The Second Daughter's Darkness E-Book

F. H. Fischer

• Herausgeber: Books on Demand
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Serie: Luxia
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 743

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2021

Beschreibung

The Second Daughter's Darkness is the first piece by Frederik H. Fischer. This book is a modern spin on the traditional epic fantasy that breaks with the mandatory medieval setting while preserving the flavors of the epic fantasy. The story features two unlikely friends fleeing what the world wants them to be on an adventure, which tries and tests their resolve to resist their nature and to follow the path to each their moral high ground

Leseprobe

We become what we do to others.

Content List.

Prologue:

Chapter 1: Jackie and Jhin is back.

Chapter 2: Home sweet home.

Chapter 3: Broken promises.

Chapter 4: Old friend.

Chapter 5: Short road to recovery.

Chapter 6: Old friends.

Chapter 7: Man down.

Chapter 8: Welcome to DQ.

Chapter 9: Insignis Carl.

Chapter 10: back to school.

Chapter 11: anatomy of a dragyn

Chapter 12: Secret keepers.

Chapter 13: Be good now.

Chapter 14: Golden Rose mall in all its gross glory.

Chapter 15: Secret spillers.

Chapter 16: “It’s mine”

Chapter 17: The truth about her.

Chapter 18: Only friends.

DREAMS

Chapter 19: Dragyn bite and dragyn blood.

Chapter 20: What is required.

Chapter 21: Her element.

DREAMS.

Chapter 22: On the run again.

Chapter 23: Lost and found.

Chapter 24: Blood, fire, and injustice.

Chapter 25: The insignis tamer.

Chapter 26: A new dragyn.

Chapter 27: Is Xia trouble?

Chapter 28: A bout.

Chapter 29: Qirus.

Chapter 30: They love to hate.

Chapter 31: When nature calls.

Chapter32: Gentle songs.

Chapter 33: Fade into the shadows.

Chapter 34: Dancing with death.

Chapter 35: Starving.

Chapter 36: A kid no longer.

Chapter 37: Not the only one.

Chapter 38: Jarlin’s roar.

Chapter 39: Aspect of light.

Chapter 40: A keen helper.

Chapter 41: Mortally wounded child.

Chapter 42:

LIMBO

Chapter 43: Honorable guests in straitjackets.

Chapter 44: Life and death unbound.

Chapter 45: reunion.

Chapter 46: A bunch.

Chapter 47: Girlin’s judgement.

Chapter 48: Watching over them.

Chapter 49: Guardian to the orphaned child.

Chapter 50: Northern Gate.

Chapter 51: Two faces of one coin.

Chapter 52: Old friends and family.

Chapter 53: Too little too late.

Chapter 54: Break the mirror.

Chapter 55: This is who you are.

Chapter 56: Carl VS Tornwron.

Chapter 57: Brisk reunion.

Chapter 58: Home; never the same.

Chapter 59: The grandest hall.

Chapter 60: I am scared.

Chapter 61: The meeting.

Chapter 62: Corrupted light.

Chapter 63:

Zirxix.

Chapter 64: Xia’s piece.

Chapter 65: High tide.

Chapter 66: Elite VS Elite.

Chapter 67: United against a common enemy.

Chapter 68: Carl’s last dance with Sofia.

Chapter 69: Vengeance.

Chapter 70: Loyalty and betrayal.

Chapter 71: Herox Prison

Post credit:

Prologue:

The earsplitting shriek that drowns out the roaring thunder, has Fjin reeling back to the edge of the inner wall. It is to his regret that he looks down the three hundred feet drop.

A roar in the distance draws his sky-blue eyes to the shadow, who rises from below the horizon of the outer wall.

Its mere size is a violation of nature itself. The night sky, bursting with lightning, is virtually hidden behind the all-destroying monster. She spreads her wings, dominating the horizon entirely. “We have angered the gods.” Fjin’s voice shakes as he speaks; all hope seems lost.

“NO!” says Ferio, the man of great stature with his well-kept black beard; the king of humankind, the elven kingdom, and dwarven three courts of order. “Not a god. A mother.” His jaw tightens under his beard.

The shadow’s eyelids slide back horizontally and sideways to reveal yellow orbs with two black elongated slits for pupils. They are large as a house and bursting with odious hatred.

The wind gusts in their faces like a wet towel; the merciless downpour begins. They are soaked to the bone all but immediately, but Ferio calls out: “Stand tall, my son!” His voice shines above the torrential rain. “It is far from over!”

The black dragon snarls, which shakes the mountains raw. She bursts into a furious roar, which falters father and son to their knees. Its foul breath wafts over them in a lukewarm draught. The essence of sulfur is overpowering, and fright spreads like wildfire among the people huddled in the heart of the capital, Leif.

“Do not panic!” Ferio stands tall. “She will not pass me, and the city can rebuild!” He proudly puts a hand squarely on his son’s chest.

“Today, we fight for our birthright; this world is ours! We shall rid these unwanted beasts from our land!” The people explode in cheering roars. The dragon roars too, beating its wings upward.

The heaven splits open a square mile across. The light of Ardor casts a spotlight on the beast. The second and smaller moon, Rancor, is just now beginning to drift behind its stargazing sibling. “We accept your challenge profane creature!” Ferio draws his sword with a flicker of moonlight reflecting off the spearpoint of the blade. Fjin lets out his best war cry and pulls his sword from the sheet. His dark hair falters wet into his eyes, when by his command, the air reconstructs into solid steel, carrying them into the fray.

“Forget about the city, don’t hold back!” Ferio swings his sword, and the sky lights up with an infectious orange glow. The cloud-cyst concaves downward with the sun’s ferocity, scorching the dragon queen across her back and sending her howling with pain into the streets below.

“You did it-” Fjin swallows his words, upon the queen rising unharmed. In a surreal demonstration of might, she swipes her wing across the horizon. The shockwave moves across the city in an all-destroying tsunami of brown dust and debris, tearing houses down to their foundation. Fjin thrusts his blade into the ground by his feet, throwing his hands into the air, ready to catch the towering wave of destruction.

She clears the entire west section of the outer ring, a million homes obliterated beyond recognition in an instant by a lazy swing of her wing.

The city crust whirls into the air and drops like meteorites back to Luxia’s surface. “What have we done?” Fjin drops to his knees gasping for breath. Their make-shift defense of stainless-steel crumbles around him. Barely did he managed to shelter them from her wrath. The west-wing he could do nothing to save.

“Have faith!” Ferio remains unfaced in the pounding storm of rain and deadly chunks of glass, cement, and steel beams snapped in half.

All of the former whirls down around him. “The tides are about to turn in our favor! I just know it.”

Sarithar’s jaws spring open in a sonic boom, a raging inferno floods across her lips and washes over the rubble of the formerly beautiful city.

“I just know it’s true!” Ferio readies his blade, glowing white with heat. The same heat cast onto Fjin’s drenched body from the hellscape of flames rolling over them.

“I do too! I have to,” Fjin whispers, his mind goes out to his beautiful Eldrin.

The heatwave is over them, an obliterating force which leaves nothing in its wake. Fjin pommels both palms into the ground, the rough of the debris drills in and strikes blood from his palms. The land gives and indents under them. The excess of the trench he digs is pushed up on the sides for further protection.

The inferno rages above them; it casts unbearable warmth and still-burning embers into the crater. “Good Fjin!” Ferio hollers as the flames die out. His blade has taken on a far-reaching divine glow of pure white. “Stay down; close your eyes!”

The world stops, then implodes on itself in a blinding burst of light that sends Sarithar flying into the outer wall. The collision is colossal with the sound reverberating around the planet twice.

District sized chunks of wall crumble onto Sarithar. The lingering coalition of hell-spawned spitfire and Ferio’s solar flare sends out thick black smoke, which consumes the ground from view. Fjin breathes through his sleeve but still tastes the sod billowing into his lungs, stinging his eyes to tears. Even with his eyes closed, his vision is imprinted with an afterimage of the sun’s valor.

The drenching rain evaporates directly off his steaming clothes.

“Why do you insects squirm!” Sarithar’s tail whips around. Even the mountains bend at her whim; no barrier can stop her. Making a snap decision, Fjin does the only thing he can think of.

The whirlpool that he creates from the very ground swallows them whole and cradles them safely from the might of the dragon queen’s tail. Safely, but ice cold.

Gasping and coughing up his lungs, Fjin grasps for the ashy shores of Leif. He swallows a mouthful of smoke and coughs on the edge of consciousness.

Desperately exhausted to the bone, he grasps at the edge of the sheer wall of his newly created body of water. His fingers close around a still smoldering ember. With an agonized scream he drops the rock into the water in a burst of steam. Fighting to tread water, he clasps his severely scorched hand to his chest.

“What is wrong, ant?” Sarithar’s massive eye opens out of the night to watch how her prey thrashes in the sod infused mud with unbearable pain throbbing in the palm of his hand.

“He has taken nothing from you. I killed her! I watched as her life bled out.” Ferio struggles to his feet.

Her eyes grow reflectively moist before they narrow to angry slits again. She shifts back in a cloud of ash, nothing more than a backdrop from a lightning strike.

“Ferio!” Sarithar’s voice is full of sorrow and heartache. In vain, Fjin struggles against the pain and weariness. his knees falter, and he collapses back into the grime with an audible splash.

He wants to win. He wants it so badly. However, he cannot muster the iron will of his father, who stands unfazed by the giant. He once more draws his blade, as two more dragons leap onto the outer wall with more beating wings following. They are not quite as massive, but still incredibly huge.

We are the last line of defense, the last hope of the people, and we cannot win. It is hopeless, Fjin gives up. The inside of his palm is bloodshot raw, with yellow blisters blooming sooner than expected, like dandelions on a sunny day. “Then I will have your son first!”

She stands back on her hind legs, towering almost a mile tall and growing. The black dragon stands as a shadow of doubt for a second, her eyes raging with rightful wrath against the sky.

The sky, that like an ocean, pulsates and flows with life. Waves of red, like northern lights, dance behind her from north to south and from east to west.

A black comet, she shoots toward Luxia. Ferio raises his blade which protected them all against the wrath of the dragons for so long. As a telltale sign, it shatters to the hilt in thousands of pieces. Without thinking, Fjin draws his own blade for his father to wield. His forthright power, which rests in his heart, flows into his sword and shatters it in thousands of pieces. He drops the hilt and sees that the palm of his hand is whole. “Not my son!” Ferio flares up in blistering white.

Again, the sky splits open in a holy smite of the sun itself striking down with its force on the queen. The flare lasts only a second but casts daylight to the far reaches of the elven forest: Qirus and the dwarven mines of mount Alareas and Ignis; to the few lasting tribes of Beastians on the planes and to the mysterious meies secluded on the Marnni Island north of Qirus.

The outer wall shatters, as Ferio again repels the evil that threatens his land. “The tides have turned; we must act now!” Ferio calls out for his only son to follow him into the air.

To Fjin’s bewilderment, he can fly. He can soar into the sky, raving with a bloody radiance. The clouds disburse on Ferio’s touch, ending the downfall instantly and recasting day onto the night fallen kingdom.

Sarithar shoots back up, now reaching into the atmosphere. Her eyes are the size of cities. Her outburst of flames, now jet-black, stretches miles across.

“No,” says Fjin. By his will, the flames bend into iron feathers, which gently spiral toward Luxia’s surface. Fire has no mass, but it does not matter, he changed them anyway. He can do anything; he can feel the magic cruising through his every vein.

Rancor is barely visible. From it the same radiance of red flows into the night sky.

No matter how forever blinding the sun is this close, Fjin finds himself perfectly able to gaze into the life giving and life taking orb.

His eyes are burning out of his head and mending back together all at the same time.

“Why… you little!” Sarithar’s tail erases the Hindur mountain range directly below the highlands: the country-sized island suspended far into the atmosphere. It has been the home of the dragons since forever and a force of terror for as long as humankind can remember.

Fjin shutters as if part of himself has been broken.

His soul no longer seems to fit in his tiny human vessel, and it bleeds out into the land itself.

As Sarithar lunches like at cat at speeds unfairly wielded by a creature her size, she does so directly into mountains erected in her path. The collision is a worldwide earthquake, unlike anything experienced by the hind-legged.

Luckily, every intelligent being has taken shelter in the heart of Leif, but everything else manmade is cast to ruin. “Buy me some time!”

Ferio puts his hand on the shoulder of the empty shell of his son.

Forest emerges and slitters forth to latch shut around the black dragon’s neck and forepaws. “Who do you think you are? You are just ants!” She effortlessly tears free in a hail of tree trunks.

Before the world can try to contain her again, she wraps her enormous wings around Fjin. Nothingness surrounds him and cuts him off from the rest of the world. Only nothing can come from nothingness. Her darkness is somber and suffocating. It snares around him, squishing his newfound will from his soul.

Enormous disembodied yellow eyes open out of the nothing, digging daggers into his state of mind. Give in, give back what you stole from us. Her voice is everywhere. “O…okay.” He distantly hears himself say.

“Not my son!” Ferio echoes as the darkness eradicates. Sarithar tumbles back to the edge of Qirus. Another tumble and the last magical forest would have been wiped off the side of the planet.

“Hold her down!” Ferio clasps his hands together and closes his eyes shut again.

The ground melts for her to sink into and harden to solid obsidian before she can hope to fight it. Her flames vanish as the oxygen around her drains to zero.

Remember, Fjin tells himself. This is what you studied for: do or die. Sarithar thrashes to free herself, no longer buzzing with confidence.

Just as she finally tears lose her upper body, she again is encapsulated in the world’s largest pillory of snaring roots.

At this insult, she gives pause to meet his gaze with those impossibly large eyes. Black smoke bursts from her nostrils. She whips with all her might in three snakish twists and torts of her lengthened body.

With his soul torn at Fjin grimaces. But seeing the panicked surprise in Sarithar fills him with determination. She slings, and tugs and fights for her life with growing desperation. Bonds of gargantuan magnitude snaps tight over her and pins her wings to her sides. She squirms, growls, and batters with such force that Fjin fears that she will soon tear Luxia in two. While the land’s endurance is endless, the ruling queen for three thousand years’ strength slips up, and she falls still.

Only her breath rattles the crust. “Why…you,” she whimpers weakly. Rancor is now gone, and the night is thoroughly bloodshot.

Fjin let some of himself flow into Sarithar like bad blood. Her sheer will pushes back against him, but now he is stronger, and her jaws transmute shut.

Ferio reaches slowly. From Fjin’s perspective, his father’s fingers close around the sun, like a gloriously red apple on the planetary tree. He plucks it ripe from the stem, holding it in his hand.

Sarithar watches with a million words for Ferio and his offspring burning on her tongue, which has fused to the roof of her mouth permanently; her lips fretted together seamlessly without a single scar.

The king of kings commands the sun upon Sarithar in a magnificent wipeout. Everything between the two is a write-off. A solar obliteration, which would put Ra to shame.

Bathed in the core of the sun, Sarithar howls are muffled. With a final billow of blackened flames, she collapses to a dragyn. With every inch cinched, she shivers feverishly.

His father, in all his wisdom, grabs the upper arm of his son and says: “Let her go; You’ve already killed her!” He points to the highlands, and Fjin understands.

Thousands of upset dragons circle the island, trying to gather their young and escape the slaughter at hand, largely in vain.

The majority of the ones, which escapes the instant death of the highlands being violently torn out of the sky by the sun, are snared by the air materializing around them doomed to fall to their deaths.

Those fleeing on the ground only prolong the unavoidable, grabbed into the field and held still to be cleaned up afterward.

Rancor peeks out from behind Ardor. Shocked Fjin gasps with an unwilling yelp, as he is torn back to his body. A green male to an unusually large white xian dragon breaks from his halfway bonds. As the white xian is freed, two eggs appear in her wing: one green, the other blue with black spots.

“Let them go,” says Ferio with absolute urgency, as the sun in his hand burns out. With a heavy heart, Fjin does.

Gravity once again calls for them to obey.

The air hisses in his ears and tears at his clothes, as the ground zooms up toward them. With some radiance lingering in his fingertips, Fjin creates Lake Malow.

The water is staggeringly cold, and he barely musters the effort to save himself. With his last burst of energy from the blood moon, Ferio creates the eternal summer.

Fjin puts will into beings, forming twenty-seven women, and twenty-seven men out of Malos’ surface. His perfect dragon hunters; the Insignis.

Chapter 1: Jackie and Jhin is back.

Taking foothold on the edge of the very lethal drop, white acid sand whirls into the air. The cloud of poison is caught in the northwest gust from the ocean side. Jay pulls his scarf over mouth and nose, breathing moist through the fabric.

Slender black claws slide down over his shoulder, as Oril leans in on him.

“Careful.” He picks her up under his arm and sticks a cig into the corner of his mouth.

“I am!” she exclaims. “Dad!” She kicks free from his grasp. “I am ready.” She lands on all fours, back arched and tail flailing.

“That I can see.” He holds his hand against the constant gust; the flame of his Golden Rose lighter radiates on the palm of his hand, as the cig is lit.

“Oril, poisonous for every other living being than you.” He snaps the always cold tail of hers out of the air. The bony dagger at the end of her tail he points at the white sand. It covers every inch of the surface of the campsite. That includes the ashy remains in the firepit and the stern redwood bench. The only thing void of dust is his truck.

“Sorry, dad. I will be more careful, promise.”

He rumbles in mild disbelieve. “Relax.” He advises her. “You know this; take a deep breath.”

“Right… okay,” she says, bobbing in place.

Jay shakes his head and draws deep; the sod stings all the way down his throat.

“Sit down… Slowly.” He slings his eighty-something pounds backpack down by his side with a clatter. He fills his lungs a second time and lets the smoke billow from his lips. “Let me tell you a story.”

“Now?” she asks, “Really?”

“Well, I suppose that we are in a bit of a hurry, or did you actually ready your equipment as I asked of you?”

“Of course!” she starts for her feet.

“Then we have time for a story.”

Her upper lip creases. With a sigh she slops back down, foiled and not happy about it.

“Nearly a hundred years ago, there was a dragon.” Oril’s back straightens a little, Jay smiles as the story continues.

“Her name was Xia, like her half-blood unborn sister of the same name. She also had an unborn brother named Tornwron.

The story takes place during the conquest for control of the Ignis mines.

The charge against the immovable defenses of the dwarf’s stronghold was led by the dominating clan chiefs of Narron: Alkarus and Flander. Thunder roared in the sky.

The older sister watches the bloodshed below, eyes large as boulders.

A young man – but a simple farmer – was traveling from the elven outpost known as Falor, today known as the Northern Gate. He and his sister were traveling along the spine of Ignis on their way to the Old Soilver. They were simply headed there to sell some goods when they came upon the dragon heir.”

Jay goes for a huff on the cig, staring into his sweety’s yellow eyes, bright with elongated pupils. Those eyes of hers glitter; he got her now.

“Thunder sets the sky ablaze for a split second. In this strike of purple across the raging storm, the simple farmer slays the beast. Her lifeless body tumbles down the mountainside, down upon the battlefield.

Humans, elves, and dwarfs look up to see Ferio: king of kings.”

Oril snarls, showcasing her seventy-two jagged teeth, extraordinarily razor sharp. Two rows offset by half of a tooth’s length. The crowning jewels of her lethal bite is her fangs. Narrow and each an inch in length; they jut out over her lip.

Her eyes narrow to angry slits, rightfully.

“Before she was slain, Xia roared and spew the forbidden black flames down the mountainside.” Jay reaches down and carefully grabs a hand full of white sand in his fingerless glove. Slowly, he lets it trickle between his fingers. “All of this is her doing,” he adds.

Oril’s jaw opens and closes, but no words come out. The cresses in her forehead deepen as she finally says: “Is that how he became so powerful…No he already…” “Ferio claims that he never had any connection to the magical and mystical force of Mar beforehand. It is well known that he lived a peaceful life as a farmer before taking on the task of transforming Luxia forever.” He takes to his feet, and with a firm tug on her upper arm, he has her by his side.

“Ready?” He ruffles her mane, which silky smooth flows like liquid silver. From the bridge of her nose, it runs all the way down her back and tail in a narrow patch.

“Always.” She draws a stuttered breath.

“You will be just fine.”

He throws her to the side staggering, as he returns to the edge of the sheer drop. Ylier floats peacefully on the surface of Aqora at the base of mount Ignis, the tallest mountain of Luxia. The entrance to the now abandoned mines of Ignis connects at the lakeside of Aqora.

One of the mighty wooden gates, enforced with rusted iron, lays a hundred feet from the gateway, halfway submerged.

Off westside is the blue of the ocean, stretching onward to meet the sky’s fading blue.

On the eastside the peak of Ignis towers fifteen miles above them.

About halfway to the top, is an old, abandoned fortress of the dwarfs. It managed to remain when everything crumbled around it; it is a true testament to the dwarfs’ craftsmanship. Far south, coming up on the Northern Gate, is quite the opposite: Hornex outpost. Impressive with its towering pillars of twisting concrete vines, the foundation overhanging the sheer drop into the ocean. Impressive but without history or much care. The former is apparent throughout the west, where Fjin helped rebuild.

Oril sneaks up on his right, handing him a braided nylon rope.

Jay lops his backpack over his shoulder and gives the rope a firm tug.

The elder redwood nonchalantly growing over the edge of the campsite does not budge. “Well done,” he says.

Oril nods and steps back for a running start. Hurling herself over the hundred and fifty feet drop, she latches on to the vertical mountainside in a hail of sparks.

Catlike, she twists around herself down the mountainside. Heart pounding in his throat, Jay’s eyes are on her till she slides down the rubble at the bottom slope. A cascade of loose rocks clatters distantly down the mountainside.

Drawing a spiking breath of crisp winter’s air, Jay steps off.

The tip of his military-grade Golden Rose boot catches foothold on the slimy surface, sliding on a perpetually moist layer of moss.

Jamming his boot into a fissure in the rock, he whirls the rope around his left forearm and kicks off.

Ten feet at a time, he rappels down the recently rained upon surface. Setting foot safely on the mild slope down to the beach of Aqora, he notices that Oril is looking up at him. Her nostrils flaring, he puts his hand on her shoulder. “Relax; stay sharp.” He starts crunching down to the foliage by the water.

“Right.” She follows suit.

Jay shakes his head. “Hold this.” He shoves his backpack into her arms. She staggers back while he treks through the thick underbrush.

Brushing aside the lush moss carpet on the natural flooring of the scrub. He finds nine adolescent tree trunks tied together. He gives the raft a firm rustle; they remain stern like glued together.

“Bring Only what is absolutely necessary.” He carries the raft from the trees to the bleak surface of Aqora. Upon boarding, rings roll across the calm of the lake.

The sun only peeks above the horizon, as he tries in vain to get comfy.

Shrouded in her jet-black cape, Oril takes her seat, tipping the raft in her favor, slightly. Her tailored recurve-longbow hybrid is strung across her chest. Her also tailored dagger is by her side: named Fang by its creator.

Oril passes the other paddle to him, seeking his eyes. Her poison – stored in the glass hilt of Fang – bubbles lively in the dimming light.

Both of her weapons of choice had to be custom made, to accommodate her immense strength, by the fantastic smith: Ivon of Valior.

In sync, they dig in with each their paddle. Gently like a knife through lukewarm butter, the paddles sail through the water. Their strokes, though soft, cause the reflection of the sinking sun to waver on the surface.

Oril’s gleaming eyes disappear under her hood. From a distance, she may pass for a human teen. However, her ocean blue scales still glitter dimly at dusk.

“Were you to fall off, what would happen?” He asks in a hushed tone of voice.

“I would drown,” she says.

“Sit still.”

Ylier lays perfectly calm in the windless valley, allowing Jay to easily catch their forward drift on the wooden framework of the foundation of Ylier.

Jay retrieves the black rope from the inner pocket of his jacket, which he uses to tie down the raft. Propping up on his palms, he surveys the three main roads. Not a soul is out at this hour, not in this town. “Come on.” Jay carries himself aboard.

He catches the firm grasp of Oril’s leather glove.

Planted, he withstands her weight, pulling it to his side.

“Relax,” he whispers, but still she breathes heavily, as they stroll down the first corner.

An orange glow emanates from the windows lining the street. They cast a welcoming light on the solely wooden houses, wooden road, and sidewalk.

Oril pulls down her hood tighter.

At the dead-end is a house much larger than the once leading up to it, a mansion.

Jay closes his fingers one by one around the grip of his revolver: Old Trusty.

The ground beneath their feet rocks ever so gently.

He knocks three times, rhythmically. A bald meatloaf of muscles and nothing more opens the door and grunts.

Jay drills his elbow into the solar plexus of the meatloaf. His eyes go wide as he timbers to the floor. Sprawled, he gasps for breath.

Like from a springboard, Oril leaps into the fray with a quiet crunch from the meatloaf.

Immediately inside, three men are conversing, they are slender twigs. Oril beyblades on her tippy toes, sweeping away the footwork from under them by a whip of her tail. Their arms flailing through the air aimlessly, they tumble to the floor.

In one swift blur of motion, she draws Fang and nips the chest of the remaining guard with the curved blade.

Staggering back tumbling with the holster of his gun, he collapses on the floor with a hollow thud.

The veins underneath his skin turning black, his eyes dilate.

Jay steps lazily over the meatloaf to get to the remaining guard on the left.

He remains unnoticed until within arm’s length. The boy stumbling to his feet whips around into Jay’s knuckles. Like a ballerina on ice, he spirals to the floor, hits like a sack of rotten potatoes.

“Down!” Oril dives from the guy on the right up against the wall by the winding staircase. She indents this wall when bashing against it. A gunshot rings out from above; the floor splits open in a hail of splinters. Jay whips Old Trusty from his belt and takes aim at the sound.

A howl follows him pulling the trigger, followed by the sound of something massive hitting the floor above.

Jay looks over to see Oril draw an arrow from her quiver onto the bowstring, before leaping up the stairs. Another howl follows, then silence.

“J…Jay.” Her voice quivers with unease.

He bolts up the stairs to see Oril frozen in place. Another meatloaf lays sprawled, blackness cruising through his veins.

Further back is their VIP, who clutches his hip, blood slowly seeping through his pant leg. By his side cowers a boy at the oldest nine years of age.

“Downstairs, now.” Jay appoints Oril.

“But-” “Now! don’t let anyone in, you hear?”

Her eyes swell up with tears, as she nods and darts downstairs.

Waiting for her thumping to fade, Jay demands: “Get in there.” The boy shakes his head, clinging even stiffer to the thin frame of the VIP.

“Do as the man says,” the VIP hisses through his teeth, as he draws a pistol from the inner folds of his coat.

Kicking the firearm out of his hand, Jay snatches the kid off his feet.

The pistol rattles across the floor, and the kid hollers. “Quiet.” Jay places his palm on his forehead; he touches long and index finger to the gemstone of his neckless.

A fog covers the eyes of the kid as he sinks back numb against the wall.

“You will not remember any of this.” Jay takes his leave.

“Jay was it?” asks the VIP, “I am sure that we can deal.”

Jay aims, pulls the trigger. Old Trusty kicks, and it is all over. He snaps a picture with his phone, ready to get the hell out-Oril screams.

“Let go of me. Jay! Help!”

“Louder!” Demands an all too familiar voice.

“Help!”

Dropping everything, Jay bolts for the stairs as a barrage of blue bolts of light forces him back.

“Let me go!” She cries out again, wailing agonized a second after that.

Tiptoeing around the side of the winding stairs, Jay steals a glance downstairs.

His heart sinks in his chest as he locks eyes with Jackie.

“Jhin,” he says all but inaudibly. “Come on down!” He wraps his grown arm around Oril’s neck, forcing her against his chest. He presses the barrel of his twenty-two up under her chin. “Unless you want me to blow her head off, of course.”

Jhin reaches into the side pocket of his backpack. The metal canisters are cold between his fingers. The pin clinks off before he rolls them across the floor.

With his hands in the air, Jay descents the wooden stairs, slowly.

Oril thrashes in her straitjacket with a desperate gasp for breath.

“Quiet you!” Jackie tightens his chokehold.

He smiles in a disgustingly joyed grimace. “Such a pretty specimen…Did you do this?” He lets his eyes wander across the staggered guards. “Did you kill Henry?”

“I killed him!” Jhin takes another step forward.

“I know you did, I heard it, friend… Say Jhin, what are you doing out here. Weren’t you supposed to be dead?” He toys with Oril’s ear while she struggles for breath. “Anyway, I am down a payment now.

Someone must pay.” Jackie’s smile somehow creeps up further.

“I’ll pay you, of course,” Jhin pleads with him.

“That is not what I meant; you know that. I meant to pay in blood.”

He shifts his aim rapidly between him and Oril, who quivers on the edge of consciousness. “Who is it going to be?”

A piercing beep cuts through the air above Jackie, then a mighty thud as the floor above comes crashing down.

Jackie throws them to the ground out of the splintered floorboards’ way. Oril heaves and coughs.

Jackie snaps his head back up at Jhin as the flashbang goes off.

Burring his eyes in his sleeve, the blinding light still shines through Jhin’s eyelids.

The echo of the bang howling in his ears, Jhin catches the tail end of Jackie diving out of the window, a trail of blood follows him.

“Thorn, they are getting away!”

Jhin drops down sliding on his knees. Snapping Oril under his arm, he flings them out the east-side-window.

An earsplitting roar cuts through the air. “Can’t hear,” Oril whimpers in his arms.

Forcefully, by grabbing a firm hold of her chin, he takes her eyes. He takes a deep breath, and she too fills her lungs but also shakes her head vigorously.

He throws them off the side of Ylier.

The water consuming them is freezing. Oril jolts, her eyes full of terror as they sink. Covering both their noses, he swallows to equalize the pressure.

Tumbling on the belt buckle three times, finally, he produces a rebreather. Tumbling with the capsule for another second, he empties his lungs and takes a refreshing breath of pure oxygen. Holding the mask over her mouth and nose, she takes a sharp breath and shivers.

He sets off with her under his arm. It is pitch black on the bed of Aqora, say for his watch; it is all the guidance he needs. Heading south, he carries on through the cold water for as long as possible.

His boots sink in the liquefied mud and grime on the bottom.

Inhaling a third time, his lungs sting, and he must let Oril carry him. His body floats above her, tethered by his arm, while she remains anchored to the bottom. Worst is his fingers, all but immobile and frozen deep. The water must be dipping below zero, he simply does not know if he can carry on.

A single strain of pale light penetrates the deep blue, causing Oril to double her effort.

The rebreather slips between his fingers; he closes his eyes and prays. With the pressure building in his chest, his brain cries out for oxygen.

The cold winter night hits his face, his brain reels for a second. They cough and heave for breath.

“Get me out, Jay please,” she whimpers between coughs.

“Were you hit?” Jhin clambers himself over to her through the shallows.

“Yes… in the shoulder,” she whimpers. Jhin slaps his wet hair out of his eyes.

taking hold of the friction buckle clambering the sleeve ends together on her back, he says: “You will have to wait a little longer.”

Body screaming no, he hauls them out of the water. He buries his hands in his inner pockets before they can freeze off.

By his teeth, he bites down on the canvas of her collar. Peeling back, he finds the bullet lodged below her collarbone. Pinching with trembling hands, he pulls and covers her mouth, as she screams and kicks.

“Wasn’t so bad.” He concludes for her and gets Fang from under her; the hilt too petite for his grown hand.

Getting the blade under her collar, he gashes open the jacket in four tears. “Can you stand?” he asks, and she nods. Quivering from head to toe like a drowned dog, she Staggers forward and drops into his arms with a wet thump.

Her scales falters, slowly turning grey.

He must support her with what little he has left. Each step takes the next, each splashing. Passing the braided nylon rope, he all but carries her five miles up the yellow trail.

Her jaded fingers cling to him, occasionally a weak sniffle escapes her. Otherwise, she is dead silent. She never complained, but a hundred feet from the truck she slips out numb from under him.

Only due to the hefty bump does he notice.

Her eyes are open, but her breath no longer billows.

With a knowing sigh, Jhin picks her up over his shoulder and carries her the final stretch up the slope. Though he is very strong, arms are weak, and she is heavy.

“Sorry.” He lets her roll onto the sandy ground, which sticks to her wet clothes. “Equipment can be replaced.” He reminds himself under his breath.

Prying his frozen digits shut around the handle, the door is flung open.

He brings back the three-seater in the back with a click, folding it out to a nice bedding for her.

When finally, he gets his hands to obey and grab their towels from under the back seats, they tickle numbly on his skin. Close, but no frostbite this time.

“Come on, sweety.” He places her lifeless body on the towels. She says something, he leans in and asks that she may repeat herself.

“Turn on the heat…please.” Her lips have turned entirely white.

He turns the air condition on max, then rumbles through his bag. His map of Luxia is nothing more than a grey paste, all over his things.

The radio is cooked also. The dissection knife, however, turns on with a blue flicker along the blade.

“Be still.” He runs the blade through her wound with a sizzle. A stench of burned skin wafts up his nose.

Her mighty muscles flex, and a whimper escapes her.

“What was that thing?” she coughs.

“The straitjacket?”

“Straight jacket?”

“No…’ strait-” He cuts himself off. “Commonly used on dragyns to restrain your claws, tails, and wings in one device, they say.”

“Well. I don’t like it,” she stutters.

“You are okay now.” Jhin reaches down between the front seats for her bathrobe. “Get changed…quickly. He crawls out into the freezing night.

Leaning against the truck of his. The mild heat of his lighter is liquid fire against his skin. Trembling, he manages to light his cig.

Ylier is quiet in the night, bouncing peacefully on the surface. On its shore, where they just emerged, something shifts in the night, something massive.

Chapter 2: Home sweet home.

03;39 AM, the digital display on the dashboard reads. The unevenness of the road bumbles up the wheels through the steering wheel into his clutching hands.

Daring to take his eyes off the road he has traveled down hundreds of times before, he checks up on Oril.

Snuggled under her blanket, she is fast asleep with her ear slapped across her face. Her mouth is left slightly agape; she is gleaming innocence.

A chime sounds from between him and the passenger seat, it is his phone letting him know that the transfer has gone through.

“Payday,” Oril croaks and sits up with a disgruntled moan.

“Hey,” Jhin takes his hand off the steering wheel to stop her from going back to sleep. “We are nearly home,” he says.

Her jaws spring open in a deep yawn, as she rubs the dew from the corner of her eye into her sleeve.

Jhin returns his hand to the helm, as Valior tilts into view over the hilltop.

The truck strays left on the sloped countryside road; the steering wheel fights him left on this last stretch, every time.

“Home,” Oril murmurs under her breath.

Jhin feels the glow of her eyes digging into him, but on closer inspection, he does not exist.

Her gaze gleams beyond him at the modest house further up the hill.

“Home.” Jhin nods.

He takes the last turn and kicks the truck back into fourth gear. A smirk crawls across his face, as he is pushed into his seat. The truck accelerates right into their driveway.

Oril is out the door before he can turn the key. Stretching with an audible crackle, she rises to her full height against Ardor.

“Ahh.” She spreads her wings against the backdrop. The purple membrane between the second and third wing arm on the left is torn down the middle; he tries not to stare at it too much.

Oril’s large and hyperflexible ears puff open from the side of her head.

She remains a statue, only her sonars flicker back and from. In a jerk of motion, she jumps to the front door.

Jhin turns the ignition before he steps outside to taste the crisp winter air, through a filter of nicotine and sod.

“Hey, Buddy!” Oril exclaims. Jhin covers his lighter against a gust from the south, glancing over at Oril. She is squashing their Caucasian Shepherd.

Buddy nuzzles his head on her neck; he learned the hard way not to lick her scales. She has those zein scales, razor-sharp on the upstroke.

They tousle playfully back and forth over the sea of tiny black pebbles of their driveway.

They are both overjoyed, so he lets them, this time only.

In the near distance is an island of dim lights. Valior lays sleepy in the early hours, surely no one is around at this time, anyways.

Jhin finishes his cig, rubs it out under the heel of his boot.

“Inside,” he ushers Oril and waits for Buddy to follow before he shuts the winter out.

He hangs his coat next to Oril’s recurve-longbow, a hopelessly outdated weapon, yet lethal in her practiced hands. “I’m going to bed, don’t wake me up unless absolutely necessary. Also, Ivon is visiting tomorrow- just so that you know.”

“Okay, dad.” She looks up without relenting her scratching of Buddy’s belly. “I am gonna go hunting in the morning,” she says.

“Just make sure to take care of yourself.” He places a hand on her shoulder, and she gives pause with a puzzled look.

“I know; I always do,” she says while he pulls down the collar of her shirt slightly. Her skin has healed nicely, but the scales around the impact has possibly lost some color.

He smiles at her; she does not need to know, not yet.

The red carpet-strip running down the middle of the staircase has come loose on the fourth step. Another detail to fix while they have to lay low, anyways.

Buddy leaps up at his pant leg while he attempts to ascend the stairs.

“Okay, then.”

Jhin gets a hand under the dog, ruffling it up on its hind legs.

The door to Oril’s room is left ajar, the sickening heat from inside waves over him on the way to the bathroom at the end of the hallway.

He shoulders the door open and props himself up on the sink to stare into the same tired eyes, the same scar below his left eye. Twenty years ago, thirty years ago, sixty and eighty years ago, the same tired eyes.

He undresses, folds his attire nicely on the redwood stool by the sink and leans his back on the alternating white and black tiles.

Water coming down steaming hot washes away three days of grime and dirt. At last, he becomes human again.

Unlike his usual self, he allows himself to linger in the shower for a minute longer before he dries off.

He drags his towel across his face, slowly.

Shimmering between the wall extending from the doorframe halfway into the room and the bathtub, he gets hold of the door of the clothing closet.

He collects military graded pants of a greenish hue from the top shelf and a white T-shirt from the bottom draw.

Tightening his belt buckle, he opens the bathroom door in a burst of steam. Oril is sharpening her claws, wearing her puffy white robe with a towel over her shoulder.

“Good night.” He kisses her forehead.

“Sweet dreams.” They push past each other. He hears the shower come on as he enters the master bedroom.

He seats himself at his writing desk. The stern redwood desk with the elves’ curling writing arching across the tabletop.

It has been shoved against the wall below the windowsill. The ethereal light of the full moons showers his desk this morning.

In the left top draw is an old, yet well-kept notebook. It is bound in leather, and the subject line is empty.

He flicks it open midways and separates the page into two: pros and cons.

Before it can escape him, he put down Oril’s performance; everything excellent and the things they would have to work on.

The pen scribbles on auto across the pages by a practiced hand.

Everything returned to where he found it; he climbs into bed.

Surprised to find his inbox on his phone empty, he contemplates calling her.

Ivon usually lets him know the day before.

Probably no more than an oversight on her part… He sits awake for a solid minute before deciding that he would hardly want to wake her up at this hour.

Alarm set to eight, he dials Uron’s number.

His door clicks open; he hangs up and throws the phone under his pillow.

“Dad?” she asks hesitantly, her fingers wrapping around the door.

“Can I come in?”

“Sure, sweety. What is it?”

She sneaks across the fluff carpet on the floor to sit on the side of his bed.

Her silver hair is still slightly moist as he lets his fingers through. He can almost feel the gears turning as she opens and closes her mouth several times before finally speaking her mind.

“That guy, he was strong like you; he looked a lot like you too… and he called you Jhin?”

He sighs and contemplates sending her to bed with a warning.

“It is because I am not human.”

Her hairs stand up straight. “Wha-” He gently places his index finger on her lips.

“I am one of the prince’s Insignis.”

She whips around, her eyes wide open.

“What…No?”

“I am sorry, sweety.” He reaches for her hand, but she darts back.

“Why… I mean, you never told me?”

“Listen, sweetheart, you cannot call me Jhin. This is important.”

“Okay… dad?” She looks at him with hesitance, rubbing her upper arm, and it breaks his heart.

It is without warning she wraps her arms around him, sending a wave of relief through him.

He tugs her in tighter, where her breathing slows to the beat of his heart.

“I will tell you all about it tomorrow.” He promises and sends her off to bed, but in the doorway she lingers. “Love you,” she says.

“Love you too, sweety.”

He grabs his phone the instance the door closes and turns it off.

Chapter 3: Broken promises.

Oril’s bow is indeed missing, so is Buddy. While the vital coffee brews, he notices the note on the fridge: ‘Gone out hunting, will be back at twelve’.

Is it silly to worry about her? – Worry about his abnormally powerful dragyn – absolutely, but he cannot help himself.

She is his little Oril. She is out there and wounded, any parent’s worst nightmare.

His nightmare should never become her burden, however.

He leaves the sticker on the kitchen countertop, before throwing on his Golden Rose jacket.

He snatches the keys off the hook by the front door. A brave man, he dares to venture out into the merciless winter. It is freezing, eating into his skin immediately.

Soon the tremendous blizzards, which this region is infamous for, will be upon them. Already, black shadows are building on the horizon, far to the north.

Everything west of the Northern Gate will soon be perpetually buried in waist-deep snow for at least three months.

It is for this reason, he this morning decided to go get firewood from the shack.

The key jiggles into the lock, popping it open. Jhin leaves the padlock on the hinge, as he grabs an armload of redwood.

He carries it to a chopping block of a tree stump in the back yard.

Behind the block is the elder oak, it is this magnificent elder, which convinced them to settle here six years ago.

Chain cuffs sway in the wind with a torturous chime, which calls forth troubled memories.

Jhin waggles the weighted axeblade out of the block with a solid thump. He steps up onto the stump and lets gravity carry the axeblade down on the first stud of wood. He feels the impact up his arms and hears it echo between the trees surrounding his residence.

The edge has dulled slightly, but it is still balanced, overall an efficient tool.

He splits another, then another, he places the fourth stud on the chopping station and ponders how to reward Oril for going through the operation, peacefully.

“Armadillo,” he announces without a doubt. Old miss Nilsson will be pleased too, she would have been out of business by now.

Maybe she knows that he harbors a dragyn but wants the income.

Perhaps she is that amiably naïve.

Jhin swings the axe overhead one final time putting his back into it.

The axe comes down into the chopping block and stays.

He scoops the firewood and heads for the warmth of the kitchen. He only turns the corner before dropping it on the ground. “Ivon!” He jumps to her aid.

“It’s not that bad,” she insists, but her lower lip is torn; while not bleeding, severely swollen.

“Let us get you inside.” He gets an arm around her waist. She is not quite weak, but her footing is waving. “Here, I got you,” he promises, shouldering open the front door for her.

He sits her down at the dining table and asks if she wants coffee; she points to her lip.

“Who did this to you?” He drops into the chair opposite her. “A group of young adults… males, what else- They were caught, you hear?” she finally looks up at him with that burning will that he feared might have gone out.

“If you need a place to stay-” “I will take you up on that… Thank you.” She cuts him off. “Let me take a look at Fang, while I-” He now cuts her off. “Oril is not here; besides, you are not doing a thing, not until I get to look at your injuries.”

“Thank you,” she mimes at him, while he gets the first aid kit from under the tea towels under the kitchen sink.

“Tell me what happened to you,” he insists.

“You won’t do anything stupid,” she says, her eyes steadfast diamonds.

“Maybe I won’t-” “It wasn’t a question!”

“You run a tough bargain; fine, tell me.” He tilts her head back, and carefully begin disinfecting the split in her lip with the hand gel-soaked baby wipe.

“It was just some- Av!” She pulls away, and he patiently waits for her to lean back in.

“Did it have something to do with a project you did?” He asks.

“Not for them, that is for sure. They were literally mad about me having- Av, Jhin.” She sneers.

“Must be done.”

“Whatever. I was having success, and they were having none of it. I mean, god forbid that you have any success as an elf out here, right?”

“Or exiled insignis, nor dragyn.”

“Guess we’re in the same boat after all, although, you weren’t exiled; you chose this.”

“I would have to agree with that.” He steps back. “Good as new.” He tosses the wipe in the trashcan across the kitchen.

“Wish I could say the same.” She smiles.

“You think that you’re funny?”

“Didn’t you leave the firewood outside?”

He gives pause. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

With his thumb in his belt, he steps outside, where a cold fear runs down his spine.

“Come here, Buddy!” He ruffles the shepherd off its feet. “Where is Oril?” Buddy jumps and licks at his face, carelessly.

Jhin lifts his favorite and only pet off the ground. “Go find her!”

“Found her!” Oril announces as she pushes out of the forest.

She carries a giant black snake around her neck with a triumphant but repressed roar.

Buddy whimpers at her left arm, which hangs limply at her side.

“You’re not well.” Jhin crosses his arms.

“Hi, Ivon,” Oril whimpers, and Jhin gets an arm under her before she can drop.

“She’ll be alright.” Jhin catches buddy by the collar. “Go be with Ivon,” he commands. “Let’s get you inside, we’ll skip your lecture and training today, okay?”

Leaning on him, she drags herself inside.

Discreetly his index finger sneaks under her collar, peeling it back slightly.

Blue lines branch out from below her collarbone; they cut into her scales, shattering them along their path.

Sitting her down at the dining table, he measures her carefully.

Would he be able to restrain her without causing her serious harm?

Her hand quivers, and it is clear as day that she struggles greatly to hold onto the pencil, which is handed to her.

“Oril,” he says as softly as his booming voice will allow. “You are not in any immediate danger if you relax.” He rips open her shirt.

The area below her collarbone has turned black rotten, and her scales have started to flake off.

All emotion drains from her face.

“Relax, I will be right with you.” He promises halfway out of the kitchen. Around the corner, he finds the figurine of a mire on the dresser. Grabbing its head and turning it with all his might, it gives suddenly.

A subtle click sounds from under the carpet.

Both girls are watching him from the kitchen. “Jay?” Ivon asks.

“Wait.” He demands and rolls back the carpet. The trapdoor beneath opens quietly into the hidden basement. “Please, Wait.” He jumps into the pitch blackness.

Feeling his way along the wall, grimy from the perpetual moisture, the tip of his fingers come across a crack.

Digging in, he pries it open. A tempered gust of dry air hits him.

He curses himself out; he let it come to this.

Blinded in the near-perfect darkness, he roams through the pile of memories.

The perfectly smooth box catches his fingertips. His eyes simmering behind his eyelids, he picks up the box under his arm.

His feet slip under him as he shoves the seven-hundred-kilogram door shut. Whirling on his heels to leave, he meets two yellow orbs in the dark.

“Oril!” His patience slips up.

She jerks away. For a second, she remains still, breathing heavy. In two launches, she darts up the ladder.

Simmering, he climbs the ladder, closes the trapdoor, locks it up, and covers it.

Oril sits in her chair with her hands folded in her lap, trying to void his gaze.

“Look at me.” He demands ice-cold, waiting the several seconds it takes for her to oblige. “You will not go poking around down there without my permission. Clear?”

“Crystal.”

He places the perfectly pure-white box in front of her; presses his thumb firmly against the material.

Blue streaks shoot through from his thumb. Like strikes of lightning, it wraps around its walls like a spider’s web.

The box folds in on itself to a plate; its content on display.

“Oril?” He notices the creases at the corner of her mouth and approaches slowly.

Her chair splinters when she shoots up and backs herself into a corner against the wall.

“Oril.” He stops dead in his tracks. Her eyes are wild as she draws Fang from its sheet. The blade shivers in her backhanded grasp, ready to strike.

“Get that thing away from me!” Tears swell up in her eyes. “Stay away!”

Tossing the straitjacket on the kitchen counter, he takes an uncompromisable stand in front of her. “What is with you, put the weapon away!”

“I know… You are not putting that on me!”

“How do you know?” he asks arms hovering in front of him, ready to strike.

Guilt flickers on her face for a split second, and he must come to terms with the fact that she has been seeking out information online.

Despite his utmost strictest orders, she did it anyway.

“What did I do wrong? Please I can do better-” He swipes her wielding hand out of the way. Before he can get hold, she slithers out from under him.

By his insignis instinct, he grabs her always cold tail out of the air.

Her scales bite into his palm, as he pulls her back into the kitchen on hands and knees.

Fang comes swiping up at him. His body moves to throw the blade from her grasp all on its own.

Getting hold of her wrist, she squirms. Her lethal bite dips in and out of range.

Against his better judgment, he lets her stagger to her feet. With an audible crunch, he strikes across her nose.

She spirals to the floor, where she stays, whimpering. Ivon gasps horrified, as Oril clasps her face.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” she cries.

“You forced my hand, sweety.” Jhin grabs the first aid off the counter. “I don’t know what you are on about, Oril- It’s not that bad.”

She cowers away into the corner, weeping. “Don’t get rid of me, please- I’ll do better in the future.”

Her words cut more profoundly than any blade ever could, shattering his fragile heart to bits. “I would never do such a thing, why would you think that?”

Her eyes light up like a Christmas tree. “But…You said that I could be replaced.”

“Listen to me, I would never try and harm you. I never said such a thing.”

“You said that equipment can be replaced.”

“I was talking about your clothes, sweety.”

He lets her hug him tight. “What is with the straitjacket, what is going on?” Ivon demands.

He seats first Oril, then Ivon, and finally himself. Lighting his pipe, he for a once does not care about stinking up the place.

Huffing deeply many times, he finally speaks. “Oril, you have been poisoned with civon. Surgery is unavoidable, but you will make a full recovery.”

“That’s terrible.” Ivon ruffles through Oril’s stiff silver hair. Oril’s hands twist vigorously under her nose, trying to stop the bleeding.

“Will it hurt?”

“Somewhat.”

“More than getting shot?”

“Yes.”

“And if I don’t want to?”

“Then you will die,” he says hesitantly. Oril swallows hard and looks up at him, blood trickling between her fingers.

“I did not break your nose, tell me that I didn’t.” He gently throws her head back to help stop the bleeding. She shakes her head solemnly, lost in thought.