The island of Critias had, for the longest time, been a literal goldmine. For decades, the land has been explored and exploited for valuable metals, rare earth minerals, and the occasional diamonds here and there. However, nothing lasts forever (no, not even diamond deposits), and while the central areas around the caldera still saw continued mining efforts, over time the island's businesses began to focus more on the blossoming tourism industry. Some of the old mining settlements managed to move on with the times, and became the hosts of wellness resorts, some even exploiting the local geothermal spring waters to create honest-to-goodness hot springs, bringing wealth to few and continued middle-class existence to others.

However, not all of the small settlements peppering the land were suitable for these endeavors, and once the local ore veins ran dry, the mineworkers and their families either moved to other, as of yet not fully tapped sites, or to one of the few larger cities on the island, leaving slowly decaying, abandoned houses behind. Well, at least they would have if everything didn't look brand new and completely spotless anyway, but that's beside the point.

In one of these small hamlets a couple of kilometers southwest of Timaeus, consisting of maybe a couple dozen mostly vacant houses, a group of stern people were seated around a standard-sized family dining table. It was already dark outside, though it was impossible to tell due to all of the roller shutters on the windows being completely down. The inside wasn't much brighter either, as the house where the men took shelter apparently didn't have electricity, and thus they had to rely on a couple of old copper kerosene lamps for illumination. They gave the otherwise simple, if somewhat bare, living room a decidedly spooky atmosphere.

Currently, there were six people inside the room. Around the table in the center sat three of them on robust wooden chairs, all wearing plate armor from head to toe, and for some unfathomable reason, they were still wearing their helmets as well even inside their impromptu safe-house like it was completely natural. Aside from the men in the middle, there was one squire, also still fully dressed in metal, keeping a lookout by peering through a gap in the blinders, while two others were stationed at the two exits of the room. The rest of the squires were also in the building, either dressing their wounds in the bedrooms or consuming the canned food stockpiled in the kitchen. Needless to say, they were all wearing their helmets too. Yes, even the ones eating. The Knights were apparently very fastidious about their headgear.

"So, in conclusion," one of the men by the table broke the silence, his unfamiliar pointed helmet contrasting his familiar deep, gravely voice, and he simultaneously placed his hands clad in red gauntlets onto the table. In fact, his entire armor was a deep shade of red, with copious amounts of silver filigree in the shape of feathers. Since the spot of the Griffon Knight was already taken by the man sitting by the other end of the table, it meant he was either the Eagle Knight or the Raven Knight, not counting any as of yet unrevealed avian-themed chevaliers. Anyhow, after a long beat, he continued with, "Today's attack on the abominable wyrmbloods was an abject failure."

"More or less," Mr. Griffon noted with a nod that made his armor clank quite audibly, though nobody seemed to mind.

"A' leest we didnae lose a'body," the burliest of the three steel-clad men noted while crossing his arms, and Mr. Red and feathery immediately sent him a skeptical glance visible through the visor of his helmet.

"True, everyone survived, but I would hardly say you didn't lose anything. Such as your sword," he stated while using a finger to point at the conspicuously empty scabbard hanging from Mr. Minotaur's waist.

"Och shut yer gob! Ah coudnae dae anythin' aboot it! If ainlie ah hud mah axe..."

"Then it would have been your axe that the mysterious mister Bel took instead," Mr. Griffon interjected in a flat tone, immediately arousing the ire of his companion.

"Big gab frae someain fa git 'is pooch pick'd in th' open!"

"Sir Duncan is right," the third Knight agreed with a solemn voice. "Don’t cast the first stone when you yourself lost the Talisman of Purity to the enemy."

"Yea, at leest Ah only tint mah ain sword! Ye tint Penny-gurl's a'tifact! She's gonnae be pished!" Mr. Minotaur piled on with a triumphant nod, only to reel back when Mr. Red smacked his hand against the table.

"It might have been just your side-arm, but you still lost an heirloom of our order, brother! You have no reason to sound so full of yourself."

"Ah ken, ah juist..." the big guy mumbled in response, but he didn't manage to give a proper answer.

There was a long moment of silence, which lasted until the Knight in the red armor raised his hand to his helm in a gesture that might have looked like a face-palm if not for the, well, helmet. So… helmet-palm? Either way, after taking a deep breath, he finally let his hand down and spoke again.

"I should have gone with you two after all."

"I fail to see how it would have improved the situation," Mr. Griffon spoke up with a voice that said he was already tired of this conversation. "You are still recovering. Getting out without any casualties was already a small miracle; the last thing we needed was you on the field."

"Roland!" Mr. Minotaur exclaimed in outrage, but quickly fell silent after receiving a glare from the man with the winged helmet.

"You know that I'm right. There is a reason why we left Sir Arnwald behind; until he can properly walk again, let alone run, he would be a liability on the battlefield."

There was another long moment of tense silence hanging in the air, once again broken by the man in red.

"You are right. Bringing the entire operation ahead without waiting for sister Penelope to arrive was already a mistake. Whether I was with you or not wouldn't have made things any better." As if he just recalled something, Mr. Red clicked his tongue and added, "Brother Leonard might have helped though, but I couldn't reach him."

"Aye, wasn't he suppose tae be oan th' island awready?"

"He is, but I couldn't contact him in time." The red knight let out a regretful sigh at this point and continued with, "He is deep undercover, and the one time we talked, the reception was so bad we could barely hear each other. I should have asked him about the situation back then; even if he couldn't join us, he might have learned about the miraculous recovery of the wyrmblood in the mansion."

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

"Speaking of him, are we sure his cover is still intact?" the Griffon Knight inquired out of the blue, apparently surprising his comrades quite a bit. "No matter how I think about it, the wyrmbloods reacted too quickly. Our invasion of their territory was only finalized the day before to capitalize on the absence of their eldest, yet even if they were informed the moment we broke down the gates, they arrived back too soon."

"Whit urr ye getting' at?"

"I think there is a chance that he was discovered," Mr. Griffon responded ponderously before scratching the chin of his helmet in a thoughtful (and also kind of comical) fashion. "If they knew he was on the island, they might have deduced that we would attack them soon. It's not implausible that they have purposefully baited us into revealing ourselves, only to strike us in the back."

"Juist th' craven schemes ye wid expect fae thair kind," Mr. I'm-a-kettle-calling-the-plot-black noted with a sagely nod, and he was summarily ignored by the other two senior Knights.

"That would explain how they could arrive at the scene so fast, but there is still one very important element of today's disaster that is left unanswered?"

"Th' mask'd arsepiece."

"Precisely," the Knight in red nodded without batting an eye at the big man's choice of words. He was apparently already used to it.

"He called himself 'Bel of the Abyss'," Mr. Griffon commented with an audible frown. "I've never heard of anyone by that name. What about you?"

"Neither have I. Based on the name alone, I would think he was from the netherworld, but that sounds too obvious."

"Agreed. He managed to outwit us, so I doubt he would announce his affiliations so openly. Not to mention, the way he could move through space as he willed was truly peculiar."

"Aye. Ah tried tae keep track o' him wi' mah territory, bit ah it pure wis as if he telepo'ted. A dinnae ken whit kind o' witchery that wis, bit 'twas truly wyrd. "

"Not just that," Mr. Griffon said solemnly, "But I couldn't see him chant, or move his hands in the odd gestures of the prisoners of the Abyss. Whoever he was, he used techiques I've never heard of."

"Maybe it was some kind of illusion or a space warping spell used through a pre-set formation," Mr. Red mused before ultimately shaking his head. "We should ask brother Agravain. If anyone has heard of this Bel fellow or his unique mystic arts, it would be him."

"I thought Sir Agravain was also undercover," Mr. Griffon cut in at this point and he pointedly tapped the table with his finger. "I was under the impression he was still working on dismantling the local wyrmbloods' enterprise."

"I contacted him before the attack, and he said he already completed his plans in Indonesia, and he would come here as soon as possible. He hoped he would be able to inspect and take care of Ascalon after we recovered it."

"E'cept tis in th' hauns o' that radge wee shite," the big man grumbled, and the other senior knight all but rolled their eyes at his expense.

"At least it's no longer in the hands of the wyrms," Mr. Red noted in a voice that said he was trying to find a silver lining, yet couldn't. "However, I'm afraid we should only be able to communicate on the phone, as I doubt he would be able to come to the island any time soon."

"Why's that? Did something unexpected happen over there?"

"Not there, but over here. You probably haven't heard because you were holed up in the safe-house before the attack, but someone broke into the local School. The mages are in a complete uproar and locked down the entire island. Brother Agravain already made deals with the Arch-mage of this island, and if he came here under these circumstances, he would be recognized and possibly detained right away. I sent him a message saying it would be better if he waited until things calmed down a little, but he hasn't responded yet."

"Hold on, the island is under lockdown?" Mr. Griffon spoke up with a hint of alarm in his voice. "Does that mean we can't leave either?"

"I wouldn't risk it. The Arch-mage here has a finger in many pots. If he decides that he needs to buy the support of the wyrmbloods, and we get caught trying to leave with our equipment, we might get sold out."

"Whit aboot Penny-girl? Is she aff tae be safe?"

"Her gear is already here, so it shouldn't get her caught during inspections," Mr. Griffon mused aloud. "She is also of the same generation as Leonard, so if he could operate on the island until now, she should be able to do so as well without anyone recognizing her."

"True 'at. Ah juist fash yerse abit 'er, fur she's sae paukit," Mr. Minotaur mumbled while awkwardly scratching the back of his neck.

"Compared to brother Duncan, all of us are tiny," Mr. Red jested, and the other knight also played along by patting him on the shoulder. "That said, we should be prepared to hunker down on this island for the time being."

"It seems we have no other choice," the knight with the winged helmet noted a little reluctantly. "Do you have any plans for the time being?"

"Ah wull collect speirins by blending in wi' th' locals," the big knight proposed, and after a long beat the three grown men began to snicker like kids.

"Yes, great joke, brother Duncan. Seriously speaking though, we absolutely should attempt to gather information about the current state of the island."

"I will do it," Mr. Griffon proposed. "I have a few mage contacts in Timaeus; I'll ask them about the internal situation of the School."

"I will try to establish phone contact with brother Leonard and Agravain. With some luck, we might learn something about this elusive 'Bal' individual," Mr. Red added after some consideration.

"Then ah suppose ah wull set up a freish base o' operations in th' toon. Dinnae tak' me wrong, this hoose is cozy 'n' a', bit thare insae a sinlge howf the lenth o' th' yak kin see, 'n' that juist wull nae dae."

"The lack of pubs aside, there's also no internet, cable tv, electricity…" Mr. Griffin stopped counting on his gloved fingers for a moment and asked, "Do we have tapwater?"

"A dinnae ken, bit if we dinnae, th' cludgie is aff tae stink tae heich heavens."

"Yes, a new base is imperative," Mr. Red concluded with a nod before adding, "Also, since we don't know how long we would need to stay on the island, we should adopt new identities. Do any of you know a good document forger?"

"I know one, but he is in Berlin."

"That's not exactly viable right now. In that case, I believe we should be fine so long as we improvise."

"Hoo come dinnae we ask Leonard?"

"We can't," came the answer from Mr. Griffin. "If his cover is compromised, showing up on his doorstep might blow ours, and even if his cover is fine, our appearance might raise suspicion. In some way, the fact that Arnwald couldn't get Leonard involved in the raid might be a blessing in disguise."

"That's right. It's best we refrain from contacting brother Leonard until it is absolutely necessary. His mission is not related to the wyrmbloods, so if his identity is still secure, it would be best if we allowed him to continue avoiding their notice."

"Agreed. Do we have anything else to discuss?"

"Ah dinnae think we dae," Mr. Minotaur responded a little sluggishly, and Mr. Griffin promptly stood up from his seat.

"In that case, I believe we should all rest. This was a long day, and we need to prepare for the troubles to come."

"I'm in agreement," Mr. Red and feathery approved as he also stood up, and so did Mr. Minotaur after a moment of hesitation. "Let us sleep, brothers. We should stay here until Monday, and then put our plans into action with rested minds."

The three Entitled Knights nodded in unison, and left the bare living room in a single line, leaving behind the two guards and the one, conspicuously vacuous sentry who continued to peer through the blinds without reacting to any of their conversations.

In fact, the gorget-less squire seemed to be so immersed in his duty, he didn't even bat an eye when in the next room a certain oversized knight exclaimed, "Och fannybaws! We re'lly dinnae hae runnin-water! Dae we seriously hae tae jobby in th' woods?!"