Arthur was anything but a novice in the art of the sword. He had diligently practiced his technique for years, gained plenty of experience hunting beasts and sparring with his instructors.
Yet the real deal was something he could have never prepared himself for.
Real combat was not graceful and dignified like his instructors had led him to believe.
Instead, it was a pure and violent struggle for survival.
He was lucky the masked men were underestimating him and only one of them had decided to chase after him.
Yet even then he was only a hair's breadth away from death at all times. His face was burning and there was blood running down his cheek.
Cursing silently, he parried another dagger from the air, stomping on it to shatter it when it hit the ground.
Dodging had turned out to be futile. He had to break the daggers lest they would return to haunt him. Luckily they weren't all that durable, which had allowed him to survive to this point.
The masked man had turned out to be a mage, a lesson Arthur had to learn the painful way when the first dagger the man had thrown at him had suddenly switched directions mid-air and nearly cost him an eye.
The cut on his cheek was still throbbing painfully and there was a cold sensation creeping across his face.
Poison? A worry for later.
His heart was racing, almost matching its beat to the bells in the distance.
He cut another dagger in half and watched as it disintegrated into dust, turning into wisps of strange fog. The daggers seemed to be manifested from mana but Arthur wasn't sure how his opponent was controlling them midair.
He needed to somehow manage to counterattack or this would end badly.
Suddenly another dagger cut through the wisp of smoke, taking Arthur by surprise.
The attacker must have thrown 2 daggers in short succession, hiding one behind the other!
Arthur tried to dodge but it was too late.
A pained scream echoed through the forest.
Pain radiated from his shoulder. His left arm would be useless from now on, dramatically decreasing his combat prowess.
'Crap!'
At least he had managed to partially deflect the dagger, making it stray from its path to his heart. It still hurt like hell though.
Arthur raced behind one of the carriages, picking up a piece of cinder from one of the many bonfires lining the entire resting site.
He kneeled down with his back to the carriage and rammed the wooden stake into the ground, its burning side facing up.
Then he quickly ripped the dagger out of his shoulder, hissing in pain.
He hesitated.
'This is going to hurt like hell isn't it?'
He wanted to use the hot cinder to sterilise his wounds and stop the bleeding but he lacked conviction.
He knew it would hinder him more if he didn't stop the bleeding. Yet he was afraid of the pain it would bring him.
'Screw it, its now or never!'
Determined he grabbed the smoking piece of wood. Surely it couldn't be that bad.
As Arthur took hold of the cinder, a strong gale suddenly picked up and the clouds tore open, heavy rain starting to pour down.
A dagger nailed the collar of his shirt to the wagon behind him; the unexpected wind had pushed it aside, making it barely miss its mark.
Arthur gulped. That had been close.
Immediately, he tried to get up and take on a defensive stance, but he was locked in place by the short knife. Cursing, he dropped his saber and grabbed the dagger, trying to set himself free.
Before he was able to succeed, an illusory hand grabbed him by the throat, smashing his head against the hardwood of the carriage.
Pain flashed through Arthur's mind, and he nearly passed out. The back of his head felt wet and warm. Rain was flowing into his eyes, making his vision blurry. Maybe some tears flowed as well, he wasn't entirely sure.
A shadow approached him, stopping a few steps away from him.
"Now what do we have here?" The masked man asked with a deep, gleeful voice.
His eyes fell on the wooden stake and a sadistic gleam flashed through them.
"Oh, that's cute. Were you trying to stop the poison from spreading? Let me help you with that." He offered kindly, giggling madly.
A moment later the sizzling sound of the drowning bonfires was only drowned out by Arthur's pained screams and sobbing as his flesh was burned and the wooden stake penetrated deeply into his shoulder.
"Just make it stop." Arthur cried out.
"Gladly." The masked torturer replied and pulled out another dagger.
The world was drowned in shadows. The last bonfire had just died down.
Sometime ago, the bells had stopped ringing as well and the air was frightfully silent. Even the rain was strangely quiet, as if it was scared.
Somewhere above him, Boro's voice resounded. It held a dark and threatening tone to it. "Cease, mortal."
The torturer wanted to scoff, but found himself unable to. His body was frozen and disobeyed his every command.
What was going on here? Why couldn't he move?
The shadows seemed to boil over and lunge forward. Something grabbed him by the collar and he was suddenly yanked on top of the carriage.
He opened his mouth to scream as he laid his eyes upon the unfathomable hidden inside Borous' eyes.
His cut-off, terrified scream was the last thing that remained of him in this world. Slowly, its echo faded, and his last traces vanished.
Bloord splattered upon Arthur from above and he shivered slightly.
Barely conscious, he closed his eyes as he felt Boro's presence approach.
"Are you okay Art? What did he do to you?" Boro's concerned voice echoed throughout the quiet forest.
Somehow, Boro's voice sounded older and more mature in this moment, but Arthur quickly dismissed the thought. He could worry about that later.
"I'll be alright, thanks to you. But there is more of this scum somewhere over there, we need to deal with them." Arthur replied with a raspy and broken voice, pointing in the general direction of the golden-eyed boy and his unwanted company.
"I'll get rid of them. Wait here." Boro's voice resounded and Arthur could have sworn he heard the rustling of feathers.
"Wait Boro, there is a boy with them. Don't harm him."
Arthur waited for a reply yet none came.
He hoped Boro had heard that last part.
Wishing the unknown boy luck, Arthur's consciousness slowly faded.
'What a rough day.' He thought before falling to sleep.
The night was silent and peaceful.
Tranquil rivers of blood quietly flowed through the forest.
Arthur slept peacfully until morning came.
*****
Somewhere in the depths of a tenebrous desert, a creature lay in a dark pit.
It had slept for centuries, trapped inside a harrowing nightmare, its chains wrapping around it tightly.
Looking at the creature invoked an urgent sense horror and dread, even if one hadn't heard the myths surrounding it's sinister acts.
The sound of evil bells rang from the distance and pale, vile feathers sprawled across the shady sand. The creature was deeply imprisoned in its cage even after millenia of dreaming. Yet in that moment, a single of its many feathers twitched.
Had the Sentinels seen this, they would have been mortified. But how could they have?
They were long dead.
*****
The next morning, the three boys awakened inside one of the carriages.
Warily they exchanged glances. Two of them because they weren't sure what had happened, as they had both lost consciousness. Boro simply joined them because he wanted to fit in.
Arthur's body was beaten and battered. Everything hurt.
There was a flimsy bandage covering his shoulder and his arm was hanging limply to his side.
"So, uhm. You guys aren't going to like kill me or something, right?" The rescued boy asked.
"I could have done that while you were sleeping but Art asked me not to, so I didn't," Boro replied with a bright smile.
The boy they had rescued seemed to shiver.
Arthur was relieved.
Boro had heard him after all. Now he would have to see whether it had been for the better or worse.
The boy coughed. His skin was fair and flawless, like porcelain, and his eyes seemed like the golden embers of a warm flame.
His hair color had changed overnight, Arthur assumed it had been dyed and washed out from the rain last night. They were of a golden blond, crowning his head like a ray of sunlight.
It definetly fit him better than the dirty brown Arthur had seen on him last night.
"Uhm thanks, I assume you are Art? You have my deepest gratitude. Oh, and you as well. I guess?" The boy said, bowing his head ever so slightly.
Arthur extended his hand, offering a handshake. "The name is Arthur. Arthur Arat. And that's Boro over there."
Boro waved excitedly.
"It is a delight to make your acquaintance. You may call me Rafael." The golden-haired boy introduced himself.
"Nice to meet you, Rafael. If I may be so bold as to ask, what did you do?" Arthur asked excitedly.
"Pardon?" Rafael raised an eyebrow.
"You know. Being captured by bandits without reason is rarer than divine intervention. So what did you do? Did you steal something? Made some powerful enemies? Are you a rich merchant?"
"Something like that," Rafael replied, clearly not wanting to talk about the matter.
"Shall we take a look outside then?" Arthur asked, donning a polite smile.
He didn't trust this guy one bit. There were too many mysteries surrounding him.
"I'd love to do just that," Rafael answered, the same forced smile on his full lips. Clearly, the distrust was mutual.
They left the carriage and inspected the bodies of the bandits.
They lay on the forest ground, entirely drained of blood.
"What the heavens did you do to them, Boro?" Arthur asked the question that was also on Rafael's mind. Just what had transpired here last night?
Rafael nearly vomited, appalled by the horrid sight.
"Dunno, I don't remember." Boro shrugged.
"I only remember bells and something hideous that lives with them."
Arthur threw his friend a short glance. Boro wasn't making any sense. At least that constant hadn't changed in his life.
Borous looked at the bloodless corpse lying before him. Specifically, it's now visible neck. There was a weird drawing on it, one of a dark serpent which coiled in on itself, biting into its own tail.
A shiver ran down his spine.
Where had he seen that symbol before? It felt strangely familiar but he didn't know why.
He didn't want to think about it.
His head hurt.
"What's that mark Art?" He asked his friend.
"Seems to be a tattoo, some people like to inject ink under their skin to embed an artwork into it. Strange, where have I seen that symbol before?"
Rafael looked over Boro's shoulder. "Damn cultists." He muttered.
'Cultists?' Arthur was growing more concerned by the second.
First some bandits had attacked the caravan and set a fire as a distraction. Then they chased after this boy and killed innocent bystanders in the process. Nearly killing him as well. Had Boro not intervened...
Arthur wasn't sure if he would have lived to see the sun another time.
Now these supposed bandits had turned out to be cultists and Arthur still wasn't sure how this boy fitted into all of this.
"Enough of this, I think you're going to have to answer some of my questions," Arthur said, placing his hand on the hilt of his saber demonstratively.
Suddenly there was a cold blade at his throat.
"Drop your weapon and raise your hands." A cold and heavy voice behind him echoed.
He knew it. There was no way that boy was a simple person. There were too many coincidences as to still call them reasonable.
"What are you doing to my friend?" He heard Boro's voice. It sounded strained, as if barely containing his anger.
Borous was furious, he had had enough of this 'threatening his friend right in front of his nose' crap.
Arthur glanced in his direction.
There was a dangerous gleam to his friend's eyes and his ever-present smile had vanished from his lips.
"It's fine Boro. Everything is going to be fine." Arthur said, forcing a soft smile on his lips.
If Boro acted out now things could get worse. Way worse. He needed to thread the needle and negotiate.