After that tearful, full of mocking and laughter reunion, three of them head off to meet with the Commander.

The night is warm with a light, cool breeze showing its face here and there. Yet the lull of the moonlight is deceitful. And the shadows are damning things, fluttering over the landscape like impatient fingers waiting to wrap around someone's throat.

They pass the fields, continue down the outside pathway beside the Castle. Animal carvings in the beige marble decorations have never looked so eerie.

They've just rounded a corner when The Commander comes running toward them.

"Duck!" he ordered, throwing himself to the ground.

His hands immediately grabbed at his teammates to make sure they'll huddle too. Half a moment later a blob of lightning passed their heads, making his hair stand up from static plastering itself to the underside of his hood.

The Commander pops back up to his feet circling back throwing a fire spell at the attacker. He sides them a glance before pointing to the side door hanging open. "Go inside and wait for me."

They don't wait around to get a better look at the opponent, as Plamen hurriedly rushes them through the said door and into the dark interior. During that tumble into the Castle, Vid loses balance over the threshold, Zima barely catches him under an arm, practically dragging him inside, and Plamen pivots to kick the door closed and leans his whole weight on it to keep it shut.

"I can't see shit," Vid informs them helpfully. All the light disappearing after he closed the door was a dead giveaway for this being some kind of storeroom with no windows. It was already dark outside, he didn't see what this room looked like while entering.

"Hold my hand, I'll guide you," Zima tells him.

Plamen ignores their exchange, listening in on the ongoings outside. There's a muffled sound of a crash, then some sound he can't really describe, like birds chirping, and then silence. It lasts good two minutes then comes a knock.

"It's safe now."

Plamen moves aside, letting the door creep open. The Commander looks worse for wear standing at the threshold. Locks of his hair fall over his eyes, hiding parts of his face all the way to his mouth. Half of the insignia on his left shoulder looks singed and is still smoking. Above it, his earlobe is darker in color from what Plamen assumes must be blood because it drips down in dribblets. Well, he could look worse. What matters is that they're all alive.

"As you can see, there are many obstacles," the Commander says in an even tone. "And, hopefully, we'll have enough time to discuss a few things before another one shows up."

"Um," Vid starts, looking unsure.

They all look at him, but he keeps silent, fidgeting on the spot right behind Plamen.

The Commander's patience breaks first. "Out with it, boy."

Vid startles, letting out a quiet yelp. "Can we...talk outside?" he asks, shifting his head to look over his shoulder. "I think I've heard something with too many legs tapping over the floor."

The Commander's expression doesn't change, but Plamen feels like he's giving Vid a deadpan stare. "Come on," he says, tipping his head in the direction of the outside and moves aside so they can exit.

"We've already dealt with about a dozen of Vanguards as far as I know. And from the intel we've gathered, we are aware of three dozen left, give or take a few," he informs them as they shuffle out. He crosses his arms over his chest, giving them a stern look. "Don't engage if you're not in the group of at least three people. Actually, the best for you would be to run away, hide, whatever. The Vanguards came for you, so don't serve yourself on a silver platter."

Silence... Plamen and Zima exchanging looks doesn't escape the Commander's attention.

Scowling now, the Commander asks, "What?"

"Um, it's already kinda happened," Vid squeaks out.

The Commander blinks, then sighs. "So, you've fought them..." He pauses to pinch the bridge of his nose. "At least you've gained experience of fighting as a team."

That sentence results with more silence and violently fidgeting Vid. The Commander opens his mouth, closes it, then opens it again. "You know what, I don't want to know so don't tell me," he grumbles, takes a few deep breaths and smooths out the creases in his brow. "We're not really sure what will happen when all the Vanguards are defeated. That might be it, or maybe you'll be taken to Goddess Nužda, or she will appear here. We don't know. The Prophecy says nothing about that and all the records from before 500 years ago are quite a challenge to read."

Plamen notes that small detail with which he practically told them that in the last 500 years, no Champions had survived to that phase. Lovely.

"What about the Dragon King mark?" Zima questions. "It could potentially be advantageous to know more about it. An hour ago my hand burned where it rests on my skin and for the next few minutes, I felt the connection to Vid and Plamen. There must be something more about it."

"Ah," Plamen interrupts. "That was me."

Commander waves his hand to indicate that Plamen should explain.

"Vid almost got skewered with a spear, I had to get his attention somehow."

Zima's jaw falls open and Commander is giving him a strange look as his left eyebrow twitches.

Zima takes a step toward Vid with anger in her eyes. "You fought Vanguard all by yourself?" she screeches into his face.

As panic sets over Vid's face, Plamen answers instead of him, "Nah, that was also me." He points sideways at Vid. "He just crawled away on all fours, shitting bricks."

Zima gives them a stony stare, then rolls her eyes. "A bunch of idiots," she huffs under her breath.

"Don't fight them alone again!" commander intones with finality, breaking their staredown. "Anyway, I don't know much about the Dragon King mark. You should ask Yana when she comes back."

Right then another explosion rings not far off and a few officers come running.

"High Commander, the reinforcements are here. They need someone to command since most of the Captains are engaged elsewhere," one of them says.

"Right, I'll be there shortly." He gives Plamen one last look before departing. "Especially you, don't go off fighting them alone," he tells him, then he's running off. Before he disappears behind the corner, he instructs the newcomers, "Accompany the Champions to the Gardens, Officer Sol should be there somewhere."

Plamen doesn't like the fact they are left with people they don't know, but the Commander must trust them if he left them with these officers.

***

After a turbulent journey that would usually last maybe a few minutes, but now have been stretched to half an hour, they have to split. Plamen zips through one of the large gardens, smashing petunias and who knows which plants under his leather boots. The Vanguard is on his tail, but the officers are making a trap at the entrance and he has to lead the enemy on a merry chase between blooming bushes, enclosing walls, and pollinating trees.

Once he deems it long enough he circles back. He's already at his limit and starts to breathe hard.

He runs over the place on the ground where the trap should be, glancing over his shoulder. The Vanguard is there behind him, smirking when he sees him looking back. Yes, just like that. Gloat over how your prey is scared and fall into the damn trap like an idiot you are.

Just like predicted, the guy ends up sprawled on the dirt as the gray bands of magic grab him.

Plamen wipes the sweat off of his brow, trying to get his breathing under control. He nods gratefully to the two officers who came with him and whirls on his heel to the designated meeting place. He's not far away.

The previously straight ground turns to a slight slope, easy to descend. He prefers it that way as the fatigue has already settled in his bones.

There it is! The deciduous trees shift to pines and he's aware he will see his teammates soon.

He arrives at the edge of the clearing where they should all meet just to see a scene from the harshest nightmares.

In the air float small objects of varying shapes, glinting in the moonlight. But there, in the middle of the clearing, is a body, laid on the pliant grass weeds, and a person crouching protectively over it, both wearing familiar faces.