The sun was blinding.

It was so hot that it scorched clothes, made leaves cringe, and forced everyone to go out for a swim. The lakes, and streams and rivers grew warm from the heat, and even goglets could not keep water cool for long. There was a frown on every face from the discomfort the weather brought, and many tried their best to placate Cret with gifts and sacrifices, but the heat prevailed.

Even the birds and animals were not left out. They came out into the open, lapping and diving at any source of water they could find. The searing heat was a sign of the final days of Floom season and the hasty approach of the next one.

"The NeverEnd." Dermot revealed.

He wore a green vest underneath a black jacket. Waverly had reverted to her own old habit of sporting shorts. She walked behind him at a hairsbreadth, constantly lingering under the shade of trees and branches for a second to enjoy their dull comfort, but it did nothing to ward off the heat.

There was no wind at all.

"Whatever is a never end?" She asked.

In her hometown of Bremeton, there were four seasons that took hold in haphazardly occurrences; like spring manifesting for half a year, a fortnight of winter, four months of summer, and so on. In Alpgeton, Elves had a more fixed occurrence of seasons. Dermot told her about them as they strolled in the afternoon light headed for the mountain where they had found the large Elven coin.

"The NeverEnd comes after The Floom. It is my least favorite season in some ways because it's always noon." He explained.

Waverly stopped dead in her tracks. For a few reasons, she felt very frightened. "Always noon? You mean, night never comes?"

"Yes." He replied, smiling brightly. "It's okay that you find this a rather strange phenomenon, but I'm sure you can handle it. You've handled a lot of things so well."

She resumed walking. "It is not so strange. I have seen spring last for a quarter of a year. How does anyone know when to go bed in this season?"

She ducked under the low branch of a tree, where a nature spirit was dousing the roots with water from an interesting looking jug. There were butterflies all over the Derew's hair, but Waverly did not stop to ponder it. Every one of those creatures had something peculiar to them.

"Er, a lot of us don't. Save for the scorching heat, The NeverEnd is a great season for us wood kin." Dermot replied.

He turned a path that was completely shaded on both sides by peach trees. It came as a comfort being away from sunlight for a while, but Waverly's legs felt like lead. Tyros had spent days on end training like wild animals. Chedor and a few other officers made sure they dueled until their fingers numbed. It was a good distraction for Waverly, but she wished her superiors would not train them half to death.

A select batch of Tyros had gone to the South of Nael for a drill. Waverly decided to stayed behind because she was eager to see the mysterious fourth item her friends had found.

"The Elves of Ford create the illusion of nightfall over our homes so we can be able to go to sleep. A low hanging, gray cloud would give an impression of nighttime, but you've seen how Elves are. A majority of them would rather spend all day doing useful things than going to bed."

Waverly plucked off a small branch from one of the trees and began to peel its leaves off bit by bit. "So, do the Snow Elves know which one of you wish to stay up and which prefer to go to bed?"

"Not exactly. We have to go tell them which is why they particularly hate the NeverEnd. Lucky them, it has little effect on the Ford."

Dermot jogged down a set of stone steps that led down to the muddy bank of a clear stream. Across it was a low hill, where a long line of birch trees grew stark white and thin like a boundary. Below them was a wide vegetable farm with heaping mounds of growing greens, and beyond that, an insanely wide plantation. The mountain was still very far away, and it would be unwise to run in the smoldering heat.

Waverly lingered as they crossed the stream, kicking and splashing the warm water as she walked past.

"I wonder why that is. How do they survive with so little sunlight?"

"How do the rest of us survive with so much of it? I say, they're somewhat like fishes. Take the water entirely from them and they'd probably die, but Snow Elves aren't that helpless."

He extended a hand and helped Waverly climb up the hill and past the row of trees. There was an air of coolness amongst them, but she could not stop to enjoy it.

"But they do come out sometimes, right?"

"Yes, they do. Very often."

"How do they manage that then?"

Dermot shielded his eyes from the sun as he walked past the towering row of vegetables.

"As I said, they are not that helpless. Snow Elves are not forever bound to their inhabitance. What I mean is they are not tied to it so much that they cannot leave it. This is how they are different from a fish without water. They can travel far and wide, and survive the foreign seasons of the world. They simply take the chill with them. It's in their blood. Any part of Alpgeton can be Snaw Ford if they wish it to be."

"Oh, now it makes sense. But why is the NeverEnd so sunny all the time? Why is the sun so. . . unusually hot?"

Dermot shook his head. "You ask a lot of questions, but that is good, I guess. Are you familiar with the story of the first eclipse?"

Waverly nodded. HalfHyde had told it to her a million and one times over amongst other tales of old.

"Yes. Cret and Nys both had a big fight. Selene stepped in between them to prevent them from hurting each other, and Humans feared the world was going to end."

Dermot chuckled. "That is an interesting way to tell it. Well, you are correct. A lot of things happened during the first eclipse, and for generations, the story has changed to suit the storyteller. For example, some say that the goddess Iren was born from the shadows of the sun; others say she was born when Nys turned her back on Cret. There is some truth in every version, but the NeverEnd started eons ago when the Elvenhome was still fresh upon the earth."

"Fresh?" Waverly frowned.

She had begun to pant slowly from the heat and noticed that Dermot did as well. She hated that the mountain was still so far away. Nonetheless, her discussion with Dermot brought more and more comfort to her as they walked, and it meant that Diarmaid and Brijjet would have to wait for them a while longer.

"Yes. The seven realms were not created all at once, you know." Dermot began to skirt around the plantation.

"Why should we go all the way around it?" Waverly asked, staring at the other end of the expansive land. It seemed a better option to walk in a straight line than to go around.

"We'll get to the beach faster." Dermot reasoned.

"Go on, you have not completed the story yet." She urged, towing behind.

"Oh, right!" He exclaimed. "So, Alpgeton was fresh, and the gods were closer to us. I mean, you could pray to them and get answers immediately. They even walked amongst us. They were more present then than they are now. According to the story, which is slightly similar to the story of the eclipse, Nys wanted it to be night for a whole day, so she captured Thern and kept him locked up."

"The god of the evenrise." Waverly inputted rather bafflingly.

She had never heard of such things. Thern was considered one of the greater gods, along with his sister, Threna. It was a wonder that he could be captured, but then again, Brijjet had killed Ante – a feat Waverly previously thought unachievable and impossible.

"Yes. Nys had him captured so that the sun would not rise in the morning, but Cret was and still is the supreme goddess. She forbade Nys from pushing through with her plan, and when she found out that her cousin had been taken, her rage was unleashed. The sun stayed up for ninety three days, hot and blinding against the earth. Nothing could be done to appease her."

"Who did anyway?"

Dermot chuckled. "I don't know for sure, but some stories suggest it was Selene. She is known for being soft-spoken, and always had a way to talk the rage out of other deities. Some stories say it was Threna instead. She longed for dusk and begged Cret to let her bring forth the evenfall."

Waverly was relieved when the beach finally came into view. The waters glittered gold from excessive sunlight, but no waves rolled in to make a splash.

"Which do you believe?" She queried.

Even though she was not born then, she had a strong conviction that it was Selene who had calmed Cret. Her mother's voice was the most naturally soothing one she had ever heard, quite similar to that of Queen Daya, but the latter's words seemed to be laced with magic.

"I'm not sure. I'd say Selene, but. . ." Dermot hesitated. "I don't know. She can be a really frightful goddess if she wants to be. I believe her to be soft-spoken, but how could I be certain? I have never met her."

Waverly nodded and said nothing. She knew exactly what it was like to want to believe something without proof. After all, she had once been in Dermot's shoes. It was crippling how easy most people found it to believe that such higher powers were real, but then again, evidence was all around them.

How else would they explain the sun staying up in the sky for an entire season?

"If Cret was appeased back then, why does the NeverEnd continue now?"

Dermot shrugged and walked over to their boat. Waverly helped him untie it. It was an interesting boat carved from very fine wood and designed to transport ten people at once. The delicate patterns Elves were best known for was done in golden inkings across the small prow that jutted out the exterior. It looked more like a baby ship than a boat to Waverly, and despite being so small, the grandness of it reminded her of Estoso.

"Isn't it obvious? She has to keep reminding Nys never to attempt such a feat again."

"But she has only ended up doing the same thing that Nys wanted to do in the first place." Waverly concluded.

Dermot chuckled softly. "The gods! Can we really, truly understand them?"

He grunted as he pushed the boat out to sea with Waverly already standing in it. She took up one of the oars and began to row. Dermot did the same when he jumped aboard.

They were silent for a while until Waverly spoke up again.

"Do you think that Cret is being cruel?"

Dermot squinted his eyes at her, more as a gesture of surprise than an attempt to shut the sunlight out. "Cruel? How do you mean?"

Waverly looked around. They were slowly leaving the beautiful land behind while the sea flanked them from left and right and the mountains towered up ahead. Smaller pieces of land scattered here and there on the water that were joined with the larger piece by a long strip of craggy glade. The atmosphere was peaceful and comfortable save for the ferocious heat.

Waverly remembered Selene warning her never to speak ill of a deity.

But what if they did something wrong? Should they not be scolded for acting like children? Is there none powerful enough to do so?

"She has proven her point, but your kind suffer for it every year. Is that not being cruel?"

It was Dermot's turn to glance around. He looked slightly uncomfortable as if he suspected that Cret was hiding somewhere, eavesdropping.

"I cannot say what is cruel and what is not, but maybe you are right, she indeed proved her point, and Elves have had to pay the price for it, but I think it is a mere trifle compared to what the gods do for us everyday."

"What do they do?" Waverly asked. She knew the answer to this question, but wanted to hear what Dermot's answer would be.

"I think you already know. Look at the fields, the mountains, our land, the animals, the sea, and the sky. Juniper has never once held back the earth from feeding us. Gayl has never seized his waters, Cret has never let us remain in the dark, and Threna brings us rest after a hard day's work. All we can do is be grateful for these things. If it were left in our power, I think the world wouldn't have lasted this long."

"Your race would have done a better job lasting. Mine would not." Waverly commented with a slight frown.

"I cannot even bring myself to argue with that." Dermot replied with a chuckle.

At last, the boat scratched against the sandy beach, and Waverly tied it to a massive boulder. Together, they hiked into the mountain. It was the smallest one around, but Waverly thought it was still bigger than the ones near The Haven.

The sands ended and the ground turned to rock. Dermot walked in front, his boots made a crunching sound with every step. The mountain path was indefinite and one could easily get lost, but it was not completely unfamiliar to Waverly. She had visited a few times. In those parts, nothing grew. All was rock and salty sea water. The least of plants were mushrooms and mold sticking out of the corner of smaller rocks. For the first time, she realized that the mountain was not a place she would want to visit, hence a probable reason why the Elder Elves had concealed the coin shield there.

Just to make sure her theory was correct she asked Dermot about it.

"How long would an Elf survive if he were to be stranded on a mountain like this?"

Dermot turned back briefly. "That's interesting. I wonder what thought has occurred to you to ask that."

Waverly shrugged. "I was just asking for the sake of curiosity."

He nodded. "Then I will answer for that sake. An Elf without experience in yieldless places would not survive a fortnight, whereas an Elf with much experience could build a new life here if he put his mind to it."

She hummed. "That is impressive."

"What took you so long?" Diarmaid's voice boomed from up ahead. "We've been waiting for hours, and hours, and hours under this bloody sun. My hair is charred."

"Don't listen to this buffoon. We only arrived a few hours ago." Brijjet added.

He acknowledged Waverly with a small tap on the shoulder and gave Dermot the same odd handshake she had seen them use over and over.

He was dressed like Diarmaid – hunting trousers, thin dark vest, and slender mountain boots. His bow was in his hand as a walking stick and his green pouch hung from the belt around his waist. Waverly eyed the pouch, half expecting it to protrude like it had done some months ago when it provided them with a magical horn.

"So, what have you found?" She asked Brijjet, but Diarmaid gave her a reply instead.

"This one is no joke. It's god level discovery, seriously." He replied enthusiastically. "We didn't even plan on finding it."

Brijjet rolled his eyes and walked over to Waverly's side. "Remember that green blade of yours?"

"Yes. Karya."

"Well, I'm sure you're aware it was one of sixteen eternal blades owned by Varda, The Cultivator."

Waverly nodded affirmatively.

"We found another kind. It's incredible. It wasn't easy, and Diarmaid had to cut himself to make sure it was really there."

"Of course. Give Diarmaid all the dangerous tasks because he's the strongest." Diarmaid complained.

"Is it anything like Karya?"

Dermot glanced at her in surprise. "You really had one of those blades?"

"Yes, it was a gift, but it. . . it broke. During an accident." She explained.

"How unfortunate." He murmured.

"This one's different." Brijjet contributed. There was a glint of wild excitement in his eyes. "Varda does not have a repeat of weapons. His eternal blades are sixteen different kinds. Only four of them are widely known; The Mink Machete, The Rose Ripper – which was the one you had; The Searing Scythe, otherwise known as The Stainless Sickle, and last, but definitely not least. . ."

Brijjet ran forward, and Waverly jogged after him. Diarmaid and Dermot were already paces ahead. They all halted where an incredible hole in the ground was dug. The earth looked like it had engaged in a fight with the digger, the sand being mostly composed of loose rocks. Sticking out the middle of the hole was the sharp end of a funny looking thing, like a pair of wicked sabre teeth protruding from both sides of a thin, glossy red rod. One part of it was still buried in the moist earth, and if Diarmaid had dug any deeper, he would have unleashed water.

"What is it?" Waverly inquired, peering cluelessly at the weapon.

"It's the legendary Reeding Rod. Varda is said to use it to clear off reeds on the road to Steppe." Dermot said in awe.

"Step pair?" Waverly repeated.

"No, Steppé." Brijjet corrected. "It is the opposite direction to the Edge of Nys. It is where the purest souls go to when they die. Steppe in the Alp tongue means Paradise."

"Then, what is it doing here?" She frowned.

"It was obviously buried ages ago when the souls of men became too tainted with sins to cross over to Steppe. No one was pure enough anymore so Varda buried his rod here."

Waverly appeared alarmed. "If no one goes to paradise anymore and has not gone in thousands of years, do you mean that they are all stashed up in the Edge of Nys?"

Diarmaid laughed. "Geez, of course not. You're very backward on a lot of things. There is a different place where certain souls can go; those who live meritless, yet evil free lives, but no one knows where that place is, or what it is called. We just call it the Timeless Realm. Other than that, souls can get lost if their bodies are burnt and their ashes thrown into the sea. If they are found by Soul Hunters, or Deusa herself, then they at least have a final destination; Steppe, Nys, The Timeless Realm, or The Sacred Space."

"Deusa would not bother searching out lost souls when her Soul Hunters are there to do the work." Brijjet added.

"What do Spirit Hunters do?" Waverly wondered. She feared that the question would affect Brijjet, and immediately regretted asking it, but his countenance did not sour even in the slightest.

"They find lost souls that are meant to cross to Steppe, or into The Timeless Realm. Soul Hunters reel in the ones that are meant for Nys, or The Sacred Space." Dermot replied.

"Okay then. How do we get this thing out of the ground?" Waverly peered at the rod again. "Is it not better to leave it down here?"

"Leave it?" Diarmaid exclaimed. "Over my dead body!"

"Careful!" Brijjet scoffed.

"It is better that we take it away. We might not find it here in a few more years to come. Who knows? Varda might change his mind one day and decide to come retrieve his jolly stick."

"You said it is a godly weapon. Would he not know if you took it?" Waverly inquired in concern.

She felt strangely uncomfortable as if they were overtly picking the pockets of Kanto, the god of thieves, while he watched them, waiting for the right moment to swat at their hands without warning.

"He has fourteen more. He wouldn't bother about an old stick he buried underground ages ago." Diarmaid chuckled.

Waverly noticed his bandaged hands and remembered that he had tried to touch the rod to make sure it was there.

"What part of it gave you that injury?" She asked pointing at his hand.

"The bloody shaft." He wailed as if suddenly realizing. "I tried to lift it and it sliced right through my flesh."

"You should've known better than to try to pick it up." Brijjet said calmly.

"It was you who asked me to make sure it was there anyway. It's your fault." Diarmaid accused.

"How are we to pick it up then?" Waverly inquired curiously.

"Like this." Brijjet offered and gracefully jumped into the hole. He walked right up to the rod, grabbed it and yanked it out of the ground.

Waverly caught Diarmaid rolling his eyes. She gaped and pointed uncertainly from him to Brijjet.

"How was he not able to—"

"The blades of Varda can only be touched or used by one with supernatural blood." Brijjet cut in. "A mere mortal would be cut by it, or it would be rendered ineffective in their hands should they pick it up somehow."

"Brijjet is god's blood. He has permission to touch it." Dermot inputted, staring fixedly at the rod. "Wow, it's mesmerizing."

"Of course it is." Brijjet agreed, climbing out of the hole. "A weapon that clears the path to paradise is supposed to be mesmerizing."

"I would give anything, anything at all, to be able to hold it." Diarmaid shrieked excitedly.

"If you give me a bit of respect, I'll spill my blood on your hands so you can." Brijjet said with a smirk.

"See, now that will be over your dead body." Diarmaid retorted.

Waverly laughed then suddenly stopped. She turned to Brijjet, who seemed to have noticed the sudden change in the atmosphere. The brothers seemed to be oblivious to it, but Brijjet's face told them something was wrong.

In an instant, they were standing next to him poised for defence.

"What is it?" Dermot asked quietly.

"Did any one of you come with your sword?" Brijjet asked in a low voice.

"No!" They both replied, glancing nervously at each other. Waverly could almost hear the silent blame that passed between them.

Brijjet handed his walking stick over to Dermot. "It's Cuki. He's here."

Waverly's eyes bulged. She came forward in disbelief. "What?"

"I told you he's in every mountainside. He knows I'm here." He said bitterly.

"What are you talking about?" Diarmaid asked, his gaze planted on the mountain path that wound endlessly ahead and disappeared in a corner then reappeared afar off, sloping upwards like the trail of a crawling reptile.

The quietness of the mountain unnerved Waverly. It reminded her of the silence that had come right before the Cuish had snuck up on her.

"The sacred bear of Ante. It's here." Brijjet clarified. He rotated the rod in his hand. It looked like he had been using it his whole life.

"The Cuish. Are you serious?" Dermot asked, his eyes widening in shock.

"Yes. When it comes, you do well to keep a good distance away from the end of its spear." Brijjet cautioned.

Waverly took off Calaire, but he inconspicuously shook his head to prevent her.

"No way, we will help." Diarmaid protested.

"The Cuish is—" Brijjet started.

"Undefeated, obscenely strong, and unkillable. We know. We also know now that it cannot be hurt by any blade or weapon unless by its own hands." Dermot finished.

Brijjet flashed a proud grin at his friends.

Just then, the large bear appeared from their right side – armed with its triangle tipped spear, cheek horns, and multiple layered skin. It looked deadlier than ever, and as it approached, it stared with beady eyes at Brijjet, then suddenly his gaze found Waverly.

He roared.

She drew off Calaire, but before her weapon could materialize, Brijjet dumped her inside the gaping hole.

"Hey!" She yelled defiantly.

With a pang, she realized that the hole was even deeper than she had initially thought. Elves were tall, and so to them, it would be a piece of cake to climb out, but she could not even see what was happening.

She cursed and kicked at the ground, impatiently walking around in the pit, listening to the deafening sound of the Cuish roaring and breaking things. A cracking sound came, like the snapping of bones, and Diarmaid yelled out in pain. Dermot grunted as he flew past the hole and over Waverly's head. She knew he would connect with the massive rocks on the other side.

Only Brijjet was left.

Waverly impatiently tapped her fingers against her shorts. The fight between Elf and beast was taking too long. Then, a very fearful sound came. It sounded like bones being smashed and slushed at once.

Waverly covered her mouth, fearing it was Brijjet.

She suddenly remembered that Calaire could materialize into a whip. She lassoed a nearby rock and climbed out of the hole. What she saw made her sigh in relief. Brijjet was holding onto one end of the bear's spear, and the animal held on to the other. The point was buried deep inside its chest. Brijjet's left arm was covered in blood and his hair had come loose entirely. He twisted the spear inside the Cuish's chest, orchestrating the endless sound of breaking bones.

The animal groaned in pain as it lay on the ground – helpless and defeated. On both sides, Dermot and Diarmaid were recovering. They were both bloodied up and beaten. Diarmaid had a broken nose and arm, whilst Dermot had sustained a head injury. They both limped cautiously toward the bear.

Waverly silently walked forward, noticing for the first time that the sun had gone down completely. The wind was picking up and the warmth of afternoon was slowly dispersing.

"Is this normal?" She asked no one in particular.

Brijjet did not lift his head. He was still staring down at the Cuish.

"Look!" Diarmaid gasped.

Everyone did look. The bear slowly melted into orange dust, and as his giant body disintegrated, a set of blazing words burned into the ground one by one in the Alp tongue.

"Deha. . . reweranien ti erñnon éphél blazi. . . broonéi. . . duñnun!" Dermot read quietly.

"Heed a fore warning! The fires of The Crossing burns brightest." Diarmaid translated. He looked at his brother, his face contorting with worry. "What does it mean?"

The words disappeared, leaving the group in silence. Brijjet looked up. His face glistened with sweat and traces of bloodstains.

"We should go back." He stated.

"And ignore whatever just happened right here?" Diarmaid asked. "Did you not read the inscription?"

"I did." He snapped, and the former flinched slightly. "We're going back now, and we're leaving the rod."

He walked toward the pit and threw the rod into it.

Without looking at Dermot, he said, "Help me cover it up."

Dermot stood rooted to a spot. "If there's something you're not telling us, now would be a good time to say it."

Brijjet did not snap, instead, he silently picked up a shovel and began to dump the soil back into the hole.

"What is The Crossing?" Waverly asked.

The tension between the trio had sewed her lips shut. She had never seen them argue, but then again, she had not known them long enough.

"The Crossing is a ritual performed for the dead. It similar to the Human rites of a funeral. It hasn't been done in a very long time except certain occasions where really old Elves pass on." Dermot explained. His tone was testy as if he dared someone to shut him up.

"And now, we've seen a warning about fires of the crossing, but we're just gonna walk away from that." Diarmaid stated.

Dermot walked over to Brijjet, boldly yanked the shovel from his grip, and threw it away. The latter had miraculously covered up to a few feet.

"What are you hiding?" He barked.

Brijjet glared at him. "Nothing. Return the shovel."

"Not until you tell us why that bear sniffed you out and burned a message like that into the ground." Dermot growled.

"That is none of your business." Brijjet snarled. His eyes looked like they would light up at any minute.

"It is my business if it means that someone is about to lose their life. Now tell us what you're hiding."

He pushed Brijjet in the chest. The latter retaliated with an unintentional force that knocked Dermot a long way off. Diarmaid hurried over to his brother and helped him up. They both glared at Brijjet, who was beginning to fume.

"There are a lot of things that either of you won't understand." He said calmly yet his tone bore an edge to it similar to that of the first few sparks from a matchstick.

"Then make us understand. We're supposed to be your friends, aren't we?" Diarmaid protested.

Brijjet sighed. He released his hands which were previously balled into fists.

"I killed Ante." He revealed drowsily.

Diarmaid and Dermot glanced ever so slowly at each other, their faces draining of color.

"You did what?" Dermot asked, his voice barely above a whisper. He sounded like he would choke at any second.

"It's a long story, and I can't tell it all to you right now." Brijjet explained, suddenly sounding urgent. "We have to go. Whatever that message means, it's not good. Her pet followed me all the way here, and that is a bad omen, always has been."

"I don't believe it." Diarmaid said and took a staggering step backwards. His broken arm was nestled in his good one, and his gaze seemed far away. "You murdered a god."

"She would have murdered us first." Waverly interceded. Attention turned to her. "He had no choice. If she succeeded, we never would have made it here."

Dermot tried to peel his eyes off Waverly, but he seemed to lack the willpower. "So, it is true then? He did kill her?"

"She has hunted me since I went missing during that last trip we took to the woods. I was a ten year old Tyro. I didn't know anything. I didn't have anyone, no protection whatsoever. She would've killed me instantly if I didn't at least have a survival instinct."

Diarmaid's eyes narrowed. "But your mother—"

"My mother is a coward." Brijjet shouted.

The brothers looked like they would melt into the ground.

"She left me for dead and didn't care one bit about whether I lived or not. She dumped me with the Nurses, didn't spare a second to know my name, or what I looked like, or if I was fine. She left because a lot of other things were more important than the bastard she delivered."

The wind whistled in Waverly's ears, but she could clearly hear the deep hurt in Brijjet's tone.

"I had to put Ante down for as long as possible. She gave me no other choice."

After a while, Dermot let go of Diarmaid and walked towards Brijjet. The latter's face was twisted as if he was in excruciating pain. Dermot lightly patted him on the shoulder.

"It's alright. This may not be the easiest thing for you, but we're here if you ever need us."

Diarmaid also came over and threw his good arm around Brijjet's shoulder. Dermot turned to Waverly, who was quietly watching them from a distance.

"You haven't killed any gods, have you?"

She shook her head.

"Good. One bad omen is more than enough for today."

Suddenly, a horn blasted from the distance. The sound was so thunderous and terrifying that Waverly's heart leaped into her throat and her body jerked in alarm. The Elves only looked in the direction of the sound then at one another.

"The boat!" They chorused.

Diarmaid and Dermot dashed toward the shovels, picked them up and began to cover up the hole.

Brijjet ran toward Waverly and grabbed her arm. "Get back to your ranks as soon as I let go."

The world blurred around Waverly. Her insides squirmed, and her eyes filled with moist heat. It had been so long since Brijjet ran with her in his grasp. It did not take long before the familiar trees at the back of the forest surrounded her again in a giant blur.

Brijjet's hold firmed on her shoulders as she still staggered from the sudden halt.

"You good?"

She nodded, wanting to ask how he had possibly run across the water, but he was off again before she could talk. There was probably more than one way to get to and back from the mountain.

She slowly raced toward camp and met the biggest commotion yet. Young soldiers were strapping themselves into armor, sheathing swords, retrieving their bows from wooden racks, and falling into the long line behind a trail of horses.

Waverly spotted Chedor atop one horse, shouting orders at everyone in the Elvish tongue, and luckily, his zipping gaze did not land on her. She scurried past Elves as she made a beeline for her room.

Phyllis was the only one there, pulling at a metal shield that was stuck halfway under Ceylon's bunk.

"Help me!" She groaned.

She was dressed in full red and black armor, and for the first time, Waverly realized how beautiful she was. Her chest plate had the word Tyro on it in black threads.

Waverly yanked on the shield with her and it came free. "What is going on?"

"Get into your armor. Quickly!" Phyllis ordered.

"I-I do not have one." She claimed with outspread arms.

"Your brain is full of spittle!" The Elfin exclaimed and pointed toward the latter's bunk. "There! You've been sleeping on it."

Waverly lunged for her bed and lifted the mattress. Lying underneath was a piece of neatly folded armor with black and red vambraces, protective knee plates, and a short black cape.

"Quick! Put it on! The scouts called for backup. There's a full scale attack going on now and we have to help." Phyllis hurried.

She aided Waverly in donning her armor and strapped the right pieces to the right places. When all was in place, Waverly felt protected. The armor was so lightweight that she could not even feel it.

"Where's your sword?" Phyllis asked, rushing outside.

They ran past a weapons rack and Waverly picked up a random sword and shield. Outside, the troop was beginning to move in the fastest march possible. Horses galloped in front while the Tyros followed on foot.

Phyllis put on a small strange helmet that pressed both sides of her hair to her temples and shielded everything on her face with an exception of her eyes.

"I did not get a helmet." Waverly stated, feeling a bit jealous.

"I made it myself." Phyllis panted. "Regent helped."

"Oh! Where is Havilah?" She asked, peering around at the forty something or so faces that ran lightly next to her.

"She went scouting with the othersa."

Waverly felt a thousand knots tie in her stomach. Her palms felt sweaty despite the growing wind. She wondered what kind of attack was taking place, but prayed that every single member of the scout was safe.

"Where exactly are we going?" She asked when view of the Almshouse blurred past. They were marching away from it, away from the town, and into a very dense forest.

"Northern border. The bridge of Bridge."

"How long will that take us?"

Phyllis shrugged. Her expression was hidden by her helmet. "Not so long. We'll be there soon."

Then she whispered in a low, yet very worried tone. "Please, be alright."

Leaving Waverly to wonder exactly who the Elfin referred to.