With haze in his eyes, Cedric wandered out just as the sun rose behind the smog of Dreslon. The ogres had come out to haul their lumber and rock again, while the human men and women, migrants or not, took their berry baskets and longbows out into the forests surrounding the town.

Cedric glanced down at his orange-glowing amulet with a hint of nostalgia. His hand felt that sinister gemstone in his pocket again, and his smile faded.

He soon found his way back to the secluded alley which housed Greslock’s shop. Once he was in view, Serkukan grasped at his throat again, reeling him back to attention.

Cedric winced. A red glare seemed to guide his eyes up across the road toward a narrow crevice between the buildings. He groaned, "I had hoped that you were merely a nightmare. I guess I couldn’t be so lucky…"

Through the crowd, he could discern a figure laying prone in that nook. Even from this distance, he knew: a Hunter, his neat ponytail had been sliced open to make a mess of hair all over his head.

He weaseled his way through the crowd and into the alley, crouched beside the wet and bloody corpse. "This is the Hunter I met yesterday, isn’t it?"

"Looks like he succeeded."

He ran his fingers along the black-stained skin of the man's neck. "But now he does."

Cedric snuck away the man's coinpurse before he stood and turned back toward the disinterested crowd. He began toward Greslock's shop again.

Forcing the heavy door open, a seemingly greater amount of dust than even the day before hovered into the air. Cedric scrunched his nose and wandered toward the counter. "Hey, Greslock—"

"Cedric!" gasped the ogre, suddenly leaping out from his seat behind the counter. He ran beside him and pulled the wooden blinds closed as quickly as he could.

"Smart. Though, they can't really see through all the dirt anyway."

"What are you doing here?" he hissed.

"First customers, and now friends. You spare none from your aggression."

Greslock growled. "A Hunter is dead, just up the road. Nobody's been in all morning."

"Had a run-in with the body just now. So what?" he shrugged.

Greslock hung his head and muttered something.

"What? What?"

"I'm praying, Cedric. It wouldn't be a bad idea for you, either."

"For a dead Hunter?"

"Not just the Hunter…" he squinted at Cedric.

"Woah, I didn't kill him!"

"Tell that to their white-robes! Those damn prophets and psychics!"

"I will!" he turned.

"No! You most certainly won't! They already know that you were the last one he spoke to, they scried it this morning. They'll be looking for you, whether you did it or not. Just get out of here for now, go somewhere else for a while! Maybe… maybe back south!"

"South!" Cedric grabbed his hair.

"Well, you can't go north!"

"Damn the Pit, I can! And I… I will. I… actually am."

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“You… is this about—"

"It's not about that. Although I suppose it's… related. I can't go into too much detail right now, but I just came here… I guess to say goodbye."

Greslock shifted uneasily. "Don't get all sentimental. Just… if you're really going… why don't you make your way over to that table in the corner, I've got a few Whitefox coats that some migrants turned over for food."

"Greslock, I don't have any—"

"Nevermind that. I'll… shut my eyes. Just get it out of here… not like I can sell the damn things anyway…"

Cedric cracked a slight, genuine smile. "See, I knew you liked me."

"Come back in one piece, Cedric." He turned gloomy. "I've lost too many to the north, to Siln, to…"

Cedric nodded understanding. Then, as he turned around, he said, “You know a lot about the Hunters, Greslock. Are you…”

The ogre cleared his throat.

“Yeah. I thought so.”

“I’ll… do my damndest to clear your name, Cedric. For now, you’d really best get a move-on.”

The door squeaked open and shut again. Cedric was gone.

When he was alone again at last, Greslock rubbed the back of his neck. “The things I get myself into…”

When Cedric finally departed from the town's bustling eastern gate, he wore the teal coat that Greslock had granted him. White tufts of fur popped out around his neck and wrists, stolen from whitefoxes whose fur was known to magically store heat.

A horribly cold breeze struck him just as he left the town's vicinity. His amulet began to glow brighter, twisting the leylines around him to create heat.

The Relistar, tucked into his coat pocket, did some of the same, though it had no evident effect on the leylines. A quiet magic. A magic that should not exist. He shuddered at the thought.

"Let me ask you something," he eventually muttered through shivers. His face hardened slightly.

"God? You're... dragons, aren't you? Elder dragons from… I don't remember what it's—Oh, what does it matter?" He shook his head. "I'm just trying to understand. First of all, why me? Of all people, you picked me?"

He scowled. "So its random? Okay, fine. What about Algirak?"

"Is he… strong? I mean, the way you described it, it sounds as though we have no chance against him."

"Then what difference does it make? Why even bother?" he begged.

“White light? Is that the thing you named earlier… Llestren'vatis?”

The forest began to thicken and darken as he continued down the snow-coated path. The snow was still piling up, shimmering beautifully even as the trees blackened and twisted around him, and their crooked, dead leaves blotted out the sun.

“Dyosius… that’s the thing that you showed me, right? The gem?”

“Mother, am I stupid to not understand a word of this?”

Serkukan said nothing.

Cedric sighed, his eyes beginning to water as the wind picked up, and as the minutes began to blur into hours.

Night had fallen by the time he reached the great, stone-walled city of Cromer. His face was tucked behind the tall fur collar of his coat, though it didn’t do much against the murderous winds.

He glanced upon the wood-walled homes that made up the villages along the stone walls. Not quite as shabby as the buildings that once made up Dreslon, they still were no image of wealth or prosperity. Cedric frowned upon them.

Their meager first line of defense. A distraction before they reach the stone walls, giving them enough time to get their knights and Hunters down before the siege can even begin. But by the time they reach those walls, the villages will be razed to the ground. How noble of the 'courageous' Hunters to put themselves first.

A tremble ran through him, forcing a gasp through his throat. “Caloria’s breath, I’m going to freeze to death… Even with both of you helping…”

He turned his eyes up and squinted at the tall stone walls of Cromer. Blue and gold banisters draped down from the battlements across the scattered guardtowers. He sighed and shivered, shifting uncomfortably. Do I dare? Would they even let me in? ...Would I even want them to?

*