'd rather fight you to the death. You might be on the enemy's side."

"Ha, ha, ha. Well done! You're the only person who has come here and hasn't been intimidated by me. Once, I was a king, the ruler of the land of Lymdor. This place wasn't always a desert. I was a good and powerful king... too good. I was betrayed by my people, then cursed to become what I am now, an immortal spirit. If you had revealed your mission, you would have betrayed your king, and I would have realized and killed you, because of the curse I bear. Very well, Edgar Argyle. Farewell, but we will undoubtedly meet again."

As the first light of dawn painted the sky, Edgar stirred from a deep slumber. To his amazement, he found himself lying on a soft bed of lush grass, a stark contrast to the relentless sands of the Lymdor Desert. Beside him lay a serene lake, its waters crystal clear and invitingly ice-cold. Nearby, Lightning, his loyal steed, was feasting contentedly on the verdant grass, a sight that brought a smile to Edgar's weary face.

In this unexpected haven, Edgar realized the hand of Mestafol, the guardian spirit of travelers, at work. It was as if a fragment of paradise had been conjured amidst the arid wasteland, a miraculous oasis granting them respite. Gratefully, he approached the lake and drank deeply, quenching a thirst that had haunted him for too long. His dwindling water supply, now a concern of the past, was generously replenished by nature's own offering.

Eager to rid himself of the desert's grime, Edgar shed his armor, cloak, and garments, diving into the lake's embrace. The shock of the cold water was an elixir to his senses, washing away the fatigue that had clung to his body and spirit. It was a rejuvenation that seemed almost magical, as if the waters themselves were infused with the power to restore and invigorate.

Lightning too seemed transformed, the horse's spirit rekindled, its vigor restored. No longer the exhausted creature of the desert, but a steed ready to embark on the journey ahead. The following two days unfolded with a sense of serenity and ease. Whenever Edgar chose to rest, Mestafol's grace seemed to flourish around them, turning barren sand into an oasis of life.

More astonishingly, when their food supplies dwindled to nothing, Mestafol's benevolence manifested in the most delightful of ways. Trees, laden with succulent fruits, sprouted forth from the arid desert sands, as if by magic. These fruits, bursting with flavor and nourishment, sustained Edgar and Lightning, a manifestation of the guardian spirit's vigilant protection.

Thus, guided and guarded by Mestafol's unseen hand, Edgar's journey through the Lymdor Desert transformed from a perilous trek into a passage blessed with miraculous interludes, each oasis a symbol of hope and each fruit a symbol of the persistent might of unseen protectors.

After a lengthy journey, Edgar finally reached Tuzmad, his trusty steed Lightning in tow. He handed Lightning over to a stablemaster, ensuring the horse would be well-cared for. Seeking respite, Edgar made his way to a local inn, seeking shelter for the duration of his stay. He secured a modest room, one that offered a bed of questionable sturdiness and a lantern that challenged his patience to ignite.

Once settled, Edgar summoned the innkeeper, requesting a meal be sent to his room. He also expressed a keen interest in the latest happenings of Tuzmad, offering a few golden coins as an incentive for any valuable information. The innkeeper nodded understandingly, disappearing only to return with a humble tray. The meal, albeit simple, was a welcome sight: two grilled fish, an array of smoked bacon, and a trio of sausages. Alongside was a mug of wine, which Edgar sipped with a sense of relief, feeling the warmth of the liquid course through him.

As night enveloped the town, Edgar sensed it was the perfect moment to explore and gather intelligence. The streets of Tuzmad buzzed with activity and murmurs of recent events, and he was eager to immerse himself in this new environment, hoping to uncover clues and insights that might aid his quest.

He asked the innkeeper where he could find Captain Tenzim, but the man said nothing. Edgar then tossed five gold coins on the table, which the innkeeper promptly grabbed and revealed that Tenzim was usually at the garrison's tavern.

Edgar made his way towards the castle, only to be halted by an unexpected obstacle. The two lancers stationed at the gate barred his entry, steadfast in their duty that no one was to pass through the castle gates at this late hour. Unperturbed, Edgar quickly devised a plan. He deftly produced a small, black sheepskin pouch from his cloak, heavy with the clink of ten gold coins. The guards, their resolve faltering under the weight of gold, exchanged a knowing look before discreetly dividing the bribe and permitting Edgar entry.

With the gates behind him, Edgar navigated his way towards the army's garrison. His destination was the Three-Edged Sword, a modest tavern known to be a haven for the king's soldiers. As he entered, he was struck by the tavern's deceptive size. It was bustling with activity, filled to the brim with soldiers. Many were inebriated to the point of unconsciousness, sprawled across tables and floors. A rowdy group was engaged in a spirited competition, seeing who could down the most wine, their raucous laughter and cheers echoing through the tavern.

Amidst the sea of soldiers, Edgar's gaze landed on a familiar face – Captain Tenzim, an old friend. Time had altered Tenzim, who now sported slightly longer hair and a rugged beard. His presence commanded respect; each soldier passing him paused to salute, which Tenzim acknowledged with a solemn nod. Remarkably, he was the sole figure not swayed by the abundance of drink on the table.

Suddenly, one of Tenzim's men, unfamiliar with Edgar, approached him with suspicion. To this soldier, Edgar was an outsider, an unwelcome presence in their midst. With a stern expression, he moved to confront and expel Edgar from the tavern, not realizing who stood before him.

"Hey, you! This is a tavern for real men, and you're not one, so get out before I kick you out," said the man.

Seeing that he was being ignored, he slammed his fist on the table with force.

"You're dead drunk! How about you turn back around? I don't think you'd want me to embarrass you in front of your friends," Edgar said arrogantly, provoking the man in hopes of drawing some attention to himself.

The soldier, bristling with irritation, unsheathed his sword with a swift motion, pressing the cold steel against Edgar's neck. Tenzim, sitting amongst his men, instantly noted the commotion. His brow furrowed in disapproval at the sight of one of his own stepping out of line without command. But before Tenzim could intervene, the scene unfolded with unexpected rapidity.

Edgar, with an almost supernatural swiftness, seized control of the situation. In a fluid, practiced motion, he twisted the soldier's sword from his grip and sent it clattering to the floor. Following up with a deftly delivered punch, Edgar sent the soldier sprawling backward, landing with a resonant thud against the wooden floorboards of the tavern.

Tenzim watched, momentarily stunned by the stranger's agility and skill. Never before had he witnessed such speed and precision in combat, especially from someone outside his ranks. Yet, as a leader and trainer of his men, Tenzim's sense of duty and honor forbade him from tolerating such a blatant affront to his soldiers' dignity. His eyes narrowed into a hard glare, locked onto Edgar.

As Tenzim rose to address the situation, his gaze fell upon the sword Edgar had wielded so effectively. It was no ordinary weapon. The craftsmanship was exquisite, a blade forged with such artistry that it commanded immediate admiration and envy. Tenzim recognized its superiority and couldn't help but desire such a magnificent sword for himself.

In a swift, decisive motion, Tenzim drew his own blade, the metal singing as it left the scabbard, his mind set on confronting the presumptuous stranger who had dared to disrupt the order within his ranks. His eyes, however, couldn't help but take in the details of the man before him. Cloaked in a long, black garment of evidently high quality, the young knight exuded an air of mystery and affluence. Beneath the cloak, his armor gleamed with a refined craftsmanship that spoke of considerable expense, reminiscent of the kind donned by Prince Sormain himself. Such attire was not common fare; it belonged to those of significant means and standing.

As Edgar unsheathed his weapon in response, the blade came into full view, and Tenzim's attention was immediately captured by the word 'Phoenix' elegantly inscribed along its length. His heart began to race with a mix of disbelief and dawning realization. Could it truly be him? The memories of his old friend, long thought lost to the tides of time, resurfaced in a flood of emotion.

With a sudden change of heart, Tenzim sheathed his sword, the tension in his posture easing. He motioned for Edgar to follow him outside the tavern, away from the prying eyes and drunken stupor within. As they stepped into the cool night air, Tenzim's mind raced with questions and anticipation. The chance reunion with an old friend, one whom he had considered a brother in arms, stirred a whirlwind of emotions and memories within him.

"You know what I should do?" Tenzim asked. "I should throw you in the dungeon, traitor! You've sided with Lockdar, fully aware that he's no longer allied with King Ludrol."

"Lockdar took care of me; he was a good friend to my parents. That suggests I can trust him too. By the way, do you know why King Lockdar broke his alliance with King Ludrol?" Edgar inquired.

"Of course, I know! Your king tried to conquer the Land of the Dwarves. What kind of king does that? The Dwarves are defenseless little people; only a coward would do something like that," Tenzim replied.

"You've been fed a load of nonsense by Ludrol. Sorry to disappoint you, but it was your king who wanted to conquer the Land of the Dwarves, though he probably forgot to mention that. And as if that wasn't enough, he sought Lockdar's support."

Tenzim couldn't believe his ears. He would have given his life for his king, but he struggled to accept what Edgar was saying.

"Why have you returned, Edgar? What are you looking for? You may not want to draw attention to yourself, but you're not doing a great job. I was informed of your arrival as soon as you got here. Someone in expensive armor offered ten gold coins to the guards for entry. Rest assured, such rumors reach my ears immediately."

"I'm here to find out where the madman calling himself the Lord of Demons is hiding. Lockdar believes Ludrol wants to ally with him, and to make matters worse, Lockdar's spies have reason to believe that Ludrol is supplying him with weapons."

Tenzim, his mind awhirl with the enigma unfolding before him, reflected on the unusual occurrences at the castle. He recalled the stream of mysterious visitors that had been granted audience with King Ludrol. Each visit was followed by peculiar orders from the king, commanding blacksmiths to craft a plethora of swords and armors. This pattern, though intriguing, raised more questions than answers.

Despite his growing curiosity, Tenzim resolved to keep these observations to himself, especially from Edgar. He needed to delve deeper into this matter, to unravel the truth that lay beneath these cryptic activities. As Edgar took his leave, Tenzim offered a word of caution, urging him to tread carefully and maintain their dialogue in strict confidence.

Edgar, acknowledging Tenzim's advice, made his way back to his modest room in the inn, located just beyond the castle's imposing walls. He slipped into more comfortable attire and collapsed onto the hard, unyielding bed. Fatigue weighed heavily on his eyelids as he sought the escape of sleep, blissfully unaware of the peril that now shadowed his every step. The walls of Tuzmad, it seemed, had ears, and Edgar's return had not gone unnoticed. In the shadows of the kingdom, others, too, had learned of the young hero's presence, setting into motion a chain of events that threatened to engulf Edgar in a maelstrom of intrigue and danger.

Within the grand walls of Tuzmad castle, King Ludrol presided over the grand assembly from his ornate throne. By his side stood his son, a beacon of youthful vigor, as they prepared to inaugurate the esteemed Tournament of the Ten. The air was thick with anticipation, for this event was not merely a local festivity, but a prestigious gathering that attracted the realm's most valorous knights, along with distinguished warriors from distant lands.

As the clamor of the nobles and knights filled the majestic throne room, each eager to witness the martial prowess that the tournament promised, Tenzim made his entrance. His stride was purposeful, his demeanor a blend of humility and quiet confidence. Approaching the throne, he knelt before King Ludrol, his head bowed in a gesture of respect. The room fell into a hushed silence as he declared his intent to partake in the tournament, his voice resonating with unwavering conviction.

King Ludrol, his eyes reflecting a glint of intrigue, beckoned Tenzim to rise. He gestured towards a secluded alcove, away from the prying eyes and ears of the gathered crowd. Together, they retreated to this private corner, where the king's aura of regality seemed to intensify.

"Have I wronged you in any way, Tenzim?" King Ludrol challenged, his tone heavy with accusation. "I made you the captain of my army, and now you betray me? Coming here, asking permission to join the tournament. Don't give me that look; I know what you've discussed with Edgar."

Tenzim remained silent, then unexpectedly broke into a smile. The king was taken aback by this display of audacity, a sardonic grin he had never seen on Tenzim's face before.

"Yes, that's true. I was about to tell you. That wretch is trying to convince me that Lockdar's lies are truths. What would you have me do? Pretend to be on his side, uncovering the identities of all of Lockdar's spies in Tuzmad, or should I eliminate him?"

King Ludrol's lips curled into a smile, satisfied with his choice of captain. He hadn't believed Tenzim capable of such a scheme. Yet, the captain's face betrayed a willingness to follow any command, pleasing the king immensely - if only all his men were as compliant, he could rule the world.

"Kill him, and send his head to King Lockdar," Ludrol commanded. "Let it be a clear message that his spies are unwelcome in my kingdom."

The king settled back into his throne, leaving Tenzim to his thoughts. Tenzim knew he had to find Edgar immediately, to warn him of Ludrol's lethal intent. Hearing the order had shocked him; Ludrol had demanded killings before, but only of bandits, traitors, and assassins, never of a friend.

The night passed quickly, and Edgar awoke early, dressing hastily with a firm resolve to begin his investigation into the king's activities. Descending to the inn's common room, he found Tenzim waiting for him, eagerly sipping from a mug of mulled wine.

Tenzim hurriedly took Edgar outside, divulging everything the king had said. Yet, to Tenzim's dismay, Edgar appeared untroubled. Tenzim was deeply frustrated by his apparent indifference, especially since he was terrified that the king might already know he had warned Edgar.

"We need to leave, Edgar! Our only chance is to reach... I won't say where, someone might hear us, just follow me!" Tenzim implored.

Mounting their horses, Tenzim on his steed and Edgar on Lightning, they hastily departed Tuzmad. About two hours later, they arrived at the edge of the Slumbering Forest, the largest woodland in all of Tuzmad.