Matthew Corso
Prologue:
Two swords clashed, a vibrant green blade against a subtle scarlet one. Maethius poured his grit into this clash, being the standstill he had worked for years to achieve. Syrathe, whose stance remained balanced behind his red blade, challenged his brother’s enthusiasm with a flat, yet calculated expression. Putting more power into the impasse he created, Maethius slid his sword up Syrathe’s in an attempt to break the idleness in his favor by going for a downward slice. Upon doing so, Syrathe seized Maethius’ enthusiasm and overly extended wind up to sweep his left foot, leading Maethius to immediately lose his balance. Syrathe then followed up with an upward slice, knocking the Emerald Blade out of Maethius’ hands and making him fall on his back.
“What the hell was that?!” Maethius said, as he sat himself back up to look at Syrathe directly, dusting himself off.
“Same thing that happens every time we do this, you think get an edge and then all forethought goes out the window,” Syrathe replied, staring down at Maethius condescendingly, before reaching out his hand. “I’ve told you about the same thing for over 2 years now, forethought supersedes action.”
“Well thanks for the reminder, but maybe you don’t need to constantly kick me down to prove your point.”
“Then simply don’t make me.” Syrathe said, with the two brothers momentarily staring daggers at one another. “Come on, let’s go home, mom’s probably worrying about us sparring for this long.” The boys calmed down and left their arena to make their way back home. They exited their usual sandy rectangle and made their way south towards the village proper.
Making their way through the grassy fields, they finally found themselves in the presence of the rows of wooden houses that they called home. As they continued walking, they heard the distant laughter of children who carelessly played, the grunts of the guard practicing in their areas in the empty plazas in the village, and the mindless chitchat between residents as they went about their day. As they finally made their way through the path, they finally arrived at their house at the southernmost point.
Making their way up the hill which it rested on, Maethius placed his hand on the oak door and slowly creaked it open as they made their way inside. As they entered, the interior hallway was ominously dim, the usually colorful walls being much more muted than what Maethius expected. What happened here? Maethius thought to himself, as he continued through the house. They walked forwards to the kitchen on the other side, and as soon as both of them stepped inside, the lights suddenly burst open as they saw their mother, proudly displaying a white multi-tiered cake with large “18” candles on the top of the wooden table to her right.
“Happy birthday!” their mother screamed, joy erupting from her gleeful expression. “Today is the day you become a man!” Maethius looked around the room, green ribbon-like banners spanning against the cream-colored walls, the whole table covered in a colorful plastic cloth, and the room emanating with an inexplicable warmth.
“To celebrate this milestone, the boys in the Bastion and I wanted to prepare a special gift,” their mother explained, gesturing to her right for them to go to the backyard. As Maethius and the others went outside, he saw the Bastion’s leader, Hershaw, alongside the other Bastion members and villagers conversing. The whole backyard was filled to the brim with people from the village. Children playing yard games, Bastion members comfortably sitting with a half-empty pitcher, and varying people enjoying the festivities. Hershaw and the nearby group of people then presented Maethius with a gift box, neatly wrapped in mint paper with a forest-green bow.
“You’ve been such a big help for the Bastion of Ferig, please accept this as thanks for your continued support of our town’s security,” Hershaw explained, giving the box over to Maethius. Opening up the package, Maethius took out an emerald-colored jacket with thick, white arm guards and sturdily sewn buttons running down the middle. Maethius enthusiastically put it on and felt the warmth of the many people who put their time and love into it.
“Thank you… so much,” Maethius warmly said, his gratitude plastered over his face.
“Now we both seem to have one,” Syrathe said. “Although I think it looks better in red.”
“How about it looks good regardless,” their mother replied. “Anyway, on behalf of everyone in Ferig, please accept this to mark this very important milestone.”
Maethius felt the fabric softly caress his skin as a wave of emotions ran over him, his joy morphing into a sentimental feeling that started to make his eyes well up. The conflicting emotions on his face led him to fall to his knees as the emotional waves started to become more powerful. Suddenly, globs of tears started raining down as a small cry evolved to him weeping uncontrollably.
“There, there,” their mother calmly said, crouching to Maethius’ level and patting his back. “Today’s a happy day, there’s no need for tears.”
“I… know…” Maethius weakly replied, mustering the strength to close the floodgates of his eyes. He slowly rose up and wiped his tears to enjoy the festivities. Everyone then turned their attention to the cake, who someone brought out, which sat on the large, circular table. The candles’ flames softly illuminated the sky which started to wane into the night. As everyone took a slice, they all sang a song to celebrate the festivities.
About an hour later, as everyone became more settled into the party, Hershaw approached Maethius in an all-too-familiar stooper and sat next to him in a very carefree manner. “You know Maet,” Hershaw gleefully exclaimed, a poignant odor of beer wafting from his breath. “You two are such a valuable asset to the village. Those Obsidian Empire assholes don’t know who they’re messing with!”
“Yeah…” Maethius sheepishly replied. “It’s definitely nice to be safe from them.”
“You can say that again!” Hershaw joyfully responded. “They keep sending their troops and we keep fightin’ them off! They can’t throw us anything we can’t handle!”
“It’s nice to feel protected.”
“Especially when they keep coming so we can keep kicking their asses!”
Maethius noticed his face becoming increasingly warm as Hershaw drunkenly rambled about their accomplishments. The more Hershaw prattled on, the more Maethius’ body started to slowly tremble. His breathing quickened, and he slowly inched away from Hershaw to exit the conversation. As he tried to get up, Hershaw grabbed his arm with a tight grip. Maethius felt his arm jerk backwards as he continued to breathe heavily.
“Where are you going?” Hershaw asked.
“I’m sorry, I just need to take a lap,” Maethius softly replied.
“No need to get green around the gills, it’s a party! You should be enjoying yourself!”
“I know, I just don’t want to think about that right now.”
“Okay, okay, just don’t be too long.”
“I won’t,” Maethius quietly replied. As he stood up, he noticed Syrathe on the other side of the yard and briskly walked over to him. As he came closer, Maethius saw him conversing with some members of the Bastion, his demeanor much looser by the half cup of beer he was holding.
“As I was saying,” Syrathe explained, carelessly waving with his half-full cup around. “In terms of swordsmanship and technique, there’s no one in this village who has yet to match me, let alone best me.”
“And I’m sure in terms of humility, no one can come close to the ego.” Maethius replied.
“Listen here,” Syrathe said, directing his attention to Maethius. “Every sparring match we did ends the same way it started: you enthusiastically declaring that you’ll be victorious and me inevitably humbling you in the end.”
“Yeah, you definitely seem as humble then as you do now.”
“In any respect, the point being is that like you, I possess skills that are invaluable to the village.” Syrathe eloquently responded, slumping back into his seat and taking another sip. “But I just so happen to have the gift of forethought.”
The two of them went back and forth trading insults for the next few minutes until suddenly, a distant, booming noise swept across the village. The party went quiet in an instant with everyone immediately jumping on-guard. Maethius, Syrathe, and the rest of the Bastion reflexively grabbed their weapons, and everyone started seeing what the commotion was. Maethius looked out into the distance from the side of the house and noticed an ominously glowing light as faint, inaudible yelling could be heard from the northern part of the village.
“RAID!!!!!” a far-off Bastion member yelled. “Captain Hershaw! We need to go!!”
Hershaw’s gleeful and lax demeanor immediately stiffened up as he saw the panic wash over everyone’s expressions. He stepped onto the table and started directing everyone in the yard.
“Alright people! You know the drill: civilians in their homes!” Hershaw announced. “Bastion members including Syrathe and Maethius all follow me so we can meet our uninvited guests!” In a flash, all the members started flooding out of the backyard by leaping over the fence to make their way to the fast-moving blaze.
“Maethius! Syrathe!” their mother shouted, stopping the two before they could follow everyone else. She quickly approached them, putting a hand on each of their shoulders.
“I know you have to go, but please know that, whatever happens, you two are the most treasured things in my life,” she said, poorly holding back tears.
“I know,” Maethius said, fear trembling in his words. “We’re going to do this like every other time, and it will all be okay.”
“Maethius, I’m so glad you got to join our family,” she said. “And Syrathe, I couldn’t have asked for a better son to raise.”
Maethius and Syrathe embraced their mother, a nervous pain felt in their chests.
“Mom,” Syrathe said. “Please don’t cry, we’ll handle this the same way we’ve done for years now.”
“I-I’m aware,” their mother said. “But I never know which of these will be the last times we’ll be saying it.” Their mother roped her arms over the two of them, a splash of tears watering them coupled with the sound of faint weeping.
“Now please go and make Ferig proud,” she said, “Do it for everyone here and those we’ve lost to those wretched invaders.”
After saying their goodbyes, Maethius and Syrathe followed the rest of the Bastion towards the north gate of the village to counter the invading forces. Passing through the village, the wooden houses that lined the path were painted with an unsettling hue, illuminated by a foreign flame. People could be seen from the windows, moving all possible furniture to block the doors, sights of fear and dread plastered over their faces. The muffled crying of the children inside filled the air as the two brothers charged towards the north, with the light only growing larger and brighter with every inch forward.
Finally arriving at the scene, Maethius witnessed a horrific sight: the forests leading out of town crashing in cinders as the foreboding force marched inwards, clad in black uniforms with silver emblems on their chests. The blaze behind the dozen soldiers made their shadows grow monstrously large, and the helmets which obscured their faces only layered the compounding fear in Maethius’ stomach. The man leading them continued walking forward until Hershaw stopped him, putting his machete in their face.
“You got a lot of nerve being here tonight of all nights!” Hershaw said. “I take it you’re the lead asshole here?!”
The man leading the group raised his hand, signaling his troops to halt. He then calmly went to his belt and took out a scroll which he then slowly and meticulously unfurled. On the man’s belt, Maethius noticed an ornate dagger on the man’s right side, its bronze blade reflecting the light created by the incoming party.
“I said! Who the hell are you, and why the hell are you here?!” Hershaw asked, seething anger pouring from his words. The other 15 Bastion members gripped their weapons with anticipation as the invaders’ leader finally unrolled the paper and held it taught.
“By decree of his majesty, the emperor,” the leader said, “I, Captain Fioley of the Obsidian Empire, come here to claim the person bearing a crest.”
“Bearing a crest?” Hershaw angrily asked.
“Precisely,” Fioley said. “During my travels, I was made aware of one with a crest bearing a green sword who I was informed to be residing here.”
Maethius attempted to sidle behind the Bastion members, his fear rapidly growing into immense terror. The professional demeanor in which Fioley conducted himself, his articulate and precise speech, the noble, yet foreboding armor he was clad in, and the ominous silver emblem of a diamond within a diamond on his chest which was the only point of contrast that Maethius could focus on.
Syrathe brazenly walked forward, unsheathing his blade to prepare for battle. The rest of the Bastion followed suit, meeting Fioley’s proclamation with a display of valiant hostility. Maethius, attempting to swallow his nerves, came forward and revealed his green blade.
“So, you’re the one who bears the crest,” Fioley said, with a tremor of excitement in his voice. “And it seems that there’s a pleasant surprise of another whom my informant did not seem to mention.”
“Yeah, well this ‘other one’ has no interest in you being here and would like you to leave,” Syrathe said.
“Very well, either this leads to the demise of my mission, or his majesty will finally get what he desires.”
Fioley took the dagger off his belt, pensively stared at it for a moment, and then charged towards Syrathe with an intensity he had never met before. Syrathe caught Fioley’s blade in a clash, expecting a comparable struggle like the many duels he had many times before. Fioley effortlessly broke through by sliding his blade upwards, grabbing Syrathe’s arm, and then kneeing him right in the stomach. Syrathe fell to the ground, the wind literally being knocked out of him, as his blade clattered to the ground.
“You monster,” Syrathe muttered as he looked up at Fioley.
Fioley looked down first at Syrathe, his cold eyes intimidating him even more than what just transpired. He then turned to look at Syrathe’s sword, the flower-like symbol in the middle of the blade catching his attention.
He kneeled down to get on Syrathe’s level and calmly asked, “Boy, what is the name of your crest?”
“None of your damn business,” Syrathe weakly answered. “And it’s something you’re never going to get.”
“Whether I know its name or not doesn’t matter,” Fioley said. “As long as his majesty gets an additional treat.” He waved his hand through the blade, the sword magically warbling as he played with it for a moment. He then stood up, turned to his soldiers, and gave a forward-facing hand signal which was pointed at the rest of the Bastion. Like a wave, the soldiers readied their metallic spears, pointing them directly at the Bastion, and charged ferociously.
Syrathe attempted to get back up, his arms shaking as he put more pressure on them. He managed to get back on his feet and faced Fioley once more. Fioley stared at him once more, calmly approaching him and making a quick swipe at Syrathe’s face with his dagger. Syrathe fell to the ground once more as he held the fresh cut on his cheek in pain.
As the soldiers approached, Hershaw quickly unsheathed his machete to counter one of the soldiers, the latter’s stabbing techniques being something of a caliber he had not ever thought of fighting. Hershaw broadly swung his blade down towards the soldier’s arm, but the soldier pierced his left one in an instant. Hershaw grunted loudly, the sharp pain from the metal point coursing through the rest of his body.
The soldier then ripped the spear out and a crimson fountain of blood erupted from Hershaw’s arm. Hershaw quickly tore his jacket sleeve off to wrap the puncture as tightly as he could, and crudely went to swing for the soldier once more. The soldier stepped out the way and rammed the bottom end of their spear into Hershaw’s chest, a cracking noise ringing through both of their ears. Falling to the ground, Hershaw angrily stared upwards at the soldier.
“Do you yield?” the soldier asked.
“Not if you beat me within an inch of my life,” Hershaw answered.
“I would say we’re a foot away,” the soldier coldly said. The soldier then took Hershaw’s machete from his hand and stabbed his right arm with it to fully incapacitate him. Hershaw, with a fleeting amount of consciousness remaining, attempted to raise himself up for one last gambit, with the soldier effortlessly taking the machete and slashing his right arm off as soon as Hershaw managed to get back on his feet.
“Damnit!” Hershaw loudly shouted, falling to his knee as his arm sprayed blood everywhere. Hershaw groaned loudly as a few Bastion members came to him in an instant to try to wrap the other arm.
“Sir, are you okay?” one member asked.
“Do I look okay?!” Hershaw shouted, “Why the hell are you all here? They’re the ones we need to focus on!”
“Sir, we can’t just leave you,” another member said.
“That’s fine and dandy, but if you didn’t notice, those fuckers aren’t going to leave until Maet and Sy are in their grip,” Hershaw said. “Go help them, if I die, I died protecting the town.”
As soon as Hershaw gave the order, the Bastion members rallied to keep the enemy soldiers busy. The sounds of screams and clashing metal rang through Maethius’ ears as he approached Fioley. Seeing everyone who swore to protect the town be slashed, cut, and pierced right in front of him made his stomach churn. The sight of the soldiers treating this like a mundane event made his anxiety quiver as he witnessed the Bastion members falling one-by-one in their attempts to protect the village.
Maethius unsheathed his sword, once again revealing his blade and crest to be the one Fioley was after. Fioley looked up at him and took notice of his crest.
“Your friend was too stubborn to reveal his crest, which one do you bear?” he calmly asked.
“The one which will cut you down.”
“Big talk for someone whose allies fell so easily.”
“I know Sy did his best to start this fight, but I will end it,” Maethius proclaimed, pointing his sword at Fioley. “And after I’m done, your boss will know a pain far greater than I’ll inflict on you.
As Maethius approached Fioley, he took in the horrors that surrounded him. The blaze that illuminated the night sky, painting the entire village in a hellish orange hue, the sounds of the dozens of struggling Bastion members that lied incapacitated by the soldiers under Fioley’s command, and the despairing sight of Syrathe, the self-proclaimed best swordsman, on the ground, with his blade just out of reach.
Fioley loomed in front of him, his black armor gleaming in the light he created to box in the village, his soldiers standing around the fallen members, acting like it was simply another evening. Maethius saw Hershaw in the distance, the pride of the village and respected leader cut down to an agonizing mess who was barely conscious due to the Bastion members who defied his orders to treat him. Maethius’ blood boiled, his breath becoming harsh and shaky as everything around him lied in ruin simply because of the one man who destroyed his happiest day.
“I will make sure you know pain,” Maethius exclaimed, fury seething from his words.
“I’m afraid that will not happen,” Fioley said. “His majesty demands the crests of you and the red one over there to fulfill his ambition.”
“And what does that accomplish?”
“His majesty wants a world fully unified under his rule. To do that, he needs the crests of the few people who bear them to power his sword, making that dream a reality.”
“And what do you get out of this? It seems like something you’re not going to benefit from.”
“His majesty has guaranteed some liberty to anyone loyal. So, you two and this village cooperating is in all of your best interest.”
“We’d all rather die than be under your rule.”
“That can be arranged.”
Fioley removed his blade from his belt once more and pointed it at Maethius. Maethius unsheathed his sword and followed suit, his weapon trembling with a smoldering rage as he wanted to decisively end this. Maethius rushed forward, making multiple crude slashes at Fioley, which Fioley effortlessly parried. Maethius hopped back to readjust his stance and went to rush him with a stab, his sword being caught in a clash inches away from Fioley’s chest plate.
Fioley slid his knife down Maethius’ sword and landed a clean cut on arm, Maethius winced in pain as he clutched it, but then he tightened his grip despite the sudden weakness. His breathing shuddered, staring down at his opponent with animosity. Maethius ran once more, broadly swinging his sword downwards towards the gap between Fioley’s neck and shoulder. Fioley blocked Maethius’ attack, taking the arm that clutched his sword, twisting it, and then kneeing Maethius in the stomach. Maethius felt the wind get knocked out of him, and like Syrathe, fell to the ground while panting for air.
“Cease this farce child,” Fioley said. “It’s clear you, like every other miserable cretin in this village, is no match for me.”
Maethius stared at Fioley, catching his breath, as he struggled to rise back up. Thinking back to all of his training with Hershaw and the Bastion, and all the numerous duels he had with Syrathe, he desperately tried to think of something that stuck with him from all of that. He looked at everyone around him, motionlessly lying on the ground. Even Syrathe, who had been the pinnacle of strength, lied on his back, his chest barely moving from everything he endured.
What am I doing wrong? Maethius thought to himself. I’m the last line of defense and I can’t even manage to defend the people who brought me in.
Maethius’ eyes welled as his despair washed over him. The pain in his arm only grew as he gripped his blade with a white-knuckle grip. His breathing shuddered more, trying to hold back tears from the impending doom he was facing. Everyone who swore to protect the village was on the ground, the last place he thought he was safe from the empire burning in a blaze that only sought to consume more. Looking up at Fioley, his dark armor only compounding the dread Maethius felt upon hearing his words.
“Child,” Fioley calmly said. “I have a deal for you.”
“What could you possibly be offering me?” Maethius begrudgingly asked.
“It’s true I set much destruction to your village, desecrated the people who you fought with, and hope to bring Ferig under his majesty’s rule.”
“And?”
“Surrender yourself to me and I’ll withdraw at once. Your people will not see me again, and I’ll even leave the red one to reside here.”
“Are you serious?”
“You have my word,” Fioley said, offering his hand out to help Maethius up.
Maethius pensively looked up at Fioley with his gesture of pity. After a moment of hesitation, Maethius grasped his hand and lifted himself up. The coldness of Fioley’s gauntlet sent shivers down Maethius’ arm, and their grip seemed to seal their deal. A wave of dread stirred inside Maethius as he pondered whether this was for the greater good. The thoughts of the potential for more harm that Fioley could inflict, houses burning down, the citizens being rounded up, and even more soldiers coming in. All of these rushed through Maethius’ mind as he considered what was more important.
“Now then, do we have a deal?” Fioley asked.
Maethius quietly stared at him momentarily, Fioley’s cold eyes staring down at Maethius as the thought of everything he endured to protect seemed to evaporate in a moment. Maethius’ heart started to beat loud in his chest as he considered what to do. He closed his eyes and took some deep breaths and then opened them with a decision.
“Captain Fioley,” Maethius said.
“Yes?” Fioley asked.
“The amount of trouble you went to obtain the two of us is something that I can’t ignore,” Maethius said, with a momentary pause, “But there will be a cold day in hell before I betray the people who took me in just to escape more suffering.”
In an instant, Maethius tightened his grip on Fioley and kneed him straight in the chin. Fioley’s head jolted backwards as Maethius immediately followed up by taking his sword and putting it to his neck.
“My name is Maethius Cavalane, user of the Emerald Blade, and bearer of the Emerald Crest,” Maethius exclaimed. “Your offer was awfully tempting, but you will not take one step closer towards this village and its people.”
“You punk,” Fioley said, gripping both of his hands on Maethius’ arm. “If this is how you see my deal, then I will personally ensure your delivery to be the most torturous it can be.”
Fioley pulled on Maethius’ arm with of all of his might as Maethius did everything he could overpower it, the sword trembling in his hand as he moved it centimeters closer towards the skin.
“I’ll offer you a deal,” Maethius said. “I spare your life, and you withdraw immediately.”
Fioley exerted all of his strength to stop the Emerald Blade, and then took his dagger to try to pry it off his neck. Maethius felt their weapons make contact once more, with his sword’s angle completely shifting, and then immediately broke the clash before Fioley could counter.
“Did you think I earned the rank of captain by cowardice?” Fioley judgmentally asked. “That was a neat trick, but it won’t happen again.”
Fioley lunged towards Maethius, with a clear animosity in his movement. Maethius saw Fioley’s rush and countered with a force like no other. His heart beat loudly in his chest as he felt a mixture of hope and despair in his gut from what he almost accomplished. Fioley’s anger amplified the speed of his continuous slashes, each one gaining more power than the last, with Maethius blocking them all with the very little stamina he had left.
There’s no way I’m getting to his neck again, Maethius thought as he continued to parry Fioley. The soldiers surrounding them noticed the new fury of their leader, a demeanor they never expected him to have from how he fought the other one. Fioley rushed and rushed at Maethius, this time aiming his dagger straight for Maethius’ forehead. This lethal strike happened in a flash, with Fioley’s attack making his true intentions clear. He automatically cocked back his right hand which held his blade and as soon he plunged it downwards, Maethius bobbed down at the last second and slashed the gap in Fioley’s armor. The sword went clean through as Fioley’s right arm fell straight to the ground.
“Damnit!” Fioley screamed, his voice booming throughout the entire village. The blood sprayed from Fioley’s arm as he immediately gripped it to stop the bleeding. His dagger clattered to the ground as Maethius stood over him, the Emerald Blade pointed right between his eyes.
“I want you to feel this pain,” Maethius coldly said, anger flooding his mind. “Know that whatever you’re feeling right now is what I’ll inflict on your boss tenfold.”
Everyone surrounding Maethius looked at him in shock and horror. The battle’s upset leading to an ominous quiet that rang though everyone’s ears.
“You have one more opportunity to leave,” Maethius said. “If you continue this, know that you were warned.”
Fioley angrily looked at Maethius, everything he did, ending in the same flames he ignited. Murmurs from the soldiers caused Fioley to make the one decision he accepted when taking this mission. He scanned the arena, the fallen Bastion members, Hershaw lying in agony, sharing the same fate as him, and Syrathe who seemed just out of reach.
“Your act of honor towards me is humiliating,” he rudely said. “If you don’t have the guts to finish what was started, then don’t ever consider yourself a warrior.” He angrily passed his other hand through the Emerald Blade, the sword magically warbling as it went through, in a feeble attempt to finish the fight on his terms.
“If that’s the case then let me explain what will happen: this fight will be finished, and then I’m going to personally go to ‘his majesty’ and have him suffer the same fate I’ll inflict on you,” Maethius proclaimed.
In an instant, Maethius planted the Emerald Blade into Fioley’s head, his body slumping over as he took the sword back out. Maethius stared at the soldiers as the fire surrounding them grew. The soldiers, once the loyal pawns of their captain, running into the blaze to escape the man who fell their commander. Maethius’ face tightened as everything sunk in, immediately falling into the growing puddle of blood from Fioley’s body. His body shook, his breathing staggered, and millions of thoughts poured through his head as fully accepted what he just did.
As he suffered in silence, he felt a hand rest on his shoulder. The feeling felt warm and familiar, as he slowly turned his head to who it was.
“You did good Maet,” Syrathe staggery said, kneeling down to his level. “I can’t even imagine what you’re feeling but know you’re not alone.” Globs of tears started rushing down Maethius’ face as Syrathe helped prop him back up. The two brothers stood up as they went to the remnants of the Bastion and started to help assist Hershaw with his injury.
“You managed to do it, damn it,” Hershaw weakly said to them, between exasperated breathing. Maethius’ expression sunk as he was still processing what he just did. “They cut our forces in half, but you sent them a damning message of what happens when they mess with us.”
The people from the houses saw the invading forces disappear into the flames and came rushing towards the defenders. The men, women, and children all came in a flash, rolling barrels of water to subdue the flames, medical kits to treat the injured Bastion members, and others to simply comfort them. Gradually, the flames started to simmer, with the light growing weaker with every splash of water that was heard. After enough dousing, darkness returned to the village as people moved the dead and injured to their houses for treatment. Affirmations flooded the air as everyone tried to comfort what Maethius and the others accomplished, as Maethius emotionlessly walked back to their house on the opposite side of the village.
He passed through the rows of houses on each side of the road and eventually made his way up the small hill to the one of Syrathe and his mother. He opened the doors and immediately fell to the ground out of exhaustion with their mother immediately rushing to comfort him. Syrathe arrived a moment later and the two lifted Maethius up and took him up the staircase to their left and put him in his bed to rest.
“Sy,” Maethius weakly said, “This isn’t over, and I think I know what I have to do.” Syrathe looked at him and quietly nodded.
“I know,” Syrathe replied. “But right now you’re a hero and what comes tomorrow is a different story.” Upon hearing his words, a faint smile grew on Maethius’ face as he drifted to sleep, with a new dawn promised for Ferig.