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I

Clouds brought with them an overcast gloom, marring the sky in dark roiling hues of grey, on the verge of black, as if the sky itself was reflecting on the losses that had taken place. On an old winding road through scrub and rocky flatlands rolled a heavyset cart, weighed down by the sturdy iron built into the wood of its frame.

Inside the rolling cell sat three souls. The last left to tell a tale. Far behind them, in the subtle rising of the land as the twin peaks of the Sundered Mountain towered up to the depths of the clouds to touch the sky itself, was a homeland, growing ever farther out of reach.

The horse drawn cell bumped and slogged along the quiet road, escorted by a column of well-armed soldiers brandishing pikes, uniquely distinct in their curvature alongside their signature shields, slabs of immense stone cut and only found in the depths of the mountains behind them. The three inside the rolling cell spoke no words. Their failure was too fresh to warrant any words of acknowledgement from one another. There were no words to be spoken that would ease the burden.

They knew what the consequences might entail of their endeavor. But to live through them was another matter entirely. High Lord Arturous knew this.

This was why three of them were the only ones left alive.

II

Moonlight shone brightly across the city on a cloudless night, the lights inside carved shelters of the mountain were vacant or dimming through porthole windows as were the plumes of smoke from chimneys as fires went out for the night. It was the telltale sign of the late hour. In total silence, a small band of men and women made their way through the stone-etched streets, guided along by silver moonlight rather than torch.

Their destination lay high above them, above the streets, above the mines, all the way to the great network of The Divide and its spanning bridges and further still, the towering set of stone steps that led to the Hall of Lords which rested on a great mountainous pillar of stone, overlooking the entire city in some grandiose fashion, having been carved into the very peak of the mountain itself.

It was a clear path from beginning to end, all the way to the steps leading to the Hall of Lords, their center adorned in bright blue tapestry, by tradition, only allowed to be set foot upon by the High Lord when he came down from his throne. The warriors walked freely along the tapestry under the moonlight. Tonight there was to be no pretense of ceremony.

Cerino's fingers kept themselves wrapped tightly on the hilt of his blade. Those who called Sunder home knew what must be done. The newly appointed High Lord was not fit to rule and yet his power kept those who would dare to pose a challenge in line. As a knight of the once proud monastery found here in his home city, it was the duty of Cerino and all the others with him to uphold peace in the name of something greater tonight.

Even if it meant defying the High Lord and the rule of the ancient laws known to Sunder, it was not right that one sole man laid claim to so much power. Arturous had a reputation long before he claimed the title of High Lord. Long before his fateful duel with the Grandmaster of Cerino's order for the ownership of that mantle. The man was driven but his unjust ascent to lordship was sacrilege to the way of the monks and everything the Order had once stood for. Foul play had a hand and Arturous kept his tracks covered.

Deals and machinations began not long after the previous High Lord passed away, barely even a cold corpse, and Sunder was left seeking a new lord to claim the throne and the burden of responsibility for leading the people. It was then that Arturous played his hand and stepped forth. Before the year was gone, his position was all but assured.

Knights of the once proud and ancient monastery, those who swore loyalty to Arturous alongside hired mercenaries, began filling the streets, "there to keep the peace in turbulent times." Other contenders to the throne would eventually abandon their campaigns as Arturous muscled his way through. Those who persisted would eventually meet "unfortunate" fates or be invited personally to challenge Arturous in a rite of combat as was written to the claim of the throne.

When the year drew to a close, Arturous closed his hands around Sunder, claiming it and all the lands he could claim, as his own. His rule of law descended with brutal efficiency and it became clear that it had no end in sight. Arturous wanted it all. Not just this kingdom, high in the desolate Sundered Mountains. But other lands beyond. Truly, what was unsettling was that Arturous had the power to do so.

The man was no stranger to battle, having spent his youth as a knight for the monastery and the Order, and then over the years, pursuing spiritual teachings as he joined the monks in prayer and study. And for that, it was discovered, he had a great mind. Such was his immense aptitude that he eventually left for other lands, in light of having conquered the teachings to be found here.

When he returned years later, not long before the passing of the Lord, Sunder quaked in his steps. His knowledge of things past, and his knowledge of how to use them in these times assured his utter dominance on any field, be it of scholarly matters, political, or tactical. And so it was, Cerino and the others he was with, a small band of knights still faithful to their order and to the people of the city, climbed the moonlit steps upwards in solemn silence.

They were the last of their line to keep the faith in their teachings, having stayed hidden away in hushed silence in the year since Arturous had claimed the throne and the mantle of Grandmaster. Their order had all but disappeared. The scholarly, gentle monks had either since been disbanded or fled in exile. Knight-monks akin to Cerino and the few left with him were either absorbed into Arturous's loyal ranks willingly, or met worse fates for their refusal to join.

Cerino gripped the hilt of his sword, feeling the age old reassuring hum that emanated warmly whenever he so much as touched it. A family heirloom passed along by fathers until finally it found its way into his hands as a child. It was both an unprecedented day of wonder to him, and in due time, one of mourning. The sword would never find its new master by being handed down willingly. It chose the time of passing, when its master could serve it no longer. It was not long after that Cerino heard news of his father's fate.

Perhaps it was cruel to know that one day, the sword Cerino carried in his hilt with him since he was just a child would leave him, when his time was over. But he knew it would serve him faithfully until the very end. Tonight however, he had no such plans of losing his grasp on his beloved heirloom.

Now was the time to steel himself for what was to come. Arturous had to be stopped before he began upsetting the order of things. Through his faceplate, Cerino could make out the towering doors that led into the halls of the High Lord's residence across a large courtyard, a grand and ancient temple carved into the very rock of the mountain.

He exhaled slowly, keeping his hand on the hilt of his blade, surveying the surroundings and the others with him. The steadily approaching monolithic structure's face towered over the courtyard and loomed over the grand stairway with its immense carvings depicting long dead rulers and battles, and scaled higher still up the peak of the mountain.

All vacant of any notion of the slightest hint of protectors, as planned. It was a rare night that the High Lord's guards exchanged positions and a very small window of opportunity that might be used to gain the edge. After all, this was not about creating bloodshed. This was supposed to stop the arrival of it in the coming years if Arturous had his way.

The knights climbed the steps to their peak, finally arriving at the courtyard to the throne room. From here, all they had to do was push forwards past the immense gates, and they would find themselves that much closer to the end of this road.

Moving swiftly with care cross the yard and its decorated statues of long dead rulers and exotic plant life, armor clanked softly as the group pressed forward unopposed as the grand gates towered ahead of them, cracked open only slightly, allowing them to slip through one by one. Cerino nodded under his helmet silently as he caught some of the others beside him looking his way.

Some of these knights were people he'd known ever since he'd joined the Order. It was disheartening for Cerino to have witnessed their numbers dwindle so much in only the span of a year. But it was all the more reason to stop the impending madness that would follow in the wake of Arturous and his ambitions.

The band of knights slipped through the doors in single file, passing beyond the point of no return. They all knew their duty. Tonight's actions, however terrible or grand history may write them as, were done in the name of peace.

An aging warrior ahead of Cerino slipped through the gates without so much as a glance backwards. And now it was his turn. He had readied his body and mind for tonight with the old teachings taught by the monks. Even still, he took a long breath as the hilt of his sword hummed at the touch of his fingers. He must be strong. For his father and those with him tonight.

The imposing halls of the High Lord's residence lay beyond the doorway as he stepped forwards in line.

III

The cart rattled along the old path as winds howled through the scrubland, the skies ever darkening, threatening to rain. Cerino looked up to the other two across from him, both sitting with their heads hung and their arms crossed in silence. Spatters of blood still remained on the bright flowing woven cloth draped across their chests, and stained their singular gauntleted shield arms.

Cerino let his head hang in silence, listening to the wind howl and taking every jostle hard from the bumps of the cart as it rolled along. A voice punctured the solemn silence, allowing him to look up. The dark wrinkled skin of an old warrior, Simaron, his eyes alight and creased with the telltale sign of sadness, spoke.

"It was not your fault."

Cerino shook his head, looking down to the cloth draped across his own chest, along with the red spatters across his arms, opening and closing the fingers of his unarmored sword hand. He ceased his idle movements, turning to stare out at the dwindling sight through the cell bars, growing ever farther away from him.

The Sundered Mountains rose up from the tundra and rocky plains like an immense chain of angled rocky shards. Far among the highest peaks of his homeland, there was a singular mountain peak, split into two halves down the middle, legends telling of a battle fought long ago beneath the mountain whose ferocity sundered it apart.

In the center of the gouge, climbing higher and higher among both peaks in a network of massive bridges across the Divide, spanned the ornate and ancient city he called home, carved into the split of the mountain and winding all the way upwards to the very peaks which touched the sky itself.

No longer would the great temple bells ring out in their earth shaking chimes. No longer would the monks study in the great pillared halls and library. No longer would the knights train themselves rigorously for service.

Arturous had succeeded. The very last of the old guard was gone, extinguished from Sunder as if but a simple candle. Cerino watched his sword hand open and close. Simaron was wrong. He had it. He had a chance for victory in his hands and he had lost it.

IV

The knights pushed into the great pillared hall beyond the gates, drawing arms together as they advanced forwards, only to be greeted by the imposing figure himself, rising to attention with a calculated smile from his monolithic throne as moonlight shone down through the stained glass portraits from the ceiling high above. Arturous, donning the distinct armor of his old order, yet draped in the fine blue woven cloth of a lord, stood tall from his throne, his voice aged yet resolutely commanding as it echoed through the great hall.

"The beginning reveals itself."

Every last man and woman readied their swords, with a singular man stepping out from the crowd as they spread themselves apart, the oldest warrior walking forwards undaunted as Arturous did the same in kind, ornate robes trailing behind him down the throne steps and across the long bannered carpet splayed along the throne room's floor. The eldest, Simaron, raised his sword before speaking in a voice which itself resonated through the halls to contest Arturous.

"Arturous. Your claim to the mantle of High Lord threatens the balance of power in this land, and dishonors the tenants of the Order, the very order of which you once swore fieldty to. We must first ask that you renounce your title for the greater good and the betterment of those who call Sunder their home. We will only ask once."

Arturous stroked a hand through the long braid of his greyed beard, reaching down to a hilt at his side, hidden beneath the regal layers he donned. The knights readied their swords in unison, joining their elder as he returned to their ranks amongst a slow spreading advance.

Arturous smiled, drawing his own sword, an oddity when compared to those forged and used by the warrior-monks, instead broad of blade and immense in size. In one motion, Arturous raised the blade high into the air, casting a long shadow in the moonlit chamber.

"As you would have it."

V

The rain finally arrived in a monumental uproar, battering the rolling cell and the troop of soldiers leading it through the winding roads of the scrubland. Cerino clenched his sword hand back and forth, remembering the residual warmth in his hand as he clasped the hilt during the battle that had ensued.

He stared out to the only survivors, Simaron, the eldest who'd gone through the doorway before him, a longtime name that he'd known since he was a boy. Knight Sevla. She was motionless, unconscious, yet thankfully still alive.

It stung him more than even the loss suffered today. Sevla trained alongside him from the same age. She had always been the better swordsman no matter how often they sparred together. In any battle, Sevla was always there to watch his back. And during the time that she had ever needed him the most, he had let her down.

Cerino closed his eyes, inhaling sharply as he replayed the events over.

VI

A great silver crest spanned outwards horizontally as Arturous swung his immense blade in a broad arc, the silver wall cascading forwards like a great tidal wave across the hall, as bright as the moonlight itself. The roiling tide crashed against the first wave of advancing knights, absent of mercy, blasting them off their feet as it shattered their armor or completely sundered them apart to pieces.

Cerino faltered in his steps with the others around him at what he'd just witnessed as blood sprayed out and knights fell to the floor, unmoving. It was unthinkable and almost unbelievable. Cerino knew not how Arturous had just done what he had, but he knew what he had just done.

In the great halls of the monastery, the monks taught knights of the Order in the ways of things since lost. Of an old and enduring force that could be harnessed for one's own benefit if their will was strong enough. What they referred to as magic could be internalized to strengthen one's constitution and augment one's physical prowess, aiding them in times of need.

But the rituals and meditations needed to be done beforehand were rites that required full concentration of the body and mind. A knight needed to find peace in the turmoil surrounding him and block out the world, becoming not a disconnected fraction, but a harmonious whole, a living extension of world.

Arturous had just externalized magic into a far reaching force beyond his own body, something the monks had always deemed an impossible feat. The High Lord smiled, raising one arm high into the air with open fingers, lowering his sword to rest the blade's tip at the floor as the stunned knights stood in awe.

"See what becomes of your number who dare to challenge me tonight. Lay down your arms and you will have a death that is granted quickly and without pain."

Arturous chuckled openly.

"Some of you may even find a place in my order, if you prove yourselves still loyal to me."

Cerino glanced alongside him to the others still left standing, finding Sevla's gaze. The eyes behind the stone faceplate remained resolute as she shook her head slowly. Cerino caught the eyes of others around him, tightening the grip on his blade.

None of them had come here tonight just to back down. Cerino caught Sevla's eyes once more, nodding. If he thought a show of force that caught them off guard would stop them, Arturous was underestimating his old order, and had clearly abandoned every last one of its teachings.

The knights pushed forward together, readying themselves to dive beneath the next crushing wave of silver as Arturous snarled animalistically, lunging forwards with surprising speed despite his age, as his broad blade gleamed silver under the moonlight.

Another silver wave splashed out in a wide crescent arc as Arturous brought it to bear, cutting through the hall's stone pillars like butter as the formation of knights dove beneath the wave. Cerino rolled sideways to avoid the crushing broadsword as Arturous slammed it downwards in a vertical arc that splintered the stone tiles it landed on, coming back up to his feet to begin engaging the High Lord along with the other knights.

Arturous was surrounded on all sides but deceptively fast for his age, snarling as his stone-plate shield arm fended off blows and his immense broadsword sent even the most stoic and brash of warriors into pure defensive stances if not outright toppling them from its immense weight.

Cerino took his openings when they appeared, but was always one step behind as Arturous moved around his strikes with utter ease or brought his defensive arm to block the brunt of an attack. Blood showered the moonlit halls and the floor as the duel continued, but despite their numbers, Arturous was biding his time, picking them off one by one when they faltered.

Cerino dove beneath the massive slab of Arturous's sword as it swung for his midsection, resolve faltering as he heard the cries of others who couldn't avoid it, the sounds of swords shattering to pieces, shield arms snapping or buckling from the force of the blows dealt.

One telltale cry of pain shattered Cerino's focus as his eyes turned to watch Sevla sent flying backwards in a spray of blood as her sword clattered to the floor, fingers still wrapped around the hilt. In those pivotal moments, Cerino surveyed the battlefield and realized the extent of the battle.

Barely any knights were left standing, and those that were fell quickly as Arturous focused his undivided attention on them, attacking them without mercy or seemingly any predictable movements, like an uncaged feral animal. Cerino shuddered as the aging Lord turned his attention onto him as yet another warrior fell in a spray of red, and the realization found him.

He was the last one left.

VII

Rain seeped through the cracks in the cart's wooden rooftop, staining the uncomfortable floor in dampness as the wind filled in with its own brand of insult, blustering rain through Cerino's overhead cell window.

Cerino's eyes strayed across the cage to where Simaron sat, supporting Sevla on his shoulder as her head leaned against him. She had gone pale since the events of the night, and his eyes strayed across the fresh mark etched into her forehead that she would forever carry from now on. The bandaged stump of her sword arm, having been cut clean off during battle.

Sevla's body was as scarred as any of the other knight's, but the loss of an arm and the crushing blow dealt to her ribs by the immense blade, with the addition of the vile ritual punishment to mark their exile might be too much for her. Cerino began unwinding the cloth that draped from one of his shoulders down to his waist, reaching out towards the old warrior from his shackles as far as they would let him.

"She needs it more than me."

Simaron reached out, straining his own shackles as his wrinkled hands found the cloth, bestowing it over Sevla's unconscious form to cover her exposed skin to try and add another layer for warmth. The bald man's wrinkled brows furrowed as he turned back to Cerino.

"We all entered the hall knowing full well what the consequences might be. She did her best, as you did too."

Cerino shook his head in return.

"She paid more of a price than you or I. And it was me who was left to fight on behalf of everyone. I let all of them down and yet I paid not for it."

Simaron nodded, eyes turning to watch the soldiers traveling ahead of the cart through the front cell bars, turning back to Cerino as he spoke in a lower tone.

"Perhaps the price paid was life, brother. We survived, perhaps, so that one day we may have a chance once more. As long as I breathe, it is my duty to restore order. Sevla would agree with me. And I know that you do as well."

Cerino nodded back solemnly.

"I just don't understand it. Why did we lose? How could we have lost?"

The old warrior's brows furrowed sharply.

"It is the hubris of men to believe themselves assured of victory. Arturous will have his time. He will fall, as all men do. Whether or not it is us whom deliver this justice, is entirely up to us. Maintaining balance and order is not a road easily traveled. Sometimes, even we must be reminded of our own hubris, for there are forces beyond even our control."

The old warrior placed a hand on Sevla's shoulder.

"The weight of our failure may be a heavy one to carry. But if we choose, we can learn and continue forwards once we have removed its weight."

Cerino looked outwards beyond the bars of the cell, to the great mountains growing ever farther out of reach.

"And what is there to be learned?"

Simaron closed his eyes, letting his head down gently.

"The simple truth, no matter how hard it is to swallow. None of us bore the strength to challenge Arturous. We may yet have one final chance. What we all must decide together is whether we should take it."

Simaron looked over Sevla as she rested against his shoulder.

"For now, all we can do is travel the road we are being taken on, and hope that when we arrive at the end there will be three of us standing to make our choice."

Simaron closed his eyes, inhaling sharply, finding Sevla's remaining hand and clasping it in his own. He spoke in a lower tone now, intent on entering another state of mind.

"Can you reach her from your shackles, Cerino?"

Cerino reached as far as the chains would let him, slumping when they would not grant him far enough reach.

"No."

Simaron exhaled slowly, nodding gently.

"You already bear a burden, Cerino. As does Sevla. Allow me to undertake one of my own for her sake."

Cerino nodded silently. He understood. Cerino's order was founded on the principles of life and death, the flow of which coursed through the world and all of its inhabitants. Both forces were intertwined together, inseparable. And yet a balance must always be maintained. Beyond the tides of life and death, there was a calling, that which his order's foundation stood upon. The greater good, as some outsiders would loosely and erroneously refer to it. Cerino always knew it as equilibrium.

Life and death were inseparable, and they were unbiased in their acts. Mortals however, were. In their flawed being, they were capable of unbalancing the scales. And so it was the Order, comprised of monks and knights who played their roles as two sides of the same coin.

The pacifist monks studied in the ancient ways of the world, acting as healers to those who needed it, and beacons of knowledge to those who wished to learn. They bestowed life and nourishment. The Knights acted on the Monk's behalf, taking up the blade to defend them if needed, and bestowed death on those in the world who were so keen on taking life unjustly.

Every Monk walked the path of life, shielding it and nourishing it, while providing equally dangerous knowledge that allowed the Knights to take life more efficiently as they walked their own path of death, while having been taught ways to preserve it as best they could.

Simaron, one of the eldest and now likely single remaining Knight masters, was aiding Sevla at the cost of some of his own life. Cerino watched the aging warrior as he slipped into a state that was free of all awareness to the outside world, focused inwards. If Cerino could have, he would be in that state right now. He needed to be physically connected in order for it to work.

It only brought more doubt to Cerino as he recalled the displays of Arturous's power. Externalizing the old force beyond himself and manifesting it into physical form. If he himself had such power, then right now, he could aid Sevla without having to worry about being constrained by mere shackles.

If he had such power, then perhaps none of them would be here at all. Perhaps the Order would still be alive and well. Maybe even somebody else other than Arturous would be the High Lord. Cerino closed his eyes, letting his head down.

All what-ifs. They were all here now because what Simaron had said was undeniably true. None of them had the strength to contest Arturous. Cerino had not the strength, but he did have one upper hand. Even with that, he had failed.

He pondered in silence, what would have happened if he'd made the other decision.

VIII

Cerino was taken off guard as Arturous covered ground in quick advancing strides like a cobra, still just as deceptively fast as he was when the battle first started, showing no signs of fatigue. Cerino stepped backwards, recovering his composure in time to avoid another swipe of the massive unwieldly blade, taking his opening as it was offered, lunging forwards.

To his surprise, Arturous did not shield himself from the blow, instead opting to weave himself cleanly around the blade's downswing. Cerino was knocked backwards by a stiff push from Arturous, only to have his sword arm gripped tightly as leverage was used to send him sprawling through the air to land a few feet away. Arturous snarled as he turned on Cerino.

"You'll have to do more than that to beat me, child! Honorable combat is merely a hindrance for those too palid to do what is truly necessary to survive."

Cerino was in the process of recovering from the landing as Arturous raised his sword up into the moonlight, bringing it down in a horizontal sweep that let forth another crushing wave of silver. There was no time to process what to do as the wave hurtled towards him, Arturous simultaneously lunging forward with great speed behind the wave, preparing to strike.

Cerino felt the hum of his blade's hilt in his fingers, and a random realization that the heirloom blade would end with his family line right here dawned on him. Both his arms raised as the crushing wave of silver sped towards him with a gleam. In the critical moments as the wave splashed over him and Arturous's immense blade was coming down to bear, Cerino was blasted backwards through the air forcibly, as was Arturous.

An immense tremor rocked the entire hall, sending stone debris crumbling as Cerino lay on the floor, dazed yet unharmed, gazing down upon what had just saved him laying at his side on the floor. Glowing stronger than he'd ever seen it his life, laying just beyond his reach was his heirloom sword, humming warmly, unscathed.

From across the hall, Arturous pushed himself back up to one knee, letting out a long rattling laugh before growing quiet, huffing with effort before speaking directly to Cerino with an unsettling glint in his eyes as they focused sharply on the golden blade on the floor.

"That which you bear in your hands, child, is exquisite."

Arturous stood, letting his immense broadsword's tip rest on the ground as he tilted his head with a smile.

"Do you even know the power you grasp in your hand? Such craftsmanship could have only come from a master."

Cerino surveyed the dead or the dying scattered about the hall, felt the hum of his sword as his hand found it, as if it were stronger for having taken such a blow. The feeling sparked a new resolve inside of him as he pushed himself back up to his feet, readying himself to engage with Arturous once more. The High Lord stood straight, imposingly tall, boasting a sickly smile with an open hand as he beckoned to Cerino.

"Such majesty is lost on a pion like you. I always found the knights of your order to be rather dull, despite the sharpness of your blades."

Cerino gripped his blade in two hands, approaching Arturous slowly as anger flooded his veins.

"You were a part of our number once! You betrayed everything they gave you!"

Arturous lifted his blade, sharp blue eyes coming to bear as they focused directly at Cerino.

"You are but a mere child. Speak not as if you know me."

Arturous closed the gap in a sudden lunge with a snarl, sending shockwaves up Cerino's arms as he blocked the brunt of the great blade with his sword, moving one step back to steady himself from toppling. Now there was an opening he couldn't miss, as the unwieldly blade Arturous sported proved more cumbersome in close quarters.

Cerino struck with all his strength, cracking through the stone-plate of Arturous's shield arm, sending fragments of stone splintering from his blow. Arturous gasped in what looked more like surprise as he immediately propelled himself away, using his alien form of magic to ride a wave of silver backwards before it dissipated out from under his feet.

Cerino gave chase, attempting to close the gap and get into his weak spot once more, only for Arturous to propel himself away on another wave of silver with a laugh, settling his feet onto the stone tiles once more. Cerino could see blood in the moonlight, the barest hints of red, so dark it was almost black, dripping onto the floor as Arturous held his arm up, inspecting the cracked stonework shield fittings around his arm.

"Impressive. Not many have the speed nor strength to match me for so long, let alone touch me."

Arturous tilted his head, surveying the grand hall around him as the sound of boot steps and stone became apparent. Cerino readied his sword as a tidal wave of armored men charged into the hall from all sides, boasting spears and immense slab shields that easily covered their entire form as they quickly enclosed around their Lord, protecting him with a wall of stone as they encircled Cerino completely.

Somewhere behind the protective wall of soldiers, an order was shouted to ready crossbows, before a resounding, commanding yell of ceasefire brought silence to the entire hall. Every soldier stood stiff at attention as Arturous parted the soldiers, walking forwards as he relinquished his massive blade to fall to the floor with a clatter.

Cerino remained at the ready, but having stopped for only a moment brought pains and awareness that he couldn't muster much more. He was exhausted, and the blow dealt to him moments ago had surely cracked something in his arm. Arturous strode forwards, stopping short of Cerino with open arms as he stared directly into his eyes.

"A most impressive display. It as an act I have not seen in long years, and should justly be rewarded. I will offer you a chance. One and one alone."

Cerino steadied himself as his balance faltered, staring resolutely into the wrinkled face of Arturous.

"Name your condition and we will see if I take it."

"There are still comrades of yours left alive in this chamber. They of course, will be executed for high treason as the sun rises. But for your display of valor, I would grant you the opportunity to save two, yourself included."

Cerino strained to continue standing upright, attempting to hold his sword steady.

"What makes you think any of us would rather live under your rule than die here?"

Arturous laughed, throwing his head back mockingly.

"I did not finish my terms, warrior. You three will be exiled. You will be marked, but you will yet live."

Arturous raised grey brows as his eyes stared intently at Cerino with unsettling allure, as if wanting something.

"Or you may try your best at ending my life, as I am standing before you, unarmed."

A high ranking soldier in the crowd behind Arturous stepped forward to object, only to stop in his tracks as Arturous raised one hand up for order as his eyes did not waver from Cerino's.

"You may be able to finish what you started, child. But should you miss your mark, I will slay you, and every last man and woman in this hall will be killed on the spot where they lay. The choice is yours."

Arturous stood, open armed, waiting. Cerino almost stepped forwards, but something held him back. Arturous was as sly as he was dangerous. This was a gamble and Arturous knew that he had the upper hand. Cerino cursed himself as he admitted it, but he didn't have the speed to make it. Arturous was too fast.

Littered across the hall were the bodies of the fallen with some yet still living, if only barely. Among them was Sevla. Cerino struggled, uncertain of how many remained alive at the moment. If he missed, all of their lives would be lost. But to betray the rest of his brothers and sisters by relinquishing his blade.....

It was his duty to continue fighting, even if he were the last man. That was the way of things. Cerino adjusted his grip on his hilt, staring intently into the blue eyes of Arturous as the man simply waited with a mock grin across his wrinkled features.

If they all died here, there would be nobody left to teach of their ways. Nobody left who stood any chance of standing up to Arturous. It may be forever frowned upon for him to relinquish his blade and surrender. What might forever sting more than letting his brothers and sisters die, would be losing Sevla, above all others.

Fighting every last tired muscle not to step forwards, Cerino opened his fingers, locked stiffly in place from constant tension, letting his blade fall to the floor with a final resounding clatter throughout the hall, which sparked the slightest of chuckle from Arturous as he smiled briefly, turning his back as the royal soldiers flooded forwards to absorb him into their ranks.

With the last of his strength gone, Cerino fell to his knees as the soldiers advanced on all sides.

IX

Arturous stood by his words, but only to the extent of what he had spoken in the hall. In the coming day as the dawn approached, Cerino and the two others of his choosing bore witness to the execution of the surviving members of their order as attended by Arturous himself. And then came their turn.

They were made examples of, a display of what happened to those who dared to challenge the High Lord and his new rule. Chained into place in the courtyard at the very peak of the mountaintop, outside the very same halls that bore witness to battle not hours before, the three were branded with scorching iron across the forehead with the token mark of a traitor of the highest order.

In the closing segment of their exile ritual, all three were pushed down the great stone steps, along with the severed heads of their comrades, left to fall down to the awaiting cell and troop of soldiers that would escort them beyond these lands, never to return at the penalty of death on sight.

It was one loss after the other, pain after pain. To Cerino, perhaps what hurt the most, beyond the screaming hot iron embedded into his forehead, or the tumble down the steps that led to cracked bones and bruises, or even the agony of watching two others beside him endure the same pain, it was listening to those who called Sunder home.

Amongst the gathered crowds of people, of the soldiers loyal to Arturous and the old absorbed guard, amongst the simple men and women, cheers and jeers were almost unanimous. Not only had Arturous succeeded in claiming this kingdom as his own, but he had won the people to his side, painting Cerino's order in a slandered light of those deserving to be exiled and punished.

The very same people his order strived to protect and watch over now shunned them, and willingly drove them out. It was the final insult alongside the horrendous pain suffered before Cerino could take no more, passing out at the bottom of the grand steps where he lay motionless alongside two others.

X

Rainfall battered the roof of the cell, soaking it thoroughly in a damp cold to match the darkness of nightfall. It had been two weeks since the journey of their exile began, most of which the time had been spent in a solemn quiet as the soldiers escorted the three to their destination.

Sevla had since shown improvement, rousing from the pale sleep of near death, but at a cost that was visible for all to see. Under the torchlight carried by the soldiers on the road ahead, Cerino could see that things were taking their toll on Simaron.

All of them were battered and injured in some form, having suffered wounds in the battle with Arturous and in their exile ritual. Where the old warrior found the strength to offer a boon to Sevla's health, Cerino truly did not know.

As the cart rattled along in the dark, Cerino shifted, trying to move into a more comfortable position, rattling his chains to which he scowled silently. Simaron, now growing noticeably thin and pale, shifted in his sleep. Sevla's eyes opened, making contact with Cerino's in the dim light.

In the days that had since followed as Sevla roused, Cerino was met with silence from her. A clear indicator of what she had to say on Cerino's part. She was a warrior, through and through. And Cerino would admit to it openly, that he had long ago considered her as his better.

No matter how much he trained, she was always one step ahead of him. No matter how well he grew to handle himself, she always had his back. If there were ever a prime example of what it meant to be a knight in his order, it was Sevla.

She was seemingly resolute without end. Every time Cerino looked at her, at the two crossed lines gouged and seared into the top of her forehead as a mark of exile, every time he caught sight of the bandaged stump of an arm, he could see the pain that went beyond that of just the physical.

Were it her that was left standing to face Arturous, she would have had the conviction to watch her order die, so long as she had taken her last breath and ounce of strength to fight. But it was all another what-if. It had been Cerino, instead. He was not as resolute. He couldn't stomach the thought of watching everything around him crumble. His order, and most of all, Sevla.

He was met with a strange feeling of coiling unease every time he looked at her. He had managed to save her life. For that, he was relieved, overjoyed even. But at the same time, he was the cause of great pain. He knew, deep down at the bottom of some dark place in his mind, she would never forgive him for backing down.

She would open up to him again. But things wouldn't be the same. What was lost could not be replaced. All that Cerino could hope for was to move on, no matter how much the truth stung him. Cerino spoke quietly, hoping that this time for once, Sevla would answer.

"You know I would help if I could. Simaron shouldn't be the one doing it."

Sevla's head lowered, eyes staring vacantly to the floor before returning to Cerino's gaze. She wasn't ready to talk yet. It was plain to see. The features of her pursed lips in a slight downward frown was a face he'd grown accustomed to even as a child growing up with her. There were moments when she needed to come to terms on her own. Cerino nodded, deciding to speak his final piece anyway.

"You were always better than me."

Cerino looked downwards to the shackles around his arms, avoiding Sevla's eyes.

"Arturous offered me a choice...I couldn't beat him. Maybe you could have. I know you would've taken that last chance to kill him, even if you failed."

Cerino clenched his hands together, watching them open and close.

"I made my choice...and I know that you won't ever forgive me for it."

In the quiet darkness on the edge of torchlight, Simaron coughed raggedly, stirring as he spoke.

"You discredit yourself for things beyond your grasp to control, Cerino. You forget too easily that it was you whom was left standing at the close not by sheer chance. It was your skill that impressed Arturous so much that he reconciled rather than outright kill you, and by chance, all of us."

Simaron shifted, pushing himself up with his arms as he straightened his back.

"I would have done the same, brother."

Cerino paused, remaining quiet at such a revelation. The old warrior's eyes found Sevla's gaze as it turned sharply to greet him, apparently just as shocked as Cerino. Simaron nodded gently.

"I have lived to my age not because of dedication to the Order, brother and sister. I do not see the world in two shades of light and dark as the Order would have us believe."

Simaron watched Sevla's confused expression with a surprisingly light hearted smile.

"Would it not be wise, rather than to lose a battle through death, to draw a decisive line and return at a later hour, and instead bring victory?"

Simaron turned to Cerino, nodding.

"I have dedicated myself to the Order because I always believed that it was us whom tried to do some good in the world, whether it be through the teachings of the monks, or for what the knights who defended them stood for. Do not delude yourselves, either of you. We are only flesh and blood and we too, can stray."

Cerino began to dwell on the words, speaking quietly.

"Arturous turned Sunder against us. They willingly let us fall without seeing the real danger. How could they possibly believe him?"

Simaron's brows raised.

"His lies hold at their center, some truth to them, for you cannot tell a lie without basing it on a fact to spin in your favor."

A third voice broke the quiet exchange, spoken weakly, turning both Simaron and Cerino to it.

"We meddled."

Cerino remained quiet, remembering the day the news arrived of his father's death. He had died in a place far from the Sundered Mountains, in foreign lands. Sevla sighed, catching a glimpse of Cerino's eyes before closing her own to rest her head against the cold bars of the cell. Simaron coughed before bringing voice to Cerino's thoughts as if he were listening to them.

"The Order expanded too far. We involved ourselves in disputes across the lands, became involved in matters not our own. We gained power enough to rival the authority of the High Lord himself."

Silence filled the cell as hooves and soldier's boots squelched in the mud as rainfall battered the roof, leaving the three to sit in silence for a moment. Simaron broke it, echoing words he'd spoken weeks ago.

"It is the hubris of men to believe themselves assured of victory. Assured that they walk the correct path. Even we can stray from the path."

Cerino shifted in his chains, lowering his head.

"Where are we going?"

Silence before the weak voice of Sevla spoke.

"The Mawed Lands."

Cerino looked up to the fresh mark seared into dark skin, down to the bone, returning to stare at eyes he'd known since he was a child. Even at the revelation of such knowledge, her eyes bore no hint of their unwavering fire. Simaron coughed raggedly.

"In all my years.... what madness compelled Arturous to send us so far?"

Cerino looked over to Sevla, daring to speak directly to her for once.

"I don't know where that is."

Sevla's lips upturned into a stubborn smile briefly.

"A place where exiles are sent by kingdoms wishing to dispose of people they do not want. You would know that if you read from the archives a little more."

Cerino managed a smile back, as if a weight had been pulled from his chest.

"No time to read when all I did was train trying to catch up to you."

Sevla's smile held as her eyes found the floor and she spoke quietly, drifting away into silence.

"All that training paid off, Cerino."

Rainfall battered the roof of the cell and a quiet still overcame the three. There would be no more talk for tonight. On the waning edge of torchlight ahead of the cart, Cerino watched Sevla as she drifted to sleep. Even such simple actions played her out. She was still weak. But to his quiet relief, it looked like she was going to make it, in more ways than one. Cerino turned his attention to Simaron, speaking gently.

"She seems to have come around."

Simaron nodded back.

"In good time. We must not harbor doubts amongst ourselves. We will need each other for the road ahead."

Cerino dwelled on the name Sevla mentioned, breaking the silence once more.

"Where are we going, Simaron?"

The old warrior's brows furrowed as he formed a distinct frown, managing to stroke the long braid of grey hair hanging from his chin.

"Very far. To the far south-west."

"Why call it the "Mawed Lands?"

Simaron shrugged.

"I can only speculate. I have never been there myself. I know only that it is the only place of salvation for others in our situation. But it is a prison in its own right."

"How is that?"

"I heard tell once, of a great wall bordering the edges of the lands. It stretches across the earth for as far as one can walk. The wall itself was a fortress, manned by the joint armies of kingdoms whose borders meet at the wall."

Cerino remained quiet, already seeing the connection. Arturous was sending them someplace far away. And not only that, but they would likely be boxed in behind the wall. People did not build fortresses for no reason. Simaron coughed, lowering his head.

"We will have to discuss this matter another time. For now, all we can do is see this journey to its end, and try to save our strength."

Cerino spoke lowly, aware of the guards always ahead of the cart and the rear guard, trailing not far behind.

"Should we not try to escape before we arrive?"

Simaron shook his head.

"We are branded, and still too close to our homeland. Our means are limited, unless you have a truly ingenious plan to break us free and defeat a small contingent of Arturous's men with no weapons but our own hands."

Simaron chuckled.

"If you did, I would humbly ask that you teach an old warrior new tricks."

Cerino sighed.

"Not exactly."

Simaron tilted his head, raising his brows.

"But you do have something?"

Cerino nodded, to which Simaron replied in a silent nod of acknowledgement. Cerino understood. Now was not the time for it. But there would come a time. For now, Simaron was right. Their path led only one way. With the final exchange of nods, under the waning torchlight and the cold rainfall, the two men drifted off to sleep. The road ahead would demand much.

At least there were three of them to do it together.

XI

Days and nights passed as the dawn rose and the moon shone through many cycles, and the land changed from temperate mossy scrubland and jagged rock, giving way to thick forest. In the stead of harsh rainfall came warmer climate, and with it, the onslaught of gnawing insects and humid weather.

The contingent of men sent to escort the mobile cell were some of Arturous's most loyal, as they never talked to any of the three, nor strayed from the path they were assigned. But even with such loyal soldiers leading the way, it was starting to become clear the journey was playing its toll.

Food reserves must have been dwindling, as less and less rations were served to Cerino and the others by the week, eventually, by the day. Simaron was growing ever noticeably thin, ribcage clearly visible, now suffering the hardest. A kindness was repaid by Cerino, and now even Sevla, who had the strength to live and recover on her own, sharing portions of her meal in some attempt to keep Simaron from declining any further.

Cerino had since worked up the nerve to try conversing with Sevla a little more, even going so far as to share what little remained of his portions with her. None the less, every time he looked at her, he could always see it under the surface. Sometimes when she smiled with him, it would vanish briefly.

The pain was always there. To her credit, she mustered the strength to keep going like the iron willed sparring partner he knew her as. But every time he looked, it took something out of him. Something gnawed at him inside, knowing that things would never be the same.

Normal life had become a time of the past, to be reveled in as nothing more than a fond memory, fading quickly as he and the other two with him hurtled towards a murky future on winding old dirt roads, trapped in an iron cage.

The days grew longer, spent in struggle trying to sleep to pass the time and save strength as rations dwindled to their lowest. Finally, the precipice loomed, revealing itself. Past the rolling hills and fields, past the dense forests, along the old roads, Cerino bore witness to what he could only describe as staring into a heart of darkness. Beyond the edge of yet another forest the cell had finally cleared past, the sky had begun to darken noticeably.

Like some permanent haze of bad weather, thick black clouds loomed ahead across the entire horizon, the only sight to be seen in any direction for as far as the eye could see. The land itself began to lose color, dulling gradually from the vibrant greens of verdant plant life and rolling fields of blossoming flowers, to dark patches of earth that could have passed for the gray lifeless husks of ash after a fire had done its work.

Plant life began to grow sparse, and those that were stubborn enough to grow seemed weak, sad little imitations of the thriving life not far behind them. And yet the small band of soldiers persisted forwards into the looming maw of the inky black sky ahead, the lands growing overwhelmingly grey and lifeless for every mile gained.

Eventually, all plant life ceased. All that was left was dead land, grey and devoid of anything. Black, discolored rainfall turned the grey dust into pools of mud and murky black water, turning the well-traveled path ahead into a slog for the heavy rolling wagon and the horses that pulled it.

And yet, far ahead into the ever looming wall of darker clouds and an approaching wall of fog, there was nothing to be seen ahead but lifelessness. It was as if the world and everything in it had simply ended here at this dark approaching line.

Maybe it had.

XII

Rainfall pattered against the roof of the cell in the dim light. Not far off in the thick fog, the faint haze of torchlight flickered as the soldiers made camp for the night. Cerino listened intently in the darkness, overhearing the chatter of the men. In the last week, an unease had crept noticeably into everyone.

Men broke ranks in formation ahead of the cage. They spoke out of line and rank to one another. The chatter at the camp had changed. No longer were the soldiers talking as if they knew each other. Talk seemed forced and quick before dying down to silence.

A divide was growing. It had been for some time now. In some way, he could sympathize with them. Every day, the path ahead grew darker, the road harder. Even now, it was not truly night, but the fog was so thick, and the sky above so black, sunlight was beginning to fail in piercing the clouds.

The old beaten path the cell traveled on had all but disappeared into the grey mud and dark black pools of water, forcing the men to expend more energy as they fought to pull the cell with the horses. Food was dwindling, strength was waning, and patience was teetering over an invisible edge.

Even Cerino began to voice the doubtful thoughts he'd overheard from the soldiers. What if there was no wall? No destination to arrive at? What if this was just a road to travel until all of them died of exhaustion or starvation?

Unlike the soldiers, for Cerino, there was some light left. The apparent growing divide had not effected them as it had the soldiers. But as he looked over Sevla and Simaron in the twilight it was apparent that they too, might face the same end if they were able to escape. Even he showed the signs of it. His bones were more visible with every passing week.

Maybe this was Arturous's plan all along. If it were, then truly, it showed how much he really cared for his fellow man. The soldiers escorting this cell were all highly trained and regarded for their loyalty and valor. To send them out here, to a place like this, caring not if they returned?

It renewed something in him as he thought about it. Far away on the highest peaks lay his home. It was now in the hands of a ruler that cared not for it. He couldn't accept that. Not while he was alive, not while they all still had the chance to do something.

Cerino shifted in his bindings, trying to rouse Sevla and Simaron. Both eventually came to, looking tired and worn, nothing but skin and bone and dark, sunken eye sockets. Even with the teachings of the Order, all of them could only go so far before they reached their limit.

He spoke to both, keeping his voice hushed as he caught banter from the soldiers in the distance.

"How much longer is this going to last?"

Simaron coughed raggedly, leaning back up against the cell wall.

"Their strength wavers. We may have our chance."

Sevla quietly joined.

"We have no weapons and no means of freeing ourselves."

Simaron closed his eyes.

"Perhaps not for much longer. Our escorts are beginning to doubt their path. If we can outlast them, then perhaps freedom will come to us willingly."

Cerino turned to Sevla, managing a smile.

"And we're not....entirely without weapons."

Sevla frowned noticeably, a trademark Cerino had come to know over years spent in their training together.

"You've had a weapon all this time?"

Cerino raised his hands defensively.

"Not exactly. I can try to get one."

Simaron opened his eyes, nodding. Now was the time then to speak. Sevla voiced her aggressive curiosity openly.

"How?"

Cerino smiled lightly, focusing on Sevla.

"You remember how I got my father's sword?"

Sevla's eyes lit up with realization back to some far away memory, only to gaze to the cell floor as she nodded without a word.

XIII

The sun began to set for the day, marking a distinct change that overcame all the districts of Sunder. Whether at the base of the mountain of which the city was named for, or along the patchwork network of bridges stretched like threads between the cleaved wound in the mountain range, all the way up to the dual peaks, a quiet still descended.

The bustle of people stopped. The echoes of mining equipment came to a halt. The trade carts stopped rolling and jostling up and down the maze of stairways. It was a lack of noise and a sight that accompanied every day's end, one that always calmed Sevla.

From up on high were she sat in the monastery courtyard, cross-legged as she peered over the unguarded edge, wisps of smoke drafted upwards through the stone chimneys of hundreds of homes far down below to blow across the warm evening breeze. With the warming of fires came the candles, tiny motes of light shining through portholes carved into the stone.

Among the wind and the gentle blowing of chimes and ornaments in the monastery's flat stone courtyard came the sound that she had been waiting for, the scuffle of bare feet on stone steps that so often signaled Cerino's arrival. Sevla continued watching the trails of billowing smoke far into the distance until they all but vanished.

Cerino's hurried steps slowed as he approached, coming to a stop as he stayed behind her, always making sure never to stand as close to the edge as she ever dared to. Sevla sighed, still focused on the sights below.

"You're late."

The scuff of one foot on the stone always preceded an excuse.

"I got held up."

Sevla turned, catching Cerino in the middle of a shrug with the barest of a smile hidden under what he tried to muster as sincerity. This time however, it seemed like legitimate truth. Starting from his shoulders and working down, Cerino was covered in grey dust. The bright orange of the cloth that draped across his chest was dulled almost to nothing but lifeless grey. Cerino shrugged once more.

"I helped at the mines."

Sevla sighed, pushing herself upright as she closed the distance between Cerino, lashing out with a quick shove that sent clouds of dust puffing outwards all around him.

"You're supposed to be my partner stupid! I waited all day for you!"

Cerino smirked, arms dangling at his sides as he shrugged.

"Not everything is about training you know."

Cerino held up both hands, wiping grey dust away to reveal tones of red splashed and dried across his palms. Sevla frowned sharply.

"What did you do?"

Cerino let his hands fall to their sides, shrugging.

"There was an accident. I helped some of the men."

Sevla gazed quickly across the courtyard to the pillared monastery entrance and its ornately carved stone gateway, turning back to Cerino as she shoved him again.

"Why didn't you come get the master?"

Cerino felt a surge in him as he pushed Sevla back.

"There wasn't any time!"

Sevla lashed out with another shove, sending Cerino stumbling backwards. A heavy set book tumbled from the small pack at his side, falling to the stone spine first, leaving its pages to flutter lightly in the breeze. Sevla gaped open mouthed at the book, brows furrowed sharply as she spoke while trying to restrain a rising voice.

"You stole a book from the monk's library!?"

Cerino held his dust and blood covered hands up.

"I just wanted to see if I could do what they do...."

Sevla lunged, scooping the book up as she peered over its pages. Scriptures and diagrams detailing human anatomy and writing accompanied them, some of it written like loose notes and scribbles in ink overtop a secondary language she couldn't begin to fathom, written in something much older than ink. It seemed to permeate from the pages themselves as if were never written with an instrument in the first place. The more she looked at the strange slashes, curls and dots, the more a feeling of distance overcame her, as if she were staring far out to the horizon, and past it. The pages snapped shut as Cerino tore the book from her loosened grip, holding it tightly against his chest.

"You're not supposed to look at the old writing."

Sevla blinked, looking at the hand prints which now stained the cover of the old book in grey dust, shaking her head as things returned to normal.

"You're not supposed to have that book! Give it here!"

Sevla pressed forwards as Cerino prepared to defend his claim as a voice resounded across the courtyard, deep with an air of calm authority.

"What's the meaning of this?"

Cerino and Sevla straightened on their spots immediately as Grandmaster Klinn circled into view, wearing his traditional combination of knight and monk apparel consisting of protective stone-plates across his shield arm, with dark blue wrap covering his shoulders and chest, denoting his significance.

Klinn moved with controlled grace as he circled, moving close to Cerino the moment his eyes found the book. The aging man smiled, turning to Sevla as he stroked one hand down the long braid holding together what was left of the grey hair on his chin.

"Would either of you wish to explain yourselves?"

Klinn quickly realized his mistake as the two began trying to talk over one another, raising both of his hands for silence before letting them rest down across his front. Klinn sighed, smiling as he focused intently at Cerino.

"Cerino, come with me. Sevla, rest for the day."

Cerino bowed his head quickly, moving to follow the Grandmaster as he began making his way towards the monastery entrance. Sevla was left standing briefly before she called out across the courtyard.

"I didn't do any training today master!"

Klinn paused without turning his back.

"You will train with me tomorrow to make up for lost time Sevla."

Cerino's eyes widened as he turned briefly to catch the same expression stunning Sevla into silence before having to make quick steps to keep up with Klinn as he continued on his way past the monastery's arched entrance, walking into the gloom of rowed candles perched inside notched carvings along the old yet still pristine monolithic stone walls.

Cerino had long ago learned and called home to the simple layout of the temple, its modest entrance leading to the central dome, which branched off in three other directions deeper into the rock of the mountain. To the right was the passage which led to where knights and all manner of armory related tools called their place home. Straight ahead, beyond the ancient grandiose statue of a man whose name was lost to time, was the passageway that led to the monk's residence and their archives, fortified and buried deep into the heart of the mountain. Finally, to the left was a passageway Cerino had never traveled before.

Klinn's steady pace led through this hall, no less remarkable than the entranceway with its ornate and ancient carvings towering up into darkness that the small motes of candle light could not penetrate. Cerino held the book tightly to his chest as unease crept into his mind as he knew where he was headed. It was custom not to enter the Grandmaster's residence. Cerino spoke quickly as he caught sight of the old wooden doors at the end of the passage.

"Grandmaster I'm sorry I took the book from the monks!"

Klinn moved forwards without a word, pressing open the two thick doors before standing aside and turning to face him with an open hand.

"Please. Enter if you so wish to, Cerino. You and I have things of importance to discuss."

Klinn approached Cerino with a warm, gentle smile, holding a hand out openly.

"May I see the book?"

The heavy tome slipped easily from Cerino's grip automatically as if everything happening now was just him watching a dream unfold. Klinn dusted off the hardened cover, opening the book's pages briefly, nodding slightly as he did so before closing it. Klinn turned and walked beyond the thick wooden doors into his residence, turning once more to Cerino.

"Come then, sit with me."

Cerino bowed his head, inhaling through his nose sharply as he stepped ahead past the doors to enter a room he'd never set foot in before. A rounded chamber with a low domed ceiling, all carved into the rock of the mountain like everything else. Dim evening light streamed in through several large vertical slits carved through the stone to reveal the second peak of Sunder and the Lord's Hall resting embedded into it in the distance.

The space in Klinn's room was cramped, remaining simple. The enclosing circular walls were decorated with ancient wooden shelves housing books and pages of work, collections of dried plant life, and what little possessions Klinn seemed to keep. The main area was nothing more than a central fire pit decorated with woven mats for sitting or resting on.

The clink of metal as doors shut brought Cerino's attention to back to Klinn as he walked past to tend the fire pit, stoking the embers before moving ahead to rest the book in his clutches onto a table against the windowed wall. Klinn returned with a metal pot, hanging it up on the rack that rested over the fire pit. The Grandmaster sat down onto one of the mats at the pit, holding one hand out, waiting for Cerino. He stepped forward reluctantly, taking his place across the pit. Klinn ran a hand across his balding head through the grey hair held together at the back with braid work, exhaling gently as he stared directly at Cerino.

"Tell me, why did you steal from the monks?"

Cerino's eyes fell to the fire pit as he focused on the embers and their dull glow.

"I wanted to see what they knew."

Klinn's brows raised slightly.

"You already know what the monks are capable of, Cerino."

Cerino inhaled quickly.

"I used it. On some people in the mines today."

Klinn nodded gently, yet his eyes took on a fierce light as he maintained steady eye contact with Cerino.

"How many?"

Cerino's gaze faltered under Klinn's.

"Two."

Klinn nodded, stroking the braid hanging from his chin.

"That would be a feat for one untrained in the proper use of the knowledge held in the book you stole. Even to those moderately trained."

Klinn pushed himself up as the small pot began to hiss under the embers, removing it from its perch as he began rummaging loosely through shelves of dried plant life, adding them to the pot in seemingly random order.

"Tell me, what was the extent of their injury, Cerino?"

Cerino closed his eyes, going over the frantic collection of loose images in his head.

"One's arm was crushed and the other could hardly breathe, Master."

Klinn set the pot down at his table, opening the pages of the book to gently flip through them as he spoke after a long, gentle exhale.

"Some of the elder monks would scoff. The instructions contained within these books grant access to abilities that are not to be taken lightly. When faultily performed, these ways have the potential to backfire on their user. And even when performed correctly, flawlessly, there is always a toll taken on one's body."

Klinn turned with a hardened gaze on Cerino.

"How much did you read?"

Cerino's gaze fell to the embers which crackled gently in their pit.

"Just a few pages."

"And where did you learn to read them safely?"

Cerino shrugged slowly, looking around in confusion.

"I just read through the scribbles and notes, Master."

"You did not lose yourself in the pages?"

"I felt.....odd when I looked at the other language, so I stopped."

Klinn stroked his beard as he nodded seemingly to himself, turning back to face his table.

"Tomorrow, I will visit the mines to verify your story Cerino. I believe you are telling the truth. But I must be certain first."

Klinn turned, bearing two small clay cups in each hand, holding one out to Cerino over the pit with a warm smile which quickly replaced his stern features. Cerino bowed his head accordingly, only for Klinn to hold his hand up for a cease as he resumed sitting on his mat.

"You have little idea what this means then, don't you?"

Cerino nodded as he sipped from the cup, the strange brew assaulted his taste buds with a covered hint of bitterness under something that was spicy but lingered on to become sweet. Klinn smiled as he followed suite before speaking once more.

"It is no surprise to some that the warriors who call this temple home outnumber the monks two, perhaps even three fold. The path of peace and compassion is not one easily walked. I spent years on the field of battle, and years in study. Finding the calm to my own turmoil was a greater task than walking through any battlefield, Cerino."

Klinn took another sip from his cup as Cerino remained deathly quiet.

"One must first experience turmoil before they can understand or aspire to peace. That is why we train you in the art of battle firstly. Joining the ranks of the monks, is a personal endeavor of your own choosing. Most will walk the path in their later years. Some may choose never to walk it and remain on the battlefield. But it is a rare gift that one can understand their art with such ease."

Cerino set the small cup down at his feet, feeling a quickly spreading sense of calm overwhelm him. Whatever fears or doubts he held earlier crumbled, and only one thing became clear to him now. He was tired. Oddly content, but tired. Klinn smiled out of the blue, chuckling.

"You are lucky to have your youth, Cerino. The older you become, the greater the toll."

Klinn set his own cup down, rising from his mat.

"It would be best that you do not strain yourself in unrefined use of what you have learned. Make no mistake. The cost of giving incorrectly can be high. You were fortunate, this time."

Cerino bowed his head, stiffly pushing himself back up to his feet. Whatever Klinn had given him was doing its work. That was the only thing he could think of as to why he at least felt so at ease. Klinn passed by, and all he could think of was what had remained unsaid.

"Grandmaster, what about my offense?"

Metal lock work clinked from inside the wooden doors as Klinn parted only one, holding his hand out to Cerino with his token gentle smile.

"Under the circumstance, should your word remain true, I believe your actions down in the mines today make up for the woes of a monk searching for his misplaced book, or the tribulations of your friend."

Cerino shuffled out past the doorway, turning to bow silently as Klinn repeated the gesture of kindness, closing his door shut gently with a final clink, leaving Cerino on his own to ponder what had transpired. At least, that may have been possible, if he wasn't inclined to follow some abrupt notion creeping its way into the back of his thoughts.

XIV

The scuff of skin on stone turned Sevla's attention to her shoulder as the dark skinned frame of a young body sculpted by endless training sat down beside her, daring to sit against the edge of stone that led to a fall onto the rooftops of a city carved into the mountain far below.

Smoke wafted gently outwards from homes, drifting out towards miles of tundra below as final motes of orange light showed themselves, fighting their imminent loss to twilight as it crept towards the mountain across the plains.

With the slight grin that he managed despite feeling a growing need for sleep, Cerino spoke first.

"The master thinks I can learn what the monks do."

Sevla spoke flatly as her gaze fell out towards the plains far below.

"You're just going to go then, aren't you?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Sevla crossed her arms, leaning down into her lap, intent on staring far away.

"Don't you get it stupid? You're no good at fighting. Now you can read books only the monks can."

Cerino shrugged.

"If they start teaching me, you'll have a better partner to train with."

Sevla always moved with a speed Cerino couldn't match or predict, landing a punch on his shoulder. Before he could cry out as he winced, Sevla set her head back down in her arms, mumbling in a barely audible tone.

"I don't want another partner."

Wind whistled through the stone courtyard as silence descended. Cerino watched loose strands of dark hair that had escaped from the singular braid they belonged to sway in the wind, eyes eventually settling to the face intent on looking elsewhere.

Cerino proceeded with abandonment of caution, reaching one of his dust covered arms out to lay across shoulder bones, pulling Sevla against his own shoulder, an action that provoked no ire to his silent relief.

"Maybe I can learn from the monks while I train with you."

The barest hint of a smile creased Sevla's lips.

"You're training full time now and you can barely keep up to me. How would you expect to ever be good at anything if you tried to do both?"

Cerino grinned, resting his head gently on Sevla's.

"Maybe I'm a jack of all trades;"

"A master of all yet a master of none."

Sevla snorted.

"Na, that'd be dumb."

Cerino couldn't help but laugh along at the old saying. It brought back to him fond memories of Sevla's father. A talented man with the lightest disposition of anybody he'd ever met. Cerino's own father often mentioned that the man's humor had rubbed off on him for the better. Permanently, it seemed.

A clatter of metal skidding on stone broke the silence of the courtyard, turning both heads towards the source behind them. Under the last rays of sunlight, quickly vanishing as the world fell under a twilight of faint blue darkness, gleamed the metal of an ornate sword that Cerino could recognize even from where he sat.

For once, it was Cerino whom was faster, scrambling up to his feet, sprinting across the courtyard despite the burning that plagued all of his muscles, an incomprehensible notion of fear creeping deep inside of him as the sword loomed closer, sharper in detail to the point that there could be no mistake or trick of the eyes.

The un-dulled polished sheen of some obscure metal, appearing as gold but gleaming warmly as copper, never known to Sunder and its deep mines of stone. A straight sword, always marked as an outsider's blade for it lacked the signature curvature of blades created by Sunder's smiths.

Perfectly balanced and plain of construction, yet the blade's metal etched so barely as to convey an elderly bearded man whose draping locks of hair spiraled all the way down the blade to the hilt of ancient and dark wood, perfectly rounded and so smoothly fitting that even the fairest of untrained hands could hold it without discomfort.

It was his father's sword.

XV

The crack of thunder followed by a torrent of black rainfall on the cage's roof was drowned out by the rising shouts of men in the dark fog, voices growing in anger and reflecting back at one another until a single yell of pained anguish sparked only one heartbeat's worth of silence before metal and stone clashed.

The dim light of the fire in the haze beyond the cell bars was snuffed out as footsteps trampled in the mud and the shouts of enragement and battle splintered apart around the cell. The heavy wail of horses could be heard in the distance as their hooves trampled in the mud and clattered over metal and tore tent flaps.

One by one, the isolated clatter of metal and shouts died to silence, leaving only cold rain to fall in the darkness. From out of the dark, ragged breath approached the cell, as all three inside tensed, roused from their sleep which skirted the edge of death, until the telltale and final heave of escaping breath heralded a heavy impact in the mud nearby.

Rainfall clattered off the roof of the cell, and on the metal and stonework of the man laying outside. Tense breath escaped the lungs of three bodies, waiting for anything else beyond the patter of rainfall. It couldn't be seen but it could be felt. Their breath rose up on the air in tendrils as a cold dampness crept in with the rain.

No words had to be said. The path ahead was marked for them. They would struggle to break free of their chains at the barest hint of light in the fog, if the sun ever rose for them again. The creeping cold that slowly stabbed its way down to the bone could kill all of them.

Cerino focused inwards, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, finding that invisible warmth at his core, shown to him by his teachings. He could never touch it. He would never see it. But so long as he felt it, seeping out like trickles of water across stone, bleeding into his system and spreading like soft roots, he could harness it.

In the distance of his own thoughts, Cerino saw the hazy outlines of two people. He diverted his sight away from those black figures, struggling to find his heartbeat once more. Their images would not relent until he acknowledged who they were. The old warrior, Simaron. He would survive this. Sevla. She would survive this.

Cerino found his heartbeat once more, the patter of rain on metal disappearing into the background as a haze, capturing him in a profound still beyond the confines of the cage.

XVI

The rattle of metal brought with it focus as cold air filled the vacant space in Cerino's lungs. Dim motes of light cut through the air as his eyes opened, breath rising up in wisps still. Beyond the bars of the cell, the oppressive fog still loomed all around.

Across from him, slumped and still in their chains, Sevla and Simaron. A sharp breath escaped Cerino as the notion of their death crept on him, to his relief when he saw the subtle rise and fall of their shoulders, a barely comforting notion as their breath was faint. His skeletal fingers curled closed. There was still time.

Distant images played inside his skull, rattling, strained laughter as a figure rose up to stand, the mocking voice of Arturous resonating as his eyes peered past Cerino, affixed to the blade laying at his side. Cerino's eyes closed with a slow exhale as he flexed bony fingers open and closed.

The hum that emanated from the blade when he laid a hand on it. The curvature of the ancient handle, fitting into the palm in perfect balance and resistance. The feeling of reassuring warmth that could gently overpower even the coldest night.

The blade came into sharper focus, memories of his meticulous need to run his fingers along the engraved symmetrical details of the weathered man who decorated both sides of the blade's face. An old voice, from what felt like lifetimes ago, talking to him about what the engraving meant when he had asked.

The blade was bound to his family line, passed from father to son with the passing of life. Forged generations ago by a man whose name had since been lost to time, the blade was imbued with something beyond that of simple metals. It served one master alone, as a loyal soldier serving his general.

When the time of passing arrived, the blade would present itself to its new master, only to the hands that bore the same flesh and blood. This bond could not be broken, and it stretched beyond the physical. It needed a master to serve its purpose. And the master needed the blade, for no other could equal its sincerity.

One had only to want for the comfort of each other, and they would find one another.

XVII

Light battled with dark in its eternal dance across the land below as the last rays of sunlight vanished, conceding their defeat, sending shadows spanning outwards towards Sunder, their blackness scaling the mountain and its carved city walls without effort like a blanket falling gently onto bed.

In the wake of the fiery sphere came the lesser power of the night, a pale blue light emerging to cast its own gentle rays across the land, yet feeble so as not to overpower the darkness. Cerino gazed vacantly out to the moon above, unaware of the footsteps approaching from across the courtyard.

It was only after Klinn coughed a ragged breath that Cerino became aware, and even then, he did not care to turn his attention away from the pale light of the moon. The Grandmaster spoke softly, almost unheard as Cerino sat in his own thoughts, overlooking the stone edge of the courtyard's end to the city far below.

"I trust young man; you are not seeking to fall from the ledge you sit upon?"

Gleaming under the moonlight with its own resilient glow, a golden tinged sword rested in Cerino's lap. Grandmaster Klinn exhaled slowly, feet scuffing across the stone as he bent down, joints audibly cracking. The aging man stroked the braid hanging from his chin as he stared out towards the moon.

"Ever since your father found coven with our order, I have known him to carry that blade with him, always. There are few words I can say to express what lies in my heart at his loss. I know there is even less I can say to you, Cerino."

Klinn coughed once more, Cerino taking no opportunity to talk as he paid only half a mind in further silence.

"I will think of your father when I see his blade but I believe the hands that it now calls master to are the right ones, and that is what matters now."

Cerino spoke flatly, still transfixed on the moon high above in the starlit sky.

"I want to keep training with Sevla."

Klinn blinked, eyes turning to Cerino in study.

"In due time, under the tutelage of the monks, you can learn aptly, Cerino. Far beyond the pale teachings they will ever offer to those who choose a life of battle."

Cerino huffed sharply.

"I don't care."

Klinn nodded gently.

"May I ask why?"

Cerino stared outwards to the moon, fingers absently running along the blade in his lap. Klinn remained silent, waiting patiently. Cerino stared vacantly, struggling over how he could say it. It was just something he and Sevla did. Her parents were slain in battle and it was Cerino's father who looked after her. They always stuck together. They had to.

"We do everything together, Grandmaster."

Klinn nodded gently.

"You would forgo the opportunity to train in a field of study that befits you? Even though Sevla demonstrates clear aptitude beyond your current abilities?"

Cerino nodded silently. Klinn's brows furrowed.

"To resign oneself to the shadow of another is a choice not made lightly, Cerino. Know that the monks will always accept you, whenever you are ready. What is concerning is what may happen to you in the meantime."

Cerino shook his head.

"What happens to Sevla if I leave her? She doesn't have anybody else."

Klinn exhaled slowly, nodding with the slightest of smiles.

"That is the struggle, isn't it? Finding balance on the path we walk."

Klinn pushed himself up, joints creaking once more. The Grandmaster crossed his arms behind his back, taking a long spanning view of the world below before turning to leave, pausing momentarily.

"Choose carefully Cerino. This temple is your home. All who call it home, will always call you family."

Klinn left to silence as Cerino stared down to the blade in his lap. This was the first time he had ever been able to handle it. When another hand laid claim to its hilt, skin would warmly tingle at first, and then burn. Now it responded to his touch with a gleeful warmth. He couldn't stop running his fingers along the ancient design etched into the metal.

Memories of Sevla's parents surfaced, now alongside his father. Every talk had that he could remember. Moments spent in light hearted training where for once, it didn't feel like he was a soldier, but a dad. The times that he laughed alongside Sevla's father. The times that Sevla listened intently to his old stories that Cerino himself had listened to hundreds of times already. All of it was gone now, on some far away field of battle that had called for aid. Cerino couldn't remember if he'd said goodbye on the day that he left. Maybe he just let him go because he knew that he'd come back with new stories to share.

Something heavy gathered at the back of his throat and he was drawn to the sword laying in his lap. Warmth seeped through his fingers as he held the blade tightly and brought its hilt close to his chest, feeling gentle warmth spread through his core. The blade had no words to say for itself but Cerino knew what it was saying.

It had stayed with him until the end.

XVIII

The lightest clinking of metal broke the cold still of the cell and Cerino opened his eyes to dim light. Simaron and Sevla remained deathly still, pressed closely shoulder to shoulder for what little warmth they could muster. Cerino shifted in his bindings, needing to stretch, to escape their confines. His chains rattled against the floor and the distinct scuff of metal on metal turned his eyes towards the sound.

He already knew what it was. It was seemingly impossible and yet as his eyes graced the gleam of warm golden metal, of the ancient and weathered man on the blade staring out to him, the tiredness in his limbs and the cold of the fog outside vanished as his heart jumped and the only thing that could grace his features was a smile.

Cerino reached out, grasping the hilt of the sword laying at his side to feel immediate warmth grace his skeletal fingers. He acted, spellbound, as if suddenly having been bestowed knowledge of where he was going and how he was getting there.

Chains snapped when strained as their inferior metal gave way to the will of the blade and all of the strength Cerino could muster. Cold air stung his skin where shackles had eaten through but it did not matter. Sevla and Simaron were freed quickly and even the iron door and its lock gave way, opening with a resounding creak to a sight he never knew he could appreciate.

An open doorway to freedom loomed ahead of him as he tumbled through it, unsteady and weak on his feet as for the first time in months, they touched bare earth. Even if it was the cold and intrusive dampness of mud and clay, or sturdier patches that had never known what it was to be dry, Cerino moved with a lightness through it, scouring the remains of the camp from point to point.

Men laid where they had fallen in their battle; so too had their supplies, what little remained. Stale food, on the verge of being consumed by the dampness in the air that would spread mold so freely. Scraps of once brightly colored ornamental cloth he could use for warmth. Makeshift rope to holster his blade. Taking what he could and dropping it into a small pack salvaged from the dead, Cerino paused briefly, if only to look over the scene in the black choking fog as best he could. Horses, gone. Cart half sunken into grey-black mud surrounded by pools of murky water. The dead laying scattered, already beginning to taint the air with a foul tinge. Enemies they were, but so too were they men. Cerino exchanged silent words in his mind, hoping that they found safe passage beyond the confines of this world.

Back to the cell, clambering up its steps inside to find the still forms of Sevla and Simaron. There was no time for words and little strength left to be had. Cerino emptied the last of what remained in the only water skin he could find into the other's mouths, rousing them if only barely. First it was Sevla whom he pulled to his left side, Simaron to the right.

Dead weight buckled his own legs as he struggled to keep his grip on two bodies that wanted to slip away and stay where they fell. One pair of feet slipped into the cold mud at a time, until at last, freedom had been bestowed on all of them. Cerino struggled, lurching forwards, one foot ahead of the other. Simaron and Sevla's both moved with weak intent as all of them pushed forwards beyond the cell.

Cerino focused with every lurching step, every unsteady slip, and pained tractionless slide backwards. The resonating warmth resting against his back eased him as looked elsewhere beyond the utterly fruitless act he was trying to commit to, driving forwards on a path that had long since vanished, to a destination he did not know, a place he may never reach.

The monks and their writings always told him that to harness what was old, what was ever enduring, one must have will and intent. Will gave it shape and form, function and purpose. Memories visited him, as if he were once again in the Hall of Lords with Arturous, etched in splashing arcs of red as waves of silver materialized from his blade and brought themselves down with such force upon men so as to render them apart.

Dust blanketed the sky and the shouts of men buzzed in his ears in a quarry full of mouths to shout and bodies to fill it, quietly fading away into silence as he locked eyes with a man who writhed in panic in the dusty, grey-white dirt, eyes splayed wide as their fear spoke of what may be final breaths.

With precision and calm he reached out, fingers splayed wide across the ribcage. What was his intent? To fix. To heal. To help. He believed. He trained every day in the way of battle. He did not have to believe this, as he already knew that men existed in the world who risked unbalancing it in the pursuit of their actions. He trained his sword arm to strike when the time called; he trained his shield arm to handle the strength of blows that would come his way.

But in this, he believed. He believed that not all sought ruin, destruction, and conquerage. He believed that some fates could be changed. Those that did not deserve undue suffrage could be helped. Fate would say that the man writhing on the ground in ever shallow breaths had seen his final day, choking up red and clutching for support in the dirt that would not help him.

Cerino believed that just this one time, the path could be bent in another direction. He didn't have to break it. The man writhing on the ground would die someday, as any living being. But it did not have to be today. The commotion of the quarry disappeared completely, melting away as he was left in a soundless void save for what he could vaguely recognize as dual heartbeats.

One resonated in his chest, in his head as a steady, gentle rhythm in his veins, as another barraged the outside of his skull in quick panicked beats, faltering and skipping in struggle and labor. He drew breath inwards slowly, exhaling with deliberate sluggishness as he focused on the panicked beats beyond himself.

The book had spoken of balance, like a weighing scale. But the scale could not simply be added or subtracted from by manipulating weight. Both sides were connected to one another. What was lost on one, gained on another.

The unsteady barrage resonating and crashing like ocean waves outside of his skull slowed, still beating unevenly, as he felt a sudden quickness in his own veins. A little longer. The waves crashing on the outside slowed, now lapping and splashing gently like the slowly advancing tide, as a chaotic drumbeat thrummed in his veins.

The long exhale ended with a return to the bustle of the quarry and dust hanging in the air as a man lying in the dirt surrounded by those that had pulled him from the rubble ceased his frantic spasms to inhale one gloriously long breath of air to fully fill the lungs that were previously crushed.

The land ahead was dark, hidden under the billowing plumes of black clouds and entrapping fog, occasionally visible through the rare lance of sunlight or clearing of fog. A land of nothing but black bog water and mud, for what seemed like infinity. Far away, the horizon was almost flat, occasionally rolling in gentle slopes.

Three bodies struggled ceaselessly, moving forwards if it were possible, struggling around pools of water that would claim their lives if they fell into them or pits of black mud that would sink harrowingly past their waistline and perhaps further if they were not careful.

Time was absent here, only a permanent shrouded gloom that persisted over what they could only guess as days, nights, maybe even weeks or longer. And then it loomed over them, casting a shadow itself in the gloom as they realized that it was not the gentle curvature of the bog lands or hills beyond. The structure stood tall, obstructing the view no matter how far one dared to look on either side, a great looming wall of stone, having rested here for so long that the stone used to make it had taken the color of the bog lands, sickly tarnished black.

Their destination had been found, laying in the distance and looming with every footstep taken forwards. What lay beyond it, who could say? Why it was here, was a matter of debate for scholars. What was more pressing was the gap. A rectangular vertical slit in the stone, in perfect form. The trio pressed towards the grim sight, only realizing that it was once the space filled by an immense metal doors. One great pillar of metal remained standing, the other having toppled before sinking into the black waters and mud.

The gap loomed over them as they walked to their damnation willingly, now their only source of salvation, if only they could reach it. The black fog rolled in once more, encasing everything in its intrusive oppression, and at last, Cerino could walk no farther.

Cerino looked at the face of the one next to him, her forehead scarred permanently with the pale crisscrossing mark that would forever stand out against her darker tone. Eyes closed in rest that he knew would be the final one. He had failed her again. It was all he could think of as sleep overpowered his eyes and a blanket of black erased everything away.

Three fell to the black of the Mawed Lands, the land that had been swallowed whole, the land where Man could find no purchase or claim, and there they remained.