“Mama, Papa. I saw a weird light in my hand!” A boy cried out to his parents. “A light? What happened?” The boy’s mother asked. The boy held his left hand out to his mother who looked at it intently. “What’s this? A wound, no a burn? Did you burn your hand on a light?” She responded looking at a small burn on his hand. “That’s what I’ve been telling you. We shouldn’t be placing candles where the kid can reach them.” Said the boy’s father, facing away from them seated on a wooden chair overlooking a window to the outside. “Then do it yourself.” The mother replied grumpily.

The boy’s hair was of an unusual color, it was black like his parents’, but the tips of the strands were colored an unusual white, an inauspicious sign but his parents loved him nonetheless. Disheartened, the boy walked back to his room and recalled his “vision” earlier. A frightful scene, his parents laying on the wooden floor of their cabin, unmoving and covered in a red liquid. Though he didn’t understand it, it scared and confused him nonetheless.

He laid on his bed and looked at his hand, at the tiny burn at the center of his palm. It stung, and he only remembered him having it this morning, and subsequently he got his vision after. His memory was slightly hazy and could only recall a few more details. A stranger was standing over them, with a knife covered in the same red substance. He remembered seeing the same liquid somewhere when he suddenly recalled it when he accidentally cut himself months ago. A sudden crash occurred in the house outside his room, the sound of glass smashing and frantic shouting. It was as if he was stuck to his bed, he lay there unmoving for a while as the sounds grew louder and eventually stopped.

A while after the noises stopped, he slowly got up and hopped down from his bed. He slowly and quietly walked out of his room, and towards the front of their small house. The sound of slowly trickling and dripping could be heard as he slowly approached, it was prominent in the now silent house.

“Hey kid, be quiet.” A disheveled man stood over the bodies of his parents, he brandished a dagger, dripping crimson red liquid towards the ground. He walked over to the frightened boy, who was transfixed and silent at the sight before him. “Kid, somebody is going to come knocking at that door. You tell them I went the other way, while I hide here.” The man said to the boy, whose eyes were widened, and gaze distracted. “Can you hear me, kid?” The man asked, pointing his knife at the boy.

The man was dirty and covered with leaves, as if he spent a long time running through the forest, and he had a wound on his leg. The boy’s eyes widened even further at the knife and fell backwards to the ground. Then, both of them quickly turned their heads at the sound of the door being kicked open. “Ah. What a damn shame.” Said a scruffy-bearded man who entered the house and saw the corpses at his feet. “Don’t go any closer!” Said the man with the knife as he picked up the boy and held the knife to his throat.

“Alright.” Responded the other man, who raised both of his hands. Suddenly, he stretched the fingers in his left hand backwards and steel threads immediately wrapped and tightened around the other man’s hand, making him lose his grasp on the knife. The thin threads were almost imperceptible to the eye, occasionally glimmering in the air, they moved at an extremely swift speed and one thread cut the boy’s cheek. “Argh!” The wires cut and sliced to the bone of the man, he yelped in extreme pain as he dropped his blade towards the ground.

“You could’ve stopped when I politely asked you to, but you still ran even when I cut your leg.” Said the man wielding the threads. He moved his other hand forward, and closed his fist swiftly, the boy then noticed more threads, one attached from the middle of each finger, fly through the air and coil through the man’s neck. “But instead, you ran off taking an item from me along with you.” He released the thief’s hand and raised his left hand, the threads shooting up to the roof and stabbing into the wooden ceiling. He lowered and twirled his left hand and tied those threads with those wrapped around the thief’s neck. The result was the thief being thrown upwards with great speed and dangled and flailed wildly in the air before ceasing any sort of movement at all.

The boy stared silently still, looking up in shock and quickly stepped backwards as spurts of blood fell onto the floor. The man standing in front of the door, released and recalled the threads back to his fingers, they coiled around each finger like silver rings. He calmly walked up to the thief’s corpse, it having fallen from the ceiling and picked up something from their pocket. A small pouch, which crinkled and jingled, seemingly filled with precious gems or metals. He picked a few pieces of stolen jewelry and coins from the thief’s person and stuffed his pockets, before slowly walking away.

“Ah. Living in a home with three corpses, even I think its unsuitable for a kid. Mine had only two.” He commented to himself before turning around towards the boy. The boy retreated slightly, afraid. For the first time, the boy looked away from his parents and up towards the man. The man had dark brown hair, beady green eyes and slight facial hair, and an untrustworthy expression. “Well, if I just leave you, it’s going to weigh on my conscience a little…” He remarked.

Outside, he dug a shallow grave in the ground. “Good thing you had a shovel, because if not I would’ve just left them on the ground there.” The man wiped his brow and stuck the shovel against the ground. The boy timidly watched nearby as the man used his threads to pull each body into the grave and hastily fill it back up with dirt with the shovel. “Well kid. This is it, no parents so no food and money from now on, no home too.” He said to the boy. He crouched and put a hand to the boy’s shoulder making the inattentive boy jump slightly.

“Listen well, from now on you have nothing.” The man stood back up and showed him some of the items he pilfered from the thief’s body. “You’ll starve and die if you don’t have any food, you’ll have to take from others.” He dangled them, they glimmered and reflected the sunset’s light brightly. “No food. I’m going to go… Hungry.” The boy said wistfully. “Not just hungry. You’ll die.” The man replied with a grin.

“D-die?” The boy said afraid, stepping backwards. “If you don’t want to die you’ll need money, other people have it. I have some right here.” He raised the treasure in his hands high. “P-please, give. Please give it to me.” He meekly asked. “Give? You shouldn’t be asking, you’ll have to take it from me. Or maybe you can make me give it to you.” The man said slyly. “Give it to me.” Said the boy, shaky but slightly sterner. “That’s not going to make anyone give something to you.” The man taunted.

The boy looked downwards towards the grave and began to tear up. “Don’t look at them, look at me.” The boy cried a flood of tears as he stared straight at the man. But soon though teary-eyed, he gritted his teeth. “Give it to me.” He said angrily. “What was that? I can’t hear you.” The man said plainly. “Give it to me!” The boy stated louder. “A little, louder now…” “Give… It… To… Me!” The boy yelled, and raised his hand towards the man, making a grasping motion towards the item he was holding. Suddenly, a small blast of blue energy flew like a bullet towards the man. The man quickly used his threats to swat the blast of energy out of the air. “Heh.” He tossed some of the gold and jewels he was holding and the boy still angry caught it. The boy was surprised and had a confused expression.

The man turned around and began to walk away. “You’re unlucky kid. But it looks like fate gave you a little something to compensate.” The tears still flowed from the boy’s eyes, as he looked down at the grave and at the treasures he held in his hands. The salt from his tears stung the wound on his face, which began to rapidly close as both blood and tear ran down towards the ground.

The next day, his eyes still red from tears, he walked into town. The shopkeepers and merchants were surprised at his bounty of treasures, but he managed to buy a plethora food and supplies, barrels, and boxes he carried into the woods as he did not desire to come back to his blood-soaked home. One of the shopkeepers asked his name. “Grisham.” He meekly responded.

As he carried box and container to a little spot under the trees, he enjoyed fruit he had bought. Though the food he purchased was mostly already cooked, an oversight done by his naïve self, he rested underneath the shade of the trees. He stared wistful at the treetops, still not knowing how to think about what had occurred the previous day. He was lost in thought, and he was approached by a few opportunists, looking to take advantage of the bounty of goods he possessed alone and by himself. “Hey kid, hand those over.” Said a few young ruffians, bandits who wielded knives and wore tattered clothing, they approached him demanding to hand over his possessions.

Their leader, walked forward and arrogantly looked down upon the sullen faced boy, and pointed his knife at him. “Nice… What a score, I can’t believe all this free stuff is ours now.” Grisham’s eyes widened once more as he came face-to-face with the point of the knife, he recalled flashes of yesterday and sat unmoving. “Move, kid. Move if you don’t want to get hurt.” ‘They’ll take from me, or I’ll take for them.’ Grisham slowly processed the maelstrom of emotions that he was experiencing. “Are you deaf, kid?” The leader asked. “Boss, he might be deaf.” One of his lackeys said. “Is he though, I kind of feel bad robbing a deaf kid.” The other one said. “Either way, its easy pickings boys.” Said the leader.

The bandit walked a step forward to push Grisham away and held his knife forward but suddenly stopped. “Boss?” One of the others asked. Grisham had swiftly raised his arm, at a speed where the other two bandits did not even notice. He had stuck his left hand, which briefly glowed blue into the soft tissue of the leader’s neck. The boss coughed and gurgled as blood trickled down Grisham’s arm and onto the grass below. “You!” One of the others rushed forward and raised their knife, but Grisham calmly pulled his hand from the bandit’s throat, and swiftly grabbed his knife and with one swipe slashed at the other one’s neck.

Both bandits fell to the ground as the other one ran swiftly as possible and was crying out in panic. Grisham did not care, he only cared about searching the pockets of the two who fell before him. They did not have much, the most valuable items they carried were their clothes and their weapons. Both of which were soaked and stained by blood, but with wash could still be somewhat usable.

A few weeks later, he returned to the town and to the same shopkeeper he bought food and goods from. “Hello, um… Your name was Grisham, right? Those jewels you sold were quite valuable indeed, I’m assuming you’re back here to trade some more?” Asked the old shopkeeper. “No. Hand them over.” Grisham replied, holding a knife up. “Hand what over, dear?” “Everything.” Grisham said in a serious tone. “Now, a young boy like you shouldn’t…” Before the old woman could continue, Grisham slammed his fist against the wooden counter, cracking it. As the woman was in near-tears, Grisham walked off with three heavy boxes of goods, carrying them atop his shoulders.

In the recent weeks, he felt himself become stronger, he could move faster, and his flesh was more resilient, but he felt an emptiness inside of him. After some time, he had already made a few trips to the town, ensuring that all his resources were gone before he did so, an interval of weeks passed with each trip. One day though, he arrived in town to see a group of knights escorting a nobleman who was in town who was purveying some of their hunting goods. The times that Grisham went to the village he was uninterrupted. He acted swiftly and did not linger, the old shopkeeper did not want to tell him off to someone else, and bandits were generally unopposed in the area, and those that did try to get close to him were thwarted by his unusual displays of power.

“These arrows are too weak and thin to pierce the hide of boars, if it comes to hunting, I prefer my weapon over any bow.” The tall and thin nobleman said, putting one hand on the rapier sheathed on his hip. “Hmph. How are you going to get close enough to a boar to use it without being gored by its tusks?” Replied the shop owner. “If you’re swift enough, it’s certainly possible.” The nobleman replied. He was wearing a dark coat and a peculiar mask, it covered the top half of his face and was constructed of exquisite white ivory, it was a beak mask alike what one would use in a masquerade but had no ornamentation.

He also wore a necklace made of string with various small pieces of teeth tied to it with a small bird’s skull at the middle. “Does Lord Alroc have to come out all the way to these backwoods towns?” Whispered one of the knights who were guarding him to another. “Shh…” They responded but Alroc turned towards the knight. “It’s the only form of leisure I can tolerate nowadays. The life of a noble is quite mundane you see, if not the repetitive plays at the theater, the theatrics of diplomacy and dealing with the other nobles are tiring. The hunt is an activity that the higher class participate in, but only a few only excel and revel in.” The nobleman was of a tall stature, had sickly pale skin and thin bones.

His presence was overwhelming, and his dark coat appeared to be like a feathered body around him, his eyes were sunken and dark, his grey eyes peered and scanned the surroundings like a hawk’s. “Though now I spot a most dangerous and particular prey.” Alroc said as Grisham walked into view, Alroc could keenly sense a danger emanating from the boy, like an animal’s keen instinct. “That kid? Lord Alroc you may have referred to someone else or maybe there’s someone there we can’t see.” Joked one of the knights. “Scram kid, we’re not here to entertain beggars.” Said another. Alroc looked at the corner of his eye to see the afraid townsfolk and the worried shopkeeper and readied himself, putting a hand on his rapier.

Grisham was dressed in tattered and mismatched clothing, weathered from living in the forest, he occasionally hunted wild animals but seldom practiced his abilities. His hair had grown long, the white ends of each strand more apparent. That morning, he woke up to his hand displaying another vision. He was frightened at first but after a vain attempt from fleeing the light, he observed it intently. The blue light showed him going to the town and encountering a group of unknown people but nothing more. Although he had planned to pilfer the town’s goods once more, he felt a slight fear and anxiety for the day to come.

Grisham walked towards the knights with a knife in hand. “Go back home kid, if you don’t want to get hurt.” Said another knight, but Grisham approached undaunted. Alroc smiled in excitement and anticipation. “Look, kid-“ One of the knights walked towards Grisham, but he quickly lunged forward and struck the knight in the chest with his fist, knocking the man back. “Argh.” Grisham remarked as his hand broke as it collided against the solid steel armor. As the knight fell backwards, he said: “Damn kid! I think he broke my ribs.”

The knights quickly leapt into action, they formed a defensive line and some of them tossed balls of fire at Grisham. He was surprised and leapt and hopped around, narrowly avoiding the flames. The townsfolk and citizens had all retreated into their homes, watching the conflict from the windows. As Grisham leapt backwards once more, his contorted and broken hand healed instantly.

“Stand down. Let me handle this.” Said Alroc, confidently moving forward and raising his rapier. “But my Lord, he seems to possess some sort of sorcery or heretical magic, it would be dangerous for you to fight him alone!” Remarked the other knight. “Just tell them I ordered you to guard the townsfolk or something, and besides I’ll have you stripped of your rank if you refuse.” He said with a smile as he approached Grisham. The boy lunged at Alroc, his knife aimed straight upwards towards the noble’s throat.

Alroc effortlessly sidestepped, and then swiftly attacked with his thrusting sword. Reacting quickly, Grisham blocked it with his knife, but rapier’s point only slightly moved off course, cutting only slightly below Grisham’s eye. Grisham tried the same, a lunge using his knife aimed directly beneath Alroc’s chin. With great strength, Alroc struck the side of the blade and deflected it, and then this time aimed for Grisham’s chest. The boy used his knife to block the attack and stepped backwards but the attack still gave him a cut on his shoulder.

“So, that’s Lord Alroc’s skill…” “I’ve heard rumors, but I thought they were embellished.” The knights said among themselves. As Grisham repeated the same tactic, Alroc parried, deflected and dodged effortlessly, and always struck at the areas most susceptible to damage and never struck the same place twice. “Listen, boy. Fighting is not just about speed and power; it is about technique and strategy. Also, about your choice of arms.” Grisham then tried to swing at him with his fist, but then Alroc bent down towards the ground to an unbelievable angle and gave him a swift kick. “That weapon seems ill suited to you.” He remarked.

Grisham jumped high in the air and landed behind Alroc, who responded with a strike with his backhand and did not even turn to look, confident in his other senses. “Look at you, so young, yet a bandit. Being a noble is tiresome, but it has its benefits. Didn’t your parents teach you how to work?” Alroc asked. “I… Don’t know! I… Never got the chance to learn!” Grisham cried, teary-eyed. “Oh?” Alroc was more intrigued than any other emotion another might have felt. “If you live past this encounter with me, then I suggest you put into practice a few pf the choice advice I give you.” Grisham swung his knife and fist wildly, Alroc interrupting every attack and gave him a cut for every attempt.

“Words are tools as powerful as weapons. One who is skilled in both may excel, though your aptitude at combat might make you more suited as a soldier or mercenary.” Alroc remarked. Grisham growled as he threw a stone from the ground at Alroc, who caught it and threw it back at Grisham’s face. “The bloodlust of one such as you might be suited for the latter. You know of it, a practice that allows one to hunt down bandits or other criminals and get rewarded for such a task.” As he spoke, Alroc gave Grisham a quick jab to the throat. Grisham stumbled backwards, but soon his cuts all began to close and heal at a swift rate. “Curious.” Said Alroc.

The knights watched eagerly, they had almost forgotten what they had been doing and were captivated by the display of the extraordinary fighters. “Well, I’ve spoken long enough, it's time for our hunt to draw to a close.” Said Alroc who assumed a stance which reminded those around of a hawk waiting to strike down its prey. He raised his rapier high and pointed it at Grisham before rushing in with every intent to kill. His speed was alarming and purposely differing from his normal pace of movement, and he appeared like a flash of darkness, like a crow swiftly passing by. Grisham could only raise his left hand in response to the incoming attack.

Confusion, awe, anger, fear and inspiration; a multitude of strong emotions rushed through Grisham’s head before he unleashed a burst of blue energy from his palm. The blast was a surprise to Alroc, whose instincts quickly kicked in, and he swiftly leapt away but not before the projectile struck him at the side of the head, leaving a burning trail from the side of his eye and up to above his ear, shattering half of his mask in the process. Like an aggressive wild animal, Grisham swung his knife at Alroc who used the power and energy he had prepared to execute Grisham, to strike the boy's blade at a vulnerable spot, launching it from Grisham’s hand and shattering the metal that composed it.

Grisham looked up in awe, temporarily forgetting the perilous situation he was in as he witnessed the elegant bladework that disarmed him. He quickly came back to his senses and ran into the forest, an injured Alroc held his hand to his temple but smiled from ear to ear. The knights were startled, and half of them came to his aid and the other half ran after Grisham shouting: “After him!” In which Alroc replied with: “It’s no use. You won’t catch up to him.” He said gleefully. “Are you alright?” asked one of the knights. “I’m fine. The scars of a hunter show and define their experience. A warrior who is not scarred is either a flawless one, or one who is about to become the prey.” He announced loudly, enough that Grisham could hear as he retreated into the bushes and trees.

Grisham ran and ran until he reached a nearby waterfall where he lay on a rock near the water. He was drenched in sweat but looked up to the sky in exhilaration. His encounters before were of quick executions or simple intimidations never did before he experienced an actual battle. The next day, he woke up hungry, having realized what he had come to the village to do and regretted forgetting. ‘Wonder if I should go out to get some animals today… Getting one, is too hard… Also they don’t taste too good…’ He had little experience in cleaning and preparing animal meat, and when he tried to cook it would always end up burning to a crisp. “I guess I’m going to see what I can find.”

As he walked through the forest he heard movement, frantic running from a few sets of footsteps, he was instantly alerted, and he ran over to where he heard the sound from. He jumped in front of three people, a middle-aged couple with a small boy, they looked terrified and worn out even before Grisham appeared before them. Grisham brandished his last remaining knife and pointed it at them. ‘I… Don’t want to hurt them.’ He thought to himself. ‘Words are useful tools.’ He recalled Alroc’s words and tried to put them into practice. “Please…” He recalled his parents teaching him his pleases’ and thank you’s. “Give me your things, and your money.” His wild appearance made him seem intimidating, like a small bear or wolf.

“Not another bandit!” “Please, we’ve given you all our things!” Cried the couple. Grisham had a puzzled look on his face. “All of our goods we already handed to the others, just please leave us alone!” Cried the man. “Who… Are you?” Asked Grisham, curious. “We’re merchants, and we got robbed on the road to another town, we left the road, and left our goods just to escape. Now, we have nothing…” The woman remarked almost sobbing. “Please… Don’t hurt mommy and daddy.” The small boy earnestly remarked. Grisham was quickly reminded of his situation and lowered his weapon. “Your money, your stuff, where did you leave it?” Grisham asked.

“Back there, we just left it ran, please don’t hurt us.” Pleaded the merchant. Without another word Grisham rushed past them and quickly ran leaving the terrified and befuddled innocents behind him. ‘Those people, got taken. By the takers. Bandits. Am I… I am a taker. I don’t want to hurt… I need to take. From the takers.’ As he finished his train of thought, he ran past a group of bushes and trees onto the dirt road. He came across about a dozen bandits, all laughing and celebrating their success around the merchant’s cart filled with supplies and goods. He quickly recalled the man who hurriedly entered his house and struck down his parents without care nor mercy and he summoned up the chaos that he was burying, the emotions he could not control.

A pulse of blue energy blasted out from his palm, the small burn on it grew in size ever so slightly. The blast was thin and faint but packed the power of a cannon, as he released the energy while he was in the air he struck three bandits with a straight beam. One through the head, one through the chest and grazing one in the leg; killing two and knocking the other one down. An upward slash across another’s torso made quick work of them, but he was soon surrounded by the ones who were left.

“Who’s he?!” “He killed them, get him!” “My leg!” “You’ll regret doing that kid!” The bandits talked and yelled at Grisham, brandishing cheap knives and daggers as well as stolen and old spears and swords. One of them charged and rushed at him, without logic or respect to a synergy with the others. Grisham was about to do the same: to put his weapon in front of him and simply run at the enemy, but he remembered. He stepped to the side of the bandit, avoiding the thrust of his wooden spear, and grabbed hold of the spear’s shaft and shattered it, rendering the weapon useless. The spear was split into two, one half attached to the tip of the spear, and the other was held by the bandit. Grisham quickly grabbed the front of the spear and threw it straight into the bandit, piercing through them.

A gap in the surrounding bandits emerged as one of them fell and he took the opportunity to slip past them. As he ran past the two of them, he sliced one the knife in his right hand, and struck another with his left hand’s fist. The other bandits kept him at bay with their spears and swords, keeping Grisham back wielding only his small knife. Suddenly, he heard one of them run up towards behind him. He turned around to see one of them with their sword raised to the air. Grisham swiftly threw his knife straight into their throat, and then quickly grabbed the sword from their hands. The sword was old and chipped, but still he felt better immediately when he wielded it.

“We- We got to run!” Cried one of them, as the other bandits doubted and trembled in fear. They soon began to escape and run one after the other. “Are you guys crazy? We can’t just-“ One of them stayed behind and faced towards the others and began to chastise them for leaving, but ended up receiving a separation of their skull into two parts via a sword swing to the chin. As he killed the last remaining bandit who stayed behind, one of the others turned around briefly to the sound of their ally’s skull getting cracked. “He’s not human! He’s like a… Demon!” The bandit then fell backwards, having tripped on a loose tree root. “Let’s get out of here!” The others yelled as they left the one who tripped behind.

Due to the bursts of energy and his exertion of strength, there was a certain blue hue that permeated the air giving Grisham a sinister aura. The last bandit could not stand, their legs wobbling and buckling under the weight of fear. But Grisham only took a look at the cart, which appeared to have lost the animal it was attached to, and down at the bandits and picked off some of their belongings. He then started pulling the large cart behind him, snickering, and muttering about something. The remaining bandit was confused but also relieved that he had left.

As he was hauling the cart towards where the family was earlier, he was looking down at a few pieces of paper, bounty posters of the very same bandits he killed. He was confused why they carried their own “wanted” posters, but to the bandits it served as an achievement of being recognized enough as an individual to be hunted. Even though he carried the heavy cargo, his walking speed was still faster than the merchants’ and when he caught up to them, they were surprised and shouted once again. “That’s our…” The man remarked. “Your things, your money. I won’t take, I already have enough from them.” Grisham responded.

As he spoke, he began to leave but the merchant’s wife talked to him. “Um… Our horse ran off when the bandits attacked so, we don’t have any way to carry this back to the city.” She said it shyly and was prepared for rejection or retribution. “Okay.” Said Grisham, simply walking back to the front of the cart and saying: “Where are we going to go?” As Grisham pulled the cart across the road he looked back onto the posters of the bandits, now noticing their faces. Before he only saw their role as “takers” and the weapons in their hands. “It’s a shame that those bandits were left there, if you had their heads, you could fetch a pretty price on them.” Said the merchant.

Grisham stopped. “What, what is it?” Asked the merchant worried. Grisham rummaged threw the cart until he found a couple small drawstring sacks. “Excuse me, I’m borrowing this.” He said as he ran back. The family was befuddled and confused upon his sudden departure, but they had not much choice but to wait. But only a few minutes later, he returned, heads in sacks tied around his waists. As they entered the city, the family thanked him profusely, if not still afraid of him and they parted their separate ways. “We thought we were goners there, but you came like a blessing from fate.” Remarked the merchant, though Grisham was unsure of what it meant.

It was a hub of people, and there walked many from different statuses and backgrounds around. But still, Grisham’s appearance attracted eyes. An old sword, the sacks around his waist, and his tattered and dirtied appearance. He looked around the streets for a while, until he caught sight of the place where all the posters were posted and concentrated in. As he crossed an alleyway to go towards the building at the other side of the road, his left hand began to glow alight once more. He rushed backwards and hit a wall behind him as he tried to stretch his arm out when the light projected from his palm.

He remembered the two times his visions occurred and was slightly afraid. ‘The last two lights I saw, they happened after. Maybe if I watch this now, I can prepare… Maybe if I see something bad, I can change it.’ He watched intently. He saw himself, slightly older, and surrounded by a large crowd of people, he appeared to be enjoying their company. Grisham smiled as he watched, but his smile faded as the light disappeared. He yearned for somebody, as he was very much alone in the forest, and he has never since visited his old house or the grave.

Sadness, longing, and loneliness consumed him, but this time he held back his tears and proceeded to the bounty request building. He pushed open the swinging wooden doors, and as he entered all eyes were on him. It also served as a bar of sorts, there was another counter serving drinks to the “patrons”, which were seated on wooden chairs around the small space. They stared keenly at Grisham, as they took sips of their drinks and polished their weapons. Some of them could be indistinguishable from the bandits or criminals who roamed the streets and wilds, though there are those who were previously in that sort of work or partake in it still from time to time. But some wore stronger and more expensive armor, leather, chain, or metal plate, but slightly damaged, nonetheless.

Those who waltzed around showing off their expensive but untouched gear, were mocked and not given legitimacy. A few were scarred and serious aged men, appeared to keep to themselves and their drinks, they were respected as they brought in bounties regularly and were reputed to have a storied soldier’s past.

“Are you lost kid?” Said a younger rookie surveying but not actually accepting the wanted bounty posters piled and stuck to the walls. “Hmph.” Said the old man behind the counter, who read the situation clearly. Those with enough experience in battle and the bounty hunting business could ascertain many things from a single look at an individual, and Grisham even as a boy gave off a presence that showed he was a threat.

“This is no place for street urchins, kid.” Every “taker” that had undermined Grisham had used the word to belittle him to the point that the mention of it slightly irked him. The man then noticed the sacks around his waist and said: “Sorry, but they don’t accept animal heads here kid, did you use that rusty old sword to hunt those in the forest?” “Heh. You’d better not press ‘em any further if you don’t want your head to end up in one of those sacks.” A boy around Grisham’s age jumped down from a stack of crates in the corner of the room.

“My name’s Rennon, just ignore this guy, and we’ll get those heads checked.” He waved off the arrogantly confident man and led Grisham to the counter. “Hey!” The young man yelled and looked around but quieted as soon as he saw the serious gazes of the others. The old man behind the counter, polished and wiped a wooden mug with a rag. “Show me what you have.” He said.

A little unprepared, Grisham was slightly startled and lagged a while when he brought out the blood-soaked bags and laid them out on the table. The onlookers, most of them rugged and threatening presences in their own right, leaned a little closer to confirm if the dirty child in front of them was indeed an able killer. “Do you have the associated bounty papers?” The man asked, he was of large stature and had a few scars, and had a bulky frame and only little hair on his head.

Grisham handed over the partially blood-stained crinkled papers from his pockets and put them on the table. “Let’s see here.” Said the old man. As he opened the first sack, the cocky man was visibly shocked and startled, and the others returned to their normal seating positions though still observing. “Hmm… Looks about right.” The old man calmly said. Rennon was curious and intrigued and showed a slight hint of his excitement as he saw each head being surveyed. The boastful rookie had a continuing expression of surprise as the barkeep unveiled head after head.

“You did a number on this one.” The old man chuckled to himself, as he looked at the one head almost chopped in half. “Well, here’s the reward for these ones.” He tied the strings of the sacks back on and handed him a moderately sized bag of coin. Grisham slowly reached for the bag of coins and then snatched it swiftly before beginning to walk away. “Hey, take these along.” Said the old man, pushing the sacks forward. “Hmm?” Grisham wondered. “Oh, you need to take these back.” Said Rennon. He took two of the half dozen and then walked off with Grisham taking the rest and tying them around his waist.

“Take care Ren, don’t get yourself into too much trouble.” Said the old man whilst wiping the countertop clean. “Hmph. Kids nowadays…” He said to himself. The man earlier now only could muster a single word. “No way… That kid… Those heads!” He said still shocked. “The day you underestimate others in the battlefield is the day you get overconfident and die.” A man seated in the corner of the room said. Another old man whose face was hidden by a long hat and a metal mask covering his face from below his eyes.

“Young, old. When times become desperate, those who appear weak will learn to kill to survive. Besides, there are those who possess unusual abilities despite only having a young age.” He lowered his metal faceplate, revealing a few scars on his face, and took a sip out of his drink, stood up and dropped off a few coins as he passed the counter. He left amidst the silence of others, carrying two heavy tools on his back.

Grisham and Rennon exited the building, and Grisham looked intently at the bag of coins in his hands. “Rennon. Your name?” “Oh. It's Grisham.” He said still preoccupied at the coins. “What’s the matter?” Rennon asked. “It’s just… This the first time I’ve gotten money without stealing, and I’m not exactly sure what to do with it.” He responded. “It’s fine. I know the places where you can buy cheap food, new clothes, and a haircut.” Said Rennon, his face was serious, his eyes looked cold, but he had a smile on his face. Like he was appearing to be welcoming but surveying him intently.

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Inside the bounty hunter’s bar, the boastful man earlier was now humbled and helped himself to servings of drink after drink. “Who… Was that other kid? Your son, nephew?” “No. Just a kid who frequents this place.” The barkeep responded. “Why’d he go with that dangerous wild-looking kid?” The man asked.

“Not sure. He’s been asking me if he could go with one of the others who take out bounties here, and he watches every single one who enters. If you look at him you can see his eyes study everything closely, and recently he picked up skill with the sword, and pickpocketing. He took to it like a painter with art, focused on how good he was at it and not the why. If he’d become a craftsman or merchant instead, he would’ve excelled.” The old man looked at the man seated beside the counter, who had been dozing off a while, holding a mug of empty liquor. “Hmph.” He said as he retrieved the mug and scooped the coins he had put on the table.

“There. You look much better.” Rennon said to a confused Grisham, who looked down at his clothes and put a hand to his now shorter hair. “My parents were always the one who cut my hair, and I only had a few sets of clothes.” He looked at the strands of his hair as he touched them. “Other people said that I was a bad omen because of the color of my hair… Maybe…” Rennon observed carefully and interjected at the correct moment. “It’s true that they say that children born of white hair are an ill omen, but you have the colors of black and white at once, surely it’s a sign of something different.” Rennon responded.

Grisham suddenly stopped walking and looked behind them, Rennon did the same half a second later. “Stop hiding.” Said Rennon, as Grisham put a hand on his sword. From behind a wall, a girl stepped out cautiously. Rennon sighed and loosened his guard. “Isha?” “Ren, that person is dangerous, get away from them.” Her light green eyes were fierce and protective. “I know what he’s done, I’ve seen.” His dark blue eyes were serious and unyielding. “You weren’t there.” She responded.

“Hello?” Grisham asked, confused and blank-faced. “You- you don’t remember me?” She asked, genuinely confused. “No.” Grisham said shyly. “Earlier, when you killed the other bandits, you left me alive, remember?” She reminded him. “So, you’re one of the takers?” Asked Grisham, pulling out his sword. Rennon became wary and moved in to step between them. They stood on an empty street, a short distance away from each other.

“A taker? You’re someone who takes too right?” Isha asked, somewhat aggressively. “Yes. But I don’t want to take from the innocent anymore. Only from the takers who take from the uh… good people. So if you don’t take anymore… I won’t hurt you?” He sounded unsure in his newfound principles, but still put away his weapon, nonetheless. “Okay?” Said Isha, slowly turning to look at Rennon who shrugged. “Well…” Rennon started walking forward past Grisham who followed. Isha ran to catch up to the two of them.

“I was worried for a moment that I would see your head in one of those sacks.” Rennon joked. “Where are they?” Isha asked. “Didn’t you leave with them earlier?” She added. “We threw them in the forest.” Grisham answered. “They used to keep them in the bounty hunting places, but it became too cluttered, and the smell was too much. So, they just made it that after the guy verifies that they got the right heads, they ask the hunters to throw them out somewhere, usually the forest.” Rennon answered.

“Oh…” Isha exclaimed dispassionately, as if something else was on her mind. She walked up to Rennon and whispered. “Still didn’t know why he didn’t kill me.” “He probably just didn’t notice you.” Rennon responded. “Hey, um…” Isha started but, “Grisham.” Rennon continued. “You said that you would only kill those who are takers, but do you think of why they take?” Isha asked. “Hmm?” Grisham responded.

"I became a bandit because I needed to feed my family and to buy them medicine, but when they died, I had no place to go. You must have a similar reason if you chose killing or stealing for a leaving… Unless you’d be at a home, or with your parents.” She remarked. “Hmm…” Grisham pondered intently. “So, what if the takers you kill have a reason, and that they need to do it?” She asked. Grisham was silent and Rennon answered. “If you try to kill or steal something from somebody, expect to be stopped or killed in return.”

“Why don’t they just work?” Asked Grisham. “Getting a good trade going or getting accepted for work in the city is hard for some people…” Isha halfheartedly answered. “And people are just too lazy or see the easier path and go for it. Or they just like killing or stealing.” Rennon added, shrugging. “If those people have no choice than to be takers, then we need to help them.” Grisham responded. “Help them? How?” Isha asked. “We have a job now. If our job is to kill or catch the takers, then if they join us they will get their money, and there will be less of the bandits.” Grisham posed an idea.

“Good idea. But…” Isha answered. “Getting enough regular work as a mercenary is hard… We’ll need to be lucky, and it’ll be hard.” Said Rennon. “For normal people. We have someone who’s more akin to a demon.” Said Isha. Though a strange compliment, Grisham smiled faintly. “Good thing you met us, no matter how strong anyone is, we all need others, right?” Isha said optimistically. “Maybe it was fate that led us to each other.” Said Rennon. “Fate, I’ve heard people say it’s why things happen. But I don’t know what exactly it means…” Grisham asked.

“Fate is a way of thinking that what happens is meant to happen, or things happen towards something that’s meant to be. It’s something that a lot of people believe in, even if each kingdom our country has something to worship, fate is something many people think about.” Said Rennon. “That’s… A good explanation for it. But I believe that maybe fate leads us to something good, guides us too something better.” Said Isha. Grisham looked at them both, and then looked down as they were walking. He recalled back to his vision earlier that day, he felt calm and comfort for the first time of his loneliness.

“Something wrong?” Rennon asked. Grisham looked back up with a smile on his face. Maybe, fate had something good for him after all.

The years went by, he used his intellect to become skilled in both leadership and combat and as the appearance of his visions frequented, he strived to improve his memory as well. Though he lamented that even though he had visions of the future, he never did get a single vision of a past memory. Even as time went on, he kept his first meeting with Isha and Rennon close with him. His group and his influence grew, and they earned further success and prominence after having Kieron join in their ranks. And on a gloomy rainy day at dusk, he recalled the past earnestly.

Grisham sat in his tent with the opening unclosed, watching the grey sky. He was much older and had been through multitudes of experience. To break the monotonous continuing sound of rain he posed something to two others nearby him. “When we all first met, we talked about fate. And you hoped it was something good. All these years and all our accomplishments I still couldn’t decide if it was. But something I know is that it’s unchanging, and whatever I see will absolutely come true.” Said Grisham.

“Is this about the vision you wanted to tell us about?” Isha asked empathetically. “That’s rare coming from you nowadays.” Rennon responded sarcastically. “Well, I wanted to consult you on a vision I’ve been having more and more recently.” Said Grisham, then picking a stack of papers from a nearby pile. “The same one? Has that ever happened before?” Rennon asked, his curiosity piqued. “Here.” Grisham handed them over and his words were of a quiet and wistful tone. “That’s!” Rennon cried out. The two’s eyes widened as they looked upon the drawings and illustrations Grisham had drawn.

They all showed the same image over and over. “It’s me.” Said Isha. The art was replicated and drawn impeccably with every detail transcribed perfectly, in a most realistic fashion. It showed Isha, lying with her eyes closed with a serene expression. Every detail and aspect were colored to an accurate degree, but one color prevailed more than the others: red. She was the focal point of the image, a sword puncturing through her chest as she lay lifeless. “I’m… Dead…” She added, with a terrified expression.

Rennon immediately became panicked and looked at Grisham. “I have a plan!” Said Grisham. “I’ve seen another vision that shows the upcoming battle, and I’ve decided if we’re going to change fate, we can’t try to do cheat both of the visions at the same time. I’ll guard Isha here.” Grisham talked calmly, but his breath became hoarser, and beads of sweat began running down his face. “With the scenes of the battle, I’m not shown, so if Rennon leads in my stead, it should proceed as normal.” Isha was still fixed on the drawings as Rennon faced and objected to Grisham’s suggestion.

“Our battles our as successful as they are because of your strategies, having you here and not there is detrimental!” He replied, wavering. “I have plans and instructions here, if anyone can pull it off it's you.” Grisham said to Rennon handing him well-written paragraphs of plans, and then drawn illustrations and mockups drawn. “How… Many did you draw? How many visions did you see?” Isha asked quietly, still looking down at the drawings. “Too many. To the point of I couldn’t forget a single detail.” Said Grisham. “What… Am I going to tell Kieron?” Rennon asked. “Nothing. She’s going to come with you.” Grisham instructed.

Rennon begrudgingly agreed and nodded, before stepping outside and running. “I…” Isha could barely form words. Grisham walked up to her, held her hands together and said: "It's gonna be fine, Rennon will be well without us. We're going to stay here." "What... What about the band, the others? How are they going to be, going to fight? They need us, they need you." She said, snapping out of the shock but still shaky. "We can't let them stay here. The battle needs to happen. I can ask a few of them to stand guard here but..." He was cut off by Isha. "No. This battle, it could make or break us. Our position as a kingdom-sponsored mercenary force could be lost if we lose, the casualties would be..."

"We've been through too many tough times, but every time, we pull through. Us. We don't need to worry about the money, about the casualties as long as we are still here." Grisham answered desperately. "You said... That death is always present, always a possibility for all of us. And we're mercenaries, soldiers. Why should death in a battlefield be such a bad outcome, I'll fight if it's for the group. And... Didn't you say that your visions are inevitable?" Isha said courageously, though still unnerved. "I... Was wrong. Then, and now. I'm going to do everything, use all of my strength to prevent it from happening. I promise." Grisham said looking straight into Isha's eyes, with a teary-eyed but determined look.

Outside in the rain, Rennon ran through the camp towards Kieron’s tent. After the incident that resulted in Ran’s death the camp was moved away to a location outside but near Lodeleth, the capital. The simple tents that the band’s camps had been improved to a sort of sheltered wooden house frames covered with thick layers of wood and cloth. Through official contracts to serve as a fighting force for the kingdom’s army, they had enough funds to arm and cloth the members of the band with sturdy and newly made weapons and armor, and as time went on, their number grew as well.

There were respective large tents and structures to serve as an armory, a mess hall and a large space for quarters and multiple cots for the people to sleep in, compared to the cramped small tents where many slept on the floor beside each other in the early days. Rennon entered a large tent filled with the other young mercenaries that were part of the band, some of them slept but the others were awake and awaiting after Grisham had called Rennon and Isha to his tent. “Any news, is the battle soon?” Lyden asked.

Even as he was seated down on a wooden chair, his tall frame still was high enough if he stood he would collide with the ceiling. “Where’s Kieron?” Rennon asked, rainwater dripping from his hair and partially soaking his clothes. He wore the standard wear and equipment of the mercenaries there: a plain white tunic and brown pants, with a solid iron breastplate, thigh guards, shin guards and greaves. He also had a longsword sheathed on his hip. “As always, she’s at the training grounds even in this rain…” Said Lyden, somewhat complaining.

Rennon began to exit once more, Lyden called out to him. “Wait, what did Grisham say?” As Rennon took off, Lyden sighed. “Always so cryptic the three of them.” Another in the tent sitting down on the floor commented. “It was just Grisham at first, but since that day the three of them started being weird and secretive.” Someone else seated on a chair near them said. “I don’t mind, as long as we win this battle.” A third one chimed in. “Yeah, I hope so…” Lyden answered.

Those who were recruited in the band were mostly as young or younger than the group’s leaders, and through a rigorous process of evaluation by the leaders and through Grisham’s visions he saw those who appeared were definitely going to be joining the group but those who are not shown were not out of the question. Grisham’s skill as a leader and his more mythical abilities passed into rumor and local legend, and many were intrigued and willing to join. Some were put off by the selection and the strangeness of the process so even as they grew, their numbers remained small.

They acted as strike forces, attacking at weak or strategic positions instead of acting as a main force or mass in direct army to army battles. Rennon ran towards an empty part of the camp that served as the training ground. The space was filled with marks and scratches on the ground, and the grass was bare, there were dummies well worn with cuts and breaks and a large open space for groups of people could train at the same time.

Kieron ran and moved swiftly through the grounds as she wielded her sickle, she zigzagged through the wooden dummies and cut their sides as she passed them. The ground beneath her splattered as the rain turned it into mud, she jumped and hopped around, mimicking dodging attacks and striking down unseen foes. She wore a hood to protect her from the elements and appeared to be unaffected by the rain. Kieron pulled a small knife from her pockets and then she stopped moving as she threw it in the air. She looked upwards and closed her eyes, letting the rain run down hair and trickle down her face.

She listened carefully, and as the knife gained speed and moved downwards, she anticipated its descent and impact. After she waited, she opened her eyes and it had now hit the ground and was between her feet, grains of sand floated in the air and down towards the ground. At first she didn’t think much of her ability, explaining the near-misses and near death experiences to be flukes by their enemies. She buried the memory of the crossbow bolt almost striking her as she was starting out with Grisham and the others, but it was reopened after Ran’s death. She regretted this ability but vowed to use it to its maximum for the band.

“Kieron! Grisham’s said his orders!” Rennon said. Because of the weather, not many people travelled at the nearby road, a few carriages moved towards inside and outside of the city gates. Under a wooden roof covering set up within the camp, Rennon and Kieron talked. “Wait, so both Isha and Grisham aren’t coming with us?” She asked. “Yeah, they’re going to stay here with a few of our guys while we lead the upcoming battle ourselves.” He responded. “Strange. There’s never been a big battle like this that both of them weren’t present, not since that day anyway…” Kieron responded.

“Well, fate is inexorable. What’s shown in his vision goes.” Explained Rennon. “Why couldn’t they tell me themselves?” Kieron asked. “Apparently they still needed time to discuss and plan some of the details since they won’t be present during the fight.” Rennon replied. “I see…” Said Kieron, slowly nodding but slightly suspicious of the situation.

The next day, the rain stopped, and fresh rays of sunshine shone over the dewy fields and grasslands around the camp. Grisham stood over the mercenaries in his band, a sizable crowd, and made an announcement. “As you all know, the war against the nearby Reshan nation has been going on for a while, and that is upcoming battle’s victory is both vital for us, and the kingdom of Lodeleth. Which is why I’m regretting to announce that neither me nor Isha would be participating in this battle.”

Murmurs began spreading across the crowd, but Grisham was undaunted, paused for a moment before continuing. “Rest assured we will win this conflict. What my visions state goes, and with the help of Rennon and Kieron, I’ve already consulted with them for a strategy to match what I’ve seen. Me and Isha will stay here along with a few guards to ensure our safety. Fate is an unceasing wheel that spins and weaves the lives of all, and with it on our side we shall never fail.” The crowd went silent when Grisham talked once more, and then they simultaneously cheered as his speech roused them. Those who were silent among the crowd was Kieron and Rennon.

“We’ll have commander Rennon with us to discuss our plans for the upcoming battle.” With that, Rennon walked to the front and towards a board that they had set up detailing their strategy. Although Grisham appeared calm and steady, his worried eyes conveyed differently and as the shine of the sun bathed him, he looked upon the shadow cast camp, where Isha sat watching them in her tent, looking at Grisham with a glum expression. “Our riders will hit their camp here, where our archers will be waiting atop the hill to strike them from behind.” Said Rennon, motioning to the drawn mockup on the board beside him.

He noticed that Grisham was paying seldom attention and felt worried. And that worry carried over as Rennon and a majority of the band rode off to their destination, he looked at Grisham with a wistful and worried expression before he turned around to lead the others. Kieron noticed Rennon and Grisham’s expressions, and the fact that Isha had not left her tent. () ‘It’s… like any other time isn’t it? They’re just nervous, nothing’s wrong. But…’ She held onto her lingering doubts as she left with the others into battle and left the camp behind.

Grisham waved them off, and watched them leave before walking back towards Isha’s tent to check on her. As he approached, he spoke. “Isha, they’ve left. I understand why you wouldn’t want to see them off, but I just hoped we could talk some more. I… Hope you understand. And I hope you can forgive me for keeping you here until this passes, whenever that might be.” He walked up to the tent’s entrance but heard no response. “Hey Isha, are you there?” He asked and waited for a few seconds, but there was no answer. “If you’re there, respond, or make a noise.” He waited, but still no answer. “Fine, I apologize in advance, but I’m entering.” He said as he walked forward and lifted the tent’s flap open.

() ‘She’s… Not here!’ He said to himself, anxious. “Big sis, you know I can’t let you do that.” Said Lyden, facing off against Isha as she sneaked off. “You have to let me through.” Isha pleaded. She had one hand on the sword on her hip, and Lyden had one on his. “The boss’ orders is to net let you through, he says it’s for your safety, and if it’s for you to be safe, I have no choice to stop anyone, even you.” He replied. “I don’t want to do this.” She responded, drawing her blade. “Neither do I.” Lyden responded, drawing his. Isha thought for a moment, and then lowered her blade.

“Look. The reason Grisham told you this, and the reason why we’re both here are the same.” “He saw it in his vision.” Lyden replied. “No, this time it’s different. It’s because he’s trying to prevent what he saw.” Lyden looked puzzled. “We don’t have a lot of time, since he's busy discussing the battle with the others. But what that vision showed, was my death.” Lyden was startled at Isha’s words. “All the more reason to stop you!” He yelled. “That vision showed me dead in battle, a sword through my chest.” She tried to explain as calmly as she could, he tried to respond but Isha cut him off.

“Grisham plans for me to stay here, until the upcoming battle’s over and to ensure that what happens in the vision won’t occur. But him doing this, it’s going to be a detriment to the band, and it may lead to our downfall or the prevention of future victories or battles. And I… I know I’m being selfish but this not the way I want to go. Grisham’s visions have always come true, and I don’t like the thought of me going day after day, and week after week just waiting without doing anything. I’d rather go out there, helping my comrades and using my strength to help them one last time, instead of cowering and being treated like some helpless prisoner for the rest of my days.” Isha spoke in a grave tone, but with a serious fire in her gaze.

“Sorry, but… I know neither me or anyone of the others can accept that, please stay.” He answered, raising his sword towards her. Isha rushed towards him and threw a small stone at his direction. () ‘A pebble?!’ Lyden exclaimed to himself, as he blocked the oncoming projectile with his sword. Isha ran past him, and as he turned around, she struck the sword as he was distracted and unprepared, knocking it from his hands. She then followed up with a lightning-fast punch to his side, the speed of which he could barely react to. As he fell to his knees, he held his side in pain and tried to gasp for air. “I’m… Sorry.” Isha said as she ran off.

As Grisham ran around the perimeter of the fenced camp, he checked every exit and consulted with every guard to see where Isha had gone. One of the guards pointed towards Lyden’s post’s direction, where he had the neighing of horses earlier. Grisham ran and found Lyden standing up and supporting himself on a nearby wooden wall. “Where’s she? What happened?” Grisham asked frantically. “Boss… She got me good. The… Stables. She took the horses…” He remarked, still recovering from the impact he received. Grisham then ran past him and towards the stables. He noticed that the few remaining horses have been untied and set loose, some of them roaming out of sight and across the grasslands.

He looked around and surmised that she must have taken a horse to escape, but to where? Grisham quickly summoned up his thoughts in a cold sweat, trying to think as quickly as he could. () ‘Where could she have gone? Would she hide in the city? No, she won’t settle for hiding, she’s told me that. Out in the forest, into the barren snow? To a nearby village? No… Where!’ It was then that he finally realized and connected the dots. “She’s heading to the battle.” He ran a short distance and then looked around, he whistled and whistled until he attracted back the horses that were loosed. Grisham then ran back to the camp and called for all of the guards, and all including Lyden approached.

“Isha’s escaped and she’s going to the battlefield. I want you two to stay here and guard the camp, while you four ride with me. Let’s go!” With that, he and a few others ran and mounted the horses that had been called back and headed straight for the location of the battle. There, Rennon, Kieron and all of the other mercenaries fought bravely and violently. Scores of men, the foreign Reshan army bared down upon and surrounded the small force of warriors that comprised of Grisham’s band. The cavalry riders which led the charge were unsuited for long periods of close combat battle and without space to move, they were overpowered by the large heavily armored warriors of the Reshans.

The archers tried to provide support from up above but were deterred by the mages firing from the other side of the fort. A small and ancient castle once used in wars long past was utilized by the enemy army as a base to push forward their advance against Lodeleth. The mercenaries had swords and shields, but were easily outmatched by the more armed and experienced enemy army, all they could do was to delay and push them back. Steel against steel, steel against flesh, the fighters clashed in a brutal conflict, and without Grisham, the band of blue was at a severe disadvantage. “We’re trapped! They’re driving us back!” Yelled Kieron, as she ducked and sliced one of the less-armored infantry of the Reshan empire.

“Where’s our backup? I thought we were supposed to drive away a part of the force and the rest of the army would take care of it?” She remarked to Rennon, who stabbed a warrior in the torso. “They might have been delayed! They said for us to lead the charge!” Said Rennon. () ‘If only Grisham and Isha were here…’ Kieron said to herself. Isha rode to an elevated position above the battlefield and witnessed the carnage, and exclaimed to herself: () ‘No, this is horrible. They’re overrun! I… Have got do something.’ She rode down a hill and cried out as loud as she could. “Attention Reshan warriors! I am the commander of this mercenary band! Strike me down if you dare!” She yelled, putting forth a guttural rage that was comparable to the roar of a lioness, or the strength of the rumbling of the earth itself.

The commander, with golden armor, medals and other accessories attached to him laughed and ordered an archer nearby to strike down this feeble challenger, but as he did, an arrow whizzed through the air and struck him in the eye and took him down. As his mustached grin faded, and his golden helmet fell from his head and towards the ground, the other warriors and his soldiers all yelled frantically to each other and pointed at Isha. She aimed with the bow she had brought along and fired shots into the mass of warriors, not making a dent but aggravating them enough for a force to chase after her. She rode her horse quickly and swiftly away, firing arrow after arrow at her pursuers just to attract more and more attention away from the rest of the band.

Hot on her trail, Grisham, and the handful of riders he brought along with him, caught up and looked upon the battlefield where they saw the fact that there were no members of the Lodeleth knights and the overwhelming number of the opposing forces. “They’re being slaughtered…” Lyden remarked. “They need you, boss.” He said to Grisham, who was only focusing at spotting Isha, who heard Lyden’s remark but called out towards Isha instead. “There she is, follow her!” Grisham ordered as he and the riders rode downwards. Isha was still being pursued by a dozen rider group, she shot arrow after arrow at the horse riders who blocked most of her shots with their large metal shields. Their horses were outfitted similar to them, with straps and layers of hanging light brown cloth around them, as well as thick padding serving as armor, they were slower but larger than the regular horses of the kingdom.

Isha was forced to drop her bow as one of the riders carrying a large pike advanced towards her, they charged and she quickly pulled out her sword to deflect the blow, the act of which caused her to slightly lose balance, and her position on the horse to wobble. She pulled on the horse’s reins to maintain balance and to change course, but the rider with the pike advanced once more. She anticipated the attack and prepared to deflect with her now-chipped sword once more, but a blast erupted behind them, shocking her and the rider both and directing their attention to the attacker.

Bright blue light shone blindingly, as Grisham sent blast after blast, incinerating the riders pursuing Isha. And then a sickening crash resounded as a blast from Grisham’s hand turned both the armored horse and rider into bloody chunks flying through the air. “Isha!” He yelled out. “Grisham!” Isha replied, she turned to the rest of the band fighting the Reshan army and said: “Help the others!” She cried out. Grisham glanced at them briefly but turned to her and said: “First, we have to get you to somewhere safe!”

The mages, those who acted as seers for the enemy’s army all were transfixed at Grisham’s appearance, all of them raised their hands and pointed, following Grisham’s location. “They’re retreating?” Lyden questioned as the riders that pursued Isha rode back to the castle. “Is it because of Grisham?” He thought. But as he turned around, a hail of blue bolts rained down from the sky, mages who had gathered at the top of the castle fired down upon the valley. “We need to help them!” “They can wait! You… ride back to the camp, and I’ll…” “No!” Grisham tried to bring up an excuse but Isha refuted sternly. Behind them both, the soil and earth was turned up as explosive blasts razed the nearby field, and blasted away the riders that Grisham brought along with him.

The entire battlefield was bathed in light, it was as if a blue sun rose and outshone the other one, as the blasts neared, Grisham jumped off from his horse, and ran towards Isha. The horses were frozen in shock by the chaos before them, and Grisham ran, carried Isha off from her horse and ran a short distance to outpace the destruction. He looked at the mages at the top of the castle to see if they would attack once more, and if any rider or warrior pursued them as he stopped nearby a forest and under the cover of trees.

Grisham could hear a trickling and dripping noise, like rainwater off a tree branch towards the ground. At first he did not care about the minute sound, he was more focused on the sounds of soldiers and mercenaries at the castle ahead. Then a sensation, a feeling came along with the sound and then it became impossible for him to ignore. Warmth, usually a positive feeling of comfort, an aid to one in a cold night, but it was accompanied by a damp feeling. Startled, he looked down towards the ground and the trickling became a sputtering of blood, but not from him as he would have felt the wound, but from the one he carried in his arms.

“Wh-What..? H-Hey! Isha, you’re bleeding! We need to-“ “Need to go…” Isha gurgled, as Grisham gently put her down towards the ground. “What did you- We need to!” Grisham was panicked, he looked upon the blood on his hands and looked down and saw the same exact sight he saw in his vision, it was as beautiful as it was tragic, the foliage and flowers below were coated in crimson, making Isha seem to lay in a field of red flora. Grisham looked at the sword embedded in her chest and frantically thought and looked around for anything, or any solution, ending up pressing his hands down and near her wound, trying to stop the bleeding.

“Leave… They’re… Going to die.” Isha whispered feebly. “No! Why, why did you?” Grisham’s voice became hoarse and trailed off into silence. At that moment he understood, as he knelt on the ground over Isha. He naively held onto the hope that he could change something but from the moment he started to piece together his visions, he saw himself absent in the start of the upcoming battle and had already surmised that it was likely that the next actions he would take would never betray fate. Nevertheless, he pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind and hoped.

“No… Please… Please!” Grisham pleaded, but to whom he did not know, maybe towards fate itself? Or to any power or being that listened. Holding onto a last miniscule amount of strength, Isha grasped Grisham’s hands in hers and whispered. “Please… Leave. They… Need you.” The moment that she had spotted Grisham had followed her towards the battlefield, she realized, that the foretelling of events was inevitable, and that Grisham would pursue her and drive her out of the battle and could result in all of them getting wiped out. “No! I won’t leave!” Grisham cried out. “I know… you’re being selfish, and I’m… being selfish too. But us, the others… I don’t care if its because of fate… We’re still… your family…” As Isha spoke those words, the fate Grisham foretold was exact.

A silent, serene, and beautiful scene, but one that twisted his heart into a malignant rage and sorrow. He slowly walked backwards from her body. “Why was she here… Why did this-“ He muttered and mumbled to himself. He looked at his own hair, long and black but with white tips. ‘An ill omen. All of this… I started… Is it because of me? I… Showed her what I saw in my vision and… No… It’s fate.’ He crouched on the floor while holding his head in his hands. ‘It’s behind everything… Controlling everything! Did I do anything at all? Was all of it… Just because of something else?’ He looked at the nearby castle battlefield and heard the still ongoing sounds of battle. “No.”

‘What Isha said… Fate or no, they’re still my… Friends… Family… If I can do this, if nothing stops me, then whatever I do is the will of fate. And if fate itself is on my side, nothing can stop me. I am a taker. I’ve ignored my fate and tried to hide away from it, but from the beginning, I should have embraced it.’ Back in the battlefield, the fight was still raging strongly, and many of the mercenary fighters were beginning to be wiped out. “Was that… Isha, and Grisham? We… Desperately need their help here!” Kieron cried out towards Rennon, as she sidestepped and weaved between soldiers as she sliced at her enemy’s necks. ‘The archers… I can’t see them… Our cavalry, they’re pushing from the outside but they’re not going to beat the enemy forces, and there’s nothing else our infantry can do but hold on…’ “Rennon? Did you see them?” Kieron asked.

Rennon was worried but remained silent. “Isha and Grisham are here? we’re saved!” Remarked one of the mercenaries, hopeful. “The vision must have shown them the path to our victory, this where the tide turns!” Remarked another. The ones who survived were battered, beaten, bruised, and wounded. Holding onto the faint hope and ideal of fate, the thing that had enchanted and guided them, they fought on. From the sky, it was as if there was a shooting star, lighting up the sky and descending on the castle below. The seers, the robed men, all closed their eyes and looked down, satisfied that they had accomplished their goal and accepted their fates.

Rubble and debris flew in the air as Grisham crashed down and straight through the stone walls of the old castle. As the battle raged on outside, sparks and flashes of blue light could be seen from within the castle’s walls, those outside could see and as they fought, those on Grisham’s side were strengthened with confidence and hope. The wall of the castle broke and shattered, Grisham hopping from the ruins, leaving behind the stone interior silent and devoid of life.

He leapt onto the mass that was the Reshan soldiers, and with senses heightened and rage worsened, he attacked and dodged effortlessly. He ducked through most attacks, slashes and arrows only remained momentarily as his body healed itself at an alarming rate. He ran through the army, with every shot, punch and strike deliberate, having a perfect grasp of the battlefield at hand. He threw soldiers in the air and struck them down, he threw bolts of energy towards the sky, they landed on the ground akin to striking lightning. Even in a frenzy, he was mindful of his own allies, being careful enough not to strike them directly. ‘I can feel them. Their pain, their anger, their anguish. And each one I kill, I can feel their power flowing towards me, gathering up in me.’ A realization welled up in Grisham and a symbol appeared in the wrist of his left hand, a wheel dripping in blood, almost engraved onto his flesh, but that was quickly hidden by the growth and spreading of the “burn” on his skin, slowly climbing up and covering his wrist.

As the battle drew to a close, the survivors of the mercenaries watched as Grisham gleefully stomped the life out of the enemies that remained, they sensed madness and grief in the air, but were silent in helping up the injured and mourning the dead. Rennon stood among the corpses of both enemies and allies and was muttering: “So it did happen…” Kieron could see his expression, Grisham’s vicious zeal, and Isha’s absence and figured out that something terrible must have occurred. But those who survived could only stand victorious on the battlefield, but tired and helpless.

The day went on, and reinforcements did not approach still. And as the amount of their forces they have lost were numerous, only a few were loaded on carts back to the camp, and many were buried in a mass grave. They travelled home using some of the opposing army’s horses, most of them looked glum and were silent about the entire ordeal except Grisham, who was endowed with a newfound determination. They all arrived at their camp, exhausted and downcast, the few bodies that they brought were laid to rest and buried while Grisham started a speech towards those who survived.

Only a day prior, they were eager and prepared for battle, but now their numbers thinned, and their hearts grew weary. Among the crowd were Kieron, Rennon and Lyden. ‘Lyden… He survived.’ Kieron remarked surprised, but then saw the injury that had befallen him, a burn that covered half of his face. The entire crowd stared at Grisham, especially Rennon who looked unsure and was eagerly awaiting Grisham’s next words or actions. “Attention, all!” He announced proudly. “Today we gained a grim reminder, that we can rely only on ourselves, and the guiding star of ours which is fate. It is what saved us, and if we become followers of it, we can become as powerful as fate itself! None would stand in our way.” “Sister Isha died! Isn’t it insensitive to praise fate if she and the others died because of it!” Someone cried out from the crowd. Kieron looked torn and confused, while the scowl on Rennon’s face indicated he shared the crowd's sentiment.

Grisham simply smiled and said: “That is incorrect. It is because she… I… No, we defied fate and paid the price. Listen close. For weeks now I’ve had visions about her death, I tried to hide it from her, tried to prevent it from happening, but she herself chose that fate, so that she could protect all of the others. It was her sacrifice that snapped me out of my ignorance and allowed the enemy to be defeated and for you all to be safe.” “So you’re saying that she should’ve died earlier? That we shouldn’t have done anything to stop her death?!” Lyden angrily remarked, provoked by Grisham’s comment.

“It’s not our fault, or fate’s fault that she died. She did it because she wanted to protect us, she said she would have given her life at any time for the rest of us, so we shouldn’t let her death be in vain! We should stop letting others take control of us, and start looking only after ourselves. This kingdom, this army, they abandoned us! They use us and then throw us out like trash, they are the ones that led to her death! They used us to clear out the bandits and now they’ll pay! They’ve cleared out the path for us to reign uncontested, I promise you as long as you are under me you are under the guidance of fate itself, a force that cannot be seen or comprehended by others, a force wielded by us!” There were many who were disgusted and scoffed at Grisham’s manipulation and began to walk away.

There were also many who were gripped by grief and anger, as well as admiration for Grisham’s strength and the allure of the ideals he presented. Rennon was one of those who walked away, but he turned around for Kieron who was standing still, looking back behind her but was indecisive about her decision. “Come on, Kieron. He's… A lost cause now.” Said Rennon. Kieron paused and stood for a few seconds before beginning to walk away, giving one last glance at Grisham and the others. But as she left, she noticed Lyden did not budge from his position. “Lyden!” She yelled out. Lyden faced them, the burn on his face apparent and said: “I’m staying.” After he spoke, he turned right back around as Rennon nudged Kieron away.

Nearby the camp, those who left still paid respects to the graves, Isha’s in particular. Rennon knelt and placed a single sunflower on the dirt mound. “She loved these flowers.” Rennon quietly said to himself, as Kieron stood nearby him. As the others walked off, the two stayed for a while but Rennon quickly turned around in a silent fury as Grisham approached them both. “What do you have to say for yourself?” Asked Rennon. “If you’re leaving, I won’t stop you. It’ll be the choice of fate if you stay or leave, or if any of you come back.” Grisham looked at Kieron and at the crowd of people, some of them turned around to look at Grisham. “What will they turn to if they can’t find work in the city or a living for themselves?” He added.

Rennon glared at him back. “Goodbye, Grisham.” He said, before turning around and walking away, never looking back. Kieron followed, but took a glance back at the camp, and at the home she was now leaving.

At the ruined castle battlefield, Siegmund and the Lodeleth knight army rode up to the carnage and destruction enacted upon the land. “It’s… All in ruins!” Remarked one knight. “Strange, the behavior of the Reshans earlier and now this, the mercenaries shouldn’t last let alone wipe them all out.” Siegmund wondered. “Strange phenomenon?” Asked one of the archers. “Yes. When we were supposed to come here, the enemy’s forces suddenly amassed onto us, as if all their forces were concentrated on halting our approach here…” said Siegmund pondering. ‘Is all of this connected? Are there forces at play, unseen by us?’ He wondered.