There it stood, to Carrion's terrified hazel eyes, an unguarded stance to the sight before him. It was the dragon, Merith, that provoked a gift of disarray and awe, making Carrion fall to his knees at the sight.

Merith turned its white scale face to Fenris. Its eyes laid low, with clawed white feet a length twice his own. It dragged a couple steps backwards with a sheepish growl.

Fenris bowed his head in approval, "You may."

Merith turned to Carrion, worried eyes as black as night, reminiscent of a young pup, shaking as it moved closer to inspect him. Carrion looked to the table to see his sword, with the breathing of Merith that screamed like a gust of wind, a startle to the hairs on his skin.

In a panic, he met haste and took the blade, a firm grip to the handle. Unsheathed and guided, he pointed the slim tip forward, a metal fang with a dim shimmer from a nearby fire in the cave, with the moonlight outside shining on the left of the dragon, its white scales pure as fresh snow.

"No, Carrion!" Fenris raised his voice for the first time in their encounter, deep and unyielding.

Merith shriveled at the sight, backing away to the cave entrance, and flew into the wilderness.

Caught off guard, Carrion dropped the blade to the ground, leaving an echo as the metal struck the stone floor.

Silent.

Carrion breathed heavily, his eyes as wide as his mouth. Fenris turned away from Carrion's gaze, a sigh of malcontent and a look to Zoran, whose body remained wounded in bed, walking over to observe his state.

"He will return. Rest." Turning to Carrion once more, Fenris gave a welcoming smile as he looked to him, "even a fool can ponder and build upon themselves with care."
_______________________________________

Cold water fell, seeping through the aging stone brick of a poorly maintained cell. The muddy droplets dripped down the side of Valora's face, causing her to wake. Her eyes were poorly adjusted, head out of focus.

She looked in front of her, staring at what seemed to be a wooden bowl placed on her lap. Filled with gruel, she smelled the fowl age of the old boiled grain as the only noticeable scent.

"How have they treated you?" A voice said softly only a half stride in front of her.

Startled, she moved to the cell wall behind her, making the bowl spill cold liquid on her lap. Sitting on a floor stained by her own waste, she chose not to eat as to not endure more of her own stench. Not a moment was given to cleanse it, and she was already there for what seemed like more than a week's time.

"Not well, I take it." The person spoke, the voice recognized as Almar, holding a lantern once again. "I wish you could see reason for my proposal, as I do despise the sight of you here: decaying to time."

Valora remained silent.

"Your friend; Ayda, was it?" Almar asked softly, gentle at her fragile appearance, unyielding to the fowl smells of the cell.

Valora's eyes widened, breath skipped for a moment. Almar grinned.

"She was meant to be sent to her master: Aran." he went close to her, a grin ever present. "Yet it seems she's hiding somewhere in the Capital."

"What do you want?" Valora spoke with weakness, as empty of spirit as the room around her.

"You've a warrior's spirit, but you hold one dire weakness; you're pathetic at hiding your heart." he began, his voice gentle. "Serve me, and your precious little lamb will be safe."

"Why should I believe you?" she asked with closed eyes, as though she were only half awake.

"Is it worth staying here, blinded from knowing?" Almar turned to his left and pointed to the doorway, "Bring her in!"

A young girl was thrown to the lower steps by a Zerethian guard, Eyru, reaching Valora's cell; a small pitiful cry as they screamed in pain, panicked and confused on every aspect of their face. Their blue eyes were widened and soaked with tears, a reddish tint to their skin; only topped by short, messy, and straight bright brown hair that dragged down their face in a filthy display of dirt and blood...it was Ayda....

Valora's eyes, once known to shimmer like a moonlit sea, became a shade of red, a fire burning inside her; only dry tears left to calm the unyielding scorch destined to unleash. She was dreaded in fury, yet weakened by the weight of her chains. With what little energy she did have, however, was struck out like the surge of a lighting's bolt! Her filthy hand had gripped firmly to Almar's throat, forehead expressive as ever with a red tint to her skin. Her teeth had struck out like a serpent's fangs to its prey, as were her chapped lips ripped so quick to ooze blood.

It did...nothing....

She continued to grip him, screaming!

"She is not your toy to torment! You will die before I let that happen!"

Almar laughed above the cries of Ayda. The girl's shivering hand reached out to her, crying her name with fearful struggle, widened eyes and tears rushing down her face.

"Do you feel worthy to carry such threats?" Almar grabbed Valora's wrist, setting it aside slowly, down to the fowl wet floor. "Send her away for now."

The Zerethian was quick to pick up the girl, squeamish and screaming as she was. They held her mouth shut while she continued to move around in her leather bindings, a stretching sound of the hide as she struggled to move.

Valora stared at the girl, eyes locked on each other until the door was shut, an echoed voice left to dead silence.

Almar released her cuffs like the clap of a hand, not a key to set her free, but his mind.

"Make your choice soon." he gently spoke, shutting the cell door behind her, and walked out; left solely with the black from his stead.

From there, only her thoughts could fill the void, her head slouched against the wall behind, looking to her freed bruised hands.
_______________________________________

Darkness befell Carrion's vision. What little warmth from his wool blanket was snatched away by the winter's scourge, left with gathered thoughts.

Merith had returned, though resting just as Fenris. The beast was large enough to serve as a mount, but not great enough to conquer a village. It was strong in appearance, yet frail in spirit, but that notion far glanced over Carrion.

Nightfall was still overhead. The morning glow was faded, like candle light from a great distance with a flame, slowly yet surely, growing brighter. He made up his mind.

Careful, a pace as soft as a mouse to evade its captor, he gently moved his body off the bed, gathering enough courage to stand. He walked with softened footsteps over to Zoran, who laid flat in a raised bed. Removing the cloth, he gently carried Zoran to his horse. The young man's wounded body was held tight in Carrion's grip.

Carrion was mounted to his horse; a few bags of stolen food, and the cold of night no helpful reminder of his guilt. Giving the hideout one final glance, he headed off.

Fenris's eyes were opened, quick to stand on his feet after only ten strides from the departure. You could hear his voice ring into the night, calling for him.

"Seek him. He will not travel far." Fenris spoke softly to Merith, a grunt from the beast in response.

The horse led a gallop down to the wilderness below, the unclothed trees tall with branches sharp as spears. Like a crowd firm to oppose him, the fangs of those branches, the biting wind of a winter night; all screamed in his heart. He shook his head with a firm grip to his lead.

With a swift array of movement, Merith met the sky above them with a flap of its wings; air that cut like piercing needles to Fenris below, but it did not phase him.

Carrion's horse struggled to dodge what stood around him, branches with sharp tips and peculiar shapes scattered about.

The pale of Zoran's skin grew overwhelming on his young face, his eyes tightened with his cheekbones raised. Terrified of all things that occurred before, nothing felt safe but the acts of his own doing.

Carrion could hear the beast fly above him, with a roar calling to him. Terrified and uncertain where to go, he could think of nothing but what chased him, focused on the path and wherever it led.

It felt like an hour had long past through the cold winter forest, lost in the labyrinth.

He looked above once more, seeing the skies empty of all but winter's gaze.

Relieved, he slowed his horse to a halt, forcing his breath to slow. He dismounted with a heavy footing to the ground, holding Zoran in his arms. He sat down, slouching his body against an elder tree, one of the tallest and widest nearby; its dark brown bark covered with deep grooves.

Zoran was shaking in Carrion's arms, half opened eyes, but not enough to recognize the face of his old friend.

A storm began to scream overhead. The icy tears took refuge on their coats, the wind slithering beneath the cloth. They had to seek shelter, and fast!

Hastening onto his horse, he kicked its side, sending them up a mountain.

Stumbling through thick snow and freezing winds, he feared Zoran wouldn't make it. His skin grew pale, and morning had begun to wake.

Gallop after gallop; the bite of the wind seeping to their skin..until he stopped.

There before him was a cave, like a scar on the mountainside.

Carrion stood still for a moment, grinned, and then chuckled. They went inside, and found that the cave delved deep; an ominous black armed with jagged teeth.

The dark began to devour him, the light a faded husk; with the bite behind him alive all the more. He was left with but one word, "Firewood".

He hastened his way out, gathering dead branches, and then returned.

His horse greeted him with a grunt, stomping up and down with agitation. Carrion's heart ached at the sight, closing his eyes as he left it behind.

He tried to set an ember with nothing but a string and twig. He would repeat over and over, until his hands grew numb in the cold: feet crying out.

"We're bound to die here, and it's my fault." Carrion began in thought. "No. Don't think that!"

He gained the courage to aim once more, and when nearly all hope had left him, the heat had set its course to a risen fire!

He wished to cheer, but could not. He placed the saddle as a headrest. The young man would not wake, but muffled whines like that of a sickly person in rest did not evade his notice. With all Carrion still had; an iron pan and a leather pouch of dried oats he bought at the Capital, he took pieces of ice and placed it on the pan.

When the meal was ready and warm, he spoon fed him. It was no complement of a meal, but it did its part.

Zoran began to wake. Carrion's breath was held, fearing the white beast would hear.

His horse grunted loudly outside. Carrion glanced, and out came the sound of crushed snow, as though carried by footsteps...of a human.

A firm knock was hit against the cave entrance, causing Carrion to panic, placing his hand on his blade firmly, with a protective intent far from null in his mind. A voice took a step past the knocking, startling Carrion further.

"You are afraid, I can see that, but I assure you harm is not my interest with you." They said, soft spoken and charming, like warmth came to meet him by their every word, but he was uncertain as to why.

Carrion's eyes were widened, still holding Zoran at rest on his lap, the saddle above them both. He recognized the voice, but from where he could not say. From his right hand was a gripped sword, and to his left a feeble man close to a fire. He softened his breath.

"May I come in? The air is rather unfriendly at this hour, and I seek a more considerate sort, if that is you."

The footsteps turned to face the cave, the upper half of their body covered by the small entrance, only their legs and feet visible.

"There's no point hiding. I can see the light and smell the smoke, and am unfamiliar with an eldur keeping company to a horse."

Focused on the being, his heart beat fast as ever; a blood rush to his head and chest, he noticed they wore nothing but white down to their feet. It was still dark out, yet their plain clothes glowed like moonlight, as though they were an angel or a ghost. That only terrified him more, a grip so strong to his blade that his hand was heavily shaking and sore.

"He's weak, Carrion," they gently spoke, "do you believe running will save him?"

"Leave!" Carrion raised his voice, fearful how they knew his name, Zoran nearly conscious enough to move and listen.

"So frail in cloak, protected by a man who can't protect himself," they paused, "I could cure all your concerns if you drop what holds you captive."

Carrion turned to the entrance, than to Zoran, and than the entrance.

"I seek Almar's death just as deeply. It's a fight we all seek to conquer." they stepped closer. "Why fear it?"

"Who are you?" Carrion stumbled to ask.

"A friend of a friend," they met the cave entrance, the crumble of snow and ice under their feet, ducking to greet him, "a name you call 'Guaren'."

"Guaren?" Carrion asked under his breath, slow to his reply.

Carrion was wide-eyed at the sight of their face. It was Guaren!

"Have you failed me, child?"

"I've failed at a great many things." Carrion spoke hesitantly, almost mumbling. "I can't help you."

"In the sake of your destiny, no, but my own." they replied with encouragement, a warm smile on their face.

Carrion still held grip to his sheath.

"You wish to know why I'm here?"

Hesitant, Carrion nodded.

"My companion ran from their calling, with a name you're familiar."

Curious, yet still tense by that reply, Zoran's weakened body began to sound in aching growls.

"I just heard their cries, with a scent ever close," he paused, looking to his right as though in thought, "but I fear the one who is lost has given them company."

Carrion stared motionless, glancing away in thought at that response.

"He found you too, didn't he?"

"Not your concern."

"Careful with your words, Carrion; you may end up killed for it." Guaren approached closer, gentle to his tone; his white hair and face aged yet youthful. "Has he told you the story?"

Carrion didn't reply, the crackling of his small fire and it's heated wind the only sound in the small cave. Guaren laughed softly.

"Pardon, I thought he'd tell you by now." Guaren looked to the open flame, eyes shined with its blaze reflecting off his grey eyes. "Return to him with due haste, for he needs you as deeply as you need him; but listen well, Carrion."

Carrion obeyed, eyes focused on Guaren's, ears open to hear. Guaren moved closer, eyes shifted from kindness to worry, a soft voice turned to a whisper with the tense look of his old man stare.

"He is evil."

_______________________________________

"Home?" Sven asked, startled and confused.

"I don't twist my words, boy. This is the place your mother birthed you, the place your sisters tended to you with care," Valen began, walking about the place with freshly crumbled snow in every step, turning to Sven's eyes, "and the place your father was murdered."

Sven, retaining a baffled state, was guided by the pull of Steffen's hand, a silent stride, was brought inside the front doorway with Valen already inside.

The interior was dark and cold, with not a sight of life beyond their breath. The door was left open solely to keep light at an equal battle between its foe.

It was strange, really. A ruin should surely be a haven for bandits, yet only the ice held refuge inside. Polished stone bricks had been cracked over the years, color faded. The roof above was tampered by dust and cracks in the wood, likely pine. The roof was covered by split logs, each divided evenly into long thin planks with a dark brown coloration, somewhat grey in its tint.

Even more strange, Valen opened the door to a chamber below, housing a large pile of dried firewood. He returned with a batch in hand, a look back with a nudge for them to do the same.

With it all said and done, Valen placed the firewood in a hearth, its cobbled mortar still held together.

"Some say this place is cursed, dark magic binding all from leaving the same by which they came." Valen glanced back at the two silent young men, ears and eyes deeply devoted to his words. "Some say that the ghost of your father resides here, killing younger brothers in their sleep."

He placed thatch in the fire to start, tearing pieces of dried bark he gathered earlier, taking each piece out of his satchel.

"Some say the great fridur fear to even glance this way, for the dark aura terrifies them."

"W-why did you bring me here?" Sven nervously stated, looking around the place as he grew more and more fearful through Valen's every word.

"Because I don't believe in tales." Valen turned back with a kind gesture and smile; Steffen still silently listening, his arms crossed. "Tales are as true as you believe them, and what better place to know who you are than where you began?"

"Your point is?" Steffen asked, impatient to meet Valen's resolve.

"I believe people like you, those who still have worth in a world of nameless, are what is most needed in this dire time." He began. "Not tales. Not the dreams people wish for in a hopeless life, but truth."

"What about you? You called yourself 'nameless' the moment you greeted us. Do you consider yourself worthless to me?" Sven asked, deliberate with his desire to interrupt the man's lecture, but Valen certainly didn't seem even slightly bothered.

Valen stood up, carrying a piece of an aged and dried wood plank, handing it over to Sven gently, much as it confused Sven as to why he did so.

"Think of that piece of wood. What's its purpose?"

"It's firewood." Sven returned with a pause, looking at the chopped chunk that held pieces of bark still attached.

"And why is it important? Would this cold breeze be a fair trade for what it can grant us?" Valen took the piece back, the sound of wood on his footsteps as he tossed it into the newly set flame, the fire crackling the pine. "The nameless will always have a purpose: fueling the flame. It drives it on, night after night, day after day; and when the fuel burns its fill, the time is ripe that they greet their salute and cease."

Sven was baffled by Valen's perspective, wide eyed and focused on his every word.

"You are the flame, Sven. All I ask is to stay lit at the end of it all."

Steffen looked different than usual. His hands were held behind his back; his stance tense and close to Sven. Steffen wouldn't even turn his head to him as he looked his way. Something was occurring inside those closed off doors in Steffen's mind, something Sven simply couldn't lock his eyes on.

"If he cannot bear the loss of one man, the weight of thousands will surely send him mad." Valen looked to the fire, raising the flame with much effort, then dropping what he was doing, a silent pause with a sigh. "Must I do all the work? Find some chairs. Perhaps a pan or pot to prepare a meal, will you?"
_______________________________________

The heat of a fire had grown dim; its light, its crackling --- all cut away as though taken by a clean slash of a blade. A dark surge overcame it, awoken to a new glimmer, a new flame: sunlight.

Carrion's eyes were made open, thrust out of bed as though he was escaping death. He fell on the floor, a bang to follow with a strong echo in the large cave...he was back.

Fenris stood above him, looking at the terrified man with pity, but to the one on the floor, a stern and frightful look to glance up.

"It was a dream, Carrion, you've no reason to worry; much as I'm offended that you left."

Carrion paused, contemplating Fenris's last reply.

"Oh, and you can read dreams, too." Carrion took heavy breaths, a pause between his words, hand placed on his forehead from a violent headache, eyes tightly closed and then opened. "What just happened?"

"Something I wished you wouldn't need to know." Fenris walked backwards and turned away from him, looking at Zoran still rested in bed, and Merith as well, not a hint of emotion to his voice or face. "Something I've kept hidden my entire life, like a demon in a jar has been set free; the seal binding it to the past made open."

Fenris paused, turning back to him; the morning light a delight to cope with the scale of his last words, a rare sight to see so deep in winter.

"No, it has been opened."

"Kill the introductions, just tell me!" Carrion stood up, hand still placed on his forehead.

Fenris just stood there, head looking away to the distant sun.

"I don't know what to think anymore: about you, about Merith, that blade, Zoran; why it all matters!" Carrion broke down, flustered by his own affliction, hatred over things he blamed on himself. "Not even Guaren; and I thought I figured him out from the start."

"You did figure him out," Fenris turned back, Carrion looked puzzled with a wrinkled forehead, "or, at least as much as he intends to show you."

"What do you mean?"

"He asked if I told you a story, didn't he?" Fenris walked back, more tense than usual. "He said I was evil?"

Carrion stood blank, unable to speak. Fenris sighed with slight irritation.

"Of course he did," Fenris walked over to Carrion, a few strides back and forth in contemplation, "I should've mentioned it from the start: about him, that encounter you had, and how it ties to me."

"Which is?" Carrion seemingly begged, hands flung outward with expression to his words.

Fenris paused, his constant strides back and forth were halted, turning once more to Carrion with a slow reply.

"That's a story for another time."