Crickets sang softly through the forest, their rhythmic chirps weaving with the gentle rustling of leaves. Fireflies twinkled like tiny stars, flickering in the cool darkness, while a light breeze whispered through the branches above. Small embers from the fire drifted upward, disappearing into the canopy like fleeting sparks of hope. A delicate melody floated from Francisco's lute, its soothing notes wrapping around the group like a comforting blanket.
Francisco's fingers danced over the strings, weaving magic into the night. Lily rested against a sturdy log, her posture relaxed but alert, while Kira sat on the log's edge, eyes distant yet focused. Diomede and Clayton emerged from the shadows, each carrying bundles of wood.
"Ah, our heroes return with fuel for the fire's heart," Francisco exclaimed with a playful smile. The two men dropped their loads and took their places by the crackling flames.
"How fare the clothes, my friend?" Francisco asked Diomede, eyeing his new, simple garb.
Diomede shrugged, his dark blue shirt and brown pants a far cry from battle armor. "They'll do it for now," he replied with a rough chuckle.
"Better than running around naked on a night this cold, eh?" Francisco teased, his eyes twinkling with mischief.
Clayton stood over the fire, hands stretched toward the warmth as the chill tried to steal the heat from his fingers. His eyes settled on Diomede. "What can you tell me about the necromancer who destroyed the village?"
The sudden sharpness of the question sliced through the calm of the camp, silencing even the crickets. Diomede rubbed his beard thoughtfully. "Not much. Didn't recognize them. But whatever they were, their magic was formidable. The kind that few can summon, and with ease."
Clayton rubbed his hands together, as if willing the fire to chase away the cold lingering in his soul. "What do you mean, 'ease'?"
Francisco's voice stepped in softly, patient as a loving teacher guiding a curious student. "When a spell is cast, it requires an anchor—a channel through which the energies flow. Like a funnel directing water. This anchor can be an object, a gesture, or even words spoken aloud. Those less practiced often rely on rituals to focus their power. Myself, as a bard, I use the rhythms and melodies of my music as my anchor."
He paused, letting the firelight flicker in Clayton's eyes. "The key is that your anchor must hold against the power of the spell, or the caster risks being overwhelmed by the very energy they summon."
Clayton sat, drawn deeper by Francisco's words.
"What we saw—the figure who destroyed the village—snapping their fingers and unleashing such devastation—means they wielded incredible strength," Francisco concluded with quiet reverence.
Clayton's thoughts drifted to his lessons in the capital, where prayers were the common way to invoke blessings. "Could a prayer serve as an anchor?"
Francisco nodded warmly. "Yes. Words in prayer can guide energy just like music or ritual."
Kira added gently, "But there are other ways. Some bind their magic through divine connections—a cleric, or one who makes pacts with powerful beings."
Lily's voice was curious. "Could that be the case for this figure?"
Francisco exchanged a glance with Diomede and Kira. "It's possible. They could be chosen by a dark god, or a mortal who has tapped into power beyond their rightful reach."
Clayton blinked, surprised by the elegant logic behind magic's mysteries. His education had been rigid, forbidding magic outside prayer as blasphemy.
He looked around the circle, a new seriousness settling over him. "I think it's time we speak truths. There are things we need to understand about one another."
The group shifted uneasily. "And why would that be?" Diomede asked.
Clayton met Diomede's gaze, then stared into the fire. "Because we've fought side by side, traveled together, and now we journey toward my hometown. I want to truly know those I bring near my father and my home."
He sank down against a tree, voice steady. "I want to understand my companions."
Lily crossed her arms, fierce and proud. "My past is mine alone. You'll learn it in time, or you won't. But know this—I fight by your side as long as I must."
Kira's heart quickened. A pull to honesty tugged deep in her soul. Her voice came soft, almost hesitant, but resolute. "Then ask. I will hold nothing back."
Clayton cleared his throat. "I've faced Boarkar before. You bear their mark, but you don't look like the warriors I know. Why?"
Kira inhaled, the weight of her truth settling on her chest. "I have been chosen by Gia—the goddess you know as the Great Mother. I am her divine champion."
She paused, eyes glistening in the firelight. "Because of this, I bear the likeness of the first priestess of Gia—the one murdered with her family in the very temple built to link her and the Great Mother."
Clayton felt the ground shift beneath him. He sat with the presence of a chosen among them—a living link to the deity of life.
Lily's face fell in awe, sitting beside the very embodiment of hope and healing.
Francisco glanced at Diomede, who stared into the darkness with unreadable eyes.
Kira's voice softened further. "My powers are strong—I can heal, feel the pain and sorrow of those near me. But with this gift comes a curse. I am hunted by those who would use me for darkness. I am a divine link… but I am also Boarkar."
Tears welled and spilled freely, carving paths down her cheeks. "I suffer for the sins of my ancestors."
She swallowed hard. "My father is Blood Tusk, the war chief rallying clans against the dead breaching our borders. But my people are fractured. Grim Tooth leads raiders under my father's name, bringing shame and violence. Many have turned from him."
Kira drew a necklace from her pouch—a dark bronze chain with cream-green stones. "I seek Orcsha the Blade to rally the clans. This belonged to his sister… my mother."
Diomede's brow lifted in surprise. "Wait… you're Orcsha's niece?"
Kira nodded, quietly returning the necklace to its place.
Clayton's mind raced, reevaluating every story he'd heard about the Boarkar. Their savage reputation now tangled with deep family bonds and complex loyalties.
"Thank you, Kira. You don't need to say more."
He rose and knelt before her, pulling his battered sword from his belt and laying it between them.
"I may no longer bear the title of Knight of Umar," he said solemnly, "but on this broken blade, soaked with my brothers' blood, I vow to you safe passage home."
Diomede raised an eyebrow in quiet curiosity.
Francisco's fingers found his lute again, the gentle music soothing the heaviness in Kira's heart.
Clayton glanced at Francisco. "And you?"
The Nesfundur grinned broadly. "Oh, my young friend, my tale is simple yet vast. I've traveled far—the Fall Star Islands, the blazing seas, even playing cards in the ruler of Artose's house."
He leapt playfully. "I collect stories, weaving them into the fabric of history. So our deeds may be sung for generations to come."
Clayton laughed, but Francisco's tone softened, shadows falling over his eyes. "But I also seek someone I lost… someone precious."
No one pressed for details, sensing the depth of that silent grief.
Lily felt a stirring in her chest, the voice of her father urging truth. "Hide nothing from those who bleed with you."
She rose, voice steady but fierce. "My tribe was attacked by the lords of Lagoona. I intend to journey to the capital and find their whereabouts."
Shock rippled through the group.
"And this one," Lily gestured to Diomede, "has sworn to get me there."
Clayton's eyes locked on Diomede. "And you? Who are you?"
Adjusting his bearskin cloak, Diomede's voice held a tired resolve. "About a week ago, the farm I lived on was attacked—by four Umar Holy Knights. A Leoniod named Abadala, an Elofolk named Richard, a human named Stonewall, and Grandmaster Talon."
Clayton's shock was clear. "Umar Holy Knights? But non-humans can't be citizens, let alone knights."
Diomede's exhaustion deepened. "So they weren't real Holy Knights."
Clayton's eyes widened. "But Grandmaster Talon is said to be the King's battle master—seen only by the royal family."
Diomede rolled onto his side, frustration knotting his brow. "This was never meant to be my path, as Dafeena said."
"Be ready before dawn. We leave early," he muttered under his breath.
Clayton poked the fire as the others settled, wrapping themselves in blankets. Lily curled against the log, Francisco tucked beneath his magical cloak that shimmered like a red and gold tapestry. Kira hummed softly, her melody a bittersweet lullaby.
Clayton watched them all, disbelief mingling with hope. To be traveling with such souls—back to his own roots—was a strange, beautiful twist of fate.
He whispered to the night, "What a strange turn of events."