Oscar was shaking, unable to calm himself. Serit's confession of his brutal acts was not what he had hoped to hear after a long year of fighting together. Slowing his pace, Oscar lifted his hands and observed the trembling fingers, a slight reddish tinge on his knuckles from when he punched his brother-in-law, and he gripped tightly back into clenched fists. It wasn't Serit's actions or the callous remarks on sacrificing others that had angered him. That he had no logical retort or justified denial frustrated him. While he had rebuked Serit, he couldn't argue back, forced to a moral high ground rather than out-reasoning his brother-in-law.

A few rounds of laughter could be heard nearby. Oscar hid behind a wall of stone and peeked around the corner, eyeing the small huddle of Exalts munching on thin strips of lamb jerky and passing a pot of herbal tea, the thick, grassy scent overwhelming his sensitive nose. Some were from Shattirma and others from Vallen, but they had gathered here in camaraderie and seemed quite close. One held a pole close to his chest, and the banner of Oscar's black helmet fluttered and swayed freely. Indeed, he found no retort against Serit's actions, and that irked him greatly. Despite the cruelty and madness of revenge driving its purpose, it potentially impacted the future of these men who had sworn themselves to him, granting them life.

But what if the people slaughtered were just like these men? Perhaps not all, but those caught in the crossfire, the ones who lacked the courage to leave and find their way here like the other stragglers and abandoned who made it here. Oscar leaned on the wall and rubbed his forehead, gritting his teeth at the sharp discomfort stabbing into his brain. Difficult. It was very difficult for him to come to terms with it. He heard Demon scoff from within, and he couldn't blame him. In a war, people, groups, and nations were forced to take drastic measures, following an inevitable path.

'In the ancient times, Volten often wondered the same. What if the people fighting him were forced to? He swung his sword and extinguished the flames of countless. It came to light that the Caerulumen imposed their will on many and used them as fodder in the war.' Ignyres sighed in a rush of crackling embers. 'But he fought nonetheless because we forced him to. Traitor or slave, it didn't matter. What mattered was they fought against us. They fought for their own survival; we fought for Talos'.'

'So, was it justified?' Oscar asked.

'For us, Ancients, it was simple. They stood against us, so we killed them. For Volten…it was more complicated. I truly pity you, boy. At least Volten could blame us for controlling his and everyone's actions. But for you, your decisions and those of your people are your own, and so, too, does the burden fall upon your shoulders.' Ignyres wrapped Oscar's core in a soft flame, warmth spreading from his chest to alleviate the pain in his head. 'But you will fight on despite that. You may cause the mess, but you will clean it up. That is the importance of the choice and freedom given to you. Unlike Volten, you can stop and turn back to help those you have wronged. You can help your people. You can help the others. You are not a weapon but a person with fire in your beating heart.'

'Just kill whoever is in your way and protect those you want to protect. How can you be so focused on others's survival when yours is constantly tested.' Demon's voice cut through the long blazing of Ignyres' speech.

'You damned shattered ego. I swear if you weren't an integral part of Oscar's being, I would burn you to cinders in this inner world.' Ignyres roared, rumblings of volcanic eruptions filling Oscar's ears.

Oscar shut himself from listening to their long argument and looked past the corner again. The men finished their short meal and talked at length about their battles, lively in showing off through the wide gestures of their arms. A few retorted, suggesting the other was exaggerating and that they knew the true story. From the way they talked, it was as if the final night was decades ago, and they were veterans reliving their past glory. Oscar chuckled and hoped they could someday be that way in reality, in the long, distant future.

He stepped forward and caught their attention. Immediately, the men were enlivened by his presence and hushed their ramblings into loyal silence. Their knees dropped and sank into the fresh grass as their heads lowered in deep prostration. They had left one master to come here and ended up serving another. Oscar found it quite ironic and saddening, his frown deepening at seeing their compliance. Since they had been so loyal, then he had a duty to fulfill.

"You," Oscar moved in front of one. "What's your name?"

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

"Tet, my Lord. Tet of the Scarrows." Tet said, his breathing rushed with anxiousness.

"Have you come to Fallen Heaven with any other companions?" Oscar crouched and observed the bowing Tet.

Tet brushed his unkempt black hair with a dirt-ridden hand and pointed shakingly at another two. "My friends from the same Scarrows of Shattirma. May not be related by blood, but we're brothers."

"And what are your elements and choice of combat?" Oscar asked, prompting Tet to raise his head.

"Um…wind, mainly. Most people from the Scarrows are born with wind. The lands are sharp and thin from great gales. We always have to jump from ledge to ledge." Tet answered and paused. Suddenly, he gasped and stammered out, "F-forgive me, I forgot the other part. We're mainly ranged fighters. Arrows and bows, slings and bolts…."

"Is that so?" Oscar reached into his dimensional cube and took out a grade-five wind-elemental ore, enough for several tries for Tet and his two friends. Along with it, he pulled out an accompanying grade-five beast core that matched their element and ranged capabilities. He handed it to Tet and clasped the man's shoulder. "This is my gift to you, Tet of the Scarrows. Share them with your friends and forge kingly armaments for yourselves once you are outside."

Tet widened his eyes in pure shock, as did his two friends and the others who watched from the side. He stammered and darted his gaze from the treasures in his palm to Oscar. "I-I am not worthy of such gifts. You, my Lord, have already done so much for us. To see you fight in the front for our sakes, to have survived the whole year thanks to you, is the greatest gift. I cannot accept this."

"Then it is not a gift but a trade," Oscar said, pulling Tet to his feet.

"A trade?" Tet seemed confused.

"I give you this so that you may use it in the future when you are a King Exalt. That can only happen if you survive to the very end." Oscar shook Tet's hand. "This is a trade. I give you this, and you swear to fight and live on. Or else you'll forfeit it as a reward to whoever kills you."

"Never, my Lord! I will never allow an enemy to take what you have given." Tet bowed again. "I swear my friends and I will fight and live. So you have wished, so we shall follow." His friends knelt beside him and declared the same.

Oscar turned and carried on. He gifted another grade-five elemental ore and beast core to the others. One by one, group by group, he traversed the entire span of the small inner region and shared Volten's treasury with them. Each time, they promised the same as Tet, but who knew if they could hold onto that promise? Oscar didn't know, but this was the only way he could think of to spur them toward life and a hopeful future. He headed to the far edges, where a few watchers gazed over the horizon for any signs of attack, and back to the tents and buildings where crowds mingled and gathered.

A few hours later, he completed his journey and handed the gifts to the last group, Fenu and his Ashwolf clan. The old leader grinned and invited Oscar to a hearty meal, but he declined and strode to where he heard Auren's boisterous, immature voice spilling over. Turning the corner, he saw Auren rambling while his finger darted over a complex series of intricate formations drawn on a palm leaf. Marcus and the others forced a smile, but the slight wincing in their cheeks betrayed their boredom.

"Auren," Oscar entered, and all of them shifted naturally into a bow.

"My Lord! Ah! I'm sorry I wasn't any help earlier." Auren wiped the ink off his palms onto his clothes, not the first, as Oscar could see several brush marks of ink dyeing the fabric.

"It's alright, Auren. Have you finished what I asked of you?" Oscar lifted a piece of palm leaf, unable to decipher the formation written on it. He nearly lost himself in the maze of countless nodes and lines, forcing his mind back to reality by tearing his gaze away. A mere look reduced him to a numb state. It surpassed any standard formations created by other so-called formation geniuses.

"Yes! Using the dark tower's source of Ein, this formation, overlaid on the tower's own matrix, will produce an amazing result!" Auren straightened his back and puffed out his chest proudly, grinning widely like the immature brat he had always been.

"Marcus, Santen, Kragg, Restel, Eve, and Astrid. You know what your roles are. Open the paths for Auren to move freely around the dark tower so he can get the formation in place." Oscar looked over from Marcus down to Astrid. "The New Dawn will surely come out of their holes and aim for me or him. Others will take the opportunity to ambush us. But I believe in all of you. You carry the strength of many and the hearts of the ones before you." He raised a brow at his own speech, speaking like Ignyres. Perhaps the old Ancient had infected him. "Protect him."

"Yes, Lord(Lordy)!" They shouted. Kragg pushed in his version of the word.

The sudden force of an eruption of Ein almost knocked him over. Winds rushed, then halted, then rushed again, as if unable to adhere to a constant in the chaos shuddering the entire realm. He barely held onto his balance, the tremors underneath shaking him left, right, front, and back. His gaze focused on the dark tower and narrowed. From the dark tower, rings of Ein spread and spanned the sky, clearing the storms that once clouded the upper reaches of the dark tower. The Ein wafted over the surface of the dark tower like a thick yet almost transparent mist and surged up, rushing past the top of the tower and spearing the blue sky.

Cracks formed and centered where the Ein hit the sky. It should have been impossible, yet the sky cracked as if it were made of stone. Oscar pulled out his shield and clenched it hard. The dark tower was opening.