• PM To Join • Darkest before the dawn

[Aeon]

Title by Pegasus. Thank you!

13th of Vhalar, arc 716. Dawn.

The Suns were now visible to the general public of Andaris, and so they were for Aeon. Those rays were not the Saun ones, not the ones that would wake him in a swift moment, but these rays appeared sleepy, and thin. Winter was coming, and so the young sergeant needed to ready himself for it. It took him several bits to get ready, not only because of the softness of the light, but because of his missing hand. It had been over twenty trials since the battle, and yet the blond man could not get used to using a single hand. He knew what the offer the King gave him meant, and yet, from his views on magic, Aeon doubted it was all so shiny and perfect, and that he could just be given a new hand.

Sheathing his new blade and putting the black cloak over the leather armor, the young sergeant left Ye Old Inn, in hopes of seeing Poppy and Gaspard today. He was given a cloak in his region's colors after his promotion, and yet the young one could not make himself wear it unless he was on strict Iron Hand duty, which this was not. Instead, he dressed in that velvet black cloak, with a blue dragon on the left side of Aeon's chest. It was more comfortable, and the skyrider felt at home in it, even more than he did in that other cloak. He even took his time to wipe the dust off of it, just so it looked better. The piece of clothing was growing on him, more and more every day.

Going through midtown, the skyrider played with the silver wings he was awarded in his pocket. They represented his position, and yet he couldn't care less about them. Ryqos rarely wore his wings, and he was a colonel. Aeon got out of the portion of the city without trouble, considering he had a title and a mission to back him up. He was a sergeant on his way to check up on the Volareon and Jacadon. The whole system was stupid in his one and only eye, and the skyrider still firmly believed that the gates should be opened, to help the people that needed it in lowtown. The king was, however, playing favorites, choosing to save the nobles and the merchants instead of the workers and farmers. No matter how little the blond man knew of political behavior, he truly believed that that action was just dumb. Who would make the nobles their food, if all the cooks are killed by the Shadows? Who would work on farms, if all the farmers were slaughtered?

He was nearing the Lodge, as he looked through the rubble that was lowtown. Not many people could be seen in the streets, not many that were alive, at least. Those that survived the end of Saun were forced to hide in their houses during the day, even the dawn so early as this one. That made the young skyrider feel anxious. Every little sound of a rock falling made him turn, every rat running across the cobblestone floor made him twitch. Aeon didn't know if the things appeared during dawn, seeing how the only reports he heard of them were at, at least, noon. He was about to find out.

Seeing the Lodge in the distance, as it was one of the rarer buildings which weren't completely crushed by the beast, or the Shadows, Aeon started quickly walking across the rubble of a once nice house. He felt sad for the owners of it, and for their fates. All he could hope for them was that they died in peace, and not agony. Suddenly, behind a wall which still wasn't destroyed, the young skyrider saw something dark, black even, move. He drew his longsword with his right hand, as his left was nowhere to be found. The thing appeared to be a shadow, and yet it was nothing like those survivors said. It wasn't huge or scary, it just appeared to be a shadow in the shape of a person.

Making his way to it slowly, Aeon experienced a slight delay with the movements of his longsword. It was hard, moving a heavy metal object like that one with only one hand at your disposal. But if the young one ever hoped to be more than a sergeant, he needed to learn. As he got to the corner, Aeon went straight for the creature's neck, without even looking at it, as if it could turn men to stone just by looking at them. His right eye was closed firmly, without a chance for it opening, meanwhile the hole in which his left eye used to be was covered with a pitch black eyepatch. There was a big chance for a failed strike, because of both his lack of aiming, and the lack of better balance. He was so used to holding his blade with both of his hands, Aeon's footwork got messed up in the process. He only hoped that the creature would get hit, and die from that single slash of a cold blade.

[Yrmellyn Cole]

The painter Yrmellyn Cole had the quirky mindset of an artist. Among many other things it meant she was interested in all kinds of odd phenomena. She was prone to try to investigate them, in order to transform them to art in one way or another. For this reason she was able to sometimes go to extremes few people would understand, and which could only be explained by the logics of art.

Shadow Creatures! The mere name those horrors went by was intriguing. What were they, really? What were they made of? Smoke? Or something more solid?

How was it to be in the lowtown of Andaris at dawn, in the time of the shadow beasts? This was a question many would be happy to not need to get answered. But Yrmellyn felt compelled to find out. What did it mean to be a worker or farmer in Rynmere, and so be expected to deliver all the work and food the kingdom needed, but be left to save yourself as best you could when monsters roamed the lands?

The thoughts of these questions hadn’t left her any peace of mind. They had haunted her when she was awake, and they had haunted her in her dreams. She had ended up feeling a strong desire to experience the ordeals of the simple people of Rynmere in first person. This felt like the only way to really know what is was like, beyond what the mere words of other people could ever tell her. What she experienced she would know, and what she knew she would paint ... unclear as this insight and its origins were to her, it felt strong and convincing. She felt compelled to bear witness, by painting the shadows and their victims.

For this reason she had brought her painting kit, which she carried in her big canvas backpack, together with the usual simple everyday equipment she found useful to bring with her on excursions, like the tinderbox, a bowl, cutlery, water ... nothing special. She only aimed to make sketches just to catch the general atmosphere.

And if the shades attacked?

Yrmellyn had counted on people to open their doors for her and let her in and save her. This didn’t seem so probable any more, with all the closed and locked doors and windows of the buildings around her. Yrmellen feared the good people of Rynmere might turn out to be less heroic than she had imagined them to be, in the artistic visions that had sent her to lowtown. Now it seemed overly romantic to think people would put their lives at risk for a painter they didn't know. She had changed her mind, cancelled her plans, turned around and hurried back in her tracks, but the sudden sound of approaching steps had made her hide behind the corner of a house.

There she stood now, totally still and silent.

Steps? Nobody had said anything about how the shadow beasts sounded when they moved around. She didn’t know if the steps could be the sound of a shadow, but she found it best to hide. This didn’t mean she felt safe beyond the corner. Not at all. I was a crappy shelter. She knew it would only be a question of bits before she would find out whatever was heading her way ... she pressed herself against the wall and waited. If she hadn’t been raised in The Dusk Quarter of Rharne she might have been terrified now, but it wasn’t the first time Yrmellen Cole had been hiding around a corner in the hopes that something wicked would pass her by.

Alright, truth is she was terrified. She had tried to deny the terror she felt, and succeeded at suppressing it for a few trills, but the self-delusion was already over. Now it felt like fear exploded in her body. Her heart was beating hard and fast and she trembled for every step she heard. In desperation she did something extreme; she used her knowledge about the magic named attunement, and tried to tune in on whatever was approaching. This made her activate the attunement, the magic "inner vision" that gave her one more sense, like a third eye inside her mind, though it wasn't any eye and it wasn't vision. It didn’t tell her much, but when the steps stopped the silence coincided with a brief impression of an intention to kill.

This was all, but maybe it saved her life. Yrmellen was already dodging when the attack came. All she saw at first was a black shape, for sure a shadow! Then the sword cut through the air where she had been standing and she saw that it wasn’t a shadow beast holding it, but a young man in a dark cloak. If she'd had time to think of the risks with drawing attention she might have found it smart to be silent, but she didn't have time. She yelled at him to stop, and not kill her.

[Aeon]

The blade missed, and the young sergeant knew it, so it was pointless to keep his eye closed. It was not only the sound of the blade slashing through the air that made the young man open his eye, it was also a scream that tore through the air and reached even the distant houses. A scream made by a woman, and not a shadow beast. Aeon just almost killed an innocent woman. A woman which was for some reason out in the middle of lowtown during this crisis.

"Oh for the Sacred Seven!" Aeon shouted while looking at the long-haired woman with a backpack. She seemed prepared for her little fieldtrip, like she was going out into the nature, and not a battlefield. "I am so sorry, I saw your shadow and thought you were one of those..things" He said, while gesturing towards the woman to relax. He was the last person that wanted to hurt her during these dark times, and the first person to want to help.

"My name's Aeon, and I'm with the Iron Hand, how did you end up in the middle of lowtown, do you not know how dangerous it is?" The young one let his voice echo along the stones and the dirt, before he continued. "We'll need to find a safer place to be at now, because if there were any of those monsters around, they would be coming for us" What kind of safe place could protect them now, after the woman's scream roared along the streets and into the ears of every beast that could have heard it.

[Yrmellyn Cole]

Yrmellyn looked at the young blond man with immense relief. Now when she saw his open and honest face and heard him speak about killing shadows, the intent to kill she had discerned from him just bits ago came off as something good. Everything about this man spoke about how he was a brave and resolute person to trust. Despite his youthful looks there was an air of experience in the way he spoke. This was no lightweight nobleman who had seen nothing else than parties and comfort. Perhaps it was wishful thinking due to the situation, but she was under the impression he was strong and good, a man through and through as golden as his hair. The pitch black eye patch that covered his left eye didn't remove from this impression. Yrmellen had seen people with eye-patches during her whole life and to her it was only the normal protection of the eye socket, for people who'd had bad luck. As a painter she could even find the contrast between the patch and the rest of the man's face interesting. She didn't look for flat perfection in people's appearance. A face with a story to tell would often catch her attention more than unmarked cuteness did.

“It's understandable that you would try to kill a shadow being" she managed. "It would be a good deed. I'm Yrmellyn Cole. A painter. I'm so happy to see you here ... I had been told the worst is over and the odd shadow attacks are sparse now ... but when I saw all the closed doors here and how people seem to be hiding ... if they are even alive ... ”

This could have been enough said, but now when she was speaking with a member of the Iron Hand who didn’t seem too impressed by her presence in this dangerous place, Yrmellen was embarrassed and felt an explanation was required.

“I felt it’s my duty, sort of ... I mean, somebody ought to document this terror, paint the pictures of it in all it’s grotesque and evil darkness, so it will never be forgotten ... I don’t want people of the far future to find nothing else than some beautiful portraits of noble lords and ladies, and other wealthy people who will pay me well for portraying them the way they wish to be portrayed. I want my paintings to bear evidence about the life and pleasures and sufferings of the commoners, the workers, the farmers, and the poor ... those who would otherwise be forgotten. ”

She interrupted herself as she thought she heard something, just a hint of a sound. But when she fell silent and tried to listen for that sound, there was nothing. Perhaps it had just been a gust of wind.

“It seems totally calm here.” Even as Yrmellyn said this, her gaze darted nervously from house to house in search of a safer place than the street corner. She saw a shutter open, slowly and soundlessly, in the upper part of a house further down the street, about three or four buildings away from where she and Aeon stood, depending on how you counted. A woman with a messy mop of flaxen hair came into view. It wasn’t possible to be certain of details due to the distance, but Yrmellen was under the impression the woman was dressed in nothing more than underwear.

The unknown blonde in the window started to move her hands in patterns. Yrmellyn recognized this as common sign language. Sign was a second language for Yrmellyn. She wasn’t fluent in it, but the talent for visual observation that had enabled her to become a painter had also made it easy for her to learn sign. She could be said to master “broken common sign”. This meant she was able to cope with straightforward conversations about uncomplicated things. That was maybe also the blond woman’s level. The signed message from the woman in the window was simple. It said “Hurry up, run. Shelther. Here, knock door, silent; three times three taps. Open.”

So, some of the poor people of Rynmere were after all not the pragmatic cowards Yrmellen had started to fear when she had seen all the closed doors. The woman in the window must have heard the scream and assumed somebody was being attacked. Whoever she was, she seemed prepared to help strangers in distress. Seeing how the woman choose to speak in sign made it clear to Yrmellyn that the situation was considered more dangerous than met the eye.

She signed back to the helper, in order to confirm that she had got the message. “Understood.”

It was a relief to know that they had somewhere to go, if they really would need it. Right now it seemed so calm that Yrmellyn wondered if the stories she’d heard had been exaggerated though. Then again, the knight’s serious words and the way the blonde in the window spoke in sign instead of shouting out to them implied that it was best to operate under the assumption that the threat was real. Yrmellyn turned to the knight again. In an awkward attempt to make sure he was aware of the potential escape route, she grabbed his left arm while she gestured towards the house down the street.

She repeated the blond woman's instructions in sign, but then it occurred to her that she didn’t know if the knight understood sign. She was about to check it up, when her gaze fell on the end of the arm she had grabbed.The sight stunned her for a moment, and many thoughts crossed her mind ...

"Your hand" she said stupidly.

[Aeon]

It's my duty.. The woman said, as Aeon carefully studied her words. Those words were a deathwish, with the slight possibility of a savior coming your way. The young skyrider knew, mostly because it happened to him. It was his duty to protect the entire city from an invincible monster, and because it was his duty he was now a cripple. Duty.. it was truly a strange thing, one that cannot be taken lightly, no matter the circumstances.

"Can you paint while there is no blood flowing through you?" Aeon mumbled, trying to remain as quiet as possible, and yet audible enough for the woman to hear him. There was no need to be louder than that, and yet the woman didn't understand that. "What if you spotted a shadow? Or a man trying to take advantage of a woman in the middle of a ruined city? How would you paint then?" It was a reckless decision she made, and even though Aeon did the same things, she did not know how to protect herself as well as him. She was not a sergeant, she was a painter.

The woman suddenly averted her gaze towards a building not far away from the two, and as Aeon watched, there was only a woman in a window to be found. A woman which was for some reason doing strange things with her hands. Aeon wondered if she was alright, possessed maybe? And then all of a sudden, the painter next to him replied with another strange set of signs made by her hands. The young one tied to replicate them in his brain, but it just wouldn't work. How does one replicate those signs? What were they even..once more, Aeon was shrouded in mysteries.

Then the woman was for some reason grabbing the amputated arm, while showing those signs to the young skyrider too. What was this, some sort of code language that the lowtown folks had and nobody else understood? Highly unlikely, seeing how most of the educated men and women were not in lowtown, but then again, perhaps the sheer lack of education forced the people of the ruined part of the city to come up with something they could use.

"Wha-" The word slipped Aeon's mouth, going straight for the chill of the air, paying no attention to the closing lips which were meant to keep it inside. The woman had only now noticed that there was a hand missing from Aeon's left arm, and it shocked the skyrider. Most people noticed within several trills, with zero issues. Now he was wondering if the woman was brave and reckless, or just stupid. Did she even notice the eyepatch over his left eye?

"Yes, that happened. There was a civil war, in case you missed it." Aeon chuckled while saying these words, mostly because he was expecting the woman to presume the wound was from the recent war, and not a playground accident. Then again, she hadn't even noticed he had the wound, so who knew. "What were those things you and the woman did with your hands? Is it a code?" Because if it was, now would be the best time to reveal it, seeing how it may just save their lives.

[Yrmellyn Cole]

Yrmellyn gave Aeon the most important information first. She told him that Common Sign was exactly what it's name said. People could use their hands to make signs, and communicate that way instead of with spoken words. This could come in very handy when they needed to speak when they stood at a distance from each other, and yelling would be impractical. It could also be used when people wanted to speak without being heard by bypassers on the street, or by other people in the same room.

"The woman in the window over there told us that if we would run there and knock three times on the door, she will open and give us shelter." She shrugged. "We can hope. People keep their promises sometimes. But it remains to be seen what she would do in practice if we would come running with a bunch of shadows after us ... "

She paused to bend down and pick up her easel; she had dropped it when she dodged Aeon's attack. The easel was part of the painter's kit she had brought with her, a light metal device with three spindly legs to stand on and a small shelf where she used to keep the pictures while she painted them. By habit Yrmellyn held it with its legs pointing down towards the ground. She didn't want to stab something with them by accident!

It still seemed calm. Perhaps the rumors were true and the shadow attacks seemed to be ebbing out now. Maybe they were already over, and that woman who signed from the window just didn't know this yet? Yrmellyn hoped so.

"I don't paint everything exactly at the time it happens" she said. "I observe the environment, the people who move in it, their activites, the things that happen, and I save all this and keep it in my memory. Later, when I paint, I recall these memories and my impressions. A painting isn't instantaneous, you know. There's always a delay, as even if it's possible to paint at once, the work takes time. So ... if I saw somebody be assaulted I wouldn't paint, I would go there and ..."

And do what? The answer came spontaneously: "I guess I could maybe try to use the easel to defend someone, or myself? Well ... wait, come to think of the kit, I'll just have a look at my things...one moment "

Yrmellyn checked up the content of her painter's kit, in order to make sure she hadn't forgotten any of her belongings a bit earlier, when she'd had the ambition to try to sketch a bit. She had stopped that and gathered her things hastily, when she started to feel worried. Now she felt unsure if everything was there.

"... wait, please. I need to find my painting thinner. Yes. Here it is. Thinner. And my tinderbox, it's here too. I seem to have everything." She held the bag in her left hand now and didn't care to strap it to her back at once.

"I heard about the civil war of course. Terrible news. War always is. It's a blight on the world, worse than anything else. About the civil war in Rynmere, I arrived recently, so I only know that there was a rebellion attempt, but the leader is dead now. I heard some tales of battles, and monsters even, but I don't know what to think really. People tell wild tales after battles, when they are drinking in taverns." She paused a bit. "But I understand that you have been involved, and been through an ordeal. I would like to ask you about this ... but what do you think, can we just stand here, or should we move on? Where are you headed ?"
It could seem like they were alone. Little did they know that they weren't the only visitors in this part of the city that day ! While they spoke, an yludih mercenary named Yanahalqah had her own plans, and ... but for now Aeon and Yrmellyn didn't know anything about it. They stood there speaking, and the young knight continued their conversation and answered the painter.

They would soon see however, they would soon see.

[Aeon]

The sign language the woman spoke of sounded quite interesting to Aeon, and even though he had a huge amount of more important things to do, one day, he would go back to it and learn it. It was just something which looked to be highly useful, much like Yrmellyn said. He could see himself needing to use it in several opportunities, and see several opportunities in which he missed it. Oh if he only knew of this sign language before, many things would have been easier during his life.

"You know, the environment won't always just stand still and wait for you to memorize it. If there was a shadow beast right here, you would not be standing here observing it so you can paint it later, you would be filled with fear running for your head, forgetting everything you brought here with you. If you encountered a murderer, or the Seven forbid, someone even worse, that man would not wait for you to remember his features, but he would assault you without thinking twice. And that easel isn't going to save your life against anything or anyone but a rat in the streets."

His words were stopped by the woman looking around for her things. There were so many more words that were left unsaid by the young skyrider, and yet most of them would remain hidden deep within his mind, underneath all other layers which were never mentioned out loud. And that was, perhaps, for the best, because who knew what kind of action from both Aeon and others those words may trigger.

Have been involved.. that was an understatement, concerning Aeon's actions in the war. He was quite literally in the middle of everything fighting everyone, even the greatest monster that existed. And yet it was all just a myth, a story to scare the kids, one that he wouldn't dare sharing while sober, because most, if not all people would brand him as mad without much thought. The civil war took it's toll on everyone in every way, but it was mostly the psychological part that shook Aeon the most.

"Shhh, stay behind me." He mumbled, as he looked in a direction where he thought he had spotted something. Perhaps the lowtown was not so peaceful after all. Just in case, Aeon drew his sword, holding it by his side, as he made his way to the edge of another ruined building by which he thought he saw something pitch black. The skyrider held his left, handless arm at his shoulder height, prevent the woman from passing to the left side of his, though she still could've made her move right from him, and he'd be unable to stop her.

[Yanahalqah]

“Can you believe that I still have to be in bed all day?” the male squire frowned, looking very much displeased with the situation. “Even now that I can finally move about again, and sit upright without needing any support! I should be allowed to leave, I’m all healed.”
Yana sighed. “I heard the nurses caught you trying to do some body improvement training and such in the middle of the night a couple trials ago.”
Hannes’s face grew a bright pink, he cast his eyes down and looked away, pretending to have seen something interesting through the window.
“They said you strained yourself--”
“That’s a lie!” The squire cut in, arms crossed. “I would never be overexerted from doing only fifteen push-ups!”

Yana raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps,” she agreed, “but you did tear open your injuries, collapsed and were unable to get back up, correct?”
“The medication just wore off is all,” he said, “it happens all the time.”
“Does it now? So the nurses always find you immobilized and screaming from the pain when the painkillers wear off?”
Hannes stared at the blanket covering his body.
“I think not. I spoke with your physicians, you know. Do not play me for a fool. I know what you brought upon yourself and more. You only extended your stay with your childish impatience. You are lucky your painkillers did indeed wear off, else you would probably only have undone everything the doctors worked for.”

“I didn’t think--”
“Indeed, and that is the root of the problem!” Her voice rose in volume and tone, anger slipping through. “You should listen to what the people around you say! If doctors tell you you should not be moving about too much, then that is final! Maybe if your actions land you in a rolling chair for the rest of your trials, you would wish you had listened. But by then it will be too late.”

She turned around then, walking to the door. Yana hadn’t even sat down in the time she had been in the room. She had entered, scolded, and now she would leave.
“You’re going already? I thought you said you just came from a patrol? Aren’t you free right now?”
Despite the reprimanding words and the unusual tone with which she had spoken them, the young man still wanted her to stay.
“I have other things to take care of,” she simply said, not turning back around to look at him. “If you want to see me that badly, you should perhaps do what you are being told all the time and actually heal up.” With that she left the room, closing the door firmly behind her. A sigh escaped, and she looked to the doctor standing there. “Pleased?”

He nodded. “Very. You did great. I hope he will listen to you. If not, there isn’t much else we can do besides restraining him.”
Yana didn’t say much. “Do what has to be done.”
“Of course.”

The Yludih left then, collecting her weapons from the receptionist’s desk. With practiced ease she buckled the belt with attached sheaths around her hips, and swung her bow and quiver over her shoulders. She left the infirmary not much later, boots stomping on the cobblestones of lowtown once she got there, traversing the alleys and streets in order to reach the barracks.

[Yrmellyn Cole]

“I don’t need to memorize everything. Painting doesn’t work that way. You are probably right about the rest though, ” Yrmellyn admitted, as she wasn’t unrealistic. The knight seemed like a good and logical thinker, knowledgeable and with good judgement. It made her feel relieved; she wasn’t in this potentially dangerous place in the company of a fool.

If someone has behaved like a fool, it’s me, she thought.

“I’m a painter, an artist, and not made for combat against shadow beasts, or violent, murderous men. To flee would be necessary. It would be my first priority.”

She made a small pause, before she added : “Then again, what if I would find myself without escape routes? I think I would react just like many desperate people and animals do, and try to save myself by using what poor options I have, without caring if it’s futile or not. I’d just try to survive, even if would only gain me a few breaks more in life.”

The time for general conversation ended abruptly. Yrmellyn stopped speaking when Aeon’s stance changed and he drew the sword and told her to get behind him. As a painter she spent much time reading the expressions and body language of her subjects, so she was observant. She wasn’t painting now, but she didn’t miss the tone he spoke in, or the way he moved. It conveyed that he was preparing to meet a very real threat and not at all kidding. This was no joke. It was the real thing. A chill went up her spine, and with the recent conversation fresh in her memory she found I best to do as she was told, and trust in the better fighter to deal with this.

He was one handed. There was that, but the way he held the sword spoke of skill and experience. All she could do was hope it was true. She would let him take lead. This said, she wasn’t going to be totally passive, and even if a rat was all she would be able to fight with the easel, she would fight that rat, if it appeared.

Looking in the same direction as Aeon she followed him, staying behind him as he had told her. Her throat felt dry and her heart was beating too fast and hard. The sound of their steps seemed unnaturally high to her, and over at the ruined house they were approaching she could were dark gaps in destroyed walls and between the heaps of debris that lay scattered over the ground.

She didn’t want to disturb the knight and distract him at this point, but she thought of his missing hand, and what he had said just a few breaks ago, about running away in fear. He seemed competent, but she wondered if his self-efficacy was built on what he had been able to do with two hands, or on his current crippled state ...

“I’ll follow your lead and do as you say” she half-whispered in the hopes that Aeon would hear it. “But if we would be attacked, and if it would become overwhelming, I guess we can run to that house, and knock on the door, and see if that woman with the messy hair will keep her promises and let us in ... “

This didn’t feel reassuring at all.

No matter what Aeon had told her, Yrmellyn found it best to keep the easel at ready. Regardless of if it was useless as weapon, it was what she was equipped with, and she would use it if she must. Although she was reluctant to use magic openly, and also not sure of the consequences of tuning in to things like shadow beasts, fear made her think of it as a possibility. Wouldn't it be better to know in advance if there was something evil waiting for them in the ruined house? But the cost, what would it be? She had no answer. For now it was just an option. It would be silly to lose self-control and start to rashly do things that could in worst case make a difficult situation even harder to deal with. This was at least what she thought. What would happen if she found herself under overwhelming pressure remained to be seen.

Tense and unsure and torn between trust and fear, she followed Aeon.

[Aeon]

Asking who was there crossed Aeon’s mind, a couple of times even, but no answer to that question could be a good one. A good guy, a normal peasant, wouldn’t have answered the call from someone with a sword in their hand, while the bad guys and shadow monsters surely wouldn’t tell him who they were. The boy’s pupils were now just dots in his brown eyes, moving slowly across the ruined stone. His hands were shaking, he couldn’t hide it, since he did not know whether or not he could take a shadow beast by himself. He wasn’t by himself, but the painter woman surely did not give him any reassurance, especially not while she wielded the easel like it was some weapon.

She seemed logical and observant enough. Would she know what to do in case he fell? No, he wouldn’t fall, that was no way to think about a situation like the one Aeon and Yrmellyn were in. And still, with all the hope that went through the young sergeant’s mind, he couldn’t get the fear out. Ever since the battle, ever since Ryqos was presumed dead, there was fear deep within him, fear that Aeon did not know how to handle.

As suddenly as the fear came, a sound echoed into the skyrider’s red ears. The weather was getting colder, and yet he couldn’t stop thinking it was the shadow monsters that caused the chill that went down his spine. Turning his head to the side to observe the environment from which the sound came, the boy realized it was only a rock falling down a wall. A natural order of things, nothing to be alarmed of, and so his eyebrows fell once more and he sighed in relief. Maybe it wasn’t a shadow monster, he thought to himself.

Alas, it was not his trial, since just as Aeon turned to face his front once more, he was facing a thing so imaginary, he wouldn’t have believed it was real if he hadn’t heard the stories, or seen the beast from the battle beforehand. It was a shadow moving in the air, like a three dimensional object, except it surely wasn’t. It had the pure texture of a shadow, and before Aeon could see what it represented, it rushed at him with wrath filling its movement. It was shifting into a dog, a hound, a two-headed hound, and quite a large one. The stories were true, the shadows become your greatest fear. But the skyrider had already decided. Hope was the only thing stronger than fear, so hope was the one emotion he would listen to.

It is a shadow, not the beast. One strike of your blade, and its dead. It is a shadow, not the beast. The voice of reason made itself clear within the boy’s thoughts, and yet it was so hard for him to listen to it. Why was that so hard? Aeon could see the right path in front of him, the decision that would end it, right there and then, and yet it was so hard to take it. His feet seemed to be bonding with the ground like man and woman after getting married. It seemed like it would be two trials before they would leave, before they would listen to the voice of reason.

Just kill it. It is a shadow; even less than a man. Just kill it. The voice came once more, even though it had been less than a trill before it went away last time. Finally, the gap between the cracked, dry lips closed as the one eye of the skyrider opened and his hand made a swift movement. The blade seemed to have went through the shadow and effectively destroyed it. It was luck that saved Aeon this time, and he knew it. The shadow monster wasn’t fully formed yet, and even then, it had almost reached his neck.

”More will come, we need to get somewhere safer than this. If you agree, I think we should trust that woman.” The young sergeant said, finally lowering his guard and ready to follow the painter’s lead now. For some reason, seeing the shadow of the beast that scarred him die that easily gave the boy energy, more than he would’ve gained if the shadow was just any shadow. And the Seven knew he desperately needed that energy to stay above his pain.