The Prophet’s scowl deepened. “You know him?” Huojin asked, casting a wary glance between his friend and the silhouette.

“You could say that.” The Prophet dropped down from his seat, landing with a splash on the slippery ground, and Huojin did the same. The Prophet shoved his hands into his overly long coat. The only reason he didn't slip on the uneven, soft mud was because of the enchantment on the boots he was wearing. The rest of his loose, dark clothing was made darker because of how drenched he was.

The men pointed their spears at him, and the Prophet scoffed as Grayson told them to let him through.

Huojin, lacking the boots that the Prophet had, was forced to use his staff to stabilize himself, stumbling occasionally and dirtying the maroon overcoat that was tied to his waist with a black cloth. His black boots and pants were already caked in mud, so he didn’t care much for keeping them clean. He grumbled a few choice words to himself as he stumbled again when he was grabbed and hoisted to his feet; soon after, his arms were bound behind his back.

“What? Prophets get free passage but monks get tied up? Well, excommunicated monk, but still, real classy of you,” Huojin joked before the binds on his wrists were tightened, causing him to let out a hiss of pain. “Gods, take a joke asshole,” he mumbled as he got pushed past the rest of the men.

“Grayson, unbind him. Now,” the Prophet snarled, glaring at the mercenary commander.

“He will be taken in for questioning, as will you. Be grateful that I'm not sending you both to a cell.” Grayson responded, his posture ramrod straight and his arms held behind his back.

“Questioned? For what reason,” the Prophet spat at Grayson with a scowl.

“For the butchering of a group of my scouts down the road which, might I add, looked suspiciously like the work of your group, Prophet.” Grayson leaned down so he was face to face with the Prophet, lacing the last part of his accusation with harsh venom. The Prophet's scowl somehow deepened further as he looked into the confident green eyes of the commander. “Former group, Windfel. And don’t speak down to me; You’re not my commander anymore.”

Grayson’s expression never changed, but from the flare in his eyes, the Prophet knew Grayson wasn’t thrilled at his continued disregard for authority. It had been years since the Prophet had ‘abandoned’ his post as one of Grayson’s generals, but it seemed his old commander still held the grudge. “What, did you run away from that one, too?” Grayson said, letting the distaste pour from his very being as he glared daggers into the Prophet. The Prophet scoffed and turned on his heel, throwing one more bitter glance at his former commander before marching into the nearest unoccupied building.

There was a sour taste in Grayson’s mouth as he watched his old friend storm off and slam the door of the home he had chosen to make his. When Grayson and his men arrived in this little roadside village, it was completely abandoned. Every house was well furnished, the lamps worked, and there was hardly a speck of dust to be found. Despite all that, there wasn’t a sign of life anywhere to be seen. The scouts that had reported back initially had been found completely mangled on the side of the road. It was a horrendous sight, made worse by the expressions of sheer terror still etched onto their blood-drained faces.

He had both expected to run into the Prophet this night and was entirely unprepared for it. Their argument had opened up old wounds that Grayson thought long scarred over, but more aggravating to him was the sense of somber joy he felt. Maybe this would give him a chance to make things right between them. They had been close when the Prophet worked for him, back when the Prophet still went by Cinris. Grayson would consult him on almost every decision regarding upcoming battles. That changed in one night.

It was the largest scale battle Grayson had ever been contracted for; they had been hired to take an entire castle. Grayson had been consulting every one of his generals thoroughly on every aspect of the plan, but Cinris had been distant. The last time they spoke had been at the end of a meeting. Grayson had turned to leave the tent to prepare, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him. Cinris expressed his concerns over the coming battle; saying how it seemed too easy. And for the first time in his life, Grayson ignored him. All of his other generals had seen no fault with the plan, and Grayson wasn’t going to halt the entire operation simply because of the unfounded worries of one friend.

The fight ended with them victorious, however, the casualties were tremendous. Grayson waded through corpses, seeing familiar face after familiar face. There had been an ambush, scattering his forces and taking the lives of hundreds. Through his leadership, they had managed to regroup, but by the time the fight had finished, hardly a fourth of Grayson’s original militia remained. Two of his generals had been cut down, and he carried their bodies gently to be buried; tears stinging his eyes.

No matter how long he searched, he couldn’t seem to find Cinris. He searched every site where a battle had taken place, anxiety practically spilling from his voice as he questioned everyone within arms reach until he finally got an answer from one of his men. They had seen Cinris delve into the battlefield headfirst, fighting tooth and nail. He must have taken down at least twenty men before an arrow struck him in the shoulder, bringing him to his knees. With a guttural roar, he ordered his men to push forth and not give the enemy breathing room. He snapped the arrow and stood, before four more sunk into him. He hunched over and heaved; saliva and blood dripping from his mouth. Cinris forced himself to stand up straight, and in a final act of defiance, he threw himself into the enemy's lines, detonating his body with ethereal energy; completely scattering the enemy, but obliterating himself in the process. Grayson refused to believe it. Cinris couldn’t be dead, it just didn’t seem real.

Grayson shook his head and snapped out of his recollections, the sound of thunder and his furs clinging to his skin reminding him that that was a long time ago. What's in the past is unchangeable, what he needed to do now was get answers.

° ° °

Huojin sighed as he slumped into his chair, relenting in his struggle against the ropes that bound him. The most he could be thankful for was that they had at least the mercy to bind him in a house; it wasn’t all that bad, either. The indoors were cozy, and the fireplace was alight, drying Huojin and putting him at ease as it crackled and popped. Huojin could have fallen asleep had it not been for the wildly uncomfortable ties around his wrists. A small table sat on a carpet in front of the fireplace, with a couch and chairs around it.

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The walls were mostly barren, but there was a cloth hanging on the wall with a symbol that looked familiarly unfamiliar to Huojin. He knew he had seen it before, but he just couldn’t place it. There was a dinner table in front of him that had one other chair on the other side of the table which Huojin assumed was where his interrogator would sit. Huojin yawned lazily and bent his head down to his hand so he could scratch an itch on his forehead when the door swung open and slammed against the wall, causing him to jolt up violently, hitting his head on the back of the chair.

“Ah… damn,” Huojin groaned out, wincing. He squinted his eyes and looked towards the door, seeing a cloaked and masked figure covering their mouth, shoulders shaking as they held back laughter. Huojin leaned his head back in embarrassment before jolting forward again as he pressed the already-forming lump on the back of his head against the hard wood of the chair.

“Please forget you saw any of that,” he grumbled out, once again forgetting his hands were bound as he tried to rub the back of his head fruitlessly. The figure’s laughter subsided, and when a woman’s voice came from the figure Huojin’s embarrassment only grew.

“Sorry about that, wind swung the door open,” she said. Her voice was smooth and light, with a calming air to it. Huojin sank into his chair with a groan. “I wish quite literally anyone else had seen that.” He scrunched his face in displeasure which elicited another laugh from the woman. “Trust me, they’d tease you more than I will,” she responded, walking calmly over to the chair on the other side of the table. “That still implies you'll tease me,” he responded, exaggerating his frown. She laughed again before sitting down

“To be fair, who wouldn’t,” she said as she sat down, to which Huojin answered with a begrudging nod of acknowledgment. He sat up, straightening his back and letting out a sigh. The mask she wore, much like the rest of her cloak, was of ornate cobalt cloth and only covered the bottom half of her face. She let her hood fall and pulled down her mask before ruffling her short, dark hair and giving Huojin a halfhearted smile. Her eyes were gray, almost silver, and sent a strange chill down Huojin’s spine.

“I’m sorry about the harshness of my colleagues. It’s been a long and stressful night for everyone, and I’m assuming it’s been no different for you,” she said, exhaustion leaking from her voice. Huojin barked out a laugh, causing the woman to raise a brow in curiosity. “Sorry, it’s just that you were right on the mark. Tonight has been nothing short of bizarre,” he said, shaking his head. “Oh? Well, I was sent to ask you about that anyways so please, do tell,” she responded, placing her elbows on the table and intertwining her fingers, resting her chin on the makeshift platform she had made with her hands.

“I’ll be honest, I expected to be tortured for the answers or something, but this is much more agreeable,” Huojin smiled. The woman let out a soft laugh, “We wouldn’t torture someone who we have no reason to. So long as you’re cooperative you won't feel even an ounce of pain,” she replied with a smile. “And what if I wasn’t so willing to cooperate,” Huojin asked, the last words of the woman sending another odd chill down his spine.

“Better not to ask those questions if you don’t intend on finding out,” she answered, her smile taking on a much more sinister aura. Huojin let out a nervous laugh, to which she didn't respond. “So, uh… how about we get this over with,” he said, swallowing down the fear building in his throat. The woman cleared her throat and questioned Huojin on every detail about his night, but when he reached the details about what had happened when they were riding on their carriage, he went blank. Every memory from then was strangely blurry. All he could remember was a crimson flame and a feeling of otherworldly dread.

The woman’s face dropped into an understanding frown as she nodded along with Huojin’s fruitless attempts to jog his memory. “It seems everyone is having some sort of memory lapse tonight. Even the commander was struggling to remember everything,” she mumbled, mostly to herself. “Well, I suppose that’s all you can tell me that I don’t already know. Now, a few more questions for you. First and foremost, what is your relationship with the man who calls himself ‘Prophet’?” The question caught Huojin off guard. The Prophet had seemed to have a past with these people, but Huojin didn’t figure it ran deep enough for him to be questioned about him.

“He’s a friend. I rescued him from a cult a few years ago, and we’ve been traveling together since, getting jobs when we can,” Huojin answered, his mind wandering to when he found the Prophet hanging from a tree by a rope around his wrists, deep wounds covering his torso with a thick puddle of congealed blood beneath him. Despite the wretched state Huojin had found him in, his eyes were open, filled with determination as he glared at everything around him. When Huojin walked to the pale, thin man his eyes darted to him, the rage fading as he realized Huojin wasn’t there to take advantage of or hurt him.

The Prophet could hardly stand after Huojin cut him down, but he refused any help as he staggered to the carriage Huojin had been driving. Huojin let the feeble man take some of the spare clothes he had since his, caked with dried blood and clinging uncomfortably to his starved frame, were tattered beyond recognition. The Prophet croaked out a hoarse “thank you”, and then they started down the path.

“Hold on, did you say ‘rescued’? Are you sure you're remembering correctly?” The woman asked, jolting Huojin back to reality. “Y-yeah?” he responded. “He was strung up on a tree a few minutes from dying. If that ain’t a rescue, then I don’t know what is.” The woman’s face flickered with an emotion Huojin couldn’t quite place, before returning to an unreadable smile

“Anyways, last question; we have a specialized detachment of mages with a rare ability to gauge magic levels. Helpful for finding out who might have some type of bomb that might look like an ordinary item to anyone else. We detected a magical item stored in the back of your carriage. It was strange though, our readers detected a lot of power in it, more than any normal bomb, but you don't seem to have malicious intent. Any reason why you have this? Or, hell, what it might even be?” The question also caught Huojin off guard. He had somehow completely forgotten about the old traveler in their carriage, why the woman referred to him as an object confused him, but that quickly became the least of his concerns. As Huojin remembered the Pyromancer, he started to recall everything else. The armor-clad knight who came from the sky, the old man’s flaming eye, and the Prophet’s terror.

Huojin also remembered another thing. It was where he had seen the symbol on the wall. It was on the knight’s chest. And as the familiar sensation of the air being forced out of his lungs hit him once again, he knew his suspicions were confirmed. The door burst open, and standing there with his eye flaming once again was the old man. The ties binding Huojin burst into flames, but he never felt any heat as they burnt away.

“We need to leave. Now,” the old man growled. The woman darted up and drew her sword, pointing it at the traveler. “Who the hell are you?!” she demanded, receiving only a sideways glance from the Pyromancer. “Name’s Woden. I’m here to repay a favor,” he said, gesturing for Huojin to follow. “He’s your ‘bomb’,” Huojin commented, making the woman look at him like he was crazy.

“Mind telling me if you care for these soldiers,” Woden asked, glancing behind him as he turned to walk out of the door. “W-what? Of course I do,” She sputtered, obviously still confused as to what was going on. Woden scoffed and Huojin’s eyes widened as he looked towards the horizon, where a figure stood on a hill; crimson fire billowing from the gaps in its armor, licking the air. Woden cast one last glance over his shoulder at the woman, a dark look in his eyes.

“Then for the sake of your sanity, I sincerely hope he’s feeling merciful.”

🜎