Danadrian had been staring at the pile of stones for a while now, longer, he suspected, than most locals tended to. He saw them, an old married couple coming by to toss a rock on the pile, a young man griping as his mother insisted he think about his actions, a woman, a botanist he suspected, placing a remarkably well-made stone stylised as a flower before wandering off into the woods. And they all saw him, standing there, just observing, and from each of them he solicited a different response.

The old man glared at him and seemed ready to say something before his wife gripped his arm tightly and steered him away. The young man just stared at him with something close to fascination and horror, while his mother looked him over once before turning away. And the botanist smiled, waved a hand at him, before continuing on her way. He tried to lift his hand in as casual a wave as he could muster. He failed.

When Flugh approached, smiling and raising a hand as he noticed him, Danadrian finally tore his eyes away from the pile and met with him.

"I must say, I didn't expect to find you here, of all places. I thought it disagreed with you?"

"I…" He looked into the Carathiliar's eyes and refused to see the image of the corpses beneath him. "I'm still trying to decide if it does. Though it pays homage to Creation, an act I can wholeheartedly support, it does have its own… chaotic twist to it."

"We are who we are. How does the Church of the Light offer its prayers?"

"Some chose to do so at dawn and dusk, although I expect few can muster either that level of devotion, or simply the free time. But we pray to them the same way any others do, with offerings if we can, but our words and service are enough as it is."

"When did you last pray?"

"Last night, even though doing so under the cover of darkness is not preferred or often done unless absolutely necessary."

"I see." Flugh reached into his pocket and produced a small pebble, barely wider than his finger. He had to squint to see a small image carved into it. "If it isn't too personal, what did you pray for?"

"We were attacked last night, bandits, it seems, hoping to try their luck with our cart and supplies." He said it quickly, hoping the words wouldn't catch in his throat.

Flugh's expression shifted. "I heard. In fact, it's part of the reason why I'm here. The Company told me that your companion insisted neither of you was harmed, but are you sure you don't need any healing? It wouldn't take more than a second, really."

He shook his head. "No, I'm fine, as is she. They only got a scratch on her, nothing at all too serious, and I don't believe she's at all bothered by it. It was a one-sided affair, and they probably underestimated us."

Flugh calmed a little, even if he didn't look entirely convinced. He came into step beside Danadrian as he began to turn away from the small gatherings to Creation.

"So when you prayed to Mayare, was it for better luck? Thanks for making it out of harm's way. Even if they're different, I know many fishermen or warriors who do the same sort of thing in the Palace."

He shook his head. "No, it wasn't that at all. I…" Just as he thought. The words were fighting against him, refusing to come out. "What do you think about relations between those of differing faiths, Flugh?"

He looked a little taken aback by the shift in conversation, but after tapping his lip for a few seconds, he responded, "My faith, at its core, is a product of our culture. Or maybe you could say that the culture is a product of the faith, it's the chicken or the egg scenario at its core, and I'm neither a philosopher nor a historian." He pursed his lips. "But they aren't accepting, not even a little. And, if you don't mind my wording, I wouldn't say yours is either, Danadrian."

He didn't nod, he wasn't sure he could. "It has been a long time since I walked amongst its followers, and especially long since they interacted as a whole with those who differed from us. But I think I understand the position you are speaking from."

"Right. So if you were asking me, as a follower of Kraton, what I think about those with differing faiths, I wouldn't be able to answer you truthfully, and either way it would be difficult."

They were walking down the hill now, at a leisurely pace, but when he heard that, he faltered, if briefly. "Why is that?"

The healer grimaced, "Because ours is a tale as old as the Ages themselves. Derumani and Clathitarie, Light and Dark, Chaos and order. Some zealous folks in the plains claim that fate itself decreed us to be adversaries, opposites, equals, and opponents to one another. So if you asked me what I thought, I'm not sure I could answer without feeling that small itch that I may be betraying my religion. And for some of us, that's a core part of who we are."

"Right." He resumed walking, but eyed Flugh once more. He was perhaps more devout than he had first assumed. Not zealous, not loud and flashy or angry and condemning like those in Fordain, but an earnest follower, nonetheless. It was just…

He didn't look it. When he looked at him, he saw a healer, a man who did more good than ill for those around him, not a Derumani worshipper, a follower of the God of Chaos. Just a man, and a good one at that.

Where is it? Where is the fervour and darkness that defines their servants? Why can't I see it in him? In them?

"-It was for them." He blurted out.

"Pardon?"

"When you asked me why I prayed. I prayed for the Carathiliar who tried to kill us, whom I slew with the very sword now on my back." He nodded to the rusted blade. "I regret it, though I know it is wrong from every angle I see it. But I regret that I needed to take their lives."

Flugh's voice was calm. "Did they deserve it?"

"Yes, they did. And if you're going to ask me if I would do it again, I would. But I wish that were not the case."

They walked in silence after that, coming out of the woods and back onto the town's road. He blinked at a shadow passing over him, and saw a Carathiliar, no more than a boy really, leaping through the air before landing in the dirt ahead. He was laughing, and a second later another figure, a woman wearing long trousers and an exasperated look, landed beside him, and much firmer on her feet. He could almost imagine the conversation going on.

Why them?

"So it troubles you, right? Seeing good in those whom you should be ideologically opposed to, the same way that I described it?"

"Similarly." It was a good analogy, but for the Angelica, it barely scratched the surface of the issue. But he understood enough, even if he thought it was a matter as simple as just religious differences.

Not a fundamental break from who you were, at the core of your being and in your Soul.

Not a mistake he may be remaking, a doomed failure that cost him everything.

Why did I Fall here? Was it with purpose, for reconciliation and redemption?

Or was it as a punishment, or a test to see if he would make the same mistakes again?

Would I?

"It's just troubling thoughts." He tried to smile. "And my nerves are still a little on edge after last night."

Flugh put his hands in his pockets and began kicking a small stone along the way as they walked. "Maybe it's how we define each other, Danadrian. I'm talking to you, we're having and have had casual and friendly conversations, and even if you disagree with my beliefs, and I with yours, that hardly stops that, does it?"

When he didn't respond, the Carathiliar clapped him on the back of the shoulder.

"Life is the sum of its parts, and faith is but one of those. That, I fear, is what we forget all too often. Now, a drink? There's a good place a few roads down."

Danadrian followed his lead, not offering any argument, but hoping it wasn't a bar or anything similar. He had an inkling that he wasn't a drinking person.

As they crossed between buildings, a chicken, of all things, chirping alongside them, he turned to Flugh.

"You mentioned looking into something for me, any luck?"

He clicked his fingers. "Right, of course, the missionaries. I did some digging, sent a raven out that returned this morning, conveniently, and I have got an answer for you." He was digging into his pocket and eventually produced a small piece of parchment. "Here."

He unfurled it and read:

Regarding the Church of the Light and their presence in this Domain, they have established themselves in Tandrias City, buying several properties to build what seems to be a permanent settlement within the city. There has been severe backlash from the UnOrder and Elde-Tiana, but there is no legal precedent to condemn them outright. More recently, I've heard their Paladins have scuffled with zealous Karatinians, but both sides are punished equally when caught. The keyword is when caught.

Why're you interested in them, exactly? Semi-permanent settlement here or not, I doubt they'll be more than a passing nuisance.

Danadrian handed the message back to him. "Where did you get that?"

"The friends I made while studying are quite a far-flung bunch, so I always have someone I can call upon. So, I expect you'll be heading north sooner or later, then?"

He expected a resounding yes, which he wished he could have given him, but he hesitated again, this time for a different reason. Alleria. She wanted to go south, to get away from the Carathiliar and Talradians in general. He couldn't fault her for it, but it meant they were at a crossroads. She wasn't willingly going to go north if she could help it, and north was exactly where his heart was pulling him.

Then, his poor geography and even poor memory actually did him a favour for once, and he paused.

"Tandrias City. That's… isn't that nearby where Talradius used to be?"

Flugh's face fell again, in a similar way to most Carathiliar when the subject was brought up, but unlike them, he didn't shut the conversation down entirely, which was refreshing.

If I have to hear one more of them cite 'bad luck' to me, I might hurl something.

"Yes, what's left of the country is just across the river. Not sure if it's a coincidence or not that your people have decided to settle so close. I think it might just be, though, they have no history or standing in that place." He sighed, "Then again, who does nowadays? Except for adventurers looking for lost glory, and wanderers who pray for that which once was."

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

"That sounds like a quote."

"I heard it in the capital once," Flugh admitted with a short laugh. "From an old Talradian philosopher. He said that only his people, and even amongst them, there are few, would travel those parts and step foot onto that charred soil."

"Have you seen it before?"

He shook his head. "Not me, it's too far to travel, and as you said, the roads in these parts can be dangerous. Bandits, bears, tuffhorns? No, I'd rather stay put. And besides, my parents used to tell me stories about it when I was old enough." He shook his head and briefly slowed to rub his eyes. "That image is vivid enough for me, thank you very much."

Danadrian nodded. "So I've heard. And regarding tuffhorns, I couldn't agree more."

"Had the displeasure of encountering them before?"

"Had the displeasure of killing one of them before. Awful beast, and I don't relish the idea of a civilian being caught in front of one."

"Killed?" He shouted. Then grinned. "Well, well, well, if you were Carathiliar, they'd be celebrating you at the bars for days. Well done."

He waved his hand. "I'm glad they didn't. I had help, and it was just luck, plain and simple. I wouldn't call myself an expert on the matter, far from it."

"Huh, I thought you didn't believe in luck?"

His head snapped around before he saw his grin, and against his better wishes, he smiled.

Flugh led him to a local bar, packed with patrons, and he found that, strangely enough, most of them didn't bat an eye at him. Maybe it had something to do with all the ale and beer in front of them, but the inevitable moment where he was thrown out face-first into the dirt never came. None of them ever came to strike up conversation, save for Flugh and the bartender, but honestly, that was for the best. He wasn't, he could keep one going even if they did.

He declined to drink anything but water, and even then, he only nursed it in his hands, barely sipping from it at all.

Flugh was a well-known face, so many people came up to talk to him, clap him on the back, or thank him for healing their injuries. It made sense, in a remote town where accidents could happen any day, there sat the one person who could cut the rate of death by more than half.

A man who does more good than ill, who gives back to the community instead of taking from it.

Those words kept resurfacing in his mind, and the temptation to drink, if only to quieten them, was likewise beginning to rear its head.

It was an objective fact, irrefutable evidence. He followed the God of Chaos but was a healer who saved people's lives. It should have been a contradiction, and yet it made sense. He even remembered the words of that priest, or whatever he had been, at the Ritual Palace in Fordain.

'Death is the natural order of the world. Therefore, I find killing you to be a disservice to the True Chaos.'

What better way to create Chaos than to disrupt the cycle of life and death and save those who may have been fated to pass on? It was twisted, contradictory, and exactly the sort of thing he could imagine the UnOrder preaching to their followers.

All of this made sense. That was the problem.

He didn't know what to do. It had all been so much easier when each and every Carathiliar had looked at him like vermin. They had been hateable, despicable worshippers of the True Chaos, sacrificing blood and engaging in debauchery before a terrible God. And he had been a follower of the Light, even if it rejected him, perhaps come to rid the land of their taint, to combat their foul God and redeem himself in the eyes of his Goddess.

But that wasn't true, was it? He saw their faces, remembered their names. Jerakun, Innkeeper Heldreth, Lethandirr. Those who hadn't spat on his face and scorned his name, for the sin of being made the way he was. Even before Flugh, there had been those who cracked the static image of the Carathiliar. Perhaps then it had been easier to ignore.

What did he do? What was the resolution to this? Because he couldn't for the life of him see it. Surrounded by darkness, by venerators of the Derumani, and yet not all of them were monsters.

A body bumped into him, then another. He was suddenly aware of how loud it was, of the raucous laughter of men and women, their breaths, the smell. It was warm, maybe hot? The air was stale. He could feel the Panic building up in his throat, and he forced it down. Not here. Not now.

Not again.

It was like a blink, and he was outside, supporting a tipsy Flugh, who waved to some of his friends before clearing his throat.

"Sorry about that. You tend to garner goodwill in my line of work. No drinking for you?"

"I figured as much. And no, I'm not much of a drinker, water and juice are fine for me."

"Shame." He stretched his arms.

It was getting late, and the Sun was once again descending in the distance. Whatever his thoughts, it wasn't wise to stay out longer than this, at least for him. He didn't have Alleria's stealth or Velandus' tact.

Evidently, Flugh thought the same. "We should probably pack it in for the evening, get some rest. You aren't still camping outside of town, are you?"

He shook his head. "We got some rooms at an inn. After last night, we didn't want to take any more chances."

"Right you are." He hiccupped. "And you should introduce your companions to me sometime before you leave. I'm sure they're splendid folk."

He was halfway through a nod when he thought about Velandus, but paused when he remembered Alleria. Somehow, he thought she wouldn't be as receptive to the Carathiliarian healer.

"I'm sure they'd love to." He could get away with worse lies while Flugh was in this condition.

They walked down the road he knew led to the inn, occasionally restoring support to his companion. He was just thankful he didn't need carrying.

"Which road do we need to take to your home?"

He shook his hands. "No, please, I don't need an escort. I'll be fine."

"I'm not sure I could handle the guilt of letting you topple over the first rock that you come across. Left or right." They were at an intersection, not far from what he thought to be the middle of town, which roughly aligned with the centre of the dragon's spine, and Flugh pointed.

"Right."

He guided them down a smaller path, barely a road at all, that ran between several houses. The buildings were dark, which surprised him, but the owners must just be out or hadn't returned from whatever work they did yet.

Flugh yawned and stuck his finger back the way they'd come. "You hear some of the stuff they were talking about back there?"

"Hm? Oh, sorry, it was a bit loud, so I don't think I did. What was it?"

"Demons mostly. I thought it was strange people were talking about them, but apparently, word's been going around. There was one in Fordain, you know?"

He silently prayed to the Light that he wasn't about to start sweating, but he shook his head. "First time I'm hearing about it, must've been after I left. Did they… get him?"

"No." He shook his head, "Apparently not, but I guess it's got everyone a bit nervous, we're not that far away, and the Tiana is Fordain hasn't always been the most attentive of the surrounding towns and villages."

"Have you ever… seen a Demon before?"

Flugh shook his head again. "Read on them a little, but thank the Gods I've never had to meet one. Just the thought of it…" He shivered. "You?"

"No, and I barely knew anything about them before I came here. But I suspect the Talradians will take care of any problems they cause."

"Yeah, their Demon Hunters are probably crawling over the place right about now. Makes you wonder…" He trailed off, and after a second, Danadrian saw why.

At the edge of the otherwise empty road stood a lone figure, larger than both of them. Maybe even combined? He was big, his muscles were obvious even behind his clothes, and on his back, Danadrian could just about see the shape of a large weapon, though it didn't seem to weigh him down.

He was just standing there. They both went silent as they tried to pass, and even though he didn't know what was going through Flugh's head, he was praying that the figure didn't stop them for whatever reason.

"Hold."

They stopped in their tracks, and Danadrian slowly closed his eyes. "Yes?"

"Are you Danadrian, bronze ranked amongst the Company of the Gethanhol, who arrived in Tathlani a few days ago?"

His hands itched for his sword. "That would be me. And who do I have the pleasure of addressing?"

He strode forward. "That's irrelevant, and it's no pleasure, I assure you."

His hands reached for his sword. Then he felt the world spin. His feet left the ground. He heard a shout, and then the air picked up in speed.

He smashed into the side of a wall. His back screamed in agony, and all the breath he had left him in a second. The Carathiliar held him against the bricks with one hand whilst the other reached behind his back.

"I heard you duelled with General Brakenus, and I must say I expected a little more."

"Demon- Hunter-" He managed to say.

The giant man nodded. "And it's Demons I should be hunting, so consider yourself an honoured nuisance getting in my way. Let's make this quick."

He was drawing the weapon on his back, which looked like what happened when you married a hammer and a bundle of stone. His sword was crushing against his spine, so he raised his one free hand. And he prayed.

"So bless it be."

A burst of Light erupted from his palm, flashing and blinding them both. The Carathiliar stumbled back, and his reflex to cover his eyes let Danadrian drop to the ground. He blinked away the spots in his own eyes and pulled his sword out.

"Nice party trick, lightskin. Though I don't think it'll be getting you any friends at the taverns. Gah." His hammer was out now, and he looked a lot more annoyed.

"Sir, please, this must be some misunderstanding. There's no need for violence."

Flugh was desperately trying to be heard, whilst also backing away the moment weapons were drawn. A healer, not a fighter, and he was worried what the Demon Hunter would do.

"Citizen, back away. I don't know what your affiliation with this man is, but I'll let it slide just this once. This is between him and the Company of the Degormanus."

"But-"

He looked confused and perhaps wondered what the drink was doing to him. Danadrian just forced back a sigh.

Oh, course, it came to this in the end. One does not simply consort with Demons and get away with it.

He threw himself forward, ducking aside the first blow from the Demon Hunter that might have broken his head open then and there. And that was when he came across an issue. An issue that he'd considered, and Alleria had openly commented on, but had not yet come across.

The issue was that, while he had a sword, it was functionally a blunt weapon. That wasn't a problem most of the time; getting hit by that much metal with enough force was just as bad as when it cut you open. In most cases. This was not one of those cases.

How did a weapon like this contend against the largest man in Danadrian's living memory?

The answer was: poorly.

Strikes that landed on him barely knocked him back, and that was when they landed. Ducking away from his hammer, which threw up dirt when it hit the ground, occupied most of his time. It came down on him again, faster than he thought it could, and he held out his sword to block it.

TUNG…

The force resounded through his entire body. It was crushing. He felt his body sink, and at first, he thought it was because of the force of the impact itself. Then he saw the mana seeping into the earth and felt the dirt beneath him literally sinking lower as it shifted into mud.

He forced his legs out of it before another swing nearly took his head off. Maybe Alleria's way of fighting wasn't so bad. She would definitely be having an easier time in this situation, but then again, she had a sharp blade.

"Did you fight the General like this? If that's so, he must have been going easy on you."

"I had help."

"And where's it now?"

He ducked away again, and this time he found himself backing farther and farther away. The Demon Hunter was like an oncoming herd of tuffhorns, never breaking for even a moment's breath between his strikes and swinging his hammer like it was made of paper. He only paused when it struck the ground, and he had to put in a bit more effort to pull it up.

He could also feel the earth beneath him continuing to shift. Parts of it turned to mud to try and hold him down, other parts flattened or shook and threatened his balance.

I've just about had it up to here with this Earth Magic. And his hammer.

He finally stopped moving and glared up at the advancing Carathiliar. When his next strike came down, he sidestepped it, letting it crash into the dirt beside him. Then he rested one leg on its head, and leapt off of it, swinging with all the strength he could muster.

He relished the momentary shock on his enemy's face before he smacked his sword against his skull.

He stumbled back, one hand clutching at his head. "What on… Andwelm is that thing made of?"

Another strike. Danadrian put his weight behind the blade as he pommelled his stomach with the end of it. His hammer swung out to force him back, and this time he didn't dodge. He didn't duck. He didn't even try to block it. He just swiped it aside, keeping it going the same direction it had been, only past him.

In that free second of time, he smacked his blunt sword against the Demon Hunter's arm twice. He cried and stumbled back again, the hammer freeing from his grip, and he could already see bruises forming where he'd struck.

There was rage burning in him. If a single blow from his sword wouldn't do enough, then how about dozens? He hit him again and again, not allowing a single second of respite. Time started to lose meaning, and between each swing, it felt like an eternity. Eventually, the Demon Hunter, gripping onto the edge of the wall, collapsed, his face and body a mess of lumps and bruises.

He raised his sword again.

"Danadrian!"

Flugh threw himself in front of him, eyes wide with shock. He looked at him, and it was almost as if his eyes passed straight through him, looking at something else entirely. Then he stooped beside the fallen man, inspecting his wounds and running his hand across his head.

"What were you going to do, beat him to death? You might as well, you're halfway there already." For the first time since they'd met, the Carathiliar's voice was filled with anger. "There is self-defence, and there is murder."

Danadrian saw his mana coalescing around the worst of the man's wounds, calling on nature to heal him. That was the last thing he saw as he turned away.

"I don't know anymore. I just…"

His stumble turned into a run, watching lights appear in nearby buildings, residents poking their heads out of their doors. He couldn't look at them. He wasn't even sure if the watch was going to follow him, or if they could at all. He just… didn't know.

He just kept running, up the hill and into the forest, all the while his sword rested in one of his hands. A blunt weapon, ensuring only pain to those who met it.

Danadrian ran until he collapsed beside a tree. There, he had a moment to lament how familiar this was, and what a stain that fact was on his being. Then darkness overtook him, and he fell into his usual, dreamless sleep. Waiting for the dawn to come.

Praying for it.

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