The faces were a blur as he swiftly moved across the field. Screams ignited the sky, and the gurgling sound of someone choking was met after a slice to the throat. The look in the people's eyes wasn't shock or fear because they were gone in an instant too quickly to register their life was over.

The black blur let out a ravenous pant. The bloodlust seeped out of him.

His back turned to the bloodied and ruined city. The Black hair assailant couldn't have been any more than fourteen years old, possibly younger.

His hair was cut short, but the hair in front of his face covered half of it, blocking the eyes of something far more dangerous than a Veilspawn.

He held two bloody daggers in his red-stained hands.

There was no more left.

“Blackthorn.” The sound of his name made him freeze on command. The man who had called was wearing a white lab coat, and his hair was a thinning, mousey dark color with white hairs coming through.

Ever obedient, he went to the older man's side. The man was none other than Walsh.

The field of blood and bodies was no longer present; it was now in what looked like a cave with blinking machines all around.

“You have done well. Now, it's time for your next mission…”

Black Thorn sat upright from the nightmare he was having. He spun his head around wildly, looking at his surroundings, seeing that it was midday in the open plains. There were no bodies or labs. There was only a campfire that had long since fizzled out and the Ash Born Demon sitting straight up, staring into nothingness.

He rubbed his hands over his eyes. Whether that was his nightmares or a resulting adverse effect from being Dormant for too long, Blackthorn knew he was getting no sleep.

He could see the Ash Born Demon look at him, but he didn't do much else. Not even blink.

“Don't you ever sleep?” He asked the bandaged Homunculus. He didn't get an answer. “Or talk.” Again, no response.

Blackthorn sighed, shaking his head. It was like talking to a brick wall. “I should pack everything together so we can leave. We still have some miles to cover.”

No words, just silence. Only a lidded-eyed gaze stared into the darkness.

“H…Home.”

Blackthorn thought he heard but ignored it as a fluke.

The two of them traveled the backroads as the sky turned from pinkish-purple to navy blue, establishing that morning was just beyond the plain's reaches.

The trail was winding with tall, dense trees in clumps and patchy grass. Many of the hidden caves housed Fiends, muggers, and thieves. It was nothing Blackthorn couldn't handle, and despite the near-comatose Ash Born Demon, he was optimistic that he could handle it on his own.

Things were going smoothly when there was a rustle in the bushes. Blackthorn reacted almost instantly and reached for his weapons: solid, chrome-polished black obsidian daggers with curved, sharp edges at their bases. The hilt was wrapped in leather, which surrounded the marble handle.

That part of him longed for another weapon in his grip, but he pushed the thought away and focused on the danger ahead.

Before he could react, a blur whizzed past him. He didn't have time to blink when the Ash Born Demon rushed into the forest, and someone cried out in pain.

Blackthorn rushed over and pinned down to the ground. The Ash Born held down a hooded assailant. His broad, bloodshot eyes looked to him as if pleading for help, but Blackthorn would first ask some questions.

“Give me a reason not to kill you?”

The man gagged. He could not correctly speak with the Ash Blood's tight grip around his throat.

“Release him some.” He told the Homunculus. He did, but still kept a grip around his neck. “Now speak. Who are you?”

The man coughed, clearing his throat. “I'm just… on my patrols, that's it. I don't know–who you are. Just making sure nothing dangerous comes into town looking for trouble.”

Blackthorn assessed the man. His hood covered his hair. His sun-kissed dark complexion matched the shade of his dark gray eyes. He had tired lines underneath and a speckled gray after shadow.

He looked rugged but completely normal, like someone you would meet passing by in town. Not a mercenary or a mugger.

“Patrol for?” He questioned.

The man gritted his teeth. He was hesitant to tell him anything, but with the large man on him with his hardened grip on his throat, he would be lying dead in the forest if he didn't say anything.

“I hope there won't be any reason to…persuade you to talk.” Blackthorn was itching for any bloodshed.

“Fine, fine!” The man panicked, seeing he meant it. “I work for the Dawn Coalition. The Empire has been on high alert for any radicals or rioters, so we take turns to keep watch of anything at all suspicious.”

Suspicious, huh? He didn't know all that was going on in the Empire, but he did know that if he could get this man to trust him, even a little bit, it could lead him to Ludwig Klause.

“Let him go.”

The Ash Demon's grip loosened, and the man hacked up spit as he tried to regain his breathing. Once he regained composure, he turned to Blackthorn with concern and mysticism.

“Why did you free me?”

“Because I am not your enemy, and I was hoping you could help me.” He would play the fool to get this man to trust him and get him closer to Klause.

The man said nothing, but it was evident in his eyes that he was contemplating that decision.

“I can assure you I–we mean no harm. We aren't with the Empire. I'm looking for Ludwig Klause. Do you know him?”

Recognition flashed before the man's eyes. He tried to hide it, but Blackthorn had already seen it.

“We wish to help.”

That's all it took for that twinkle in his eye to reveal itself, and Blackthorn mentally smiled.

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

“Follow me, then.”

•†•

Blackthorn followed the man into the Cliffside gated border of the Hinterlands. It was a mere cutoff between Lysandrian and Argonian; even to a degree, it was just on the cusp of Crystalline's borders. There was a fine line between the Hinterlands, as most laws forgave crimes because they were stationed between two jurisdiction regions, let alone three.

It was the perfect place for runaways, traitors, cutthroat and wanted criminals, illegal trades or deals, and… a place to hide rebellious groups like the Dawn Coalition.

“Passes?” a guard at the Hinterland gate asked. A man dressed in a black hood and bare muscular shoulders with scars said to their guide.

He was introduced to Blackthorn as Ricter.

“They're with me.” Ricter gestured to Blackthorn and the Ash Borne, “Thaddis A’thorn-Fyella and Ash.” Stating the names that they had falsely given to him.

The cloaked guard scrutinized them with one good eye; the other was firmly shut and a marred gash over the other.

“Hmph, very well. See to it they cause no trouble. We've got enough of that already.”

After promising that they would be on their best behavior, they were allowed entry. That was until Blackthorn withered to the side in pain, grasping at the base of his skull.

It was an intense, if not painful, intrusion, like someone was stabbing his subconscious with a knife. It was so powerful that he even managed to pull ‘Eamon’ from his sleep.

A girl. Tawny-skinned girl, young, with braided hair and two different eye colors.

Blackthorn didn't know this girl, but when Eamon voiced her name, ‘Tierney?’. A tug was at the center of Blackthorn's mind as if he was reaching out from their invisible connection.

No! If he gets in touch with her–

The girl spoke–mainly gibberish, which he couldn't make out–and he knew that even one connection associated with his previous life would force Blackthorn into dormancy until he was called back out again.

With as much force as he could muster, he pushed back with success. The connection faltered and then broke piece by piece. All Blackthorn had to do was put a wall in his mind to force her out.

“And stay out,” he said out loud. Both the guard and Ricter stared at him in confusion at his sudden change of stance. “I'm fine; keep moving.”

He brought his hand down to his side, but when Ricter touched below his own nose, Blackthorn mirrored the movement and felt something warm. He pulled back and discovered it was blood on his fingertips.

He wasn't sure whether it was that girl or Eamon, but as long as any connection stayed out of his head, there wouldn't be any more problems.

He followed after Ricter once more into the Hinterland tunnels.

•†•

The Hinterlands—a lawless, enigmatic city that defied the order imposed by both nations. It served as a haven for outlaws, smugglers, and those who wished to vanish from the grasp of the law. The city is a labyrinth of narrow, winding streets and hidden alleys, echoing with the whispers of clandestine deals and the clinking of illicit coins.

Above and precariously embedded into the mountains sat a haphazard blend of ramshackle huts, often pieced together from scavenged materials and adorned with ornate, albeit tarnished, decorations.

Most of the Hinterlands, if not the heart of it, was an open market that stretched endlessly, filled with stalls selling every kind of contraband. The air was thick with the mingling scents of exotic spices, musty incense, and the intangible but distinguished aura of malicious intent. Merchants, irredeemable criminals, and sellers of illicit goods hawked their wares, and the clang of metal and hum of hushed conversations created a cacophony that drowned out any semblance of peace.

Like the merchants who sold their wares, there were others as diverse as they were dangerous. Rogues, mercenaries, and renegades rub shoulders with traders, spies, and informants. Hoods or masks obscured faces, and daggers were concealed beneath cloaks.

Inevitably, it was the perfect place for the Dawn Coalition: a rebel organization wanted for crimes by the Empire that would send them all away for life if they were lucky, and not at the end of a blade.

“It's this way,” Ricter said. Blackthorn followed closely behind, with the Ash Born behind him.

Blackthorn had an intuition to cover his face. Someone could recognize his other self, and he was sure there would not be a ‘friendly conversation’ if they recognized a Locksmith who stood beside her and spoke of Altars and Magycte Beast.

It would ruin everything Walsh had planned.

At the very least, I don't have to worry about the Ash Born. Either he fits right in, or they're staying far away. Smart on them.

“It's this way.”

They followed through a dark, narrow passageway, skirting past a few people until there were fewer and fewer people around. Blackthorn's senses were sharp, and they noticed two people before they jumped out of the shadows to attack.

He brandished his dagger at the two cloaked men. Their hazel eyes stared immensely at them as they danced in the narrow path. The square of the passageway left him enough room to dance with them and with Sovran #1 at his side–

“No, stop!” Ricter stood in the middle with his arms out wide. “He is with us. The resistance. I'm here to take him to Klause.”

Blackthorn frowned. He was a bit disappointed there wouldn't be a fight, but he'd play along for now and stashed his weapon away with hands in surrender. They did the same. The Ash Born Demon followed Blackthorn's movements as well.

Ricter let out a sigh of relief. He looked almost pale at the thought of a blood bath breaking out.

The thought made him grin. “You seem to be on edge for someone in a rebel organization.”

Ricter gave an awkward laugh. His skin looked even paler. “Oh, I'm not prone to violence at all. I'm usually behind the scenes, but one of us had called out.”

They walked a short distance to a lone door at the end of the hall.

“Called out? I didn't think rebellions got sick days, or is that code for something else?”

He knocked on the door in a specific way, a code Blackthorn assumed that only the Dawn Coalition knew. He’d store that away for later.

“Oh, you’ll understand quite a lot once you both undergo initiation.”

That had him curious. “Initiation?”

The door opened, and before Blackthorn knew it, a sack went over his head, and everything went dark.

Of course, they wouldn't fully trust me. Not yet, anyway. He still had to prove himself. Hopefully, ‘Ash’ wouldn't break their cover and play along. It seemed like he adapted quickly.

“Did you think you could waltz into our secret location and become a member without us testing you first?” An anonymous man voiced, though Blackthorn couldn't be sure from where.

“I tarry the thought. So do these initiations require us to be blindfolded the entire time?”

The cloth was removed, and they were consumed in the dim light of a tavern. The walls were made from the mountain's red caverns, and round tables were placed randomly. Some individuals in cloaked hoods sat, but one caught Blackthorn's eyes, leading him to believe that the man was his primary assignment.

Ludwig Klause.

A handsome man with an angular jawline and a 5 o’clock shadow. His dirty blonde hair was pulled up in a loose-fitting bun. A strand of hair was braided and fell wire-rimmed spectacles; turquoise eyes glanced over the two younger men.

Klause was wearing a loose-fitting, long-sleeved tan tunic shirt and pants. His attire did not seem to resemble that of a former doctor turned journalist or faction leader.

But looks can be deceiving. What does a rebel even look like, anyway?

“So you two young men want to join the resistance?” Klause questioned. Thick brow raised. “Why is that?”

“Why else is anyone?” Blackthorn replied with his question. Klause rested his hands on the table and folded them together, regarding him intently. “There needs to be a change in the world. Too many and too long are people who try to force a claim on ‘what the world should be like’ and never allow those people living in it to decide. It's already decided for them.”

Though Klause resonated with Blackthorn's words, he was unaware that his connotation had a double meaning. Yet, there was a twinkle in his eyes; he was sold—just as Blackthorn thought.

“And your friend there?” Turned his attention to the long-haired, bandaged assassin. “What is his story?”

The Ash Born stood perfectly still, eyeing and calculating the person across from him and his surroundings.

“Someone who, too, has been used by society– in more than one way.”

He hummed, thinking he meant the bandages on his body.

“Very well. Before we can accept you, you'll need to do a task for us. Will you oblige?”

Blackthorn's sly grin tugged at the corners of his lips. “When do we start?”