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Legacy's Wrath

Written by Mandag

_ Twokinds _, and all the characters from it are _ © Thomas Fischbach _

Part 1: The Stranger in The Fog

The old wolf leaned onto his spear, trying his best to ease the pressure on his tired back while simultaneously doing his best to not fall asleep.

"Guard" and "duty" were, when combined, probably the two least interesting words in his line of work, and tonight was no exception. In the span of the staggering fifteen years he'd spent working under various crimelords, loan sharks and assassin guilds, he'd been stabbed, beaten and almost choked to death multiple times. But he'd survived it all, beaten the odds, and had finally been entrusted with the privilege of guarding the young Prince of Greed himself. Or his mansion, anyways.

He'd been ecstatic when he first got the job; To think that he, a low-born wolf from some unknown forest tribe would one day live to serve true nobility! Visions of gilded rings and soft beds had clouded his mind when he signed the contract, and he had cursed that decision every day since, as he had quickly come to learn why they called him the prince of "Greed". His pay was actually lower now than it had been in years, the beds in the barracks didn't even have mattresses, and his spear was basically a rugged stick with a sharp piece of metal at the end. To top it all off, the young prince had cast some sort of spell on him right after his hand dropped the pen.

<That's in case you ever need to contact me, or vice versa.> He'd said. <Simply say my name, and state your message. Why do you seem so surprised? The contract mentioned this pretty clearly. You did read it, right>

Even now, as he peered gormlessly into the foggy night, his young companion droning on about some recent political development, the aged wolf envisioned what his life could have been had he learned to read at some point, instead of becoming a freelance assassin.

<So anyways,> the young guard continued <Them humans don't have the guts to mess with us. They're too small and scared. 'Sides, They're too busy with their own problems; heard they've got some trouble with a magic faction called The Templars. Apparently they have a new leader; some guy who usurped them all on his own.>

The old guard wasn't all that interested in the state of human society. The strange furless species was comfortably far off to the east, miles and miles away from the green groves where he had lived his entire life.

But these news made his ears perk up.

<Wait, what? Don't they have a king? I thought the humans were ruled by him.>

<I think they still do...> His companion scratched his ear. <...I'm no expert, but it sounds like their 'King' is much more of a wimp than ours. Fitting, I suppose, since humans in general are pretty weak. But this new “Grand Templar" is apparently all business, and even more aggressive against us wolves than most humans.>

The young one shrugged.

<Sounds a lil' far-fetched to me. Can't imagine why they'd wanna go to war after such a long time of relative peace. But hey...If some guy waltzes in, kills everyone in power, and commands them to get off their asses and attack us, then I guess... I guess they gotta do it, right? I mean, he must be crazy strong if he could just wipe out the Templar all on his own. Heard even the basitins are afraid of him. Guess that's why the boss called for extra security; Heard he's hosting a meeting with the chiefs, to discuss what we should do... He actually managed to call almost all of them down here, if you can believe that. Only one missing is His Majesty himself. Heard he's fallen ill...>

Though the story seemed nonsensical to the old keidran, he couldn't help but feel a chill down his spine at the thought of the mana and magical prowess required to take out something like the Order of The Templar on his own.

He'd done more assassination missions than he could count over his fifteen years in the business, and he was no slouch when it came to magic. But he almost always had the element of surprise, and his targets had never been too much bigger than a horse-drawn carriage.

He gazed into the night. The fog was thick this evening, and it made him uneasy. The story from his young workmate had woken him up a bit, and he found his eyes wandering back and forth along the edge where the grassy landscape faded into gray nothingness.

<So...> He started. <This "Grand Templar" guy... What do they know about him? Did he work with some sort of radical group? Did he have any insiders within the Templars? Has he made any public statements?>

The young wolf scoffed. <Psh. I dunno. From what I been told, he just...> He gestured forward like he was opening a door. <He walked right in the front door of the main temple. He ain't got no insiders or faction, far as anyone knows. He just... Appeared one day.>

He seemed to get lost in thought for a moment. <Oh. and his name... "Track". No, wait. Uh... "Trail". Ah, no. These weird human names. Anyways, his last name directly translates to <Heritage.> Or whatever you leave behind when you croak.>

The old keidran raised an eyebrow.

The young one chuckled; <Yeah, it's weird, I know. Humans have this thing with Death, and 'Leaving stuff behind'. Did you know what they do with the bodies of their dead? they dig these holes in the ground, and dump the->

The old guard raised his hand abruptly, cutting off his companion.

<Shush. Did you hear that?> It had been a familiar sound; The sound of a teleportation spell. Teleporting was usually a rather loud procedure, but someone much more skilled than the old wolf could muffle it if they wanted to.

he readied his spear, and squinted down the road into the fog. The sound had been very low, almost inaudible. But he was positive he'd heard it.

What scared him, however, was not just the idea that someone teleported. It was the fact that the Prince had assured him no one but himself could teleport anywhere near the estate, thanks to some very strong magical barriers that he himself had set up.

<What, you tryna scare me or something? You know I don- uh...>

The young wolf's voice trailed off. At the edge of their vision, about a hundred feet away, a lone figure emerged from the darkness.

<Oh, shit.>

The old assassin was not one to panic easily. His strong mental fortitude and cool head had saved him countless times before, and now was no different.

He talked without taking his eyes of the approaching silhouette, voice lowered, but intense.

<Crystals.>

The young wolf looked at him, eyes wide.

<What?>

<Mana crystals, you whelp. Necklace, belt or bracers. Get 'em ready. These sticks won't be of much use.>

The boy looked around, bewildered. <I... I don't know magic. The boss hired me 'cause I agreed to work for half the normal wage.>

The grey-fur rolled his eyes. Great. More dead meat. He'd need to have a talk with The Prince about security spendings after this.

He brought his unoccupied hand up to his neck and stroked the mana crystals. He could feel them glowing warmly under his touch.

The figure was about fifty feet away now, and the old wolf could make out some of its features. To his great relief, it seemed to be a keidran, not a human. It was a small keidran at that, around quite a bit under six feet, he'd estimate. It bore a cloak and a hood, but he couldn't make out any other details.

The young wolf gave a sigh of relief, followed by a surprised question.<What the... is that a goddamn tiger?!>

The cloaked individual was in clear view from the torchlight now, striding towards the two bewilderd guards. And it was indeed a tiger, from what the old wolf could see. Though it was the height of a child, something about the way it walked seemed almost regal.

Nevertheless, he exhaled nervously. The stories of this monstrously powerful enemy leader had gotten him all worked up, he had almost forgotten where he was. The estate lay isolated in the middle of the wolven forests, far from the rumor-laden cities. The Prince himself had assured that the magical barriers were nearly unbreakable, and any hostile intrusion would set off his alarms.

It was the safest place in the world.

He crossed spears with his younger companion, blocking the path to the mansion.

<Who goes there? State your business, or leave.> Might as well do his job properly, he thought.

The figure stopped a short five feet or so from the wolves, a white tiger's jawline visible in the flickering torchlight, eyes still covered in the shadow of his hood.

<I'm here for the meeting. I know I'm a little late, but...> He shrugged. <It's a long way from the Tigerlands to here.>

A male tiger keidran's voice. It was a lot deeper than the he had expected.

<I don't remember hearing about any tigers attending the council,> The old wolf said, hesitantly. <Show your face, if you please.> He decided it best to not let the young one speak, to avoid any hot-headed remarks. The fledgeling still had a lot to learn about diplomacy.

The tiger keidran pulled back his hood, and the old guard heard a sharp inhale from his right.

<Wow, that's a pretty crazy fur pattern you got there, kitty!> The young one blurted out.

The grey-fur cringed slightly, but at the same time he had to agree; The tiger's white fur only went up to his temple, where it suddenly burst into a completely clashing sky-blue mane. The hair flowed all the way down to his shoulders, quite long for a male. His left cheek was also covered by a strange blue triangle. A part of the fur pattern, he presumed.

The old wolf sighed. <Well. You're not on the list of invited guests. The Prince only sees people by appointment, and he's busy tonight. So be on your way. Please don't make us do this the hard way.> He underlined the last part with a snap of his fingers, igniting a tiny spark of magical fire. his mana necklace flashed up in accordance.

The tiger's face lit up, but to the old wolf's surprise he showed no emotion, no surprise or fear. He didn't even close his eyes to block out the sudden sharp light. Instead he kept his gaze, staring deeply into the veteran's eyes.

The old wolf had used this intimidation tactic before, with varying outcomes. Most would back off, realizing they were dealing with a competent mage. Some had gotten foolishly enraged and lashed out, only to be blown back by a burst of arcane power.

But no one, in the wolf's long lifetime of mercenary service, had responded with such an ice cold calm.

The tiger kept staring. The grey-fur had been in such staring contests before. Two keidran would put their chests against each other, and stare stupidly into each other's eyes until one of them backed off. He had always found this tradition vapid and pointless, since the outcome was always decided by height and muscle mass. He'd usually win, with his six-and-two-thirds feet height and rippled physique.

But tonight he found himself taking an involuntary step backwards, even though the little tiger was built like a twig, and reached no higher than his chest. There was something wrong with those eyes, his intuition had been screaming at him ever since he saw them. And as he stared deeply into them, he realized what it was.

<Your pupils...> He stammered. <They're not shaped like slits, even in the torchlight. They're round! Like a... Like...>

The white tiger put his palm to his face and took a deep breath. He seemed completely unfazed by the wolf's confused words. In fact, he seemed almost bored, maybe even slightly annoyed.

<Oh.> He muttered. <I knew I'd forgotten something.>

He removed his hand, and something strange started happening to his face. His already short fur started shrinking, receding into his flesh. His whiskers withered and fell off before going up in smoke on the way down, the claws on his paws shortening and widening until they were like a set of tiny transparent panes atop his fingertips.

The only things that stayed the same were his eyes and hair, the latter now resting on top a smooth, pale and furless face with fleshy eyelids, flat lips and a strange, protruding snout in the middle.

A human face.

The old wolf recoiled in shock. He had never seen a human before, but this thing matched the description perfectly. The descriptions and tales of the cruel, slave-mongering and magically skilled species that he had heard from travelers of the eastern parts of the forests. Stories of war, slavery and even worse atrocities.

He felt his cold professionalism take over quickly; humans were terrifying and mystical to him, but they were not gods. He himself was a strong mage, and he had backup.

The veteran curled his fingers and flexed his muscles, both his physical and arcane. The magic flowed thick in his veins. He could do it.

The interloper crossed his arms coolly, and began to speak. The wolf couldn't understand his words, but the intent was obvious enough; His voice had gotten an undertone of intense, coiled hatred, just waiting to be unleashed.

"Okay. Which one of you vermin wants to go first?"

The wolf waited, taut as a bowstring. Magic duels were a lot more complicated when no one had the element of surprise, a concept this opponent had strangely not taken advantage of. His best bet now was to bide his time and wait for the human to move, and try for a counter-attack; A part of his well-sharpened combat instincts told him that attacking directly would lead to a quick death.

These instincts had been honed to perfection by over a decade of near-death encounters with other mercenaries and mages. And though he himself was adept at reading his opponents' level of expertise, his young companion could unfortunately not boast the same.

With a shaky and terrified warcry, the young guard lowered his spear and lunged.

It was a weak attack, even by the standards of an inexperienced soldier. The human could've easily dodged it, but strangely decided to keep his ground, arms crossed and eyes sparkling maniacally.

"You first? Okay-" he mused.

The old wolf didn't even see, nor hear what happened next.

All he knew was that in one moment he had seen his his young companion heroically charge the intruder, and in the next he was on his back, staring into the black nothingness of the night sky. His chest was enveloped in a stinging and crushing pain, as if his ribs had been hit by a sledgehammer. He tried to scream, but his lungs were completely flattened, leaving him wheezing and whining helplessly on the moist grass.

He managed to bring an elbow under his back to prop himself up, despite a burning pain in his forearm.

The scene that greeted him was almost surreal; The human stood fifteen feet away, arms still crossed. In front of him, where the wolf's friend had been standing just a moment ago, there was a red crater with nothing in it but bits and pieces of unrecognizeable meat and bones.

All around him were body parts of various sizes, from little giblets of organ to long strings of intestine, stretched across the ground like coils of grotesque rope. The grass was painted black and red as far as he could see, the only thing not slathered was the man himself; He didn't have a single stain on his clothing or skin, as if the debris had somehow missed him. The only difference to his look was that his robe had been blown away. He was now clad in a white shirt, adorned with a blue circle intersticed with three lines, two vertical and one horizontal.

The insignia of the Templar.

The old wolf knew he was already dead, he hadn't needed to see the Templar insignia to understand that. The human hadn't needed to lift a finger to obliterate his companion, not a word or a gesture.

The explosion hadn't even produced a sound, it was as if the young wolf had just burst from the inside. He had never known or even heard legends of anyone with such magical power.

He looked down at his chest, and felt the bile rising in his throat; His once standard-issue uniform could no longer be recognized under the layer of blood and gore.

There were strewn little pieces of pink matter across the entire front of his body, and he was pretty sure he could see at least two broken ribs sticking out of his crushed chest, and he retched pitifully when he realized they didn't even belong to him.

The templar had been staring vacantly into the night, as if he had simply lost interest in the whole ordeal. But the sounds of the dying wolf's convulsions seemed to snap him out of it.

He turned towards the figure on the grass and grinned.

<Tell me... Is this what you mean by "The hard way"? Because it feels like you're making things pretty simple for me. I'm almost out of mana, so I went easy on your friend over there...> He gestured towards the crater. <...But you keidran must be a lot more fragile than you seem to think.>

The old wolf tried again to bring some air into his shattered lungs, but the only thing that came in was a gushing flood of blood. He whimpered and coughed, dyeing his uniform red once again.

He blacked out for a second, and when he opened his eyes the templar was crouching above him. <You know, I didn't try to disguise myself as a keidran so I could do things peacefully. I just wanted to see how close I could get to your chief before revealing myself.>

He sighed, and forced a smile so fake that even the dying keidran wouldn't believe it was genuine.

<But I must say, you're more attentive than your kinsmen. Which doesn't really mean much, but I'll let you give a few last words before you pass. If you can even speak, that is.>

The wolf could feel the life leaking out of him; He had realized now that his lungs were permanently crushed, blood was spurting out of multiple holes in his chest, and the edges of his vision were rapidly closing in. He knew that even if the templar decided to let him live, he would still die within the minute.

But he had one last thing he wanted to do before he went. He realized as he laid there, forgotten and broken, that he had made some regrettable decisions in his life, more than he could count.

But one of the few things he didn't regret was his work morale. He would always carry a job through to the end, even if it meant risking his own well-being.

If his employer asked him kill a married couple, he would do so.

If his employer asked him to kill a child, he would do so, albeit with gritted teeth.

If asked to literally bring the target's head forth on a silver platter, he would ask for extra funds to buy said platter.

He was not a person of half measures.

Which was why, with his dying breath, he wheezed forth his last words, praying that his master's spell worked.

<Clo--vis...> he whispered almost silently, red foam forming on his lips. <Run... Templar arr-- here... Cancel the... hah... meeting... run...>

Through his fading vision, he could see the templar cock an eyebrow. <Really now? You're trying to use a weak mind-link, one that I found and broke the moment I entered the area, to issue a warning? No insults, no cry for help, no plea for mercy? Hm.>

The man straightened himself up. <I guess you're not all equally pathetic. Good night.>

The old veteran didn't even feel it when the spell hit him in the chest. His last thought was that he was thankful to at least die at the hands of an enemy, and not a friend.

The Grand Templar looked down at the corpse in front of him and sighed. This was too easy. It made him a little sad, in fact. He had hoped to face more resistance on the way in, something to give him a proper warm-up. But offing the two wolves had been as easy as swatting flies. Easier, in fact, as flies usually didn't charge head first into death. The younger one had died with a face full of petrified rage, just like most keidran, but the elder had showed a strange calmness, almost as if he had thought he could put up a real fight.

He stood there for a moment, reflecting over the looks on their faces, before shoving them aside; The last thoughts of the deceased could wait. He still had business with the living.

Snapping his fingers, he ignited a small blue fire in the night, watched it burn for a short second, before it fizzled out.

Mana.

Though silent, the night around him was alive. The weaker races were somehow oblivious to it, but he could feel the energy of every leaf, every bug and blade of grass flowing together in a constant stream, driven by the neverending pulse of life itself. Life, flowing around and past him, the lifeblood of nature pumping through gigantic, invisible veins.

The keidran would try to trap this energy, locking it inside the little crystals that they would hang around their necks or wrists, and then pretend that it gave them some sort of mastery over the wild energy that surrounded them on a daily basis, before they spent it on casting their petty spells at him.

His own kind wasn't really different, their methods were just a slight alteration; letting the energy crystallize inside their towers, nly to spray it out over the sorrounding lands like a cascade of power, a show of their race's superior engineering prowess.

But he didn't need crystals or towers. He went straight for the source itself.

Without a moment of hesitation, he sliced into the vein, freeing the chaotic energy, letting it wash over him in a tremendous torrent. Even after having done it so many times before, he still felt a minor shock as the lifeforce of the world hit him square in the face; It was like leaping into a body of freezing water, only so much more intense.

The rapids of energy rocked his body, its pressure intensifying for every second.

This was true power, and even he felt a little frightened at its overwhelming prospect.

The forces of nature was a thing to respect... in fact, it was the only thing that he still respected in this world. It had twisted and killed so many of his own kind over the years, hundreds of young, aspiring templars who had wondered what would happen if they borrowed just a little more power, just a little more time.

They'd keep the vein open for just one more second, and it would swallow them. He'd made that mistake once, but somehow survived, though he still wasn't sure how or why.

With a low groan, he tried to shield himself against the unending assault of energy. This was the hard part, closing the vein. The surge of life was so rapturous and fulfilling that he'd often find himself lost in its throes, letting it run through him like an avalanche through a forest.

But he had better things to do tonight than courting Nature. With a languid hand movement, he shut the bleeding vein, and the night was empty once again.

He blinked, trying to clear his eyes of the magical sparks that danced across his vision. He found himself trembling-

No, -vibrating- with energy, from the bottom of his toes to the top of his electrified hair. His body could barely contain the immense reservoir of mana that he'd siphoned, and he knew he had to find an outlet soon.

But even so, he took a moment to survey his surroundings one last time. The grass had, for as far as he could see, withered and turned black.

There was no life left around him, no frantic pulse. The lifeblood of nature had been spilt, then dried up and disappeared. The part that still lived on inside him was all that remained of the fragrant life that had resided in the field.

Such a waste of ethereal power had once caused him a slight sting of guilt back in the day. This way of sucking the life out of the world had seemed... wrong somehow.

But everything had three summers ago.

What remained now was a gray and meaningless copy of the world he had lived in back then. The world had lost all color in one night.

There was nothing left in this cold and lifeless place.

It had all fallen apart when they'd killed Her.

They had taken it all from him.

To his surprise, he felt his chest tighten. He didn't know he could still feel that pain, so many years later.

He took a deep breath, sealing away his emotions for now. They had killed her.

With a poisoned arrow.

One of the lowliest and most cowardly ways of taking a life.

The keidran were, despite their boasting to the contrary, afraid of direct encounters with human mages.

Trace Legacy cracked his fingers and turned towards the manor.

He was about to remind them why.

Part 2: Council of Wolves

---

A few minutes earlier, inside the manor

---

<Alright, settle down everyone!> Clovis didn't really have to shout to make himself heard in the hall, but he did so anyways. The impromptu meeting room, which was actually just his working office, cleared out and furnished with a longtable and nine chairs, was a little small for such a large meeting, but he had to make do with what he had.

His guests, some ragged and weary, others proud and stoic, were all gathered around the table, eyeing him warily.

<Oh come on now, sit down. the chairs don't bite. I'm sure you're all tired and hungry from traveling here. I've plenty of food and drink to offer while we discuss the issue at hand.> The wolves scowled at him, suspiciously. He was used to that.

<And what would that issue be, dear "prince?"> A voice responded from the other side of the table. <Or do we even have an issue? Maybe you just lured us here so you could rob us of our coin?> The speaker was a relatively small, brown-furred wolf. Clovis recognized him as the chief of Figyn, a forest wolf settlement located far to the north, and about as far from human contact as possible.

The wolf continued. <We all know our good prince here doesn't play fair. He manipulates and deceives people with his silvery tongue and great fortune, before stabbing them in the back at the first chance he gets. He uses mind-link spells and similar lowly magic to keep his lackeys in check. I even heard...> he lowered his voice. <I even heard he sold his own parents into slavery when he was just hardly more than a kit.>

Kit. Eurgh.

Clovis could feel every eye in the room burning a hole in his chest as their heads turned against him, masked in various states of shock, disgust and confusion. Situations like these could get ugly, but he always had a way out.

he pondered whether he should refute any of the northern chief's claims, but decided against it; After all, they had been mostly true.

<My past may not be the cleanest, you're right about that. I've taken quite a few shortcuts to get where I am today... And I would be happy to share them with you, and let you pass judgement on the full extent of my depravity... if it were any night but this one. But I am afraid we have a few concerns that are more pressing than my less-than-glamourous past. The first one...>

He focused some magic into his claw, casually sliced open a small rift in space itself, and stuck his hand through the dimensional opening, searching with his fingers

As expected, he heard half a dozen mana crystals hum to life around the table, magic-laden fingers pointed at his face.

But he forced himself to stay calm.

<Relax, gentlemen. If I'd wanted to do something stupid, like, say, attack you all, I would've done it sooner.> he rummaged through the pocket space, groping for a specific item. <If you would just give me a moment... ah!> he pulled his hand out, very slowly and methodically, not to provoke any attacks. In it he held a bottle of dark red liquid, imprinted with a white pawprint and the words "White wolf wine"

he removed the cork with his claw, took a deep gulp, and swallowed. he then set the bottle down and sent it sliding down the table like a tankard down a tavern desk. Crude, but effective.

<Here's tonight's first concern.> he murmured. <It's not poisoned, I would now be dying if it were. And I have a lot more of it.>

A long and uncomfortable silence followed. The wolves were all staring stupidly at the bottle, and Clovis had started to wonder whether his stunt had worked, when he heard a roaring laughter from the othis end of the table.

<Hah! I like this guy! Any wolf who shares his booze like that can only be an ally.>

The booming voice had come from none other than the Mayor Ullervahl of Llwynderw, a big, black-furred lunk of a wolf who was said to have become chief of the eastern town by pure muscle-bound force alone, in traditional keidran fashion.

Clovis smirked. <Well, I suppose we're all allies here, then.> he snapped his fingers dramatically, and summoned forth a set of fine crystalline wine glasses, one for each chair.

<What would the people like for this evening? we have a long night ahead of us, much too long without anything to smoothen our tongues and minds. I'd personally play the role of cup bearer to each and every one of you, but I'd like to stay somewhat sober for the sake of discussion, so you will have to trust me.>

The wolves eyed each other, bewildered. Clovis opened his mouth for another round of persuasion, but the Mayor Ullervaahl got there before him.

<Oh fer fuck's sake, lads. Are you all really gunna sit here and jerk each other off while there's fresh wine ta drink? The man's opened his doors for us, let us into his home, and is offerin' us his finest stock a' booze. Seems plain 'nough ta me.>

He grabbed the bottle. <Well if none a' yer are gonna pick his offer up, then I am.> He then emptied the entire thing in a single, impressive swig, before adding rustily; <Also I'll break 'im in half like the twig he is if he tries anything.>

Clovis would've liked to tell the mayor how he could break him just as easily, only from thirty feet away and with little to no effort, but he held back on it. The combination of the huge wolf's jubilous mood and the promise of alcohol seemed to have softened the rock-hewn faces of the other wolves, and they were now murmuring to each other.

<Well, he has a point, he would've already attacked us by now...>

<Yeah, but what if it's all just a trick? maybe the wine IS poisoned, and he just has an antidote?...>

<I could REALLY go for a drink right about now...>

Clovis opened the portal again. Time for the punchline.

<Alright, let me see what I have.> he started producing bottles from the pocket space, sending them sliding down the table one after another.

<We've got... Moelygarth Rosé, Ridgegate Stout Mead, Marble Tower Vodka, Tanmare Red... Ridge Tri- Ew, not that one... Local Llwynderw White, Mt. Winterfang Akevitt, Cognac from Ditteridge... I even got my paws on some Basitin Rum, but I wouldn't have too much of that stuff if I were you. I'd like to hold this meeting here in the hall, not bent over the toilet.>

Much to his relief, he heard a few chuckles from around the table after that last remark.

<If you want me to take the first drink of anything, then just ask. There is no poison here, I have nothing to hide from you.>

That last part wasn't exactly true. He ran a hand up along his exposed midriff and chest, for the hundredth time making sure his illusion spell was working. Having ditched the chest bindings in favor of an open royal mantle, he had to rely on spells and incantations to hide his now shamefully feminine form.

he'd held meetings like this before, but never with such high-profile attendants.

And though the thought of having such powerful guests had intimidated him at first, he seemed to have the situation under control, at least partially. Alcohol was an extremely effective tool to bring keidran together.

<Alright...> The Figyn chieftain sighed. <I guess I'll play along. The journey here WAS a long one, and I've never tried Marble Tower before. It's a rarity, and I get the feeling you didn't acquire it through legal means. But hey, what do I care. You may be a stone-hearted bastard, but I believe we've got more pressing matters to discuss than shady assassin guilds and rumors of slavery.> He sat down and poured up half a glass of the icy clear drink, and Clovis had to suppress a relieved sigh as the other wolves followed suit. <Why ARE we here, anyways? Heard it had something to do with humans?>

Clovis sat down and wrapped his tail around himself. This introduction had gone relatively smooth. He had expected more hostility and wariness from the chiefs.

<You are correct, my friend.> he replied. <Though I'm not usually interested in the dealings of the furless bastards, one of my spies...> he took notice of the raised eyebrows, and sighed. <Yes, I do have spies, and so do most of you, drop the pretense. How else am I supposed to keep track of my enemies, numerous as they are?>

<Anyways, I usually have one or two deployed in human territory, under a disguise. And one of them caught some... disturbing news from Morlin Hall last week. That's the human capital, for those not versed in their geography.

Apparently, the Templars have had a change of leadership. A violent one, a usurpation of sorts. My source tells me his name is Trace Legacy, a former Templar gone rogue.>

<And why should we care?> One of the chiefs cut him off. <Some human asshole kills some other humans for power. That's the same as we do on our side of the border every other year. The humans have always been hostile towards us, so if they've started infighting, shouldn't we be celebrating, rather than sulking? 'Sides, I thought the Templars was a mage organization, not a military force?>

<You are correct, Chief Tyler.> Clovis had taken great care to learn the names, looks and tempers of the chiefs before summoning them for the meeting.

<The Templar organization has been mostly peaceful, up until this point. But this new ruler is apparently not so benevolent. Allegedly, he has an unseemly hatred for Keidran, Particularily wolves. My source has agreed to join us through magic projection tonight, to share his information with you all. I just hope he's made it to a secluded spot. So if you don't mind...>

With a somewhat dramatic gesture, he dug his hand into one of the pockets on his cloak, and fished out a flat mana crystal, filed down to be smooth and shaped like a disc. He spun it in his hand a couple times, charging it with mana, before sliding it down the table. It stopped roughly halfway down, clinking against one of the liquor bottles.

The spell for magical projection was, contrary to popular belief, a lot more complicated than a simple teleport.

But to Clovis it was an everyday task. Teleporting someone else into his own home did not only invite assassination attempts, but would also require him to work around the protective magical barriers that he himself had set up around the estate.

As he finished the incantation, the flat mana crystal crackled and sputtered, before bursting into a thousand tiny blue sparks. The sparks rose upwards above the table, and to a choir of impressed gasps from the onlookers, started taking different shapes and colors, until they began resembling the robed upper body of a human.

Clovis gave a low but strained groan; This was a lot more difficult and demanding than projecting someone from wolven territory, he basically had to reach across half the world and dozens of magical borders to show an image of his ally.

After a few seconds of high magical effort however, the projection settled, and among them stood a five and a half foot tall human, clad in a black feathered robe. His head was completely shaved, save for a patch of auburn hair growing desolately at the top of his dome, hanging down in front of his face.

He brushed the strand of hair to the side and scanned his surroundings before giving a short, slightly nervous laugh.

<Really now, right in the middle of the table?> His voice resonated throughout the room. The magical reinforcement made it sound like he was speaking from the bottom of a well.

He looked down and moved his hand directly through the surface of the table. It passed through a bottle of Ditteridge Cognac on the way down.

<I swear I'll never get used to being projected into solid objects like this, boss. Can't you just place it on the floor next time? Bloody hell.> He shuddered.

Clovis scratched his forehead. he was halfway relieved that casting the spell had gone so well, but also annoyed by the spy's unprofessioanal demeanor.

<Alright, Carver. Enough with the whinging. You're here for a reason. Could you remove your illusion and share your information with our esteemed guests? I don't pay you a ludicrous amount of money so you can dress up as a human and attend their meetings, without sharing what you learn there.>

The man looked around himself again, and only now did he seem to notice the others.

He cleared his throat uneasily. <Oh. You... you actually brought everyone together? And no one's torn each other's throats out? I always knew you could be persuasive, but you this is impressive, even for you. Last time I saw two wolf chiefs in one place, they were trying to rip each other into tiny little->

<FORMALITIES, Carver!> he cut him off. The overconfident idiot could undermine the entire meeting with his snarky attitude. Not only were the chiefs tense and quick to anger, but if they saw him, the Prince of Greed, getting talked down by his own subordinates, they could quickly come to lose any and all respect for him.

<Now take off your stupid mask and tell us what you've seen of this new Grand Templar, before I teleport over there and wring it out of you personally.> he growled, putting on the most menacing tone he could, even though his voice wasn't quite as deep as it used to be.

The figure recoiled, hands raised defensively.

<Wow, Clovey, okay! I'm sorry if I joke around more than usual, but to tell you the truth, I am more than a little disheveled by the things I've seen. I can't really tell you how happy I am to see some fellow keidran without them being in chains, or in a noose. I just wanted to lighten the mood->

He stopped mid-sentence and scanned the stern, frowning faces around him, before letting out a trembling sigh.

<R-right. Illusions. Intel and details. Just a moment.>

The projection flickered as he took a look around, eyes hovering over some points in the distance on his side of the link. He then ran his hand down from the top of his shaven head, and down his face. Wherever his fingers went, patches of black and orange fur sprouted out, the classic colors of a fox. His short stubby nose grew outwards along with his jaw, until they melded together into a slim, black-lipped muzzle. Lastly, he brought his hands up in front of him and watched his nails blacken and sharpen into a set of dull claws.

Carver swished his tail back and forth a couple times, and exhaled.

<There. This is me. As you can see, I am in fact a fox, and not some human double agent. I went out into the woods to make sure no one would see me in this form, but I still don't wanna risk sticking around for too long. So I'll be swift.>

His voice was fast and clear, if a bit unsteady.

<I wasn't there myself when Trace Legacy made his coup, so I've only secondary sources when it comes to the details of how it happened. But the state of the main temple, and the brutal deaths of the previous leaders speak for themselves. When I first came to the Templar headquarters of Morlin Hall, It looked more like a warzone than a place of magical learning. The front doors looked like they had been removed from existence, along with most of the wall around them. The mages were still working on cleaning out the rubble in the grand entrance hall, as well as the scorch marks and...>

He took an unsteady breath.

<...And the now dried streaks of blood running from the floor and up the walls, some places even reaching the ceiling.

<From what I've gathered from others, Trace himself used to be an accomplished and well regarded Templar many years ago. I've heard a few differing rumors about what happened to turn him against them, but they all imply he suffered some sort of injury caused by a renegade pack of wolf keidran, near the western border. He then went missing for years, until one day he showed up and took command by force.>

Carver took a quick break. From what Clovis could see, This whole ordeal was putting quite a strain on him.

<Yeah, alright, so he's a big bad mage.> A voice came from down the table. Chief Tyler again. He was holding a glass of Ridgegate Mead, and his voice had a slight slur.

<I still don't get why we should care. This doesn't sound all too out of the ordinary for humans. Or from what I've heard of them, at least. Never been there myself.>

Carver sighed and shook his head slightly before replying.

<Then maybe you should come here sometime. I can assure you, the human societies are a lot different from what you've probably heard. And as for why you should care... Well, I was just getting to that part.>

He looked nervously around himself again, before continuing.

<The new Grand Templar is... How shall I put this... Saying that he doesn't like keidran would be like saying a doctor doesn't like the plague... Actually, that description dosen't quite paint the full picture either. He has a hatred for them that goes beyond all rational reason, even for a human. He's already started reinforcing the slavery laws that Grand Templar Silverlock was working to undo. He's ramped up the security around all major human towns, and they've already caught a lot of disguised keidran...>

He wiped some sweat off his paws.

<Only reason I'm still alive is thanks to my own transformation magic. It's not flawless, but it's pretty damn good.

<Oh, and the penalty for wild keidran to enter human cities is death, by the way. Hanging, burning, beheading or crucifixion. Depends on the weather, or maybe they just decide on a whim, I don't know. I...I've seen a lot of evil, and commited a fair share of it myself, but this...>

He shivered and pulled his cloak tighter around himself.

<Trace sometimes shows up to the executions in person. Due to his high position, he always gets front row seats. He likes to... to see it happen. Up close, I guess. I... Don't...>

The fox paused and took in the shocked glares of the wolves around him.

<I'll be honest with you. As a part-time assassin, I've brought a fair bit of death. But I don't really enjoy it, not much anyways. You wolven tribes constantly butt heads with each other in bloody conflict, so you know what it's like to wage war, and I'm sure most of you have killed people to get to where you are now. But this human shows a thirst for it that goes far beyond anything I've ever seen. His eyes shine like a torch whenever a keidran's head comes off, or one of their necks snaps in a noose.>

He scratched his throat uneasily, as if he could feel the rope rubbing against it.

<Sometimes I even get the feeling he knows about me. He has a way of staring at you that just makes you... shrink. The man is small, even for a human, but you always feel like he's staring down at you, and that he can sense all your thoughts and secrets.>

The fox drew a nervous breath, as if waiting for one of the wolves to butt in. He was faced with a speechless silence.

<Uh. Well. One more thing... Trace has a tendency to just... leave. Without warning. One day he's holding public meetings or maybe a speech, and then the next day, he just... disappears. Sometimes for just half a day, other times for weeks on end. No one knows where he goes, or what his goal is, not even his closest confidants... Not that he has many of those, he's very solitary. I sure as hell don't know, I've barely even met the guy in person. <But I can promise you one thing: You... WE are not dealing with your regular megalomaniac here. Most power-hungry idiots are overconfident, pompous and careless. I should know, I've worked for quite a few of them.>

Clovis was so deeply chilled by Carver's story that it took him a moment to realize he was being insulted. he held his tongue however. he could scold him for that one later.

He continued; <But Trace Legacy is not like that. He's cunning, manipulative, and very, very powerful. He's the only one I've ever heard of who has managed to severly damage the Templars, and from what I've heard he did it ALONE.

But what makes him truly terrifying is his temper. I can recognise lunacy when I see it, and it burns brighter inside Trace than in any keidran sanitarium. The man is completely mental, a real madman from the bottom of his toes to the tips of his bright blue hair. I don't know where he goes when he's out on his excursions, and I feel like I don't even want to find out. I don't...>

He turned back and forth, staring at the wolf chiefs around him.

<I don't know what you're planning to do here, but please, for God's sake, don't provoke him. I'll break this communication spell in a few moments, and then run for my life until I'm outside the magical barriers of Morlin Hall. I will then teleport to somewhere on the west coast of the Forest Tribes, or maybe even home to the south. It doesn't matter to me, as long as it's far, FAR away from the reach of The Templars. And if it turns out you guys have done something brash and drawn his ire towards the tribes, then there will be absolutely nowhere left to run, except maybe the Basitin Isles... But I get the feeling his hand will reach there too, eventually.>

He raised his hand to eye height, and Clovis could see it trembling heavily.

<I-I can't stay here any longer. I can't take any more executions, public torturings and suspicious gazes from suspecting templars. There's only a matter of time before I slip up, and Trace will get to see my scruffy neck in a noose. Never again will I travel through the human lands, at least not as long as that monster is around.>

He turned and looked to Clovis.

<I'm going home, boss. You can pay me... whenever I show up, I guess... I feel like staying low for a while. I don't know- It feels like Trace has eyes everywhere, the hairs on my neck never lie, and they've been bristling for days on end now, as if he's... watching me.>

He shuddered, and the mana crystal on the table flickered with him.

<T-that's all I have. Carver out.>

And with that, the trembling robed fox whirled on the spot, and Clovis could feel the spell fade and break. The projection flickered quickly, before dissolving back into a thousand tiny sparks.

With the echoes of Carver's voice gone, the room fell under an eerily dead silence.

Clovis looked down and realized he had been clutching his tail in his hands the entire time.

He raised his gaze and saw that the others were in a similar state of shock and tension, some audibly grinding their teeth, others clenching their hands so hard their veins were visible, even through their fur.

he wondered if he should speak up, but he honestly didn't know what to say; Carver had only contacted him a few days before the meeting, hastily saying he had some incindiary information on the new Grand Templar, but he hadn't mentioned anything beyond that.

The prospect of humans hunting down keidran wasn't new to him, but the way Carver had described Trace's madness had somehow made him shiver. Carver had always been a cool and professional type, and seeing him so visibly disturbed and nervous troubled him more than he had expected. A collective attack from the humans was a common fear among his kind, especially the ones living near the borders. But he had never worried about it too much, preoccupied as he was with his own plans, schemes and problems.

But now their fears were true, and the nightmare was real; The humans had a warmongering maniac as a leader, and his hatred for Clovis' race was unquestionable.

<I-I knew it...> A weak voice came from his right. he turned and saw it belonged to a gangly wolf with a gaunt face, scraggy fur and unkempt hair. Though his looks were a lot more harried than the last time he had seen him, he recognised him as Travis, the chief of Foxhunt, one of the villages near the human and vulpine borders. He had a rather narrow snout for a wolf, indicating vulpine blood somewhere in his family, a highly shameful trait for a wolf.

Clovis could relate.

<The... The villages. Men, women and children alike...> He raised his voice slightly. Clovis could hear through his rusty speech that he was very tired, but he could've seen that from the bags under his eyes.

<For weeks... months now, the settlements around my town have been attacked... By some unknown force. They never- There's never anyone left to give us any details, but...>

He sniffled, and Clovis could see his eyes get a reflective glaze.

<Every other week or so, a settlement gets slaughtered. I always had a feeling humans were behind it, But to think it was a single man...

<I've seen the wake of the destruction first hand. Houses razed to the ground. wolves hanging from trees or impaled on their own farming tools. It kills indiscriminately, men women and children. The corpses... They're usually found grotesqely deformed, in pools of their own dried blood. Most killed by physical means, others clearly by magic.>

He took a deep breath. Every eye was on him now, some in disbelief, others in sympathy. But every brow was lowered and furrowed in a display of dawning horror; The kind of deep and lurking fear that comes creeping when not only one's life, but the survival of one's entire species is at stake.

Travis continued; <My original intention when I came to this gathering was to draw attention to my plight, and beg for your help. But I see now that wouldn't be necessary. This is Grand Templar Legacy's work, I am sure of it. No one else is that strong. Not that I know of, anyways. And no human I've heard of is cruel enough to slaughter families like that.>

He turned to Clovis. he could feel his gaze resting heavily on him, blue eyes flickering under his brow.

<You're SURE we can trust this... 'Carver' person? I've dealt with quite a few foxes, and they're usually a two-faced, self-preserving sort. These news seem almost too horrendous to be true, even though they match up eerily well to...> His voice faded into a hoarse creaking, before going over into a painful, creeping cough.

It took a moment for Clovis to realize he was waiting for him to speak up.

When summoning the chiefs, he had really done it to get on better footing with them. They had always been lukewarm towards him, probably due to his half-breed background, he thought. He had planned to only use the foreign news as an intro, a topic of discussion, so he could let the alcohol set in, to then mingle more easily. Allies were important, especially as his enemies were so plentiful.

But that was not how it had gone. The "Foreign" news had suddenly become very local, the booze was almost untouched, and now every eye was on him, expecting him to reaffirm the existence of an overwhelming threat against their entire goddamn species.

he gathered himself; <Carver has never... Whatever information he gives me has always been correct. He has never failed me.> As he said it, he knew it to be true; The fox was skilled in his work, if a bit overconfident at times.

Travis turned to the others. <Well then it is clear what we must do. The madman could be out there right now, slaughtering innocents as we speak. We cannot stand against him divided, so we will have to put our differences aside, and work together... I propose->

<Oh, so now we're working together, are we?> A voice came from the other side of the table. <That's rich, coming from you, Travis. Did you think I'd forget how your tribe attacked Tylerwynn only a few months back? These problems are your own!>

<Are you daft, Tyler?> Travis replied, bewildered and angry. <This human is trying to wipe us all out, and you're concerned with->

<I'm not so sure about this "Grand Templar" thing.> A third voice joined in. Another one of the chiefs, Clovis couldn't remember his name.

<Seems oddly convenient how a grand, exterior threat pops up right as you're going through a rough patch. You two aren't working together, are you?>

<Well aren't you awfully paranoid? Almost makes you sound like a human.>

<What's this huge drunkard even doing here, anyways? And why the hell is he chieftain of such a tactically important city?>

<Lad, lean a lil' closer an' you'll see...>

More of the wolves joined in, and it didn't take long before the table was buzzing with angry yells, growls and accusations.

Clovis watched with a sinking heart, and realized he probably should've taken Carver's advice when it came to the wolf chieftains: Don't bring more than two or three of them together in one room. He lowered his face into his paws. From the table he could hear yelling, snarls, and the Mayor Ullervaahl drunkenly proclaiming that anyone wanting to take him on were welcome, but had to be prepared to leave with a broken neck.

But as he heard the dull hum of multiple mana crystals coming to life, he realized he would have to act; Fighting with words or fists were fine ways to settle an argument by his standards, but he wouldn't risk having his manor burned down by an angry wolf.

With a swift movement, he activated the crystals wrapped around his right arm. he felt the mana flow down his shoulder and into his hands.

he whispered the spell under his breath, rose from the table, and slammed a fist down.

With a sound reminiscent of a cork popping, the room went silent. Completely silent. The wolves kept worldessly mouthing at each other, faces still twisted by spite and anger, until after a few seconds they realized none of them produced any sound.

Clovis rose to his feet. Time to take back control of this thing.

<Alright, gentlemen. I trust I have your attention now?> his voice rang like a bell through the oppressive silence.

he looked around the table. He was met with a fascinating array of expressions ranging from rage, to confusion, to bewilderment, and even awe from some of the younger chieftains.

<Okay, good.> He paced away from the others, and stared out of the great window, into the gray nothingness of the fog. Time for a little bit of charismatic persuasion. he cleared his throat and began to speak;

<None of you trust me. I know this because you're all chieftains, and you didn't get there by being stupid... Most of you, anyways.> he could see the Llwynderw mayor opening and closing his mouth, angrily waving a bottle in his direction. He inferred from his expression and by reading his lips that he wasn't saying anything nice.

<But be that as it may. We can quarrel endlessly with one another, but what Travis is saying is true. I've seen enough miserable people to recognize a wolf who is at the end of his wits. And that means we have a problem.>

He pointed dramatically out the window

<The enemy is out there. Their meddling in our affairs has so far been limited to light attacks and kidnappings along the border, but now it's getting out of hand.>

He turned back to the wolves.

<As long as this Trace fellow is out there, we can never rest easy. It is clear that he must be stopped, or our entire race will be in danger. I know we all have our problems and disputes, but I think it's time to hunt as a single pack once again, lest we will all die alone, at the hands of The Templar.>

Despite his bold words, Clovis didn't actually plan on fighting the humans himself; he barely spoke their language, and couldn't read their writing at all. But winning the chieftains over to his own side was something he had always wanted to do, and proving to them that he wasn't a cold-hearted, slippery deceiver would be a nice place to start, even if it weren't true.

<I will release the silence spell now. If I hear so much as a snarl, I will activate it again, and we will be back to square one. We'll never get anywhere like this if we don't learn to set our differences aside, I expect you all to understand that by now. Trace could be anywhere out there, and I won't waste any time trying to win a screaming contest with you while he's still on the loose.>

And with that, he carefully let the spell fade. And as it did, the sounds of the room returned. Nervous breathing, uneasy brushing of pawpads against carpeted floor, and Clovis' own heartbeat thundering through his ears, steady and fast; the sounds of a war council.

But there was one sound that didn't quite fit in, and it made the scruff on his neck bristle and rise.

It was a low, yet high-pitched squeaking noise, like someone polishing a glass surface with a wet cloth. He'd heard it many times before when he had ordered his servants to clean his windows, even though he could easily do it himself with magic.

The noise itself wasn't terribly unsettling to him, as much as it was strange and out of place.

No, what made his blood freeze and turn to ice in his veins was the fact that it came from behind him, outside the great glass window.

he whirled around to face the arced panes, and was met with his own confused reflection. Behind him he could see the other wolves staring in the same direction, peeking over his shoulder to get a better look.

But behind the reflection, on the other side of the glass, something was written in a language foreign to him, in scrawled red letters. And as he watched, more crude writing appeared, accompanied by the squeaking noise again. It was as if an invisible person was standing right outside, writing on his windows, though that would be impossible as the meeting room lay on the third floor, a good thirty feet above ground.

<What's the meaning of this, Prince?> One of the wolves behind him mused. His voice had a threatening tone, but was betrayed by a nervous crack in the middle.

he tried to form a reply, but found his mouth completely dry all of a sudden.

after a few moments of forced salivation, he muttered <I-It's not me...>

His fur was bristling in all directions now, his skin tingling underneath.

He could heard the sound chairs moving. The others had left the table and approached him.

<What...> He whispered as the wolves came to inspect the window. <I can't read this. What does it say...?>

<It... It's mirrored... But I think it says... <I'm right here>>

Part 3: Monster

“You are correct. Good job."

The voice came from the center of the room. Dark, clear, and much too smooth to have come from a keidran's throat. Clovis spun around, perfectly synchronized with the others.

At the table, in the chair Clovis had left less than a minute ago, sat a blue-haired human. He had his legs crossed, arms folded at the lap, and was leaning back leisurely as if he had been sitting there for a long while. And though he was clad in a relatively standard human shirt, the great white Templar logo on his chest gave away his background and rank.

"Good evening, gentlemen. I see you've-" He was cut off by the aggressive hiss of half a dozen mana crystals powering up; The wolves were fast to take action. Clovis himself was just dumbfounded, he really couldn't fathom what he was seeing.

The man waved them off, nonplussed. "Oh for the masks' sake, put those little rocks away. They won't do you any good. I'm really just here to talk. Mostly."

He gestured towards the table with his furless human hand, smirking. "Please sit. Although...Hm."

He eyed the little pack of keidran with a pondering expression.

"That's funny. There are ten of us... But you only set up nine chairs. What kind of operation are you running here, Clovis?"

He set his eyes on Clovis, and It felt as if someone had gripped his heart with a claw.

He had no answer to the human's whimsical musings. They were all blocked out by a million questions swarming his mind. Why was he here? How did he get in? Why hadn't any of his alarms gone off? Why hadn't his guards stopped him? How... How does he know my name?!

He stood there for a while, opening and closing his mouth stupidly. To his right, he could hear the Figyn chieftain starting to mumble a teleport spell.

"Well this is just rude." The Grand Templar continued. "You hold a meeting to discuss my rise to power, without even inviting me? I knew you keidran were a lousy and mannerless breed of unthinking animals, but this must be a new low, even for you. You won't believe the hardships I had to go through to even find out you had this meeting."

He scoffed. "Now come and sit. The chairs don't bite, but I will if you stand around there for too much longer."

He tapped his fingers impatiently on the table. And though his voice was calm, Clovis could sense a stirring somewhere deep in it, as if something unsightly and horrifying lurked just beneath the smooth and friendly surface.

To his right, the Figyn chieftain was reaching the end of his spell. His mumbling was still low, but had gotten a stroke of urgency to it. By the end it started sounding a bit like a prayer.

<Oh, by the power of mana, take me home and away from this man...> He looked to Clovis as his body began to glow and distort.

<I-I'm out. Not about to fight a templar archmage. Good luck, guys.>

The templar stared at the chieftain with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"You're leaving? But... I'm sure some part of you really wants to stay and hear my message." He pointed two fingers at the wolf, and spread them before snapping them back together, imitating a pair of scissors.

Just as the the wolf chieftain's spell went off and engulfed him in a flash of light, Clovis could see his face distorting in pain. He gave a short and strange noise, something between a hiccup and a whine, before disappearing completely.

The flash from the teleport blinded him for a moment, and when he opened his eyes again, his breath caught halfway down his throat.

To his right, where he had just been staring at a tall and muscular wolf, were only a pair of legs. The trousers they wore were the same as those the chieftain had, but his body went no higher up than the waist, just above the base of his tail. It was as if someone had simply removed everything above that point, erased it with impossible presicion.

The templar looked at the ghastly sight and gave a low chuckle. "Hm. Looks like I was right. He really did want to stay. Well. Half of him, anyways. Wonder what they'll think when the other half shows up in his home."

The chieftain's legs twitched, and moved as if they were trying to walk. But they only got as far as half a step before the knees bent and they tumbled onto the floor, tail writhing and beating weakly against the carpet, which was now colored by a rapidly growing red stain.

For a short moment everyone in the room paused, and the only sound that could be heard was the scratching and thumping of the former chieftain's death throes on the floor.

Then a lot of things happened very quickly.

As if on cue, all the other wolves attacked as a single pack, fangs, claws and mana crystals glistening as they charged towards the interloper.

Trace himself smiled, clenched his left fist, and gestured lazily towards the wolves. The entire longtable, complete with tablecloth, liquor bottles and glasses flew off the floor, and shot towards the group.

Some of them ducked under it, and a couple of them got caught in the head. Chief Travis teleported to the other side of the room. Clovis could see the Llwynderw Mayor grab one of the wooden legs and break it off as it flew past him.

Clovis himself had been somewhat paralyzed with disbelief and growing panic ever since the Grand Templar had appeared inside his home. As the others had bantered and exchanged threats, he had fruitlessly grappled with how, how in the world the human had managed to infiltrate his estate so effortlessly. Wrestling with this impossible riddle, his mind had been quite occupied, and had rendered him dazed and slow.

But as the huge wooden projectile approached him, he could feel his instincts finally kick in, snapping him out of the trance.

With a short curse, he raised his arms and formed a barrier. The mana crystals on his shoulder sent a warm pulse, and a faint red shield appeared in front of him.

Against a smaller projectile, like a rock, arrow or a fireball, the spell would have worked wonderfully. In fact, he had used it so many times before that it had become second nature to him.

But this was a table with room for ten people on each side, made from thick oak-wood and with a magically reinforced stone plate running down the entire length of it.

It was heavy as sin, and had taken a crew of ten workers to carry to the third floor. And it was headed towards him at the speed of an arrow.

Clovis remembered this just a fraction of a second before it hit his shield and splintered it like an egg hit by a rock. He had just enough time to raise his arms in front of his face and brace for impact.

Without slowing down at all, the edge of the table slammed into his gut, knocking the air from his lungs along with an involuntary yelp. And in a desperate, instinctual reflex, he forced as much mana as he could muster into a last ditch telekinetic push, completely exhausting one of his four highly refined mana crystals.

He couldn't remember the last time he had used so much mana at once, and the effort made his vision flicker with white dots. But to his great relief, the huge projectile slowed down enough for him to halfway dodge, halfway stagger backwards, before his feet failed him and he went into a full tumble.

He hit the red carpet heavily, and the table fell over him with the edge first like a blunt, half-ton guillotine.

With the reflexes of someone who had thwarted a dozen assassination attempts, he desperately scrambled out of the way, tucking his knees to him body in a dodge-roll that would've made any assassin give a nod of approval.

But as the table smashed into the floor behind him, a sudden crushing pain in his tail informed him that he'd failed to dodge it completely.

Physical pain was not a foreign concept to Clovis. He'd endured his fair share of it during his younger years, before he took the title of Prince. It had, however, been quite a while since the last time he had felt it in such quantity, and it was anything but pleasant.

He felt a cry start somewhere in his chest, but it was snuffed out halfway up his throat for lack of oxygen. Tears sprung out from the edges of his eyes, and he felt his claws dig into his pawpads as he curled his fingers in agony.

Turning his head to check the damage, he saw the lopsided table covering his entire field of vision, blocking out the rest of the room. From behind it he could hear explosions, screams of <Igniras> and <Aerismentis>, and the Grand Templar's insane laughter which seemed to flicker back and forth from one side of the room to the other like a twisted echo.

A wolf (or half-wolf) with a weaker mental fortitude would probably have lost their marbles around this point, driven over the edge by fear, stress and pain. But not Clovis. He hadn't clawed his way up from complete poverty to the top shelf of the unorganized wolven hierarchy by being a weak-willed pushover. He could handle a little pain, and he was one of the strongest mages of the woods in an upfront battle. This was his home, and he would not let it fall to a human without putting up a fight.

Once again he focused mana into his hands, faster this time; The sounds of battle were fading on the other side. There were no more explosions or shouts of vocally cast spells, but Trace's laughter persisted, though it was more of a chuckle now. Clovis still heard a few magical effects, as well as the occasional boom of some heavy wooden object hitting a wall or a floor.

He was running out of time.

The giant longtable shuddered and flipped over, landing a few feet away with a soft thud; Lifting it with magic was much easier than stopping it midair.

In the same motion as he had cast the spell, Clovis pulled his tail close, rolled back and bounced up into a wide-legged, standing pose. Roughly halfway through the motion he lost balance and stumbled forward, his spine screaming in agony.

Though he knew his cover was gone and the Templar had a clear shot at him, he froze and threw a glance over his shoulder.

His tail was bristling in all directions, puffing itself up to twice its normal size in a primal display of intimidation, but about halfway down it went completely lifeless, and the rest of it hanged limp, dangling back and forth at an impossible angle.

The halfbreed forced himself to suppress an unmanly whimper; A broken tail would not only take days to fix even with strong healing magic, but it would also impede his balance while fighting Trace.

He turned forwards, taking in the warzone that was his room.

He'd wanted to make some renovations to his office at some point, but this was not exactly what he had in mind.

His once red carpet was hardly visible under stains of soot, blood and debris that now covered the floor. The Figyn Chieftain's remains were still in the process of colouring the area around it crimson, and it now had the company of three or four more corpses, Clovis didn't take time to count.

Someone had cast a particularly nasty fireball into a corner, and the flames had already begun to spread through the rest of the room, casting a flickering light on the scene.

At the center of all this stood Trace. In the time Clovis had spent behind the table, he had taken out half his enemies and scattered the others. They were all sticking to the walls in various states of despair and physical trauma. The only ones seemingly unscathed were Mayor Ullervaahl and Chief Travis, The former drawing deep ragged breaths, and the latter brandishing a conjured magical blade in one hand, and a shield in the other.

The Grand Templar himself stood at the center of the room, taking in the carnage with a grin on his face. His eyes flickered in the firelight, but Clovis could see a much deeper inferno burning within them, making the runaway fireball seem like a candle in comparison. And though he was small, the fire cast a dancing shadow on the wall which gave a much more fitting image of what he really was; a collossal, twisted monster.

He began speaking without turning his head.

"Ah, I see our host has decided to join us." Clovis could've sworn his voice was deeper than last time.

"Why didn't you come to help your friends here? Made me think you'd tried to run away like your pal over there." He nodded towards the legs of the Figyn chieftain.

"Of course that would've been a bad idea. Hard to run when you leave two of your four legs behi-"

"Why are you here?" Clovis cut him off, with an unsteady human diction.

From the few minutes he had spent in The Grand Templar's presence, it had become more and more clear to Clovis that Carver's tales of the tyrant's madness were vastly understated; The human was completely deranged, neck deep in insanity, and the more blood he shed, the deeper he sank.

He decided to stall for time, even though he had no idea where to go next.

"Ohoh, this one speaks!" The templar turned towards him. "And here I thought your kind was capable only of growling, barking and whining. I take it you must be the leader of the pack then? Your name was Clovis, right?"

He shook his head and straightened his sky-blue hair, which was now singed and stained to a dark red along the tips.

"Ah, but I digress. You do raise a valid question. I am in fact not here to kill you..." He looked around himself and took in the corpses on the floor, and the terrified keidran along the wall.

"Well. That too. But I primarily came here to deliver a message. I guess I'll just give it to whoever's alive..."

He eyed Clovis, who felt like a pig being sized up by a butcher.

"Your wolf friends really didn't put up much of a fight. Except for maybe that big one." He nodded towards the Mayor, who was leaning onto the broken table leg.

"But by the look on his face I take it he doesn't understand what I'm saying. Whenever any of you display so much as a smithereen of competence in one field, you always weigh up for it by being completely useless in everything else. You're all muscle and brawn, which is why you make for such good slaves. Your huge animal hands are good for plowing fields, and not much else."

Clovis himself had dabbled with slave trade a few times before, but he'd never paid much thought to the slaves themselves. So he found himself surprised to feel a sting of anger from the templar's words, now that he was at the receiving end of the humans' racism.

"Wha... Why are here, human? If you want kill, why do talk? Do one, not two." he crossed his arms defiantly, despite a nagging feeling that his human speech was a lot worse than it should be for such a dire encounter.

"Ooh... I suppose I overestimated your abilities..." Trace snickered.

The Grand Templar stood silent for a while, as if he'd forgotten where he was, eyes suddenly empty and emotionless. The only sounds that could be heard were the roaring of the fire, and a weak whimper from one of the more heavily damaged chiefs.

"Uh... Hello? Mr. Templar?"

The deranged templar jolted slightly at the sound of his voice, like a sleeper who heard his name called.

He scanned the room quickly, before his gaze landed on Clovis, the blazing inferno burning in his eyes once more.

"Oh. Right." He murmured "Where was I... Yes, the part where you will get to experience the power of an actual proficient magic user... Something I feel like none of you have ever seen, if your allies are anything to go by."

He tilted his head to the side, as if weighing his options; "Buuuut to make things interesting, I'll make you a bet: If you manage to land so much as a single hit on me, I'll let you and all the others go. Sounds fair, right?"

He flexed his fingers and gave a dead-eyed look to Clovis, as if waiting for his approval.

"I... I Do not..." The prince decided this was not the best time to be wrestling with human grammar, and reverted to keidran.

<I don't suppose there's a way to change your mind about this? Perhaps in a more peaceful manner?>

He didn't even need to wait for him to speak to know the answer, the fire in his eyes spoke for itself.

"No. And I won't tolerate your cowardly attempts at avoiding combat. Take a stance, and fight like a ma...hmm. Hold on."

The human squinted, and Clovis could feel his arcane gaze penetrate his clothes, fur, skin, and most importantly, his magical barriers.

When the templar opened his mouth again, he was puzzled to hear him speak in a near-perfect keidran tongue.

<Huh, that's interesting. Are you using a transformation spell to hide the fact that you're a w->

Clovis didn't even think before casting the fireball. It shot across the room faster than anything he'd cast before, and exploded right in Trace's face.

Or at least it would have, had the templar not moved out of the way a split second before impact.

<Huh. Guess I struck a nerve. Does this mean you're done whimpering about your bruised tail or whatever, and ready to fight?>

Clovis cast a look at the other wolves. Most of them were sprawled on the floor, and the few still standing were warily eyeing Trace, tails tucked between their legs. He couldn't expect any help from them. Furthermore, he couldn't risk having the human reveal his secret. He'd rather die than have his illusions stripped off before the most powerful male wolves of the woods.

He sighed and lowered his center of gravity slightly, while balancing on the tip of his pawpads to allow for a quick dash in any direction. He had almost three full overcharged mana crystals. He'd be able to hold him off for a while at least. And then...

<Sure. Bring it, flatface.>

"mhm~" The templar mused, snapped his fingers, and disappeared.

The oldest damn trick in the book, teleporting behind the target's back. Or at least so Clovis had thought, until he whirled around and found himself face to face with his own befuddled reflection in the window.

<What... Where?> he turned around, looking to the others. <Where did he go?>

He got no response, the wolves were just as confused as him.

<What... What in the name of the masks is that?> One of them stammered, pointing towards Clovis' feet.

He looked down, and screamed.

Without even noticing, he had backed off into the pool of the half-chief's blood. Focused on Trace's words, he'd been oblivious to the carpet growing warm, red and soggy under his feet.

But it wan't the blood that had made him cry out. It was what he saw in it.

The dark red carpet had taken a strange hue of purple, and was boiling around him. And in its depths he saw two dark-blue points, like a pair of eyes gazing at him from below.

Before he could so much as move, a cluster of black tendrils shot up from the red pool, and grabbed at his ankle, tiny razor-sharp pincers digging into his flesh.

<No! What is tha- AAAH!> his exclamations turned into a scream as the darkness pulled down, and the tip of his foot warped into the floor. Not only did it burn as if he had dipped it into a vat of boiling oil, but there was something about the feeling of the blood engulfing his paw that made his stomach turn and his vision darken.

<Let go! I-Igniras! Igniras, Igniras!>

The fire came out uncontrollably this time, the flash filling his entire vision. But even though he scorched his entire right leg, he could feel the demonic grasp loosening before letting go, and he stumbled backwards onto a dry section of floor. This time he couldn't find balance, and tumbled onto his back, heaving for breath.

“Scared, are we?"

The voice came from somewhere in front of him this time, and he forced himself up on his knees, despite his leg and tail screaming in pain. He looked ahead just in time to see Trace rise ominously out of the floor, the edges of his shirt stained crimson.

<You're using dark magic.> Clovis said, voice trembling.

Years ago, he had been briefly fascinated by the prospect of the horrifying power of dark mana, but had decided against researching it further after he discovered what disastrous results it could have for the caster. He liked being a powerful mage, but he would never risk killing himself or losing his mind like that.

<...I suppose I am. I can hardly tell these days. But does it really matter?> The templar's voice sounded a little disappointed, and Clovis could've sworn there was a bit of sadness in it as well. <Get up. We're not quite done yet.>

It wasn't until Clovis tried putting his weight onto his right leg that he realized exactly how dark the situation was.

With a whimper he collapsed onto his side; It felt like his entire foot had been cut off at the ankle, and he couldn't feel his paw at all. All he felt down there was pain and nausea, and his broken tail did nothing to help him keep his balance as he crashed into the bloody carpet for the third time in just a few minutes. The burns he had inflicted on himself were starting to sting now that the initial burst of adrenaline was beginning to abate, and he got the feeling he would soon be screaming in pain; a quick glance revealed that he'd managed to sear through cloth, fur, skin and flesh, charring himself almost to the bone.

With a sort of dull, feverish panic, The Prince of Greed realized he was going to lose; The human had already teleported straight through all the defenses of his manor, killed his guards, slain and maimed an entire room full of the strongest wolven leaders, and rendered him almost immobile, all seemingly without much effort. He didn't understand how human mana storage worked, but it seemed to him like the templar monster could keep nearly infinite amounts of it inside himself, without the need of crystals or a tower.

<Really now, you're already giving up? I've come to learn that your kind is rather fragile, but this is surprising. The others mostly fought, struggled, or at least begged for mercy before I removed them. But feel free to die if you've had enough.> The templar took to leisurely strolling towards the wounded half-wolf with an emotionless grin, his right hand crackling faintly with charged magic.

<Don't worry, keidran. Unlike your own spells, mine inflict no pain... only death.>

Death.

It had been a while since the last time Clovis had truly feared for his life. For years he had been so encased in layers of spells, charms and schemes that nothing had truly seemed like a threat.

But now, as the human approached him with the sole intent to end his life, he felt the panic overtake him completely.

<No! W-wait, stop!> He eventually yelled, writhing on the floor. He made another feeble attempt to stand, but ended up only crashing onto the expensive carpet, yet again betrayed by his ruined leg. This time he landed face first in the pool of blood, and the stench of gore and fear filled his nose.

<I-I'll give you anything you ask for! I know... I have contacts in the wolf-lands! If your wish is to go to war, I could help you!> He tried to ignore the enraged looks he got from the wolves, feeling tears form in his eyes. Any chance of building relations with the chiefs was now out the window, but it's not like it would matter if he was dead.

Trace stopped just a few steps away, and crouched beside him.

He clicked his tongue; <How embarrassing. Here you are, with all limbs mostly intact, having suffered only minor damages, and you're already willing to cough up the deepest secrets of your country... Right in front of your compatriots, no less! I've seen children hold up longer under torture. But your attempts at bartering for your own life are futile. Anything else?>

Clovis had no more clever remarks, no arguments or even pleas. When he opened his mouth to beg for mercy one last time, all that came out was his first and only thought.

<You've lost your mind.>

Something strange happened to the Grand Templar's face then.

During this entire ordeal he had kept a cold, almost disinterested demeanor. His outbursts had ranged from dryly humorous to falsely gleeful, yet always subdued.

But as he watched in horror, Clovis realized that this was all a facade. The madman in front of him, who had kept the face of a disgruntled diplomat, suddenly contorted his visage into the ugliest flat-toothed grin the half-wolf had ever seen. He revealed a full row of squared, tombstone-shaped teeth in a smile so insane it made Clovis scuttle backwards in panic, dragging his broken tail and charred foot on the floor.

“I've lost... my mind...?" Trace whispered through his teeth, eyes locked at some point on the ground. “Who... No, I haven't..."

Clovis felt something against his back, and realized with a shock that he had crawled all the way to the wall of the room. The Tamplar stood still in the center, teeth grinding.

“They've told me that before. Time and time again, every single one, even the dragon...

“'Saria is dead, Trace. You'll have to accept it. You will find someone else' she'd said, as if to console me. Soothe me. 'Why did you try to bring her back?'"

He mumbled to himself, voice trembling. And behind the insanity, behind the layers and layers of chained rage, there was a sorrow that clashed with his smile, a mourning swallowed by madness. The name Saria lodged itself somewhere in the back of Clovis' head.

The human took to pacing back and forth with an unsteady gait, the anger rising in his voice.

“But they're all wrong. It is not I who has gone insane. It is them... It's you! Everyone! Nothing makes sense anymore!"

Clovis had not gotten to where he was by being slow. He had survived countless harrowing encounters, though none quite as dire, hopeless and terrifying as this one.

A jealous keidran might have attributed it to luck. A more honorable and kind-hearted one to his cruelty and disregard for the feelings of others.

But the truth was that Clovis had an uncanny ability to read people. He'd had more knives to his throat over the years than he could count, usually for completely legitimate reasons. And when magic and brute force had failed him, he had resorted to diplomacy... Usually for just long enough that he could strike at his assailant while they were distracted.

His ability to understand a person's emotions, find their weak spot and then gently push it was his greatest weapon, and one he only used if every other option was destroyed.

And now, as the madman paced back and forth on his red-and-crimson-stained carpet, mumbling incoherently, the wounded half-fox let that specific far-back quarter of his brain work overtime, trying to reason its way to Trace's dark magic-ridden mind, piecing together what little he knew of the insane megalomaniac.

_- he suffered some sort of injury caused by a renegade pack of wolf keidran-

-'You will find someone else', she'd said-_

His line of thought was interrupted as the Templar let out a scream unlike anything he'd ever heard, and fired a barrage of sharp, twisting tendrils.

With his right leg burned to a crisp and his tail broken, there was nothing Clovis could do to dodge the bramble of dark thorns that flew towards his face. All he could manage was a weak duck to the left, causing them to stab through his shoulder rather than his head.

He could feel his collarbone get ripped to shreds by the dark magic, followed by the blunt impact as his back slammed into the wall. But he didn't have time to draw his breath or scream before a gigantic invisible fist sqeezed around him so hard it felt like his eyes would pop out of his skull.

“Insane?! By my word, you will soon learn..." He could hear through his fading vision.

Though right as he was about to pass out, Clovis' oxygen-deprived brain played a trick on him.

All he could see out of his watering eyes was the faint, blurry outline of the human's sky-blue hair. And for a moment he got just the tiniest flash of vertigo-inducing dejá vu; Years ago, he had seen that exact hair before, some part of him was sure of it. Maybe out of the corner of his eyes...

Or had even the eyes belonged to someone else?

But he had no chance to ponder why this vision came to him; The telekinetic hand contorted, before violently flinging his body through the air like a child tossing a fragile doll.

-It IS a masquerade, after all-

Though he flew with his back first, he could somehow feel the wall on the other side of the room approach just before he slammed into it. He managed to relax his back in preparation, but his head smacked against it so hard he blacked out for a fraction of a second. It felt like something broke back there. When he came to, his face was resting on the carpet, and an eerie warmth had begun to spread down the back of his head and neck. Fast.

Vision suddenly blurred, he clumsily moved a hand up there to check for damage. It came back soaked in blood.

Faintly he could see the paws of one of the other wolves, just a few feet from his face. As he looked up, he was met with a stare of disgust and pity from one of the chiefs, though he couldn't quite see which one it was.

-_There has been so much bad blood between our two peoples-

-But I truly believe that with open-minded people like you, the world can begin to change for the better.-_

He spent a few hectic seconds on the ground, sputtering feebly; Though he couldn't be quite certain, it felt like his entire right arm was gone, one or two ribs were out the window, and as the entire room oscillated before him he concluded he probably had a concussion as well, if not severe brain damage.

But after a while he could feel air flowing down to his lungs, and he was blessed with a few painful gulps, like a fish out of water.

-Right. People like... me.-

Clovis tried to cry out, tried to beg for help from the chieftains, but all that came out was a whimper and a few spurts of dark liquid.

Not that they would listen; He got the feeling that even if he somehow survived the mad tyrant's onslaught, they would be happy to kill him after.

Once again he tried to rise, but his ruined leg gave out before he even got to his knees; The pain alone was almost enough to make him black out.

<Where do you think you're going?>

The voice came from somewhere he couldn't see, but somehow he knew what was coming.

The telepathic grip locked itself around him once again, and dragged him along the floor through soot, stains and keidran blood, before stopping in the center of the hall, propping him up on his knees like a marionette with half its strings cut.

-That's not the point, Zen! Under the illusion, they still put everything on my real body!-

Zen? The name was familiar.

The Prince of Greed didn't quite understand why these seemingly random utterings flashed through his brain, but he knew there was a connection somewhere. His battered mind was buckling under the weight of fear, pain and panic, teetering on death's doorstep. But his subconscious was still puzzling it all together:

Trace. Keidran. Masquerade. Bad blood. Dark magic. Madness.

<I told you earlier to fight like a man.>

The human's voice. The cold, unfeeling tone was back, the raving monster locked under a lid for now.

<You haven't done a very good job at that so far, and I think your friends are wondering why. Shall we show them?>

It suddenly hit Clovis what he was talking about, and he tried to struggle free, but to no avail; The pain from his broken shoulder was so great he almost threw up, and it didn't help that the entire room swayed dangerously.

<You're wearing quite a few spells under that mantle... Protective ones against stabbing and magic, though nothing against blunt force... Ironic. It would've really helped.>

True. The warmth on the back of his head had spread down his back now, and Clovis felt his lifeblood pumping out, leaving behind it a cold vacuum. His mantle was already sticky with blood.

The human moved in closer, and Clovis closed his eyes, trying to back away.

<Though I lack your keen animal nose, I can tell you're using something to mask your scent as well.>

He turned towards the wolves.

<Am I the only one here who noticed? Are you all so imperceptive and gullible that you did not even scan this deceiver for enchantments before sitting down at his table?>

-So, uh... I'm curious. Who is this “Lady Nora"?-

Lady Nora?

The name ran through Clovis' mind like a fish falling down a waterfall; Hardly visible, but significant enough that he noticed. It was important, and he probably would've remembered what it meant if it weren't for the concussion, fear and blood loss.

<...But most curious of all is his transformation spell; what you are looking at is in fact not his real body. It is a surprisingly solid one too, impressive for one of your kind. But nevertheless, it is a lie. Fitting for such a weak-minded race to hide their true form like this. Would you all like to see what lurks beneath this fragile spell and pretentious gilded mantle?>

A voice came from the other side of the room:

<Oh fer fack's sake, human.> Deep, gravely and audibly drunk. The Llwynderw mayor again. <Will ya either fight or piss off? Yer yammerin's borin' me ta death. I dunnae what this Clovis-lad has unner is' shirt, nor do I think 's worth findin' out.>

The templar snorted.

<You don't think so? From what I've gathered, your kind is rather patriarchal, right? Don't see any women in this room...>

Clovis felt the human's hand around his wrist.

<...Only one.>

A terrible cold ran through Clovis, from his right arm where Trace was holding him, and through his entire body; Getting forcibly dis-enchanted was about as pleasant as stripping all his clothes off in the middle of a blizzard and then jumping in a lake. But the physical discomfort was nothing compared to what followed:

With a sickening, sinking sensation, The prince felt his chest expand as his shameful true form was revealed; The breasts began as two minor lumps of fat on the outside of his pecs, before they engorged and eventually flopped out in their full size under his mantle, making the gilded fabric form itself over the new bulk, his cleavage painfully visible under the scant clothing.

Somewhere in his loose trousers, a similar thing happened to his male equipment as the de-cloaking removed his carefully crafted self-transformation, and left him with only what the dragon had given him.

-I will gift you what you've desired the most: A woman you can have complete control over.-

But the worst part of it all was when he heard the gasps from the other wolves.

<It... It's a lie...> Was all he managed to whimper, and felt the warm tears starting to run down his cheeks.

The blue-haired monster released his grip and dropped Clovis to the floor. He could faintly hear the wolves start to mutter amongst themselves.

Gasping, all that came out of Clovis' mouth were a few breathless sobs, before he lapsed into a weak crying, sprawled on the blood-soaked carpet.

This was the end.

In his cowardly weakness, he had not only betrayed the most powerful chieftains of the wolf-woods, but he'd also been exposed, beaten and almost battered to death in the process. The wolves would never respect someone who cracked so easily under pressure... And definitely never a woman.

Never before had Clovis wished to sink into the ground and disappear this badly.

_-So you are the one orchestrating this.-

-I can tell what kind of man you are, Clovis.-

-You are a man who enjoys control.-

-Specifically, from what I can see in your mind, control over women.-_

It wasn't until now, when Clovis was at his absolute lowest point, that the puzzle finally began to solve itself.

He did not know how or why.

Maybe it was his brain realizing how close it was to death.

Or perhaps the reminder of his obscenely feminine form brought back just the right unpleasant memories.

Or perhaps it was just dumb old luck.

The dragon.

The transformation.

Two incompetent assassins.

A masquerade.

A mask.

Blue hair.

Good gods, it was all so clear.

<We've met... before... haven't we?> He groaned through gritted teeth, and managed to force an eye open.

Through a veil of painful tears, he saw the templar whirl around to face him.

Trace.

Dark magic.

Love.

Hatred.

Sorrow.

Vengeance.

Madness.

“What?"

For once, the human sounded genuinely surprised. So surprised in fact, that he'd reverted to his own native tongue.

-I am no one of importance.-

_-Just a blacksmith's daughter.-

-Why did you try to bring her back?-_

<I was there...>

The prince's voice was weak and trembling with pain and exhausted panic. But it was loud enough.

<The masquerade. Three seasons... ago. You were there too... Blue locks.>

Clovis coughed painfully as the tyrant hooked his hand in under the clasp on his mantle and yanked him violently off the floor.

A moment later, Trace's voice was in his ear, so close he could feel his breath.

“What did you see?!" The madman was back, the lid removed. Clovis could feel the beast lurking just under the human's surface.

“Tell me! Who are you talking about?!" There was something in the tone of the human's voice that almost sounded like desperation.

Through Trace's hands, Clovis could feel a surge of magic approaching, stronger than anything he'd ever felt before. He realized he only had a few seconds before it would blow his head off.

<She... was there too.> He croaked. <You loved her... didn't you?>

_-Having fun?-

Oh! Y-yes! Miss...?-

Saria au Gruhen.-

It means “of the fire."-_

<Her name was Saria.>

Part 4: Her Name Was Saria

It was all Clovis managed to say before the pain caught up with him. He had no air in his lungs to scream as the sickening agony from a twisted arm, a broken tail and a melted leg hit him square in the head, so all he managed was to slump lifelessly in the human's grasp, whimpering pathetically.

Most of him wished to just fall asleep and never wake up: He saw no proper way to escape from this with his dignity, respect or even life intact anymore. The chieftains would never respect a woman, and now that his most well-kept secret was hanging out under his mantle, he knew they would never look his way with anything but contempt ever again.

Not that it would probably matter, he thought. He may as well kill me now.

But after a few seconds of painful anticipation, he realized death would not come. Not yet, at least.

And when he managed to open his eyes, he was treated to a surprising sight.

Clovis had hardly interacted with humans. He had spent most of his time dealing with keidran louts, as he knew they were more receptive to his charismatic allure. Thus he was not accustomed to their facial language in the same way he was with wolves, cats and foxes.

And so it was that when he laid his eyes on the mad templar's face, he was rather shocked to see how it had turned white as chalk; He never knew human faces could change color like that.

Trace was already a pale man to begin with, but now it seemed like all the blood had disappeared from his flesh, as if Clovis' words had dried up what little was left.

His knuckles, which were grasping the half-wolf's collar, whitened in accordance.

“You... How do you..."

His jaw had started trembling, but Clovis couldn't quite tell whether it was from rage or shock.

<I... was there... Masquerade... Three years... ago.> He wheezed, feeling the blood dripping from his nose and mouth.

The memory became clearer to him; He had watched it all through four eyes at once, belonging to the Magi Brothers. The elder of the two had met with a woman. Dark brown eyes and brown hair. Her name was Saria.

“You were there," Trace mumbled, his voice course. “Before we'd even..."

Clovis felt him shift his grip, one hand still grasping his collar, the other one pointing at his face now.

“I... need to see. Let me in."

Even halfway unconscious, Clovis knew what was coming:

Mind-related magic was one of the things he truly excelled at as a mage. He had controlled, hypnotized and forcibly read the brains of countless keidran over the years. This was no different.

Mind reading, communication links and projection sorceries were his forte, and as Trace's finger clumsily poked him right between the eyes, the highly routined and professional mage in him retaliated without even thinking.

The feeling was familiar; The uncomfortable tickling sensation of a tendril worming its way directly through his skull. What many novice mages would do when faced with such a feeling would be to block it out in an attempt to protect themselves against the terrible experience of having their most private chambers invaded.

But Clovis was no novice.

He knew that tactic wouldn't work against someone as strong as Trace.

Very carefully he extended his own feeler and let it run alongside the black tendril poking through his head. It lead him straight up the Templar's arm, surging with dark mana.

Distantly he could feel his own barriers crack, his mind opening for the human to browse. Pale white hands flipped through the pages of his mind like a reader desperately trying to find a specific chapter. Snippets and visions of pacts, assassination plots, illusion spells and chest bindings flashed by, faster than he could comprehend.

“Where is it... I need to see!"

He paid it no mind, and let his own feeler slither into the human's brain. He had left it almost completely open, as if he was too distracted to defend himself against a counterattack.

For just a moment, he let it sit there on the precipice of Trace's mind. Even though he had almost nothing to lose, something about the deranged megalomaniac's broken psyche scared him to no end; He was afraid of what he might see in there. What could have driven anyone to such a level of malevolence and hatred?

His moment of consideration was cut short by a strange noise from Trace; It sounded like something between a sniffle and a gasp. And as he checked back on his own mind, he saw the ballroom of the Dragon Masquerade, blurred and slightly faded over the years, like an old, dusty book.

He was out of time.

Without further hesitation, he stabbed his own magical feeler through the Grand Templar's skull, piercing through his unguarded mind.

What followed could not easily be described in words.

Clovis didn't quite know what to expect as he crashed into Trace's head. Perhaps it was a chaotic blizzard of dark feelings, a veritable chaos of distorted emotions and thoughts. Or perhaps it had been a plain, organized library of plots and plans, fitting for a heartless tyrant.

But what faced the half-wolf as his feeler wriggled its way into the human's mind, was but a single memory. He could somehow feel the years weigh down on him as he descended into it, but unlike his own memories it was clear as day, like a bubble of clean air rising through a dark abyss.

Clovis felt the floor fade under him along with the pain and panic as the memory pulled him under, and soon everything was gone.

All that remained was the bubble of reminiscence, clear as... no, clearer than if it had happened yesterday.

Clovis shut his eyes and let it take him away.

---

_The wheels clattered on the shoddy dirt road, stirring his already unstable stomach. Traveling was not one of his strong suits, and he already had enough on his mind.The light had started fading outside, the night covering the bypassing woods in flickering shadows.

“What's wrong, Trace?"

The way he had to blink twice to fully open his eyes made him realize he had almost fallen asleep despite his light nausea, his head resting on her shoulder.

"It's nothing."

“Oh, shut it, you" she said in a tone that was just slightly worried under the cover of a playful tenure. “I can tell when something is troubling you."

Her hand came up under the blanket to gently stroke the back of his head, kind fingers sifting through his blue locks.

Gods, how it melted him. There was something in her eyes, a certain kindness he just couldn't quite comprehend, not with all his vast knowledge. A kindness for everyone, no matter how despicable they may be. Sometimes he envied her for it; He wished he could see the world through her gentle, worried eyes.

He sighed and moved just a little closer under the thick blanket, the vibrations from the moving horse-drawn carriage somehow a little more distant as he leaned against her.

“It's just... Got a bad feeling, is all." he said, though that didn't cover half of it.

“Mhm. I know you're worried about the border. You've told me many times."

She read him like an open book, as always. She was the only person in the world who could do that. Not even Nora had that ability.

“I know you won't change your mind" he replied simply. Stubbornly.

“Well, I won't give up about changing yours." she pushed. “This world is not as bad as you seem to think. Remember the masquerade last year? When we first properly... met?"

The masquerade. A carnival of fools, beasts and debauchery.

“Oh yes. I remember. You got drunk on keidran wine, talking to some brown forest wolf. Sirus held a pretentious speech, and Nora flashed her scales to_ astonished _gasps from the crowd. You spent most of the ride home talking about something your keidran friend did... What was her name... Petunia? Daisy?"

She scowled, and Trace felt a small sting of guilt.

“You must have a shoddy memory. Did you really not talk to anyone at all back then? I saw you standing around with a green-eyed snow wolf for quite a while. Sounded like you were discussing magic."

Ah. The wolf.

“Hmph. I suppose. The canine was surprisingly adept at sorcery... at least the theoretical kind. Almost sounded to me like he'd attended a college."

“See? I like to believe I know how people work, and it looked to me like you could've made good friends, had circumstances been different."

It was true she knew how to gauge people. It sometimes felt like she could see straight through to his soul.

“Feh. Don't think so. Not as long as his kind is pillaging the border. You know, the border we're riding alongsi-"

“Oh my GOD, Trace!" She burst out, and he felt himself shrink a little; No one else ever had that effect on him. “When will you learn to_ listen to me? The ones razing villages along the border are no different from the slavers you buy from. What would you do if someone snatched me _away and sold me to a keidran pleasure house, and you later found out I had perished somewhere deep in the woods, all alone and scared? Would you sit down and talk it out diplomatically with the keidran chieftains? Because I have a feeling you wouldn't!"

Trace shut his eyes and felt the headache beat at the back of his head; The thought was almost too terrible to bear.

“I don't suppose I would, no. I would find the bastards who did it, and rip-"

“Excactly." She cut him off. “And then what about the families belonging to the criminals you kill? The widows, the children who will soon grow up to be spiteful warriors? Do you think they would come peacefully to discuss this problem?"

“I wouldn't leave any widows or children."

The brutish statement was followed by a heavy silence.

He knew he didn't really mean it. The news of the intensified keidran attacks had shaken him quite a bit, and he was tired and grumpy. Most people would react with disgust at such a savage implication; The keidran attackers were shunned and despised by their human victims, but their families were a different matter.

Saria was not '_most people.'

_He felt a lump in his throat as her arms came up and and embraced him warmly.

“There's more, isn't there?" She asked. Her voice was no longer angry, just a little sad.

He sighed. There was no point in lying, she knew him inside out.

“A lot of responsibility," He eventually muttered after a long break. “There's so much..._ work! I never imagined being a high-ranking templar would come with all this stress. All I wanted to do was research and practice magic... Which I am damn good at! But now they drag me along to all sorts of conferences, political meetings, and... ergh- _Masquerades! I..." He swallowed. “I never asked for this. It feels like they're putting so much power in my hands, and I don't know what to do with it all! I just wanted to study, yet now it feels like everyone wants me to change the world or something. I-"

She cut him off with an index finger placed on his lips.

“Shhhh. I know."

There was so much compassion in her voice, it almost made him tear up.

“I know, Trace. I have no idea what happens at the top secret Templar meetings, but every time you come home from one, your eyes are a little darker, your smile a little faded. If they summon you there one more time and send you home with slumped shoulders, then they're gonna have to deal with me. And no fancy magic is gonna save them then."

He chuckled weakly, and felt himself relax a little bit; His wife's wrath was not something he wished upon his worst enemy.

Good gods, he was tired.

“When we get to the cottage, we're going straight to bed, mr. Big Important Templar-man!" she teased. “We can talk about keidran, templars and you changing the world for the better tomorrow. We both need a break right now. You can feel it too, right?"

Oh, he could feel it.

He leaned against her, her warm breath on his cheek.

“I... I love you. You know that, don't you?"

Damn. He was an extraordinarily smooth talker in public, but all words somehow failed him whenever they were together. It was the only time he allowed himself to be weak.

“We're married, you big fuzzy idiot. Of course you do."

He couldn't stop himself from laughing, and was surprised at how good it felt.

“...I love you too." she eventually murmured in a softer voice, leaning back against him. And at last, he felt himself unwind. There would be no more meetings, no more public appearances or tense political debates for a few heavenly weeks. Just the two of them together, nothing else.

He knew that as long as she was around, nothing could truly hurt him._

_It took a few more hours of rumbling trek through the woods before they reached their destination. The cottage was small, cramped and isolated in the middle of the woods. Perfect for a young married couple to blow off some steam.

Almost dismissively, he said goodbye to Sirus; the templar was friendly on the surface, but Trace always had this nagging feeling there was something more to him. He was almost relieved to see him disappear in a flash of blue sparks, teleporting home to Morlin Hall.

After sending the horse off, he turned to Saria, who was already headed for the cabin.

That was when it happened.

All he saw was a blur, a slightly arced line of movement shooting out of the darkness. It flew into the dim light of the window and straight for the love of his life. Time stretched painfully as he raised his arm, already knowing it was too late.

Without a sound it flew past her, before embedding itself in the wall with a low 'thunk'.

The world seemed to freeze, and it took Trace a couple of moments to realize that it was his own heart that had stopped moving.

The terrible frozen moment was interrupted by a soft yelp of pain from Saria, and he was yanked back down to earth.

“Saria, what happened? Are you hurt?" He stammered as he made his way over, feeling like he was wading through mud.

“Y-yes. I think..."

As much as it pained him to hear her voice tremble like that, something else caught his attention more.

Gritting his teeth, half out of rage and half out of fear, he turned and knocked the second arrow out of the air with an arcane punch, a split second before it would've hit him in the chest. And as he focused further ahead, he saw the end of a brown tail clumsily slip away from a nearby bush and into the woods, accompanied by a growling curse.

Keidran.

“Get down!" he yelled. He couldn't know if there were more of them.

How could he have been so stupid? He'd let his guard down for just a few minutes, and it had almost cost him...

He turned towards Saria, who was clutching her arm, eyes darting back and forth along the edge of the wood._

Everything. _It had almost cost him everything.

“Are you_ sure _you're okay?" he asked, in a forced calm voice. He'd managed to get his breathing back under control now; Panicking would do no good. It wouldn't protect her.

She took a look at herself. “It just grazed me, I'll be okay."_

She would be okay. _A lie. He saw the blood seep through her clasped hand. Not enough to be dangerous, but enough to make him boil.

He could barely feel his hand grasp the sword, his ears deaf to the hissing sound of metal against leather sheath. It was all overshadowed by the blood rushing through his ears.

“Go inside and lock the door." He mumbled. “The house wards will protect you. I'm going after it."

“Trace! Please be careful!"

Her voice. Fading behind him as he headed into the night.

Hah. He was not the one who should be careful.

It was them._

_It didn't take long to track down the wolf. It had left such a trail of broken twigs and stench of unwashed dog that Trace would've found it even without his extensive arsenal of spells.

He came down on it like a raging god. There was only one of them after all. It just had time to hear it whimper some sort of plea or prayer before he_ deleted _it. There was nothing left but a stain of soot and a quiver of burnt arrows once he was done.

The arrows.

Trace picked up one of the heads.

The threat was removed. So why were the hairs on his neck standing in salute to this broken weapon?

Once again his world stopped. The arrowhead was, under the soot and ash, covered in a slight green coat.

Poison.

The mad race back through the woods was only a bleak memory to him. He used a mix of teleports and neckbreak running, blinking and tumbling through the pitch-black foliage, half-blind with fear.

No no no no

Had he really traveled this far into the woods? It felt like he ran for minutes, hours, days,_ years _before the faint light appeared before him once again.

Panting and gasping, he threw the door open so hard it nearly fell off the hinges,and was greeted by a dark and silent room.

Too silent. Much, much too silent.

“Sar..." His mouth was dry, and all that came out was a pathetic croak. It took him a long time of wheezing and salivating before he made it.

“...Saria? Are you... Saria?"

Dead silence once again.

No no no no no

Trying to control the panic rising up his neck, he conjured a magelight to fill the room.

The sight that met him made his heart shatter like glass.

The entrance room of the cottage had a closet, a bench and a mat to dry off muddy boots. On the bench sat Saria, dressed in her everyday gown, leaning her back against the wall. One would almost think she was sleeping, were it not for her open eyes and pained expression.

She was the most beautiful thing in the world. Was.

Trace hardly felt his own illogically steady hand as he extended it and gently shook her shoulder.

Cold.

Cold, cold cold. The warmth was fading, but not yet completely gone.

Or was that just something he told himself? A lie to mask the fact that she was already...

“Saria... Wake up." An idiotic command. She would not wake up.

Because she was not asleep.

The world began to crumble around the poor templar. It felt like the end of some strange dream, right before he was about to wake up. Or perhaps not a dream, a nightmare.

And this was the end.

“No." something replied, from deep inside him. “It is never the end. Not until I say it is."

Right, of course. He was one of the strongest mages in the world. A little poison should be nothing to him.

Without thinking, he laid both his hands on Saria's cold shoulders, and whispered “heal"

The green sparks of life that flowed down his arms could heal splinters, broken bones, smashed ribcages and slashed aortas. Trace's healing spell could fix anything that was alive.

They stopped at her skin. Not a single spark went through.

“_Heal." _He mumbled again. A single drop of sweat rolled down his brow.

The flow of energy pooled in his hands. Useless.

He flexed his arcane muscles. The muscles that could move mountains, transform flesh and conjure fire into existence. He was carrying so much power within him, breathing life back into a single body should be so easy.

“It's not." _a spiteful voice said. “It's the only thing that's impossible to do, no matter how hard you try"

_“Shut up." His voice was hoarse, but almost unnaturally steady.

“Heal."

It hurt now. The flow of mana threatened to rip his arms apart as it thundered into his fingertips. But the tiny green sparks crackled and fizzled out as they hit Saria's skin, unwilling to enter.

Then he was empty. The sparks dried up, and he was left blinking in the dark. Alone.

The cabin lay too far away from any templar tower. Without magic, he was about as powerful as an average man.

Or at least he would have been.

Had his name not been Trace Legacy.

The templar closed his eyes and listened. The only sound in the world was his own breath and increasingly rapid heartbeat.

But below that, there was more. A slow, steady thumping._

_Every half-decent templar did at some point learn about the source of life itself. How everything began at the invisible colourless roots, coursing through branches of magic and giving life to the flora and fauna of the world.

Every half-decent templar would get strict lessons not to borrow any of that energy; The veins of nature were brittle, and breaking them would suck the life out of the world, little by little.

Every half-decent Templar knew how dangerous it was to drink straight from the source; It was a last resort option, something you should only do if the crystallized essence you carried with you had run dry.

Every half-decent templar had heard the rumors of what lurked below the pure energy, beneath the roots themselves; A twisted, chaotic sea of dark, malevolent power whose properties were not yet measured, and how the master templars had agreed on never to touch it.

Trace was not a half-decent templar.

He was the best.

Even without a drop of mana in his body, he could see a vein. It flowed and pulsated in front of his eyes. It came in through one wall, stretched across the room like an otherworldly ribbon, and went straight out the other side, undeterred by the restraints of the physical world.

His hand, which had finally begun to tremble, reached forth. It tingled slightly as it touched the magical tendril.

He knew he was making contact with something forbidden, something so beautiful, serene and grand that a great number of people worshipped it as a god.

The glow was faint, but strong enough to illuminate his hand.

Not quite hypnotized, he cast a look to the side.

He only had one god, and it was sitting right in front of him, dead.

Dead.

This was the first time he even let himself think the word.

No known magic could reverse death. Nothing of this world could bring people back once they had crossed the edge._

Nothing of this world.

_The silvery string snapped in his hands, and the mana gushed out like blood from a cut pulse. It sprayed onto the floor, lighting up the dark.

Just a sliver of the unearthly substance splashed onto Trace, yet it filled him with more power than a any mana crystal could.

He gasped. Never before had he felt such a surge of energy. The veins became more visible to him as well: The cabin was tangled in a spiderweb of energy, pulsing faster now, as if it had detected the damage and was trying to escape.

Trace only waited half a moment before reaching out to the nearest one, a veritable pipe of mana, life in its purest form pumping through as if pushed by a gigantic beating heart.

His eyes flickered between the vein and Saria's body.

What good did all this life do, when the only thing that mattered in the world was dead?

He conjured a magical scalpel, and slashed into it.

The torrent of life that smashed into the room was equivalent of a geyser. Trace gasped and sputtered as the flood hit him in the chest, but he did not faint; now was not the time for weakness.

With an effort unparalelled by any other human, he stepped through the surge of power, and grabbed the edges of the dying vein. The muscles he used were not of this world, but then neither was the entity that he grappled with. He dragged the edge of the vein down to his wife, and pointed it right at her chest._

“Heal!"

_With nowhere else to go, the magic finally surged into her. His heart almost beat again when he saw her finger twitch, her leg kick just a little bit.

But deep down he knew it was just an illusion; regular old mana was not enough to fully bring anyone back. Not this amount, anyways.

As the flow of magic sputtered and dried out, he grabbed another vein. The mana that washed over him this time was just as powerful, but never enough.

“More. More power."

He cut through a third one, but this time the flow was weaker.

He knew why; The life was fading. Though his eyes couldn't see it, he knew the cabin was surrounded by a gray spot of dead grass and foliage. This was the price to pay for pure magical strength.

Deeper. Surely, there was more.

He closed his eyes yet again, looked past the panic and the dying mana around him. Past the roots and past the edges of life and death.

And that was where he found it. The strange black sea. It lurked right below him... Not beneath the physical earth, but below the foundations of mana itself.

He stabbed at the world yet again, but this time he did not aim at any vein or entity.

He shot straight down. Into darkness.

The roots of the world were sturdy, and most mages could throw themselves at them for days on end without making a dent. But Trace was not 'most mages'. He was a desperate man with nothing to lose, and the hard magical barrier below him eventually began to crumble from his assault. It felt like stomping on a sheet of ice; soon he would fall through, and the cold darkness would swallow him. But he didn't care about himself at all.

The barrier gave little to no warning before it fell apart, and the black tar of dark magic shot up like a grotesque fountain. Even without touching it, Trace felt the raw power radiating against his numb skin. An odd warmth. No wonder less experienced mages were tempted by this.

Without any more hesitation, he reached his hand in, and felt the world flicker and fade._

_The sensation was horrible, and almost made him gag; the black substance infected his very flesh, and he saw his own veins darken. But at the same time it filled him with more impure strength than any regular mana ever could.

“Power. I NEED more power!"

He kept one hand over the gushing source, and directed the flow through his own chest and into the other hand, placed directly against Saria's heart.

“Live."

There was no pulse in the force that ripped through him, just an endless storm of darkness. It infected his very being, both body and mind as it surged past his heart, a writhing cancer in his veins. He knew it would destroy him, twist him until there was nothing left. But it didn't matter, not anymore.

“Live!"

The darkness spread from his chest to his head. His mind lurched as tendrils of the deep grasped it and stabbed away. In the end, he was only human, and a fool at that.

“Power! Give... Me..."

The darkness surged into Saria's chest, and for one fleeting moment he could've sworn her eyes moved. They looked at him with bottomless pain, an agony that no living creature could display. Judging him for what he was doing.

Trace hardly felt the blood gushing from his nose and mouth; The dark mana had taken his vision now, along with everething else. The only thing left was the growing sensation of otherworldy rage and despair, though he no longer knew what came from himself, and what came from the dark breach he had created.

In the end his mind went dark as well. No more thoughts or concepts were formed as the hot, black tar washed out everything else. Hatred, rage and sorrow.

They would all pay. Everyone.

Nothing could bring her back.

He would be the one to return the suffering.

Eventually they would all feel Legacy's wrath.

That was his last thought, before it all faded._

_“Trace! Please be careful!" The last thing she ever said.

Her dead, glassy eyes, judging him.

Judging him for being so weak and stupid

Judging him for letting her die._

These last few visions played on repeat as Clovis ascended back through the darkness, shivering from what he'd seen. The bubble of memory faded down below as he returned to the sentient world, the howling void slowly filled in by the stench of blood and fear once again.

Clovis found himself panting on the floor, trying to hold back a scream; The pain in his shoulder had spread, and it felt like his entire right side had been torn apart. He actually had to check if it was still there. The shock of going from the empty stillness of Trace's memory and back to his own painful, loud and dangerous reality almost sent him right back to unconsciousness again.

Though it had felt like minutes, he realized the memory had lasted only for a couple of seconds. Mind-reading was strange like that, but he'd gotten used to it.

The human stood still above him, staring at his own hand. But Clovis could tell he wasn't really looking at anything at all; his eyes were turned inward, and he could almost see the brown, tender eyes staring back out.

“You... weren't supposed to... see that." He croaked, more to himself than anyone else. “No one was."

Something had changed within Trace, even Clovis could see it. Though he was still the same person, a human with blue hair and blood-stained clothes, he seemed far less monstrous and invincible.

Something about how his shoulders slumped, his eyes sunken a bit farther into his head.

The being in front of Clovis was no longer a demon, but a sad and tired man, still young yet weighed down by a lifetime of misery. A human lifetime at that, impossibly long.

He almost felt sorry for him.

But at the same time, some instinct inside Clovis tried to tell him something.

Tell him that Trace was completely lost in his own misery, unresponsive to the world around him. That there was a struggle inside his mind, where the dark mana grappled with what little was left of the man he had once been.

That he was open and defenseless.

Clovis grit his teeth and blinked away the tears. When focusing past the crushing agony, he still noticed a weak magical pulse along his right arm; He had at least one crystal left.

He gave a quick look at the wolves along the wall.

Chief Travis was hunkered down behind a magical barricade, eyeing the Templar. The mayor was crouching over one of the wounded ones, holding a strip of makeshift bandaging, eyes also locked at Trace. No help there.

A cheap-shot. A sucker-punch. An attack while the enemy was distracted. The human's onslaught had made painfully clear that it was the only way to win.

There were very few mages in the wolf-woods who could focus their mana with this amount of pain to distract them.

Clovis was one of them.

The magical energy surged from his destroyed right arm, straight past his collar-bone and down the left shoulder; The left hand was the only part of his body still functional enough to throw out an attack.

There was no point in turning the mana into fire, steel or any other physical material; he knew very well how easily Trace could block those.

With one final, desperate motion, Clovis rose to one knee and aimed, not with one finger, but his entire hand; There would be nothing after this. It was his last and only shot.

The ray that shot from Clovis' black-furred fingertips was pure mana, wastefully powerful; It used up his entire reserve, and was strong enough to cut through a boulder, nevermind a human neck.

Clovis was hit by a strange vision as the pressurized beam of death shot straight for the human's throat;

It was a vision of fire, war and misery. Years upon years of struggle between humans and keidran, a neverending bloodshed fueled by this one man's bottomless hatred, sorrow and lust for vengeance. Multiple generations of keidran misfortune flashed by in the light of his magic.

And for the first time in his life, Clovis got a sense of righteousness.

This would cut the head off the snake, end the madness before it could truly begin. With Trace's death he would save thousands of lives, maybe even millions. He had never done anything for the common good before, always occupied with self-preservation and personal needs, but in this one fleeting moment he saw it: a brighter future for their two kinds, both human and keidran.

Then the moment was gone, and the spell made a soft whistle as it flew through the air, followed by a deafening, splintering boom as it blew straight through his roof

Clovis dropped to the floor for the last time, completely spent both physically and magically. His hair was red and limp as it covered his face.

Did it hit? Was his only thought. Is it over? My aim was perfect, wasn't it?

His vision darkened as the pain hit him once again, and he wheezed into the wet carpet.

Please. I need to hear the sound of his body hitting the floor. Please, please let him be dead.

But all he got was silence, and a few breathless murmurs from the wolves.

<You're bleeding, human.> Chief Travis, eventually. Surprisingly calm.

<I... suppose I am.> Trace's voice. It sounded empty. Hollow.

How? How did he survive? That would've killed a dragon.

<You promised, human. The halfbreed hit you. You lose.>

There was a plea in there somewhere, disguised as a dry statement; “Please let us live. You promised us."

There was a long silence. The Grand Templar's breathing was a lot softer than a keidran's, driven by smaller lungs and smooth vocal cords.

<...I suppose I did.>

Clovis heard the soggy footsteps of Trace's feet as he paced away from him. <I will... leave. I will let you all live, as I said. But first, I came here to give you a message.>

He cleared his throat, and it sounded to Clovis like he tried to muster up a nonchalant and uncaring demeanor. But the slight quiver in his voice gave away the turmoil beneath it.

<You have seen what I can do. I know there are other capable wolves out there, but it should be clear that none of you pose a sizeable threat to me. Not together, and definitely not on your own.>

Exhausted as he was, Clovis managed to shift himself so he could see the human, through strains of his own wet hair.

Trace stood in the middle of the room once again, seemingly unscathed. The only thing to indicate any damage was a single, shallow cut on his cheek, mixing a streak of red into the sky-blue triangle.

He continued. <I want you all to know this:

<The attacks on your tribes, the turmoil and slavery – it is only the beginning. I will soon retire to Morlin Hall, where I will lay schemes and plans that you won't comprehend until you're all trapped in them like fish in a net. In time you will all suffer, and there is nothing you can do about it. The end times approach, and you may crawl as far into the woods as you want, but the flames will reach you all nonetheless.>

He paused, closed his eyes and threw his head back. He looked like someone who hadn't slept for weeks, and his voice was just as tired.

<I will teleport away, and you will all be free to follow suit, without ending up like the remains of your friend on the floor there. You can run back home to your fellows and families, on two legs or four, take your pick. Spend your time with them wisely... Cherish it, for it will not last. When the world burns around you, know that it was I who struck the flint.>

He gave one last look at the wolves, who all shrunk under his bright, infinitely sorrowful eyes.

<...Until we meet again.>

And in a flash he was gone, leaving behind only a strand of blue hair and bad dreams. It felt like he took all sound with him as well, as the room was engulfed in what felt like a vacuum; Clovis struggled to breathe, and he didn't hear anything at all, save for a faint ringing in his ears.

And with the silence came the darkness. Clovis couldn't quite tell when he had closed his eyes, but at some point his vision disappeared, and all he knew was the smell of blood, nostrils clogged by the thick red substance.

He tried to open his mouth, and failed.

He tried to open his eyes, but everything was black.

With a sort of dull sadness, Clovis realized he was dying.

<Help me...> he whimpered. Or at least he thought he did, it was hard to tell when he couldn't hear. <Don't... leeave me.>

His plea fell on deaf ears. Through the ringing and terrible silence he could hear teleport spells going off, and the shuffling of feet fading into the distance.

<Pl... please... Come back.> His cheeks, warmed as they were by fresh tears, was the only point on his body that wasn't terribly cold.

Clovis knew he was bleeding heavily from somewhere, but it didn't matter anymore; His speech was already slurring, and he knew he wasn't long for this world.

<I don't... wanna die...>

On the expensive, blood-soaked carpet of his own mansion, Clovis drew his dying breaths, sobbing sorely into the floor. His last few thoughts were not of revenge, not of humans or war.

The last thing he thought before passing into nothingness, was of how much he missed his parents, along with an intense regret over the paths he had taken in life.

He didn't even feel the strong, gentle hands that picked him up shortly after.

Epilogue

_Cold.

Cold, cold, cold.

A pair of sad, brown eyes.

Judging him.

“Clovis! Please be careful!"

Why hadn't he been careful?

A shock ran through his body. Something strange was happening to his chest and hindquarters.

Why couldn't that stupid girl just bring the mask to him?

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Two bright, yellowish reptile eyes, shining down on him.

Judging him.

Chains.

His parents, walking away. In chains.

Wealth.

<Clovis! How can you do this? We're your family!>

<Clovis, wake up! Please!>

Wake up? Why? This was comfortable. He just wanted to rest. It was nice, dark and quiet down here.

<Boss, please. Please wake up.>

...Boss?_

Clovis opened his eyes.

...And instantly wished he hadn't. Searing sunlight stabbed into his skull, and he shut them immediately, but the damage was already done.

When he tried to talk, he ended up just wheezing instead; his mouth was stuffed with barbed wire, and every breath sent a sting down his throat.

But breathe he did. Life was painful, but at least he was alive... somehow.

He spent a few good minutes just feeling his lungs work. His whole body throbbed faintly with a distant ache, but he wasn't quite ready. Not quite ready to see.

<Boss? Hey, are you awake?>

A wolf's voice. Familiar. One of his men.

<Mrrgghh.> he replied. His throat felt slightly better after a few breaths. <A mhmoment.>

He took a few more seconds to prepare himself. He could hardly feel anything at all, and he feared the worst. But on the upside it seemed like his ears worked well; He could hear the noises of an open grove, with birds chirping and leaves rustling in the wind somewhere above him, as well as the swishing of a tail sweeping back and forth on grass to his right. There was the sound of trickling water somewhere to his left, off in the distance.

At this point he'd rather go back to sleep. It felt like he was floating in the air, spinning slightly, and he had a feeling he would probably throw up should he gain any sense of gravity.

Very carefully, he opened his right eye in a wary squint.

The world was a blurry smudge. And he was right, the sudden sense of vertigo at staring up into the distant canopy made him queasy.

There was also a face. Light gray fur with a darker accent running down the forehead and middle of the snout. No mane to speak of, short fur. Right now he couldn't make out any other features.

<Hey, Boss. You've been out for a while...> it said. Calm and collected, but with a slight quiver. Someone trying to appear less demoralized than they really are, his subconcious said. And then: “You've been out for a while"

_They were in a forest. Where? How long? Who?

...How?_

Clovis had quite a few questions. They were bouncing and sliding around in his head, but none of them quite reached his mouth. It felt like his brain was covered in a layer of mud.

<Lie still for a moment...> the face said, and leaned in closer. He tried to shy away, but his body simply refused to comply.

The face looked down at him from an uncomfortably short distance. Clovis felt the wolf's breath against his face. It smelled of old beer and garlic.

<...You should probably lie still for a good while, actually. Never seen anyone's eyes quite as bloodshot and... googly. You were bleeding from the head real bad when I found you. Thought you were dead.>

There was a slight crack in the voice when it said 'dead'. Someone who actually cared about him? That narrowed it down to very few people.

Clovis swallowed a couple times, trying to keep his lunch from coming back up.

<Who... Whermm I?> He eventually slurred.

Then <Whor'rre you?>

The wolf looked up, eyes darting nervously back and forth to somewhere Clovis couldn't quite see. When he looked down, the tremble in his voice was more obvious.

<In the woods outside your manor, boss. I was out on patrol when I heard a bunch of explosions coming from your room. Your house looked like a battlefield, so I dragged you out here. Whatever army crashed your meeting might still be around, and I figured some ditch in the forest would be harder to find than your main hall. Didn't face any resistance on the way out, thank the masks...>

He paused, and Clovis managed to focus for a moment.

Though his voice had a layer of professionalism to it, the wolf's tired, jittery eyes surrounded by dark rings suggested he was in the late stages of sleep deprivation and shock.

<...Only person I met was some gigantic wolf running through the hallways. I'm pretty big and strong, but he threw me aside like I was a ragdoll. He looked eerily like Grand Mayor Ullervaahl of Llwynderw, who I recall was invited to your meeting. Tried to stop him and ask what the hell was going on, but I was out of breath. Heard him mumble something about having to get home to protect his family.>

He set his eyes on Clovis. There was a tinge of panic in them.

<Llwynderw is my home town, boss. Our mayor is said to have survived a full year of slavery in a human city. I've seen that guy fight off three sword-armed would-be-alphas at once, with his bare hands. But I've never seen him worried. Now he looked like he'd awoken from some kinda nightmare.

What the hell is happening, Clovis? You invited eight powerful wolven leaders, and only one of them walks out of your room. Everyone- Everyone in your mansion is dead. I was in a rush, but I counted roughly three...> He swallowed nauseously,

<Three and a half bodies just in your office. Your guards are hardly recognizeable anymore. What did you do?>

there was an accusation there at the end. Almost like a threat. His voice was not yet quite hostile, but Clovis got the feeling it could change rather quickly.

<I...> Clovis began, but a sudden lurch somewhere in his stomach made it so the rest of his sentence consisted of semi-liquid sludge, rather than words.

He barely had time to turn his head before it came up.

Roasted meat, stomach acid and a dark-red mixture of White Wolf Wine and blood splattered onto the dirt, preceded by a loud retch. It took a few heaves and sputters to get it all out, but soon he was coughing and spitting red phlegms rather than dark-brown chunks.

Clovis suddenly became all too aware aware of how much it all hurt. From the tip of his right leg and up to the back of his head he had a deep, thumping ache that came and went every other second. But worst of all was the rasping pain in his throat; The vacuum left behind after the blood and barf had him wheezing, every breath felt like dragging broken glass down his windpipe.

<Wh... water.> He rasped. The trickling sound from his left became louder than anything else in the world.

<Oh... r-right.> The wolf mumbled, and produced a waterskin. <Here. I made sure to find a ditch that laid close to a stream. Got the feeling we would be staying here for a while.>

Professional. Clovis thought about it as he let the cool, soothing liquid run down his throat. Under high mental pressure, the wolf had carried his unconscious body out of an extremely dangerous situation, out into the woods, and found a safe place for them both while also considering the tactical aspects of their position.

He gulped down almost half the waterskin before handing it back; too much and it would just come back up.

He felt like he owed the wolf an explanation before questioning him further. Or at least some reassurance.

<We're... safe.> he muttered, trying his best not to stutter or slur the words. <The attacker... won't come back. Not forha... while... ghn-> he had to stop, and closed his eyes. The whole world had started spinning dangerously, and the water sloshed around inside him.

He breathed through his nose. The other wolf was sweaty, and emitted strong alarm pheromones, strong enough that even Clovis could smell it. It had always struck him as strange that he could smell the fear of others, but he'd used it to great effect throughout his career.

<How do you know that?> He heard the wolf ask.

<I just... do.> He mumbled. <I'll tell... Later...>

He got a sigh in response. It sounded satisfied, and somewhat relieved.

The world wouldn't stop spinning. He needed an anchor, to stop himself from barfing again. The wolf's voice was a good place to start.

<Information,> He said, pointing towards where he thought the wolf was sitting. <You. T-tell me. About y-ngh... you.>

<Me?> He sounded a little surprised. <I'm just one of your grunts. Name's Brutus. Been serving you for a few months. Not much more to say. I know magic, and I'm good with a sword. Was in the military for a while, before leaving. Times were too peaceful, got bored of scrubbing latrines.>

Heh. Peaceful. There were a lot of job opportunities about to open up in that field.

Laughing hurt.

<What's so funny, boss?>

<Nothing. Just...> He paused. Talk. Talking was good. The wolf's voice was calmer when conversing about technical details and objective information, he'd noticed. Typical ex-military.

<Situation. Us... Me.> he mumbled. That should take longer to explain. More time to listen. Less time to digest all the things that had happened, and how they should deal with it all.

<Right. Sit-rep.> Brutus cleared his throat.

<Situation, Us: We've been here for two days. Two and a half, to be exact. I had a couple of crystals on me when I found you, and I used them all for a muffling spell and a whole bunch of healing. Not too good at those, but I did my best. The muffle spell is a bit of a half-assed job too, so don't talk too loud. I'm almost out of mana, but I think we should be good otherwise.>

He paused, and Clovis could almost feel his gaze shift to his body.

<Uh... and then Situation, You:>

Good. He wouldn't have to look down to know how bad of a shape he was in.

<...I'm kinda surprised you're even alive, boss. Barely had a pulse when I picked you off the ground. Fur was all limp, and it looked like your brain would leak out on the floor with how bad your head was bleeding. Carried you out here and went to work on saving your ass. The bandage around your head is from your own mantle, and I'm glad the fabric was already crimson before I applied it. Basically tied it around your noggin like a really tight bandana, but it seemed to work after a while... You lost a lot of blood before it stopped.

<Your tail is busted in four different places, and your leg is charred real bad. On the upside, it looks like you'll get to keep them both, but I'm no expert. All I know is you wince when I poke your paw with my claw, and I heard that's a good sign. A few broken ribs too, but those should heal nicely. Simple fractures, and I think your guts are in one piece. You're lucky.>

He did not feel lucky.

Brutus paused. Clovis could sense a 'But on the downside...' coming.

<...But on the downside... I don't know what the hell is up with your shoulder. It was all black when I found you, but it's not burnt. Ain't bleeding either, though it's clear something stabbed you so hard it went all the way through. Pretty sure I could stick a finger into it and it would come out clean on the other side. Never seen anything like it. Reminds me of a cauterized wound, but again, nothing is charred. My healing spells also block a bit of the pain. You probably can't feel much now, but I can promise you this; it's gonna hurt in a while.>

Another short pause. A slightly uneven breath.

<Uuuhh... I also... took the liberty of washing your body in a nearby stream; you stunk of blood, piss and death so intense every keidran in a mile's radius could've tracked us by scent. And, uh... I couldn't help but notice...>

Shit. Of course he knew. Clovis had been so occupied by the task of staying conscious while also not vomiting all over himself that he'd failed to notice how naked he was. Completely naked. No clothes, no charms, no illusion spells.

<...Couldn't help but notice you're missing some equipment. And that you're packing two extra bags of sand. I know it's a small thing to get caught up on, with the world about to end or whatever, but I'd love to hear how that came to be at some point down the line.>

Good. That meant he still had time to come up with a cover.

<Other than that... not much else to say... Uh, lets's see...> Brutus droned on, and Clovis felt the world starting to spin a little slower; Soon he could sleep again. The noises of Brutus' mechanical voice was soothing.

<You've been in and out of it over the last few days. Heard you mumble something about killing and massacres, and there was this name that kept coming up... 'Sarah', or something like that. Pronounciation sounded human. I went scrounging a couple times, but never too far. All I got was some berries, but I'll see if I can find some rabbits next time. The weather's been mercifully clear, sunny in the day and warm in...>

Clovis fell asleep at some point, lulled in by the wolf's mechanical layout of details. It felt like he'd been under for a few minutes at most, but when he opened his eyes again the woods were dark.

The first thing he noticed was that the pain-suppressing healing spells must have worn off. He had just enough time to stuff his left hand into his mouth, turning the wild scream into a long, muffled groan. The pain was worse than anything he'd felt before, but surprisingly not enough to knock him out. He could feel it all now; The burning in his leg as if it was still on fire, the sting in his chest from the broken ribs, ache in his stomach from battered muscle and organs, a crunching sensation from his tail as it lashed in the grass despite him commanding it to lay still.

What worried him the most was the cold numbness from his right arm; he brought his hand up and saw the fingers flex and curl when he told them to, but he still felt nothing.

His foot-claws dug ruts in the dirt as he stretched them, kicking feebly at the ground. It took him quite a while of silent screaming and moaning before the agony became manageable. He had been wounded before, and he knew it was just the feeling of his body slowly putting itself back together. The tears that streamed down his cheeks this time were just reactionary. Or at least so he told himself.

When he eventually took his hand back out to draw a ragged breath, his eyes were dry and his body slick with cold sweat.

Gods, what a travesty.

He looked at his hand. He could just faintly make out how it shivered in the pale moonlight.

He was cold. Brutus had mentioned how bad he had been bleeding. Not a lot of it left to keep him warm.

Speaking of Brutus...

He heard a faint breath on his right, along with a slightly warm breeze in his ear. He turned and saw the large wolf's face just a few inches from his own, eyes closed and mouth open, drooling lightly onto his shoulder. His body was slouched over, as if he'd fallen asleep in an upright position.

Clovis shuddered in the cold. He got the feeling it was actually rather mild, but his blood loss made it feel like a winter's night.

With no clothes to keep him warm, he reached over and grabbed the huge, snoring wolf. It took quite a bit of painful lifting and dragging, but he evntually managed to pull him onto himself like a warm, muscular blanket. A bit awkward, but Clovis felt like they were a bit too tired and vulnerable to be worrying about modesty. And besides, Brutus already knew. He had nothing to hide.

Clovis groaned and leaned back, gazing into the trees. The wolf said he'd been up for two and a half days straight, looking after him. That was a long time for a keidran. He must have been exhausted.

The world was still blurry, and the trees swayed a little even without wind, but he knew his head should be clear enough to think. Think about what to do next.

The problem was, he didn't really want to. His memories of last night-

He corrected himself.

The memories of what happened three days ago were clearer to him than they probably should be, head trauma considered. The Grand Templar had prophesized dark times for the keidran race, and Clovis knew he was telling the truth; Those blue eyes were mad, but not deceitful. The chieftains had understood as well; the fear on their faces and their unwillingness to help Clovis had told him more than a thousand words. They'd probably teleported home and prepared for war, right before he passed out.

He groaned again: They had also seen his true form. He was hoping they were too distracted by the human to remember that detail.

But he knew they would soon be at war. If not with the humans, then at least with each other. It would be every wolf, fox or dog for himself, and Trace would be hovering above it all like an insane puppet-master.

He stroked Brutus' ear while ruminating over this. He would need men like him. He didn't have many loyal allies to begin with, and the Grand Templar had cut his numbers down considerably, if the wolf's report was anything to go by.

But he could rebuild it. He still had a home, assuming his mansion hadn't burned down. He still had some contacts, a few favors to call in. He still had...

He looked down at the huge wolf sleeping in his lap.

He still had at least one ally.

The road ahead was dark. But it was a start.