We used to watch the fireflies

When they shone against the black of night

And gave summer a rare magic

With their sacred neon rite

It was an affinity we shared

A privilege we understood

To watch them flit about

Illuminating the darkened wood

To watch them was a gift

To the spectacle we would turn

And those magnificent fireflies

Required nothing in return

When I see them, I think of you

When June ebbs into July

And the air smells sweet

As gentle sunsets tinge the sky

We no longer share them

Those magical summer nights

But I can feel you

In those hallowed glowing lights

They tell me now

The fireflies will be gone soon

And all their carefree magic

The song of the summer moon

Perhaps the glimmer of the stars

Will be the only magic left

When I see them I'll think of you

And the fireflies too

Knock knock

Who's there?

Interrupting toilet

Interrupting toi-

Whoosh

Why couldn't the lizard get the other lizard pregnant?

Ereptile disfunction.

Ever heard of the revolutionary frog?

No?

You should read about him then. Quite a ribbeting figure.

The oldest recorded joke is about a fart.

That's it.

Eyes bleary and muscles barking in protest, Rory hardly had time to roll out of the way as another shriek split the night. And shattered the window on her side of the bad. The Harkscalen was near, she realized as her heart pounded.

Bianca heard it too, and the two were practically forcing themselves into leathers and cloaks. Lit by a single candle, Bianca shouldered her quiver and grabbed her bow with expert speed, and Rory belted her hunting blade. In the hallway, others had begun to congregate, looking around and whispering nervously. When Albert and Nicolas shoved into the open space, Rory was struck by relief that she didn't know she could feel, especially in a moment such as the one that had sprung upon them.

For a brief moment, everyone stood in the hallway above the tavern, laden with drowsiness and confusion. And then another shriek echoed through the building, breaking more windows. This time, it was accompanied by a blow that splintered wood and shook the building, and Rory heard a muffled chorus of startled horses as they squealed and whinnied. In that moment, any relief that she had felt upon seeing her friends was made obsolete.

As whispers turned to screams and the scene gave way to chaos, Rory had only one thought in her mind: get to the stables.

Forgetting how stiff and tired she was, she shoved through the panicked crowd, not bothering to see if the others followed.

"Did the Harkscalen follow us here?" Rory heard Bianca ask behind her.

"Unlikely", Nicolas answered as they raced through the tavern. Nicolas' grave tone only added to the gloomy panic that threatened to crush Rory's chest.

When she reached the stables, Rory practically threw the door open to find that chaos had already been unleashed. In their stalls, horses thrashed about, some kicking at the latched doors and others pacing nervously. Snow flew in from a gaping hole in the roof and beneath it the stablehand lay dead in the aisle, his fate sealed by a gnarled, bloody gash that ran across his chest.

Rory gasped in surprise but before she had time to feel sorry for the boy, Nicolas rushed toward a more pressing matter. When the stablehand had fallen, he carried a candle to light his way, and the hand that bore it dropped into an unfortunately placed pile of hay. Nicolas had nearly reached the candle when a draft blew through the barn, enough to set the hay aflame.

Rory bounded for the stall doors, opening them one by one and Albert did the same.

"Bianca, can you control it?" Nicolas shouted over the growing blaze.

"I'm trying", Bianca cried, "but the hay is too flammable and I can't keep up."

"Keep trying", Nicolas shouted back as he joined the others' efforts to fee the horses.

To protect herself from the smoke, Rory drew her scarf over her nose. The flames continued to grow, devouring the closest stall and licking the rafters. Outside, panicked screams grew louder as the loose horses thundered out.

Mercifully, Jewel's stall was several doors down from where the fire erupted. Despite the gravity of the situation, the mare still nickered at Rory's approach.

"It's alright", Rory whispered as she opened her horse's door and patted her neck.

As soon as her stall was open, Jewel bounded forward, eager to be free of the danger inside of the barn. It would be a miracle if she could ever convince her to go in another barn after this, Rory thought as the mare leapt past. But just as Jewel was nearly free, another shriek split the air and more wood shattered. As the Harkscalen landed, it was all Rory could do to watch as long, glinting black claws shredded skin.

Jewel squealed, the sound primal and born from a place and shock and pain. She reared up and immediately fell over, too much blood reddening her white hide and pooling on the floor around her.

"Jewel", Rory screamed as she bounded toward her.

Between them stood the Harkscalen, crouched over its near dead prey. But over Rory's dead body would the awful creature feast on her treasured companion.

"Rory no!" Bianca shouted as Rory bounded towards the beast, her pounding heart echoing her rage.

All too soon, the Harkscalen noticed her approach and whirled around in a movement as quick as lightning. As the last of the horses scampered past, the beast lowered itself and hissed, the sound guttural and predatory. So be it.

Forgetting the world around her, Rory lunged towards the Harkscalen, blade raised high and aimed for a clouded eye. The same eye that had been struck by Bianca's arrow a week prior. Only the Harkscalen was faster, and it was all Rory could do to jump out of the way as the barbed tail swung for her head.

Behind the Harkscalen, Jewel had somehow scrambled to her feet and limped into the street before collapsing again. Even with treatment, it would be a miracle if the mare survived long.

Shoving the thought behind her, Rory collected herself and scrambled into the street. Abandoning her efforts to control the blaze, Bianca did the same. With the threat of the Harkscalen, none made any move to quell the growing fire as it continued to destroy the barn and tavern. Not that the tossing of water filled buckets would make a difference. Given the current status, Rory thought grimly, it would take a heavy rain or a skilled Wavecarver to put out the inferno that had become the stables.

Unaffected by the flames, the Harkscalen stocked out of the burning building and let out another ear piercing shriek.

Ever void of caution, Albert was the first to lunge at the creature, only to be pinned down by a scaly, reptilian foot with too large claws. From behind, Nicolas leapt into action, leaping onto the thickly muscled tail and latching onto one of many scales to secure himself. But when he was nearly halfway up, the beast whipped its tail, sending Nicolas flying through the night. He landed next to the fountain with a thud, and did not get up again. Rory could only hope that he was unconscious and nothing more.

Albert still in its clutches, the Harkscalen growled. The sound felt like cold claws running down Rory's spine. Unsure what else to do, Bianca drew an arrow and angled it towards the Harkscalen's eye, just as she did in the Dil'Farans. Rory supposed that with others crowded in the street, she was hiding her magic for as long as she could.

The arrow hit home, piercing the same eye that had clouded over after the last encounter. The Harkscalen writhed in a rare display of pain, and a few gasped. One even cheered. But clumsy from pain, as the Harkscalen drew back, one of the claws grazed Albert's neck and he cried out.

"Albert!" Bianca exclaimed as she ran to her brother. Rory wanted to help as crimson blood began to pool on the snow dusted street, but her feet wouldn't move. The Harkscalen, at least, seemed to be retreating into the night but with two of her friends and her horse all close to dying, Rory had no idea how to move forward in this dreadful night.

But then, another blood curdling screech echoed in the night and Rory knew that the fight with the Harkscalen had hardly begun.

Most of the people who were congregated own the street had begun to flee, but Rory wasn't about to go anywhere. For what the creature had taken from her, she needed to watch it suffer. And so, while Bianca cradled her brother and sobbed, Rory sprung into action, leaping onto the beast as it barreled past. And she stabbed her blade through thick keratinous scales over and over until her vision blurred with sweat and tears.

Eventually, the beast shook her off, but she regained herself quickly and prepared to strike again. But another beat her to it.

"You killed by brother", Bianca roared, furious and heartbroken. Tears streamed her face and she stalked to her feet. As her amber eyes began to glow, Rory drew back a step and the fire that devoured the tavern began to shift, splaying long, dizzying shadows across the street.

And then those flames shifted into a massive fireball that flew towards the Harkscalen. Bianca screamed with exertion, and Rory rushed to her side. Bianca had explained once that a large display of magic was incredibly straining, sometimes even lethal if the wielder wasn't careful. With the weight of her brother's fate settling upon her, Rory guessed that Bianca had thrown said caution aside.

A quick glance at Albert made Rory's stomach drop, his body pale and limp on the cobbled street. She wished there was something, anything that she could do to stop that bleeding but a startled squeal had her attention snapping up to the Harkscalen where it wrestled Bianca's flames.

For a moment, all Rory could see was a mess of smoking flames and the swinging of a barbed tail. The smell of burning, swampy flesh tinged the air, and she fought not to gag as it struck her.

"You bastard!" Bianca shouted beside her. Tears continued to roll down her cheeks, and her entire body trembled. Despite dark of night, Rory could see that her skin had paled from exertion.

"You bastard." The second word came out hardly a whisper, and Bianca collapsed to the ground. Rory cringed as her friend's knees hit stone, but she caught her before she could fall completely. Her friend limp in her arms, Rory risked a true glimpse of the carnage around her for the first time. The remains of the tavern and the stable smoked behind them, charred wood snapping and ash wafting through the air. Before the entrance, Jewel lay in the street, too much blood streaking her back and pooling around her. She was still breathing, but those breaths were severely numbered.

A few yards away, Nicolas lay sprawled before the fountain, whether he was breathing, Rory could not see. And then there were Bianca and Albert, a heartbroken sister who lay limp in Rory's arms, inches away from her brother, whose chest had gone painfully still. It was all too overwhelming, and Rory felt a single tear roll down her own cheek. And despite her soul, hardened by years of servitude on Drao'hain and grueling Skepmadyr training, she cried. The sensation had become so foreign, a symbol of great weakness in Arcodyte culture, and yet she didn't stop herself. Not even as the Harkscalen freed itself from Bianca's flames, skin charred and weak, but still vengeful. As it padded towards her, Rory only glared at the creature, jade eyes meeting yellow ones. And she held that stare until the beast stood before her and they were face to face, Bianca's limp body still leaning against her own.

Rory's heart pounded, as if trying to beat as many times as possible before death but still, she refused to yield. And as the creature drew back to strike, its swampy scent tinging the air, a strange white light had begun to glow, illuminating the snowy ground with the milky glow of moonlight, only stronger. Before she could locate the source of the strange light, a deafening boom exploded through the air, the sound threatening to split her soul. Suddenly, she had to fight for her own consciousness, her legs wobbling as a wave of exhaustion crashed upon her. And as she collapsed to the ground the last thing she saw was the Harkscalen falling backwards, claws grasping at the night air.

Compared Calydon's cities and merchant towns, Agres was neither large nor special, but it was well designed for its purpose. The entirety of the town sat on one street, the space broad enough to fit carriages from all directions. Illuminated by torchlight, taverns, stables and supply shops lined the cobbled street. At the center stood what was perhaps the most exciting feature of the outpost town; a large fountain where water from a natural spring bubbled up and pooled at the bottom. According to myths in the old tongue, Agres was a water spirit who lived in the spring around which the town had been built. Despite the kingdom's loyalty to the new god Sŏnne, the old ways were stubborn so close to the northern border, and a moss covered carving of Agres still stood at the top of the fountain.

Based on the volume of unhitched carriages and the noise that vibrated out of nearby buildings, Rory and the others were not the only ones to weather the night in the busy outpost town. As snow continued to fall, landing on her shoulders in loose clumps, Rory was eager to get Jewel put up for the night and the prospect of a warm meal had become intoxicating.

Fortunately, it had been easy to find room at a nearby inn, the building offering accommodations for both the travelers and their horses. A warm stall piled high with straw awaited Jewel, and Rory toweled off a snow flecked hide as the mare munched on her hay and a loaf of steaming horsebread. As she left the stables, she reached into her pack and tossed the stablehand two sylfring, ensuring that he'd look after Jewel while she found a warm meal and a place to sleep.

Walking into the tavern next door had been an assault to the senses. Travelers shouted and laughed, fires blazed, and a bard danced in long slippers, singing in the old tongue and strumming a lute. Had Rory not been so cold, tired and hungry she may have protested against the raucous display but now, she savored the warmth and wished only for a place to sit to rest her tired legs.

"I'm so hungry I could eat the king's entire stable", Bianca joked next to Rory. Lit up by the multiple fires in the room, her friend's hair glowed and her eyes sparkled, as if calling to the dancing flames. Nicolas handed her a pint of ale that he'd fetched and she smiled at him, their eyes locking for a frozen moment. Again, Rory witnessed a connection that neither seemed to acknowledge. Drawing her attention away, Albert offered Rory her own pint and she nodded her thanks. And then he spoke, seemingly unaware of what, if anything, transpired between his sister and his friend.

"Of all that have ridden with us, you keep up the best", he said, clasping Rory on the shoulder in a brotherly manner. The Skepmadyr in her yearned to retaliate at his touch and the dull aching that throbbed through her entire body threatened to make her wince but somehow, Rory managed to do neither. Instead, she merely followed the others to the closest table, unsure where else to go or what else to do.

"So what now?" Rory dared to ask, her throat hoarse from gasping at cool, dry air all day.

"We keep riding south of course", Albert answered as he took a swig of ale. By now, Rory had learned to tell when the redhead was kidding around, his green eyes shining with amusement.

"I think she knew that much", Bianca scolded, "perhaps the bard will take a break and you can try your humor on the others."

Albert scoffed and Rory couldn't help but snicker and his sister's wit. Across the table, Nicolas didn't laugh, but for a second his eyes appeared a bit lighter.

"As long as the snow doesn't fall too heavily, I say we continue our journey tomorrow. We can restock in the morning, but best to keep moving before we lose our race to the winter."

Rory nodded her agreement, and so did the others. It seemed that she wasn't the only one that was too tired to hold a conversation. And when plates of steaming food were placed on the table, any attempts at a conversation ceased completely.

Rory did not wait to see what the others did as she dug into her bowl of pottage, and tore off a piece of the generously sized bread roll that accompanied it. The pottage seemed to be a brew of meat, vegetables and barley but she did not care what it was made of or how it tasted, only that it warmed her from the inside out. Any further selectivity was a luxury that she could not afford.

Fortunately, it did not appear that the others had shown any more reservation, and for a moment, Rory simply savored the warmth of the building and the meal that filled her. She had become too tired to worry about anything at all. Even the poignant concern that she'd felt upon seeing an upside down crown etched into the sign for Agres felt like a distant memory.

***

When Rory and the others finished their meal, the tavern owner, a robust, middle aged man, pointed them up a set of creaky stairs to the bedrooms. Below, shouts, laughter and the singing bard could still be hard. But Rory didn't care. The bed that filled the room before her held the entirety of her attention.

"Do you care which side?" Bianca asked as she stripped down to a linen shift. Due to a shortage of rooms, the group had been made to share rooms for the night, Albert and Nicolas in one room, Bianca and Rory in the other.

"No", Rory answered honesty, "You?"

Bianca shook her head as she bound her hair into a loose braid behind her back.

Rory nodded and settled into the bed, eager to find rest at last. Rarely did she ride as hard as she did today, and she had already begun to feel the effects. She was not looking forward to the aches and pains that the next day would bring but like everything else, it was an issue for tomorrow.

"Your eyes", Bianca said as she drew up the blanket on her side of the bed. "I've never met someone with exactly the same color. After we complete this job, maybe we can help you track down your family. Or at least find out what happened to them."

On her side of the bed, Rory sleepily watched the show as it continued to flurry outside. Bianca's words hit her slowly and rested heavily, like the pelt of a heavy rain. Unsure what to say, Rory had meant to reply, but sleep overtook her, true and deep. Cushioned by the bed and sheltered by a roof and a blanket, she did not stir once, as if her body were savoring the rare luxuries that the night afforded her.

Only when a piercing sound split the snow shrouded night, did she wake. She recognized that sound immediately; she'd heard it only once before and had begged whatever god was listening to never hear it again. It seemed, she realized as she gasped with horror, that her prayers had not been answered.

For five days, Rory and the others followed the royal road as it coursed through the southern edge of the Dil'Farans. For the most part, every day had been the same, rising at dawn to ride through the seemingly endless sprawl of trees, each one taller than the next, and their stumps thickened with age. At night, the group continued to camp on the forest floor, the chill of the nearing winter cast out by the strange magic of Bianca's fire.

At the conclusion of the fourth day, the telltale thinning of the ancient forest was a welcome sight to the entire group. In the past, Rory had enjoyed the shrouded serenity of traveling alone through the trees, but now she found herself grateful for the newfound company. Despite herself, the incident with the Harkscalen had unnerved her, and to travel with the others gave her a small sense of comfort. Not to mention that the act of quiet rebellion against her Arcodyte teachings lit a small fire within her. A feeling that she hadn't yet decided how to handle.

During their time together, Rory had learned a great deal about her companions. In just a few days, she learned how Bianca and Albert had navigated their way out of a plague-ridden village and joined a band of traveling merchants. How they'd refined their hunting skills and met Nicolas on one of their many adventures throughout Calydon.

As for Nicolas, Rory now understood that solemnity that she occasionally caught darkening his stark features. As a boy, he had never known his father, and was raised by his mother in Genog. Rory had never heard of the village before but according to Nicolas it was small; hardly more than a shanty town on the western coast of Calydon. When Nicolas was nine years old, an Arcodyte raid had burnt his village to the ground and many perished, including his own mother. Form there, Rory had learned, Nicolas swore to one day face King Hedryk himself and avenge his mother.

"Look at this", Albert exclaimed as he rode ahead of the others. His voice carried a lilt of excitement and dragged Rory from her thoughts.

"A day's ride to Agres", Bianca had observed, joining her brother's excitement.

Rory didn't have to ride closer to see what the others were talking about. In fact, when she caught up with the others, she wasn't surprised at all to see the wooden sign that signified that Agres was nearby. In truth, Rory had used the cover of the Dil'Farans to navigate northern Calydon many times.

"Looks like we'll survive the great forest another time", Bianca said, winking at Nicolas. In their short time together, Rory had already noticed a pull between Nicolas and Bianca. However, it was still unclear whether the others had noticed it between themselves.

Nicolas only fingered the bottom of the necklace that he wore, a subconscious motion that seemed to accompany his seemingly constant pondering. The necklace was his mother's, Nicolas had quietly explained beside the blaze of Bianca's fire one night. From the golden chain, a single charm hung, the outline of a violet etched into a piece of flattened gold, with a small moonstone at the center. According to Nicolas, it was the final trace that he had left of her.

"I wager that if we ride hard, we'll reach Agres just past nightfall", Albert said.

"Race you there?" Bianca asked, the excitement at the challenge rising in her eyes.

With dawn still softening the edges of the sky and dew clinging to the trees around them, the day was young and Rory supposed that such a goal was possible. But after several days on the road with a stiff body and belly rumbling from a waning supply of food, she rarely chose to ride so hard.

"We've been pushing ourselves and the horses hard the past few days. Perhaps we should be more careful", Nicolas said, voicing Rory's silent concern.

"True", Albert said, "but we know the route. I'm assuming that she does too", he said, nodding at Rory. "Besides, we must travel with haste. For all we know, the job has been taken already."

The mysterious summons that had united the group on this odd adventure had been a frequent subject of conversation. Still, the answers eluded them and their only choice was to forge on, ever enticed by the exorbitant pay that was being advertised.

Eventually, Albert had won the debate and it was decided that the group would ride hard into Agres, only planning to stop once during the day.

But as Rory rode past the sign for Agres, she noticed a strange mark on the sign for Agres that she hadn't seen before. In one of the corners, an upside down crown had been etched into the weathered wood and she quickly recalled the Earl of Kennet's warning.

Young Skepmadyr, beware of a place that bears this symbol. I've received word that it can be found on the royal road, and danger lurks there.

At the time, she had thought nothing of it but now the sight unnerved her and she decided to voice her concern.

"The symbol etched into the sign", she called out to the others as they rode ahead. "I've been warned to avoid it."

Shadowed by his dark hair, Nicolas' brows knitted, mirroring Rory's own apprehension.

Albert circled around to examine the strange mark himself, but only shrugged his shoulders.

"You two are too cautious", he laughed as he dug his heels into his horse's sides. "Last one to Agres pays for the ale", he said as his horse leapt into a gallop.

Bianca needed no further encouragement and bounded off after her brother, her red hair bouncing at her back in a long, thick braid.

"His lack of caution will be his demise one day", Nicolas sighed, the words hardly audible. But he, too, galloped off after Albert and Bianca.

Beneath her Jewel struck the ground with a front foot, expressing her eagerness to catch up to the others but still Rory restrained her, unsure what to do. In the past, she would have heeded her instincts and approached the outpost town with caution. But, she supposed, freeing herself from the Arcodytes would come with risks no matter what. Not to mention that traversing Agres was the only southbound route she knew. Slowly, she softened her grip on the reins, unsurprised when Jewel responded by speeding off after the others.

***

As the afternoon sun fell lower in the sky, the group still rode at a brisk pace. They had only stopped once at a small brook that Nicolas spotted along the way, taking the time to allow themselves and the horses a few small sips of water, but nothing more. Still, after several hours, Bianca and Albert continued to race around each other as they coursed through the winding road, which was little more than a walking trail in some spots. For Rory's part, she had to admire the tenacity of the redheaded siblings as they shouted and giggled, even as she grew weary.

With the days getting ever shorter in the final days of autumn, Albert was correct in his assumption that it wouldn't be until after dusk that the group rode into Agres. But still, the group forged on, guided by the final shadows of daylight as it waned beyond the horizon.

When the illuminated torchlight of Agres came into view at last, Rory felt her shoulders sag in relief. Every part of her ached from keeping up with the ardor of Albert and Bianca; her knees, thighs and back all radiating dull pain and her eyes bleary with exhaustion. Dried sweat from earlier in the day flaked her skin, and she shivered, drawing up the patched hood of her cloak.

Beneath her, Jewel's hide steamed with exertion and as she finally slowed the mare to a walk, she could feel every breath that the mare took, and the rapid beating of her heart. Running a gloved finger along the mare's neck, she stroked her in gratitude. It was rare for her to push the horse so hard in one ride, but Jewel had proven herself plenty capable keeping up with the others.

"You'll have a warm, dry stall to sleep in tonight. This I swear", Rory whispered to Jewel as she set her eyes on the town ahead, designed to accommodate travelers as they passed through. Around her, thick snowflakes had begun to flurry through the air, falling sloppily on the ground. The event marked the first snowfall of the year, and Rory scowled at the sky, anxious to embrace the warmth and shelter that was promised by the torchlight ahead.

"Looks like we made it just in the nick of time", Albert said as he drew his own cloak tighter and patted his horse on the rump. He didn't appear tired at all, but his south Calydonian accent was thicker than usual, giving his fatigue away. It was a feature that both he and his sister shared.

"Shall we put the horses up or fetch a pint?" Bianca asked as they grew ever closer to the town. After spending the past few days surrounded only by trees, the sight of a town and the prospect of a warm meal had become a coveted subject, even to Rory who was used to sleeping on the ground and surviving on stale food. But still, she pushed her own desires aside and spoke up for what she knew was right, fatigue souring her assertion more than she meant.

"I'm tending to my horse first. She will not stand in the snow, hitched at a tavern post while we eat."

"Nor will mine", Nicolas agreed. It had been the first time he'd spoken since morning.

"Stables it is then", Bianca said as they rode into the town at last.

Locked away in his chambers, Exle hyr Dirk sat before a wall-sized map of the Rodinian continent with eyes hardened by years of cunning curiosity. As a blessed Knight of Dirk, the fallen angel of chaos, Exle held the highest seat in the king's coveted Red Clade. As the Right Hand of the throne, he was afforded a considerable amount of power, to the extent that he served as the king's second on every matter except inheritance of the throne. Such an honor was saved for Prince Cade, the king's son and only true heir. Exle did not envy the prince, though; the king's ear was all he ever needed.

For years, the map of Rodinia had tormented Exle, and yet he always returned to the same spot, hunched over and pensive. Under daylight and candlelight alike, Exle studied the great map; he knew every etch in the paper as well as his own heartbeat, every crease and wrinkle familiar as the patterns of veins in his own hand.

He never looked within the borders of Calydon for long, the kingdom unchanging and familiar. As any other member of the Red Clade would, Exle knew his kingdom inside and out; every river, forest and hamlet etched into his mind by the relentless schooling that governed his youth.

He didn't study the Isle of Draohain for long, either. Instead, he regarded the island kingdom in the way that stablehand may regard a rat, noting its presence and shrugging in annoyance, but nothing more. To Exle, the Arcodytes were merely vermin of a larger variety; their ways savage and their weapons and battle tactics dated. While they raided Calydon on occasion and their Skepmadyr continued to be an annoyance, they posed no true threat to the kingdom; their resources simply couldn't compare.

What truly concerned the king's Right Hand lay illustrated on the upper side of the map, with little information beyond the confines of its borders.

Situated on to the north of the Dil'Farans, a great forest that proved to be as impenetrable as it was vast, stood the kingdom of Nord'Umbra, or the Northern Shadow in the old tongue.

Working in silence, Exle filed through the pages of notes he'd written over the years, all dedicated to finding a way for his king's forces to enter Nord'Umbra. According to legends that were as old as Calydon itself, the king that could conquer the entirety of Rodinia in the name of Sŏnne, the all powerful god of light and creator of worlds, would be blessed by the deity himself. And so Exle had made the conquest of Nord'Umbra his personal mission; it would be him, and only him, that would one day present the king with a plan of attack. And it would be his carefully crafted planning that would bring Calydon to its full glory and his king to the acquisition of such a sacred accolade.

Most days, his quiet, dutiful assessment of the sprawling map ended in headaches and frustration. No records of a successful crossing through the Dil'Farans existed, only countless failures, spanning from small expeditions to attempts at razing the forest in its entirety. On Rodinia's eastern shores sprawled the Swarcian Sea, where the waters were fierce and deadly, with currents capable of capsizing ships, and winds that snapped masts. On the western shore lay the Bay of Astel, but to traverse it with a fleet large enough to attack the enemy kingdom would surely result in trouble with the Arcodytes. It would be possible, Exle supposed, to distract them somehow but still, it was hardly a plan at all.

His gaze shifting between his notes and the map, Exle noticed a small stream that threaded through the heart of the Dil'Farans. He scratched his chin, unsure how he hadn't noticed it before and recorded the finding at the bottom of his endless notes.

Surely the stream wouldn't be large enough to guide a traveling army but still, he wouldn't cast it aside just yet. Such a talent for detail; for weaponizing the overlooked, was what ultimately afforded Exle his positions as the Right Hand and Knight of Dirk.

Where his fellow Cladesmen were revered as exceptional mages or masters of combat, Exle's weapon was his mind. Born in the bogs of the impoverished Gealuin Lowlands, Exle was slender and meek as a boy, often bordering on the edge of frail. Because of such limitations, he spent the majority of his youth being cast aside and rejected by others, until he was ultimately cast out by his own family when he failed to earn his keep working the fields and marshes. But what his body lacked, he made up for with his brilliance; a gift he'd forged to be as lethal as any blade. Even now, as one of the most powerful men in Calydon, he slaved away, unwilling to leave anything to fate.

A soft knocking at his door tore Exle from his thoughts and had him crossing the floor of his chambers. Despite the lavish expanse of the room, the space was decorated only by his bed and the materials of his various studies. Anything more was an unnecessary indulgence in his eyes.

"Sorry to disturb you, my lord."

Exle was unsurprised to see Slen, his personal servant at the other side of the door. Where other members of the Calydonian elite boasted a multitude of servants that they kept crowded around them, Exle had only Slen. For the most part, the mousy boy remained unheard and unseen, a quality that Exle valued. In exchange, he asked little of the boy beyond his basic duties.

"What is it, Slen?" Exle asked, his voice raspy from a lack of speaking, and his mind still half clouded by his project.

"The Clade is assembling for a council, my lord. The king requires your presence."

Exle knew better than to ask Slen the purpose of this unscheduled meeting. Such information was not openly shared with servants.

"Very well", he said instead, giving his servant a shallow nod to signal a dismissal.

Slen bowed his head in return, and left as silently as he came.

Sighing at the interruption of his work, Exle donned the hallowed crimson robe that marked him as a member of the Red Clade. But where the others drew up the hood of the heavy robe, shrouding their features from Dirk, Exle placed a matching crimson mitre atop his head. Such was the attire of the king's Right Hand. Lastly, eyed his gold plated staff; the symbol of his position as the Knight of Dirk, the pathfinder between chaos and light. He rarely saw the reason for such finery and ceremony, but he picked up the staff nonetheless, the metal cool and slightly dusty from its lack of use. Whatever the king had summoned him for, Exle hoped that the matter would at least yield something of interest.

Artificial is bad they say

What good will it do?

All those artificial meals you've had

Don't put that in your body

If you cannot pronounce it

Or you know not where it came from

And yet we seem to accept

The artificial

Of a different variety

And they all expect us

To embrace it and say

That artificial intelligence is OK

But I think not

Why should I ever trust the word

Of some elusive, intangible robot?

And tell me why it is frowned upon

To physically consume

The artificial

But acceptable to allow it

To penetrate the mind

And level the layers of sentience

Into one

Flattened

Lazy thought

It wasn't until the final reaches of daylight, when the colors of sunset bruised the sky, that the group stopped for the night. Rory appreciated their dedication to making the most of the day but still, to ride so close to nightfall unnerved her. Especially after the day she had had.

When Albert had finally found a spot that he deemed appropriate to stop for the night, Rory was so exhausted that she practically oozed out of Jewel's saddle. Every part of her ached, her backside especially, and more than anything, she wanted to lie down on the mossy forest floor and try to forget about the day. Still, she mustered whatever strength she had left and tended to Jewel, feeding her grain that she kept stashed in a saddlebag as she wiped down the mare's steaming hide.

"Your riding is as impressive as your skill with a hunting blade", Albert said, clasping Rory on the shoulder. The action had her whirling around in surprise but Albert chuckled in a manner that could only belong to an older brother. Rory was already coughing up some ill-fathomed retort but Albert cut her off. "Your horse must fancy you to come back after the ordeal with the Harkscalen. If she trusts you, so will I", he said with a wink, before returning his attention to the camp. For a brief moment, Rory stood next to Jewel, unsure what to do or how to feel. Although they'd only known each other for a few hours, Albert already spoke to her as if she were part of the group, as did Bianca. They were so different than the Arcodytes on the isle of Drao'hain, and the other Skepmadyr that she had learned from and trained with.

Before she could think any further, Rory's attention had been drawn to a fire that rose and flickered at the center of the camp. Bianca fueled that fire, not with sticks and kindling, but with her hands. Rory tried not to gape at the easy display of power but still, she found herself unable to look away.

"Forgot to tell you I'm a Flamecaller", Bianca said, casting Rory a playful grin, face illuminated by flame. Features warmed by the hazy light of the fire, Bianca's red hair shone brightly and her eyes danced with the rhythm of the fire as flames continued to grow and dance to her will.

In Calydon magic was rare, but not unheard of. The ability to wield it could not be learned, but instead was an inherent ability that one was either born with or not. In the Calydonian tongue, those who possessed magic fell into one of four categories; Flamecaller, Windsinger, Wavecarver, or Stonecleaver. In truth, Rory didn't envy any of them as such capabilities most often deemed someone to a life of either serving or running from the king if discovered.

“No showing off, Bianca”, Albert warned from nearby as he and Nicolas gathered firewood. Bianca’s thick red lips fell into an exaggerated pout but she obeyed, her elaborate display of flames quelling to a steady campfire.

“It has its costs”, Bianca said. “Fun as it is to have powers it’s also part of the reason why we stay on the road.”

Rory nodded. In truth, it was a dangerous time to have magic, with whispers of the king looking to expand his army turning into rumor and eventually fact.

"You can come closer, you know", Bianca said with a playful grin. "I'm not going to set you on fire."

As the final traces of dusk gave way to nightfall, a biting chill had settled into the Dil'Farans and Rory supposed that Bianca had a point. Slowly, she approached the fire and settled onto mossy ground, joining the others as they settled upon the mossy ground and chatted about the day. And as the others feasted on whatever food they stored in their packs, Rory did the same, eager to quell the hunger she'd worked up riding all day. Yesterday, she’d enjoyed a hot meal and a bed to sleep in, but she fell back into the normalcy of her life with ease. She had a warm place to rest her legs and food to eat; things could be much worse.

"You fought bravely against the Harkscalen. Do you know anything of their kind?"

Rory turned to find Nicolas' eyes upon her, dark and curious. It was the first time he'd spoken to her since they had met, and Rory didn't miss Bianca raising her brows as if the occasion was a rare one. Nicolas paid her no mind.

"I'm afraid I don't know much about them at all", Rory replied honestly, "I only wanted to spare my horse." Nicolas only nodded.

"And you?" Rory dared to ask.

About as much as yourself, unfortunately."

Rory nodded. With the Harkscalen being as rare as it was deadly, knowledge on the species was scant at best. Unsure what else to say, Rory stared into Bianca's fire and watched as the flames flickered in an ever changing dance. And then another matter, as curious as the Harkscalen, flashed through her tired mind.

"How did you find me?" She asked Nicolas, genuinely curious. Nicolas didn't answer right away, and Rory guessed that such an exchange unfolded between them was lengthier than he was accustomed to. That made two of them.

"We were traveling south as you were, and heard the Harkscalen", he said, voice quiet but even. Rory nodded, the awful shrieking still ringing in her ears like metal striking stone.

"We tracked it, with plans to hunt it down, but then we saw you were in trouble."

"You tried to hunt the Harkscalen?" Rory asked, genuinely surprised. She'd spent several years tracking and hunting the beasts of Calydon with little fear but still, the Harkscalen terrified her and she hoped to never see one again.

"Of course", Nicolas answered, "Any Harkscalen remains are worth a fortune, as is knowledge on how to kill one."

Before Rory could say anything more, Bianca sat down next to Nicolas.

"Leave it to the quiet one to get Rory to talk", she jested.

Rory expected Nicolas to bristle at the observation, but to her surprise, he smiled softly as Bianca settled beside him and rested her head on his shoulder. The two of them were starkly different in both appearance and manner, yet they seemed so comfortable in each other's company.

In the moments following, the group sat in comfortable silence and Albert strummed at a lute that he'd pulled from his pack.

"I purchased it from a bard long ago", he said to Rory over the easy tune of the instrument and the crackling of the fire, "After we fled from our village, Bianca was terrified of the dark." His sister scowled, but Albert smiled at her and continued. "In the early days before she discovered that she could wield fire and our nights were cold and dark, I used to play it for her until she fell asleep."

Rory nodded, chewing a piece of the bread she'd taken from Kennet and enjoying the peace that the moment afforded her as she listened to the steady tune of the instrument. The sound warm and comforting like the heat of Bianca's fire. And as she succumbed to her fatigue at last, she fashioned her pack into a pillow and her cloak into a blanket, the action practiced and familiar. It felt foreign to trust the others, her Skepmadyr training screaming at her to do otherwise. But, for some reason, the others were kind and seemed to trust her. She supposed, as she grew weary under the stars, that maybe this was her chance to learn how to do the same.

Never had Rory known the Dil'Farans to be such a treacherous place. To take on a Harkscalen or a Flamecaller alone was rare enough, let alone both in the same day.

Crouched in a defensive stance, her arm had begun to cramp from holding her blade so tightly, and her mouth tasted like metal.

A rustle of leaves had Rory whirling around, willing herself not to panic. Whoever accompanied her in this strange place, they weren't far away.

"You can relax, Skepmadyr. We have no quarrel with you." A young man, hardly older than Rory, rode into the small clearing. A falling leaf floated onto his head, and he promptly flicked it out of his red hair.

Rory steeled her spine, clenching her blade and glaring at the redhead.

"We?" She growled.

"If there is something that doesn't change, it is the chattiness of a Skepmadyr", the redhead replied with a crooked smile.

"Oh Albert," another, female voice called out as two others rode through the trees, "you're clearly not going to win her over with diplomacy and semantics. That is if she's a Skepmadyr at all."

"She is", Albert delcared, green eyes watching Rory thoughtfully. "A scrawny one, but a Skepmadyr nonetheless." Rory bristled at the insult, assessing the others as intently as they were assessing her. And searching for any hint of which one was the Flamecaller.

"What is this about?" Rory ventured. She was far from diplomatic on a good day, and had already lost so much progress traveling south. At this point, she'd be lucky if Jewel came back at all, the mare having fled far during the encounter with the Harkscalen.

"Look sister, she speaks", Albert said to Bianca.

Bianca rolled her eyes and huffed her annoyance. Rory assumed that the two must bicker a lot.

"We do not bear your title, but the three of us hunt beasts as you do", Albert said, seeming to sense Rory's growing annoyance. Rory said nothing, and did not yet dare to lower her blade.

"We wish for you to hunt with us", Albert tried. "Perhaps we do not boast the same skill as your people, but-"

"The Arcodytes are not my people", Rory snapped, unable to stop herself.

The third member of the group cleared his throat and spoke for the first time. His presence did not have the joviality of his redheaded companions, and his tone was quiet but strangely commanding.

"We're traveling south where there is word of a job that offers a large pay", he said bluntly, dark eyes finding their mark as he addressed Rory from atop his horse, "we believe that a bigger team will increase our odds of success."

Curiosity crept its way into Rory's senses. That same curiosity that the Arcodytes shunned and punished. But still, it was an innate part of her that the Arcodytes had never been able to take.

"What is the job?" Rory dared to ask, allowing that curiosity to best her.

"I'm afraid we do not know", Albert admitted, speaking up for the others. "All that has been revealed is location and pay. We wouldn't have considered the summons at all if the payment wasn't so-"

"The payment is in sylfring?" Rory blurted out. Patience in conversations had never been something she'd had to learn.

Albert nodded. "Five hundred sylfring to whoever completes the job first. The four of us can split the pay evenly if we succeed."

Rory fought not to gasp. Even a quarter of that amount would still be the biggest payout she'd ever received. That was if Albert were to be believed.

"How do I know that you'll keep your word on all of this? That this isn't some sort of ruse?"

"The Arcodytes are a brutal, vengeful people. Crossing you would risk trouble with them", Albert said, his soft green eyes shining in the dappled light of early afternoon.

Rory understood his meaning well enough.

"Not to mention we just saved you from the deadliest beast in Calydon", Bianca added, her tone light but confident.

Slowly, Rory sheathed her blade and weighed her options. She had never worked with others before; according to Arcodyte code, there were only two types of people: foe, and those soon to become foe. But she'd come to know that taking risks was an inevitable part of buying her freedom. And, she supposed, she was traveling south anyway.

As if he could see through her thoughts, Albert smiled, the expression bringing a boyish youth to his face. Gathering his reins, he urged his horse in the direction of the royal road, the others trailing behind him.

"Keep up if you can", Bianca said with vibrancy that Rory had so rarely felt.

As the others rode through the trees, Rory found that she was completely mastered by her curiosity. She hated herself for it; if the others turned on her and word got out, the Arcodytes would quite literally brand her as a fool.

Unable to stop herself, she drew her fingers to her lips and whistled for Jewel. The mare trotted over, mercifully unscathed by the affairs with the Harkscalen, and Rory stroked the mare in a subtle display of gratitude. And then, without another second to spare, she hefted herself into the saddle and Jewel burst forward to the royal road, likely eager to free herself from the forest and the treachery that had unfolded there.

***

Catching up to the others, Rory found, had indeed been a challenge. Following the trail of hoofprints on the freshly stricken road, Rory held Jewel's mane tightly as the mare galloped on. When the backs of the others came into view at last, both Rory and Jewel were short of breath, and Jewel's hide warmed with exertion, casting steamy tendrils that danced through the cool air of the Dil'Farans.

"Hello, Skepmadyr", Albert said with a note of excitement, slowing his horse to a walk. Rory slowed Jewel to ride next to him, patting the mare's shoulder to calm her.

"What should we call you?" Albert asked, "Surely we won't keep calling you Skepmadyr."

"My name is Rory", she answered quickly, seeing no harm in revealing her name.

"Well then, welcome to the team, Rory. We'll ride south until dusk."

Without another word, Albert winked at Rory and rode off, his horse jumping into a brisk trot. He was flanked by his quiet, dark eyed companion, who gave Rory a small, nearly unnoticeable nod as he rode by.

"Don't be offended. Nicolas hardly talks to us and we've known him for nine years", Bianca said jokingly as she caught up to Rory and laughed at Nicolas. It was no challenge to see the resemblance between Bianca and her brother; they both had a fair complexion that was dotted with freckles, and their voices carried the same lilt of southern Calydon. But where Albert's features were long and slender, Bianca boasted feminine curves that Rory herself had never grown into. And where Albert's eyes were a soft shade of green, Bianca's were amber, shining vibrantly against thick curled hair that was a deeper shade than her brother's. In truth, she was beautiful, and comfortable in her own skin. At the sight of her, a strange sense of envy tinged Rory's senses, the sensation strange and unwelcome.

"How did you become a Skepmadyr?" Bianca asked with open curiosity, clearly oblivious to Rory battling with her emotions.

"It's a long story", Rory answered. Bianca, however, was determined.

"Fortunately there's no shortage of time", Bianca replied, pushing a ruby lock behind her ear. Rarely had Rory met someone so...bold.

"I was raised in a convent in the seaside town of Rorke", Rory answered, resigned to Bianca's persistence. I did not want to pledge myself to the church, which a female orphan must do when-"

"A barbaric law", Bianca huffed, amber eyes flashing.

"Indeed." Rory answered, hoping that the short exchange had been satisfactory. But Bianca continued to watch her intently, waiting for the rest of the story. And so, Rory continued, telling Bianca the story of how she'd been captured by the Arcodytes on the same day she escaped the convent, and shipped off to the isle of Drao'hain to be presented before Hedryk, the Arcodyte king. How training as a Skepmadyr had been her only chance of leaving that dreaded isle.

For Bianca's part, she listened without any further interruption, appearing to be genuinely interested in the story.

"Did you and Albert ever know your parents?" Rory found herself asking Bianca at the completion of her own story.

"We did", Bianca answered. She lowered her eyes for a second, but Rory didn't miss the sadness that flashed there. Dealing with the emotions of others, let alone her own, was a foreign concept to Rory. Unsure what to do, she turned her attention to the road ahead and stayed quiet.

"I was eight and Albert was ten when our town was struck with a dreadful plague. It took most of the people there, including our own parents. It was Albert who had the good sense to leave before it took us as well." Bianca looked up towards her brother where he rode ahead, and Rory saw the love that shone in her eyes. Silently, she wondered what it must feel like, to love and be loved.

There’s bikers in the road

And joggers over there

People cannot pass them

They simply do not care

Stupid people everywhere

Everyone forgot how to drive

The roads are a nightmare

There’s just too many

Jumbled honking despair

Stupid people everywhere

The grocery stores are doomed

Designer shoes and underwear

Shopping cart cacophony

Hostility tinges the air

Stupid people everywhere

Oh no! They’ve found the beach

Someone’s dog is over there

It shits on a beach towel

No one seems to care

Stupid people everywhere

There are fireworks all night

Frightened pets cry

No one can sleep

Unending explosions in the sky

Simply because it’s July

When will September come?

When autumn sweetens the air

To chase them all away

Back to here and there

Stupid people everywhere