It dawned on him he's in the middle of a war when the brick building he was just passing through exploded into a shower of dust and mortar. His arms flew to his head, the fear pounding in his gut accentuated by the screams rising around him. He ran through the chaos, bumping into forms and pushing some into the way of incoming flames streaking across the sky.

Cobblestones cracked and popped from the ground, creating perfect spots to trip. He lost count of how many times he had to right himself up before he fell face-first. Alert voice called through the noise of the world crumbling, ushering the people into a place of refuge. Somewhere underground? Maybe. That's not his goal, though.

He had to make it to that alley before the timetellers strike the first hour of the third quarter. The five-hundred versallis wasn't going to last him longer than a thousand would. Gods, if the contractor pulled out because of this stupid war, he'd hunt those orange curls down until not a single one was left on this island. He needed money, and that man's foolish enough to make a deal with him.

Silver slashed from his left, and he dodged—saved only by the nimble feet he developed over the years of running away from those who wanted him dead. A colorful wing zipped past his periphery, reminding him of a nonsense painting he had an eye for once. His heart leaped to his throat. A varichria? What's the keiju doing here? Of all places?

Oh, right. This was the Human-Fairy War. There's no other reason.

He ducked under the slash that would have lopped his head off. He rolled out of the way of another blazing spell marking the end of its trajectory on the spot inches from his boots. Smoke stung his eyes, and the smell of burning stone and wood assaulted his nose. The sky vanished under spells of pink, gold, and green. Every so often, forms with skins tinged green zipped across the plumes of uprooted dust and billowing fog, pummeling unsuspecting humans or dragging them back into the chaos.

The humans retaliated in their own way. Somewhere through the haze, soldiers wearing the same armor as the people in the general's camp rushed into the fray, shouting at the top of their lungs. Some managed to skewer a winged creature or two, but most were stuck in a locked battle of blades and spells, staying on equal footing with their enemies. Metal clanged against its kind, sparks joining the fiery embers in painting the air amber.

A wet splotch rang behind him, and he turned to find a form crumpling to the ground. Glassy eyes stared up to the heavens, reaching out to a god who wouldn't save them. A gash ripped from their gut to their neck, killing them before they bleed out. Slowly, he raised his eyes to the armored fairy standing over the corpse. Hard, gem-like eyes glinted against the veil of haze. Then, it went for him. For his blood.

A curse flitted out of his lips as he turned tail and sprinted straight into the chaos. He'd lose any pursuers through this path, but that doesn't mean he's safe from harm. Something slammed from behind, and he fell forward against it. Thick, warm liquid flowed down his arms and nape. It took him a split second to realize it's blood. Buckets of it.

With an undignified yelp, he shed the corpse from him and scrambled deeper into the mass of forms and swinging blades. Overhead, spells collided and exploded into a shower of shards and fire. He gathered his cloak in his hands. He'd rather not let it get trampled on. The alleys were unfamiliar, but he only needed to get to the town square so he could meet the general by the fountain. If he had the versallis, he could forget everything he saw today and pretend he didn't care whether the world messed with itself or not. The fountain. He just had to make it to the fountain.

He swerved into a narrower alley, grateful for the darkness and the absence of raining mortars and sprinkling debris. He could catch his breath here. Or not. Because voices peeled off in the immediate distance, with one sounding like his contractor. The clatter of blades followed suit, lacing through the dialogue they exchanged.

The thief pressed himself into the walls and peered into the corner. What he witnessed didn't make sense. There was his contractor, the general with orange curls, weaving in and out of the blows of another man. This one had straight hair, a complexion paler than a cloud, and ears that stuck out from the side of his head farther than normal. It's a face the thief had seen before.

Orange Curls crossed swords with the second general—the one who had the item the thief was supposed to deliver today.

Whatever this was, the thief seemed to have been caught in the middle of it, whether he liked it or not.

"Look at you, believing you are the sole heir to the throne," the dark-haired man hissed, driving Orange Curls back. "You are nothing but a pest, Losan Canraren."

Orange Curls, or Losan, scoffed. "Remind me why the throne was found in your tent," he hissed. "In your person? Clinging to it as if it's yours. You are the pest, Malxis Helgase."

Canraren. Helgase. It should be familiar, but the thief's head remained empty. He oscillated from the corner. Should he put a stop to it? What would he do? Wave the crest in front of their faces? The world beyond this alley was hell, and if he's not careful enough, this hidden respite might become his doom as well.

His teeth dug against his lip. No time to lose. If he didn't help Losan, he wouldn't get his versallis. Ever.

That's what speared through his mind as he leaped past his corner and raised the crest in the air. "Stop!" he yelled, his voice carrying up to the end of the alley.

Both men followed his order, more out of shock than reverence. Losan's eyes widened at the sight of the object resting in the thief's palm. "What are you doing?" he demanded. "Get that away from here! Run, if you have to. It cannot—"

He didn't get to finish as a sword tip ripped through his chest, stabbed from behind. The dark-haired man, Malxis, grinned while he straddled Losan's quivering form. "Do not look away from a fight, friend," Malxis hissed. "I suppose you can thank your little thief for providing the perfect distraction."

"You...can never defeat me, Malxis," Losan blubbered. Blood spurted from his lips, dribbling down his chin and neck. His limbs started losing their fight, drooping towards the ground. "I swear on Daexis' name—your dynasty will not get the Warseeker."

Of course, nothing happened. Not a strange whisper in the wind or a flash of magic to enact the oath. Within seconds, Losan's head fell forward. He moved no more.

The thief was more devastated at the prospect of his profit evaporating into thin air, but all of that went out the window when Malxis yanked his sword out of Losan's form, discarding the latter like a used rag. Losan's lifeless form landed with a dull thump on the sidewalk, the end of Malxis' cloak brushing against the general's face like a seductive lover.

And Malxis' green eyes never left the thief's.

"Hello, my friend," Malxis hefted his sword, dropping into a stance. "Let us defy Daexis, shall we?"

He lunged.

The thief clambered backwards, arms flailing to keep his hold on the crest, flounder away from the crazed man with a sword, and somehow evade the blade rushing towards him. He did the first two, but fate had other plans. His vision burned with nothing but the blade's tapered point whizzing towards him. It's over. It's over. It's—

His world melded into a blur of brown and red. A strong grip clamped around his arm. Metal skidded past his cheek, and when he looked back, he glimpsed the reddest hair he had ever seen. It fluttered with the wind when the woman who dragged him away swung her short dagger and met Malxis' blade again.

"Who are you?!" Malxis demanded through gritted teeth. "You have nothing to do with this fight!"

Because of the shadows brought by the towering brick buildings, the sharp glint in her aquamarine eyes turned more malicious. "I have everything to do with it, palyanske," she said.

Malxis' eyes widened in rage at being called a child in Ylanenla, no less. He lurched forward, sword swiping in a huge arc. As if knowing the outcome of that swing, the woman stepped out of the way and drove the pommel of her blade sideways. Her fist hit the side of Malxis' head, and they watched as the treacherous general crumpled to the ground, unconscious.

The woman sighed through her nose and stuck her dagger into the empty scabbard by her belt. Then, she turned to the thief. "Thank the gods I was able to find you on time," she said. "Now, come with me."

Before he could ask what's going on, the woman turned and crept back to the war happening around them. Both of the generals of the human resistance were just incapacitated—one, permanently—so the thief had no idea how they were able to withstand such an organized attack from the keijuis.

"Wh—do you have Losan's promised versallis for me?" he shouted after the woman who weaved through the haze and chaos as if she was the one orchestrating all of it. Their path was the cleanest one, with not a spot of debris or spell crossing it. What kind of sorcery was this?

Instead of answering, the woman spent the next half an hour striding towards the forest which crept out of nowhere. Who knew if they were still in Jatoma? The thief surely didn't.

Under the shade of a tree with clumped white leaves and striped trunks, the woman halted and faced the thief. "What is your name?" she asked.

A different sound rumbled from his brain and throat, but what came out was, "Kensa."

The woman cocked an eyebrow. "Family name?"

It was a sore topic, but he closed his eyes with a sigh. "Jarmez," he said. "My name is Kensa Jarmez."

"Pleased to make your acquaintance, Kensa," the woman said. She touched her chest in a solemn gesture, no matter how facetious it was. "I am called Rutoria."

"Family name?" Kensa prodded.

Rutoria snorted. "Arbitrary," she said. "What is important is the object in your hands. If you give it to us, we will make sure your race is safe. I cannot guarantee the end of this war, nor Jatoma being revived, but what I can swear by Daexis' name is that the humans need not perish because of greedy men and foolish wars."

Kensa knew that, but a part of him wanted to hoard the crest unless compensated richly. "What is going on here, really?" he asked. A stray breeze rattled the undergrowth, driving the flat hair off his forehead. "Why did I just watch Losan Canraren get killed off by his comrade? Who in Emeria's stockings is Malxis Helgase?!"

Maybe it was the fear and panic talking, but the urge to punch something and damage his hand in the process had never been strong. It's just so...messed up. Everything was. He agreed because he thought this was a clean mission. Nothing else. It turned out to be one giant soggy lindenmere dropped into his lap.

"Let me introduce you to Noreen Elrieth first," Rutoria said, driving a spot in the undergrowth to reveal a man with jet black hair, pointed ears, and skin paler than the tree's white leaves. "He is an ice sprite general in charge of the underground relocation."

Kensa couldn't care less—the keijuis' matters were their own and no one else's—but even the persecution of their own kind didn't escape the humans' notice at this point in the war. No wonder the ice sprites wanted to move away. It's a circus crapshow on the surface.

"And what does this object have to do with that?" Kensa waved the crest in the air, noticing the grooves it excavated on his palm from gripping it too hard. "What do I have to do with that?"

"That is the Warseeker," Rutoria explained. "With its power to neutralize every conflict, every ongoing use of magic, and even break the continuous flow between magic and its caster, it earned its name at the right time. All souls will want to seek its power, and if it is handled wrongly, if it is destroyed, the entire human race goes with it. Do you understand now?"

Something about extremely powerful objects and the eternal greed of people. Of course. Kensa was no stranger to it. "If I give you the crest," he ventured, tilting his head to one side. "What is in it for me?"

It's the question, truly, and if Kensa was troubled and if he almost died, he deserved the least bit of compensation.

Rutoria didn't appear angry or offended. She just crossed her arms and blew a breath. "You will not get anything apart from the five hundred versallis Losan gave you," she said. "The contract expired at his untimely death, may he rest in Pidmena's embrace. So, give us the Warseeker before I force it out of you."

Kensa wanted to tuck it back to his pocket and run, but he had seen the woman move. It's as if she had the eye of the gods with her, never missing a mark because she knew when and where it would come. The ice sprite general looked like he knew how to use a sword too. Kensa was outnumbered, and well...out-magicked.

Five hundred was a good enough amount. Sure. He'd take that. If it meant he'd be away from this headache, he'd gladly rescind his rights to it.

"Fine," he chucked the throne towards Rutoria who didn't seem the least bit surprised by his brash action or by his sudden change of heart. "You can have it."

Rutoria smiled. "You have done your race a great service," she said. "You will be greatly rewarded."

Kensa scoffed. "I was not one to believe in gods," he said. "I am out of here."

He stepped away, but didn't finish when a burning pain erupted in his gut. With quivering lips, he looked down to find Noreen Elrieth's sword sticking out of him. No way. This wasn't—

Rutoria placed a hand over the crest, muttering a spell under her breath. A veil floated over the object, before melding over its every groove. Then, she started speaking to Kensa in a gibberish language. "You won't understand it now, but there will come a time when you will," she drew closer and stared into Kensa's fading vision without batting an eyelid. "Noreen will take your name and start a royal line in honor of your sacrifice. It must seem unfair, but trust me—it's meant to happen. Rather, it should happen, if we want to see a world and a future for the many."

It's unfair—how fate played with Kensa's life. That's the last thought dwelling in the thief's mind before the darkness came alive and ate his entire being up.