"Get out," the Civil Guard commanded in a gruff voice. His hands never left the black stick jutting from his belt. The blue coat was a sore sight, but Malin clenched his jaw and crawled out of the cart. "Kneel."

Pain exploded at the back of his knees when he hadn't complied in time. The force threw him forward, his wrists scratching against the cobblestones as they caught his weight. Before he could stand, pressure built on his back. A boot. Maybe.

The Civil Guard's bulk shielded most of the sunlight poking Malin's eyeball. A small mercy at that. He squirmed against the pressure pinning him to the ground but froze when he heard the distinct click of the safety being clicked off. It's the same sound he heard over and over again in the battle in the Royalty region. According to the reports his sister gave him, it's the same sound that killed their father.

Sweat broke out from his hairline, soaking his cheeks so much they could have been tears. Or maybe he was already bawling his eyes out. Who knew? A single thought went through his head—I am going to die. I am going to die.

"Do not worry about this vermin, Sir," the Civil Guard addressed the merchant. "We deal with them almost every day. Life is hard when we have to earn versallis, am I right?"

Shadows danced in Malin's limited vision, followed by a frantic scuffle. The merchant must have hopped back into his cart, flicked the reins controlling the ashpedis pulling it along, and rode off. Nobody really stays for the execution. They just like the idea of it.

Something metallic pressed against the back of his head, the cold seeping past the strands of matted blond hair. He didn't need to have an eye there to imagine the Civil Guard hovering a finger near the trigger. It's another form of torture—giving one's target little to no time to think about which moment would be their last.

Malin relaxed his limbs and let his stomach grind against the cobblestones. It didn't matter anyway. He came here to rescue people and bring them back to the Temple, but even that plan seemed to be frowned upon by the gods. Even though he didn't believe in them, nor did the teachings of the Temple, it's easy to just give up and blame them. Because the alternative was blaming himself.

And it's true. If not for his big ego and need to do something for himself, to prove he wasn't as ignorant as others claim him to be, he jumped into that narrowing space and found himself in another universe of trouble. Well, joke's on him. It's a sign of immaturity he tried desperately to avoid.

So, he closed his eyes and forced his balled fists to splay open. The Civil Guard wouldn't see it as a merit for mercy, and Malin was aware of that. A sign of surrender—that's what it was.

The mechanisms of the rifle clinked. The muzzle pressed harder against his skull. Malin prepared to open his eyes to meet his father in Pidmena's embrace. A huge explosion blasted in his ears, reviving a sharp ringing in them. He curled into himself, then paused halfway.

He wasn't dead.

How was that possible? The rifle definitely went off. He wrenched his eyes open to find a veil of haze rising from the ground. It enveloped most of his form. Dancing as a dark shadow in the distance, the Civil Guard cursed and swiped his rifle against the cloud. What...what's going on?

"Get up," the same words bled past the static in his ears. This time, it sounded more urgent than damning. He turned to find a person with a festival mask over their face. The feathers and barely-glued sequins swayed with every motion of their head. "Follow me."

Malin had no idea what's happening, but if this person was responsible for smoking the entire area and didn't seem concerned about the Civil Guard cursing at the haze, they must be here for him. The cloud wouldn't last long, so Malin straightened and stalked deeper into the veil in search of his rescuer.

"Who are you?" he called after the lump of clothes trotting over the cobblestones and seemed to be heading somewhere west. Back to the forest? Why? Wasn't that more guarded with the amount of raids done on the nobles' estates? "Where are you taking me?"

No reply. The Civil Guard's frustrated cries had faded to nothing but faint whispers, and the haze, to mere wisps curling between his legs. Now that he could see clearer and the ringing had faded in his hearing, he could make out a plait of reddish-brown hair fluttering behind his guide like a flag with a hidden meaning. His legs pumped faster in an attempt to catch up to them.

They passed through the line where cobblestones ended and the compact forest soil started. That's when it clicked. He squinted past the curve of the festival mask and noted the delicate curve of her jaw, the full lips he used to see cracked wide whenever she talked about trees, and the button nose Pilqen seemed to have an issue about.

"Ela?!" he blurted when it all clicked.

The girl reached up and slid her mask up. It was Elazie alright. She grinned at him. "Took you a while, genius," she said. "Now that you have answered your first question, I shall labor to answer your second."

"Why do you talk like Ymbril?" Malin interjected before frowning. "No. Not even Ymbril spoke like that. Should I ask?"

Ela didn't look impressed. "Here I thought playing the role of a sage guide would be fun," she pouted. Then, she fixed her features and slowed her pace down. Malin had to follow and they stopped underneath the shade of a klaire tree. The long leaves resembling spindly fingers reaching for the ground made Malin's gut recoil for a bit.

"We are going to the estate we found and have been using as a fortress of some sort for the past few days," Ela chewed on her lip and tilted her head at Malin. "Although, as far as I know, you are not part of the units that went out that day."

He wasn't, but it's not like he would say it aloud. He had enough humiliation for the day. "How many are there?" he asked, meaning how many people would he have to figure out how to sneak past all the Civil Guards and Synketrians masquerading in front of the Temple. "How did you survive all this time?"

They started walking again, this time, a pace slower and a direction more crooked. The canopies blocking most of the afternoon sun couldn't have done their job better. Even then, sweat doused Malin's back, arms, and neck. A scratchy feeling gripped his throat. His stomach never really stopped whining for food. He just got better at ignoring it.

"There are enough of us," Ela answered. Not exactly a good estimate but Pilqen's not the only one who was hopeless at arithmetic. "We make do with the supplies we bought before the siege."

The last word piqued Malin's interest. "You know about it as well?"

Ela looked at him like he asked her if Crozal had crimson rays. "Information is peddled across the region like sempervivum," she said. "It is only a matter of time before every rock in this forest hears about it."

Of course. Synketros, like Cardovia, was obsessed with getting a message out in the most flair possible. They also liked making good on their threats, so the more people who knew what they're capable of, the better.

"You would not believe it," Ela added, jerking her head towards a small villa tucked between thin trunks and light green undergrowth. "But look at who is waiting for you."

Malin raised his eyes from the ground to the red-railed gates before settling on two forms bounding past a door thrown open. He flashed an incredulous look at Ela. "Are those...?"

Pilqen's gray-white hair bounced against his forehead as his fingers wrapped around the rails like a prisoner would. "Malin!" he cried. "I swear I will never be annoyed at you ever again! Just do not leave us!"

Rathas reached out and slapped the boy upside the head. "What fake tears," he clicked his tongue, jutting a hip against his. "Scoot. Let me open the gates."

Malin could only blink at the whole development in front of him. He must have swallowed the wrong vial in the cart earlier. This dream was getting more and more ridiculous. "What are you doing out here?" he demanded, following Ela as she slipped past the small gap Rathas made with the gates. Within a few steps, the sound of the locks clicking shut resounded. "How did you even find each other?"

"We went to find Ela, mind you," Rathas answered. "You just happened to spur us into action when you defied Ymbril like that. You looked awesome doing that, by the way."

Malin didn't know what to answer, so he focused on putting one foot in front of the other as they combed past the manicured path winding towards the front door of the estate. It seemed to belong to a lesser noble or just a really wealthy merchant or business owner with its simple and shorter build. Even the fences didn't sport a single sort of protective spell mixed with the bricks. No wonder it was raided first.

"We found each other by not getting caught," Pilqen added, answering Malin's question which Rathas left dangling in the air between them. Together, they tramped past the small set of steps and stepped inside the estate. A cubical room, furnished to the brim, greeted them, along with at least twelve temple people belonging to Ela's unit, sitting on the lush cushions or on the patterned rugs as if they've lived here all their lives. Were all of them sent to retrieve all kinds of supplies for the Temple? Wow.

"Make yourself at home as best as you can," Ela instructed.

Malin frowned, noticing one off detail. "Are we sure we are able to gather everyone?" he whirled to Ela who paused in her strides. "Were units usually more than twenty?"

A dark cloud passed across Ela's face. She pursed her lips. "We tried finding the rest. We are still trying, but..." she stalked towards what seemed to be the kitchen, letting her sentiment die out as if she couldn't find the strength to finish it. She jerked her chin at Malin. "That is how I found you at the end of a Civil Guard's rifle. Consider it a coincidence."

He could only nod. "A huge one at that," he replied, chewing on his lip. That's when he noticed most of the workers in her unit were their age. Just children sent by the Temple to do the heavy lifting. And with how they seemed to follow Ela as she bustled in the kitchen, they all looked at her like a leader. What right did Malin have to intrude on that? He didn't even know these people. The Temple was the only thing he had in common with them.

Another uncomfortable thing nagged at the back of his mind. With everyone in the room not past the age of twenty, did that mean the rest of the adults were cooped up inside with Ymbril? Have they traded the lives of children for the barrier? Malin didn't know what to feel about that. What went through Ymbril's mind when she was pushed to a corner such as this? Being a High Priestess certainly meant having to make hard choices like this one.

The sound of pans banging on metal stoves erupted from the kitchen. Malin sucked in a breath and watched Pilqen and Rathas settle on the floor and began entertaining the smaller children. "What do we do when we gather everyone?" he blurted. He felt eyes from all over the room swivel towards him.

Ela shrugged. "We only plan to hide out here until the siege dies down or the Temple surrenders," she raised her eyebrows in his direction. "You are welcome to join us."

Hearing that come out of Ela's mouth sounded so wrong. Malin tilted his head to one side. "Should we not go back to the Temple and help them?" he challenged. "Help Ymbril?"

Ela looked away. She seemed to glance at Pilqen and Rathas for support, but they too found the dusty floorboards of the estate interesting. "I do not see how children like us can in a battle meant for adults," she said. "I am sure the High Priestess and her advisers can figure it out."

She had a point, but Malin refused to stand by for the second time while everything crashed and burned around him. "We should go back," he insisted. "We owe the Temple that much for taking us in when we have nowhere to go."

Silence reigned in the room. No one mustered up the courage to meet his eyes. Malin's fists clenched at his sides. "The Temple has been our home, and it saved us when no one would," he said. "Now, it is our turn to try and save it back. Our time has come."

"Even if we wanted to go back, how?" Rathas shot up, gaining the attention of the other workers and even Ela, herself. He waved a frustrated hand towards the air around him. "Ymbril has locked the entire Temple. I am no scholar but I know a complicated spell when I see one. Letting us in can introduce a whole lot of problems for the High Priestess later on."

A good argument. Malin would never put it past Rathas to come up with one. There's a reason why their tutors always confused them and were only to tell them apart by the color of their eyes. "How about this?" Malin urged the rest of the children to gather in the middle of the living room, his mind whirring with the beginnings of a dangerous plan. "We will do a group by group approach and disguise ourselves as merchants. How much versallis do we still have?"

Ela jerked her chin at a girl with two tails of hair hanging from the sides of her head. Doubt still clouded her features, but at least, she's willing to hear him out. They waited as the girl rummaged around the familiar bag of versal issued by the Temple. "Combining every bag issued to our unit and from other units we gathered the past few days," she answered. "We have at least a hundred thousand grena."

Malin bobbed his head in acknowledgement. "More than enough to fill a cart with supplies the Temple would need anyway," he looked around at the set of dubious glares he kept receiving. He blew a breath and shoved his fingers into his tangled hair. "Look, I am not asking you to lay down your lives for the Temple. Nobody has to get hurt if we are careful and keep an eye on each other. Think of getting supplies to the Temple as our way of helping them, hmm?"

Ela scratched the back of her ear. "Fine," she said in a tone that could either be defeat or resignation. Maybe she thought Malin was someone whose mind couldn't be changed once he settled on something. Or maybe she's wrestling with the same guilt and indecision as Malin was. "I would rather have a Temple to go back to than not."

Just like that, the rest of the people in the room nodded their agreement. Even Pilqen and Rathas, forever head over heels with Ela, seemed convinced. Malin tried to not let it get to him. He should be glad he was able to get his friends on board, even if he had to do it with Ela's indirect help.

"Well then," he rubbed his hands together, feeling more than dread climbing up his throat, blocking most of the air passing through his esophagus. "Let us start."