《The Moon Hides ( After becoming the enemy prince's unfavored consort )》


 Chapter 1 : The winter coliseum

    A deep frost permeated through the forest and fell before the hyperion trees, at its end softening to spring. And on spring¡¯s side was Drugar, the empire of humans.


    To the winter side was Araya, nestled deep within the sleeping valley of hymns, the cradle of winter Nimyi. And Ariansyll was its northernmost dwelling, whose gates upon the vibrant winter festival was open to all.


    At it¡¯s summit in the winter coliseum sat kings and queens, princes and princesses, nobles and dignitaries of allied nations, cities and civilisations rows upon rows akin to flocks of white winter birds.


    At the coliseum¡¯s dais was the imperial family, though better referred to as a council of Nimyi. With faces obscured by white veil sat the crown prince of Araya, Arelle, the bearer of the sun, to the right of the empress. And the first prince Reven, the bearer of the moon sat to the left of the lady of the moon, the guardian. To her right was the second prince, the bearer of the night, Asael. Though his predecessor Astara dwelt in Isryx and was absent.


    ¡°And so Drugar has sent a warrior?¡±


    Murmurs were alight the arena, the source of their speculation presently dwelt in its centre, battling a strange creature.


    ¡° How long?¡± The second prince sighed, for the past three hours, he had been holding a circlet of white winter flowers in his hands, its petals were already beginning to frost over.


    ¡° Longer than anticipated. . . sweet tea your highness?¡± Beside him, the aide poured a stream of blue flower tea into a warmed porcelain cup.


    Heroes and warriors, competitors of vassal states and allied kingdoms had come and gone, but none had been able to subdue the strange creature.


    As the warrior entered the blood splattered grounds, a soft wetness pushed against his feet. Water, cold and undulating, stretched across the field. His grip on his sword, polished and crystalline, tightened as he cautiously approached the creature obscured amongst the white blizzard. As he swung the sword into the thick mist, tendrils of water began to trickle up his arms. And then. . . the sword fell, slipping swiftly across the ice, stopping too far to be retrieved.


    He waited, watching for movement, yet there was none. Only the sound of his own breathing, the trickling water and the deafening sound of the crowds pulsed annoyingly in his ears. The warrior unhurriedly dragged his fingers along his leg armour and retrieved a blade, be it sword or dagger, it did not matter. These weapons to him were akin to his own limbs. As he knelt down, he felt a soft touch upon his knees, seeping coldly onto his skin underneath.


    The warrior¡¯s gaze lifted and met with a pair of pallid viridian eyes. Innocently it watched him twirl the dagger in his hand, then a curtain of black hair fell past its shoulders onto his hands, dripping and dissolving into water. And it surrounded the two in a world of their own. A siren. . . it extended an arm, translucent and with overwhelming softness that it slipped from his hold.


    His eyes slipped past the coy face, a pair of long white legs formed from the water surrounding him. The warrior sighed. Thanking the fact that his mental faculties were still intact.


    As the Siren unblinkingly stared at him the Drugan warrior felt a bit confused.


    It did not attack and stared innocently at his face as if in admiration. He cocked a brow twirling the dagger in his hand and sheathed it back into his pants.


    ¡° What?¡¯ Asked the warrior.


    But the siren continued to stare before meekly turning away and walking off to the distance, the mist between them cleared and he was left standing dumbly in the midst of countless cheers. But just as he relaxed the siren turned around the unfamiliar face was gone and he found himself meeting a pair of eager brown eyes, black hair stretched towards him in the wind and a soft voice spoke coyly.


    ¡° Lucen. . .¡±


    He was no longer standing in the winter coliseum of an enemy land but in a great familiar forest. Birds and butterflies fluttered around them, and in the midst of the forest clearing, bathed in a soft light sat Neven, once a lover and now a bitter memory. Lucen pulled at his hair in frustration. So this was the siren¡¯s snare. . . the deepest desires of his heart, too bad that he longer wanted to do anything with Neven.


    This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    He rubbed his eyes, yet Neven''s figure did not waver, inching closer and closer until they stood only a finger apart. The familiarity with which this illusion gazed at him was foreign, for he had never once being the subject of such tenderness at the hands of his lover. This was easy. . . He rolled his eyes and took off his outer jacket and pulled it over the siren¡¯s head. It was only an image. . . there were certain truths that an illusion could not replicate.


    ¡° You¡¯re unpleasant to look at¡±


    The illusion around him wavered and fell apart, dispersing along the blizzard. The astonished face of the siren once again appeared. yet in a last ditch attempt to lure him, the kneeling siren looked up at him with teary eyes, holding his hands in its own, reluctant to let go.


    He looked down at the pair of hands and smiled, cherishing the false warmth before letting go.


    In the dais, behind the shimmering veil the second prince smiled to himself,


    ¡° What peculiar ways¡± besides him the guardian mirthfully pondered. ¡° and such a strong will¡±


    The Drugan warrior exhaled, his long black hair fluttering frantically in the wind. Cutting violet eyes traced across the coliseum and paused at one figure in its zenith. Ignoring the stunned siren behind him, he lazily shook off the array of weapons on his person, daggers, swords, bows, arrows and threw them across the field. The blizzard blew past him and amidst the bellowing jeers and stupefied gasps, he knelt.


    There was not a hint of fear in his eyes, instead a languid mocking smile etched across his sharp features. And if there was blood, it belonged to the many that had fallen before him. He awaited the council''s blessing.


    The second prince stood up and glided towards the balcony, the white veil lifted, but the face behind it remained hidden.


    The circlet of winter flowers fell upon Lucen¡¯s head, sprinkling dew onto his eyes.


    ¡° Care for some tea?¡± The prince¡¯s silken voice inquired, dismissing the anger seething from the warrior.


    ¡° Please your highness¡± Lucen smiled.


    The coliseum fell to silence, after dozens of competitors had fallen only the warrior from an enemy nation had been brave enough to stand before the imperial council. Yet he had not fought nor wielded a sword and behind him the siren sat hidden in shadows. Was this not admitting defeat?


    The aide appeared beside the second prince and a faint scent of chamomile wafted between them, Lucen stared at the hands that accepted them, white, translucent and tender. Almost naturally he found himself looking back towards the shadows, yet the siren lay hidden . The cold blizzard brushed past the veil, a tress of white hair cascaded down the fine silken robes and fell onto Lucen¡¯s hands. Very very soft, he couldn¡¯t help but think. As he accepted the cup of blue tea from the second prince, the veil fell once more, obscuring the prince¡¯s figure.


    Amidst the aghast crowds, Lucen carried the tea towards the shadows. The siren still sat covered by his jacket now turned to its original appearance. It looked at him with a wronged expression.


    ¡° It¡¯s for you anyway¡± Lucen smiled, his heart softening at the sight. Maybe this was the siren¡¯s snare as well, either way he could be as kind as it wanted him to be, as long as he didn¡¯t have to see Neven¡¯s face again. He had come here to run away from his responsibilities after all. It would be bore to a succumb to temptation so easily.


    Besides. . . he wasn¡¯t quite sure if he had won, if all he had to do was face the siren¡¯s snare then he felt he passed too easily. Was there nothing more? It was suspicious, he felt a little strange. He had shed far too much blood and bled far too many times in this coliseum to be laying at ease at the first sight of serenity.


    The siren sipped at the tea calmly, every now and then looking at him with an indescribable gaze. At the slightest of his movements it would tremble as if anticipating an attack. It¡¯s not that he did not want to, but seeing the second prince¡¯s demeanour he felt that fighting was not needed here. All that had fought before him had fallen and only those who had fled, survived. And in the moment of his arrival his sword had been kicked away. . . surely there was a reason behind it.


    Lucen raised his hands in defence and sat down opposite to it, watching it meekly sip away. As the liquid in the cup drained, a thick white mist appeared around them and a puff of smoke covered Lucen¡¯s eyes curling into the snowy fog.


    He had expected many things to happen, for the siren to completely disappear, for it to take the form of an inanimate object whose consciousness was loosely strung together by some illusory magic or even for it turn into the second prince, but . . . a little white wisp spun around the tea cup, throwing itself at the remnant blue liquid in frustration, as if the creature from before had been an illusion.


    His gaze drew towards the balcony where moments before the second prince had stood, the seat was now empty and the veil was lifted.


    An illusion huh?


    Lucen laughed, scaring the little wisp into shrinking. For a moment he looked at the little thing with an indecipherable gaze. Then he placed his hand on the snowy ground, opening his palms to the wisp.


    ¡° Wanna go home with me?¡±


    The deafening roar of applause and cheers broke through his reverie and the little wisp approached him nestling cozily on his palm, indifferent to the blood and dust. It had no mouth but Lucen heard a soft chime, akin to a bell swaying gently in the wind before it closed its eyes, falling asleep.


    He had played the part of a warrior so perfectly that he wished the empress and the mother empress of Drugar could have seen it. They would have been so proud of him, he had not only hidden his identity but also had come out as the final victor. He looked at the wisp that was nestled peacefully on his palm and brought it to his face rubbing it¡¯s fuzzy softness against his skin. He really felt like bringing this one home with him, thinking this Lucen placed the little thing in his inner pocket and covered it from the cold wind.


    And if he was not allowed to then he would just have to steal it.

 Chapter 2 : The Moon Wisp

    The coliseum grew alight with cheer. Nimyen melodies and applause rang thunderously through the air. The raging blizzard waned and the heavy snow shifted to a gentle mist. The ground underneath him lifted. A deep layer of frost growing over the bloodied snow and his discarded weapons as tendrils of ice blossomed into intricate patterns of winter flora.


    The little wisp yawned and peeked through his robes, gazing at him with doe eyes. Two specs of light akin to wings softly held his thumbs and nipped at them. How was it possible for such a small thing to be a siren? Merfolk and changelings were not unheard of even within human realms, but he had never encountered a creature capable of both this way.


    After the conclusion of the games, he was escorted back to the athletes¡¯ village where he alone dwelt, for the others were presently occupying the infirmary in various states of injury. He looked at the wisp, for whose retrieval no one had come for, and who made no effort to leave his robe pocket.


    He took off the bloodied gear and gently nudged the wisp awake. And it did not seem too happy to be disturbed. The little wisp raised its brows arrogantly. Lucen laughed and gently caressed its head.


    ¡° I don¡¯t have have the softest pillows but you can¡¯t stay there it¡¯s bloody¡± He pointed to his robes.


    The little wisp seemed unbothered but nevertheless allowed Lucen to carry it and place it upon a pillow retrieved from the bedroom. After he finished bathing, Lucen returned expecting to find the little wisp having fled or formed back into its siren form but¡­ it was still peacefully sleeping on his pillow.


    He knelt by the chair and gently turned it over. It¡¯s body was fuzzy and soft within and without, the centre of it dense with white light, undulating to the rhythm of every breath and fall.


    A while later, something akin to a grand feast arrived at his lodging. Filled with refreshments, buns, pastries, and a small inconspicuous pot of blue flower tea. Lucen looked at the wisp and pointed to the pot.


    ¡° I think this might be for you¡±


    Its little head curiously lifted and sniffed the air, black pupils expanding to fill the hazy viridian eyes. In that moment Lucen felt that he had been tasked with taking care of a little cat. Certainly.


    He looked at the pot, the games were not over yet.


    He poured a cup of it and placed it under the wisp who climbed onto the rim and unhurriedly began to sip away. Lucen helped himself to the first real meal after the matches. The food in Araya was often quite cold but they had made a signifiant effort to warm it for him, and he appreciated that. Except he was not very fond of berries. After a battle one naturally craved some meat. At times like these he really began to miss Drugar.


    ¡° Don¡¯t you have any meat?¡± Lucen swung around the fork lazily.


    The wisp angled its head and blinked twice cluelessly. Right. . . it was strange of him to expect a magical creature to understand words let alone human language.


    Lucen wiped his mouth after finishing the hearty lunch of berries, soup and some sort of winterberry bread. And oddly enough by the end of it he felt full and satisfied. So he left the whole pot of flower tea for the wisp to drink.


    The concluding ceremony of the winter games was held that very night in the ceremonial amphitheatre in east Ariansyll. In the four corners of the arena crystalline watch towers stretched to the sky and the webbed ceiling of the hall reflected starlight. The ground underneath his feet glowed at each step and the Hyperions bordering the vicinity sang softly to the wind.And for a moment he too felt the undying magic of Araya.


    This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.


    To the left of the podium stood the final victor and the long line of participants, those who had managed to barely scrape by and the others whose participation was valued regardless. And to the right were two thrones, for the empress and the guardian.


    He gazed about the coliseum, the night was beginning to deepen, stars scattered over the amphitheatre, blinking between the foggy mist brushing past its crystalline pillars. It had been a long time since he had looked at the sky like this. With no intent of studying nor battling. And in Drugar where life did not dull in the night, the sky was rarely visible. And as it turns out he had enjoyed his time in Araya much more than he had anticipated.


    The medal ceremony commenced with the bright colours of distance fireworks. Spectators gathered along the numerous balconies and fields below, and a glimmering ruby carpet lay before the victors leading towards a central podium.


    Right beneath the podium sat an orchestra of Nimyi, holding stringlike instruments that Lucen did not recognise. As the amphitheater filled in, the large vine doors  in its path contorted and swung open. Clad in white and silver ceremonial robes the empress and the guardian glided down the arena, conversing gently among each other.


    Soft music began to play, resembling voices than it did strings and mingled with the melodic rustling of the wind by the trees. One by one the backs of the awaiting competitors straightened.


    ¡° Welcome all!¡± The empress spoke, her voice boomed over the crowds, subduing clamour into a giddy silence, ¡° And thus, the winter games of the eighth order has concluded¡±


    The expected grandeur of drums and weaponry displays  did not arrive, how fitting, thought Lucen, it truly was a valley of eternal sleep.


    Had it been Drugar, the medal ceremony would have stretched over the course of a few weeks, decorated and celebrated with luxurious balls and parades. With half the world as its audience. Yet in Araya it seemed as every occasion seemed to pass quietly under the cover of snow.


    And alas he was denied the little wisp¡¯s companionship. With envy he stared as it jumped down  from his hand and affectionately wrapped itself around the empress¡¯s neck.


    Applause descended upon him, and in the wisps¡¯s stead, he received the reward of subduing the ¡° Fearsome beast¡±. Contained within a clear glass it was a . . . healing elixir. Lucen twirled the liquid, it¡¯s visage was like water, yet as it was held against light it shimmered silver and emitted a faint fragrance of chamomile. He looked at the other competitors rewards, and saw that no one else had received an elixir like this, still unsatisfied, he shoved it into his inner pocket and  patted it securely. .


    The empress and the guardian moved along the line. He had hoped to catch a glimpse of the princes, his rivals  in battle but the imperial children were no where to be seen. As if the encounters before had been ghosts of his own mind. As he looked around he rubbed his fingers together and a faint shimmer sparked between them, akin to the sparkling of the healing elixir.


    Lost in thought, the growing applause deafened in his ears and for a moment he heard the chiming call of the wisp.


    A cold breeze brushed past his neck, eagerly he looked about and  for a moment caught the end of pale blue robes. Hazy and undulating as if the person within them was gliding among soft clouds under the moonlight. Naturally, Lucen¡¯s gaze trailed up, his breath ceasing in his chest. . . and met with a pair of glassy viridian eyes, behind a half veil, staring dazedly at him.


    The second prince did not seem to realise that he had been caught.


    Just then a small wisp of light ascended the tall pillars of the balcony and twirled around the second prince¡¯s shoulders before disappearing within his robes. Lucen¡¯s eyes widened and the prince awoke from his reverie. He held Lucen¡¯s gaze for a moment in shock and quickly averted his eyes. Only to peer back a second later and find the other¡¯s gaze still fixed on him.


    Asael had naturally been curious about the Drugan warrior who stood as the final victor against all odds. The man who had looked at him in contempt rather reverence or admiration, yet dealt with his wisp with affection, and the only one to have done so. And through which, earned the right to be gifted his blue moon elixir.


    For it was of Asael¡¯s making that the responsibility of choice fell on him, He had been skeptical of gifting such a rare treasure to just any competitor, and he still held his doubts. For victory does not always mean strength, most times it is only ever proof of brutality. So he had reluctantly gone forth to battle himself, looking for a sliver of softness and in the end had found it in their enemy.


    In the distance a pattern of fireworks shot off to the sky, blossoming into vivid forms as it scattered against the starry sky. And then Asael looked down once more only to see a set of deep violet eyes looking up at him with deep interest.


    As the fireworks ceased, the second prince¡¯s brow tightened in irritation. When Lucen blinked again the figure had disappeared, with only the drooping pearls of an epaulette visible behind a pillar. Strangely endearing.


    With the second prince insisting on evading his eyes, Lucen could only sullenly turn back towards the celebrating crowds at his feet. Some jeered but many cheered, it was evident that the winter folk took unsavourily to an enemy becoming the final victor, but his encounters with the imperial council had borne no enmity. And thus he did not worry that the reward was poison veiled as elixir. Nevertheless its origins and content needed to be confirmed once he arrived at the garrisons.


    As the celebrations came to an end, he looked back towards the empty corridor for a last time. And if he was to ever meet the second prince at the winter border, he needed to treat this person really well.

 Chapter 3 : The journey north

    CW: Blood & Violence


    And thus the winter festival of Araya came to an end. The flags of celebration and lush fields of cheer subsided, quiet once again reigned north of the winter border.


    Asael sat resting by the belvedere, a book in hand yet looking down upon the departing carriages and birds of winter, carrying dignitaries to their homelands. Listening to the soft chiming of leaves he lazy flipped through the pages, his mind elsewhere.


    For upon nightfall the news of the autumnal land of Ahsara¡¯s conquest had arrived. Although it was more fitting to be called an alliance than conquest, for everyone knew that the king of Ahsara was quite fond of swaying whichever way the wealth of power flowed.


    Still, Ahsara¡¯s neutrality during the war had provided to be a source of great comfort and strength for the Nimyi. The small nation was situated in the middle of the silk road of the northern continent and was a vital point of trade between allied nations of the south and the lands of Araya.


    ¡° It is time to depart for the north is it not?¡± The gossamer parted and the guardian, Serein entered. Even in times of peril her visage remained in unchanging peace.


    Asael closed the book and stood up, following her along the long viaduct.


    ¡° Has Arelle and Reven arrived in the garrisons?¡± He inquired.


    ¡° Indeed they have¡±


    ¡° As we have lost Ahsara, I feel that my company is needed in the garrisons as well¡±


    A tranquil smile etched onto Serein¡¯s face, ¡° Astara will be displeased if I were to withhold you in Ariansyll for long, the refining ritual draws closer does it not?¡±


    Asael sighed and did not speak. They had gifted the last of the blue moon elixir to the Drugan warrior and the winter blossoming season during which it is refined was fast approaching.


    ¡° Return to Isryx, the refining of the blue moon elixir is vital for the longevity of our magic and shall not be impeded even in times of war¡±


    ¡° I understand¡± Asael lowered his head.


    ¡° Good¡± Serein placed a hand upon his head, ¡° Raglar and the winter birds will soon arrive, prepare to leave now¡±


    Leaving him behind, Serein glided down to the valley,  silver hair splayed behind her and dispersed with the wind. She looked upon his face once before turning to converse with the gate sentry. Asael returned to collect his books and scriptures and left the belvedere.


    On the third night since the winter games, Starlight fell upon Ariansyll once more. The second prince¡¯s figure gracefully glided down the stairs, the veil obscuring his face undone. The company of Raglar the governor and two winter birds, awaited him by the west end gates.


    He had arrived in Ariansyll in a hurry and now it was time for him to leave. For his duty during times of peril lay in the northern mountains of Isryx. This was something only he could do. As it was he who carried the seed of the blue moon within him.


    ¡° Will we travel by west?¡± Asael asked as he climbed atop the bird.


    ¡° The frost has overtaken the northern forests and the terrain is difficult to pass, we shall use a byway through Wengen your highness¡± Raglar supplied helpfully as he covered Asael in the bird¡¯s soft blue feathers. Then he jumped onto his own bird and guided them past the gates.


    Asael nodded and hugged the gentle creature tightly,  It chirped happily and fluttered it wings, jumping a few feet midair.


    As they prepared to depart he glanced towards the palace and saw the figure of Serein approach.


    ¡° Your highness!¡± Raglar hurried to dismount.


    Serein lifted a hand in dismissal, ¡° I just wish to pass a message . . . if you encounter migrating merfolk, let them know that Astara awaits them in Isryx¡±


    Asael¡¯s eyes widened, migrating merfolk at this time of the year? Were things much more grim than he had thought? Serein looked at him and sighed pointedly.


    Then she turned to Raglar, ¡° Please ensure the second prince¡¯s safety thoroughly, an entourage shall welcome you at beginning of the Isryx forest¡±


    ¡° Yes your highness¡± Raglar bowed reverently, then he hung a small opal lamp by his bird. Bathing their surroundings in a soft cerise light.


    ¡° I shall pass the message¡±  Asael smiled and gathered his hands in farewell ¡° may the universe be with you¡±


    Serein retreated to the eaves of the palace. The sound of flapping wings  rustled the wind along the trees, within moments the cold white of the west forest enveloped the two departing figures.


    Boughs of great hyperion and fields of silene stretched before them. The branches of snow willows brushed wetly against his skin. As they travelled near ravine and stream,  Asael picked flowers and vines and tied them to his waist.They were gifts for Astara. Who in various disgruntled letters had penned her desire to find specific varieties of blossoming fungi.


    And as Serein had foretold, as their paths diverted along the great Aibus river they encountered a group of merfolk migrating north. Their glassy forms dipping behind the shadows of deep waters and emerging upstream.


    The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.


    Asael dipped his hands into the river and beckoned them closer. They spoke in tongue indiscernible to Raglar, this way exchanging words of caution and danger.


    ¡° It seems that Ahsara truly had fallen¡± Asael whispered regretfully. ¡° May you find peace in Isryx. The high priestess of the night Astara, awaits your arrival¡±


    The merfolk dipped below the shadows, luminous viridian eyes blurring under the clear water. With bubbles of breath dissipating, they streamed past Asael and Raglar to the north.


    For awhile they travelled in comforting silence, Above them winter birds flew and snow owls perched upon pine trees. Under the eaves of willow boughs white foxes approached and dispersed westward, chasing after a snow hare or bird.


    The Wengen border shrouded over them, as the wind began to pick up Asael covered his face with a fur cloak. Soon the familiar forests of Hyperion about them will wane and then the journey shall be turbulent. Whence they shall travel under moonlight and the stars awaiting the land of Isryx.


    Yet instead, a drop of warm rain fell on his cheek. What was this? Asael held his hand against the sky, it had grown blue with rain and thunder. And the layers of frost on the leaves melted and dropped wetly to the ground. Where were they? What lay before them compared to the unchanging frost of Araya was foreign to him. Had they taken the wrong path?


    Raglar covered the opal lamp tied to his bird and quickened his pace. The faint light that had kept him on the teacher¡¯s trail was lost. It was all well, for he bore the blood of merfolk and was quite adjusted to moonless nights. Asael blinked. . . shadows crawled at the edges of his eyes and his vision plunged into impenetrable darkness.


    ¡° Teacher?¡± Called Asael, ¡° Have we taken the wrong path?¡±


    Why had Raglar extinguished the lamp? What danger had he sensed?


    Wet rain clung to his lashes and dripped onto his eyes, he could not see Raglar, ¡° Teacher. . . . could we perhaps take shelter from the rain?¡±


    His voice cut through the wind, yet his calls were left unanswered, unable to see or hear the presence of the teacher, Asael slowed his bird. It felt as if an impassable darkness had fallen over his senses, his hands faltered. Only the touch of the winter bird¡¯s soft feathers anchored him down.


    He called for Raglar once more, yet could not hear his own voice, alongside him the forest had also fallen silent. He yearned for the cold safety of home. Slowly he felt around the cold feathers and found them melting. Had the rain worsened or was his  touch also growing numb?


    He rubbed at his eyes fiercely hoping for a sliver of sight, yet the darkness did not recede. He manoeuvred the bird around the forest carefully, feeling bark and leaves under his palm.


    He conjured a small sliver of his core onto his palm, yet he did not feel its boisterous energy, it shrivelled in his palm and withdrew back into his chest.


    There was a great possibility that he had been poisoned and a greater danger of dwelling into an unknown forest. They had travelled along the Wengen border but now he was not so sure where they were. The forests of the north and west were deep in frost and the evergreen wilderness extended only along the eastern and the southern boundary. If he was near the southern boundary then he would be found by his brothers¡¯s soldiers, and if he was near the east, he would be as good as dead, as Ahsara was now under Drugan rule.


    Suddenly a sharp pain pulled him back, the winter bird¡¯s melting feathers slipped beneath him and he roughly collided against a tree. With trembling hands he reached for his shoulder, he had been shot by an arrow. It¡¯s head pierced through flesh and bruised bone and had lodged into the tree behind him. Frantically he tried to pull it out, but could only feel the searing pain of its stem stirring his flesh.


    Attempts of pulling it out were futile. His hands slipped from the pouring blood and his faltering senses delayed his actions.  Mustering the remnants of his depleting strength he broke the arrow behind his shoulder and stumbled to his feet. Just as he thought he had freed himself he felt the distinct touch of fingers tearing into his chest. One person? Perhaps two? He could not tell, he caught one of the hands roughly, carving his grip down the attacker¡¯s arms. Then there was a jostling movement by his left, a moment later  he was stepped on and violently slapped. But he did not stop, he grabbed the hands prying into his chest and punctured his nails into them retrieving the shrivelling moon wisp back, but this too only delayed his demise for a brief moment.


    A scraping pain clawed at his chest and he felt the wisp¡¯s energy deplete. With the loss of his core, Asael¡¯s strength wavered. He staggered and was violently pulled back and nailed against a tree. He felt the growing dampness in his chest seep through his robes. He did not want to die here alone. If he could just find the winter bird, if he could just find Raglar . . . if only he could just go home. He felt around his shattered bones and shredded flesh and struggled to break the second arrow.


    He awaited the return of the attacker, yet was met with silence and numbness. Asael choked, they probably thought he had died upon the loss of his moon wisp, and they were not wrong. His only life line was the blood of merfolk that flowed through his body. But he did not know whether it would be enough to keep him alive. A terrible sob broke through his throat as he slipped and fell onto the forest floor. Feeling around with his bleeding fingers he moved away from the tree, fearing that he be nailed once more.


    He walked for a long time, unknowing where his feet landed and where the faltering touch of his fingers carried him. Then he felt a persistent tremor by his feet. An irregular pulsing and heaving. He knelt and felt the winter bird¡¯s feathers on his skin and a stream of wetness, blood trickled past his hands.


    The creature convulsed terribly, it¡¯s throat had been slashed and under his¡¯s shaky hands it exhaled its last breath. Asael keeled by the deathly coldness of the bird¡¯s body. Afraid to move and afraid to linger. Where could he go? Tarrying in this darkness would he not be walking to his death? Yet if he stayed his tormentors may return once more to find him still alive.


    And he needed to retrieve the moon wisp, even if he was to die, for the sake of Nimyi it must be saved.


    He recalled his last memory. He had stopped the bird near a lavender myrtle tree or what had looked to be a myrtle tree. He crawled around the parameter of the bird¡¯s body yet found no trace of such a tree. It was possible that the bird ran away frightened during the first attack. And if so he had no way to find out where he was. . . . Tears spilled uncontrollably from his eyes. He wrapped his torn and soaked robes around his shivering body and crawled under the bird¡¯s drooping wings.


    It was a winter bird and in this humidity and wet wilderness it would not have survived for much longer anyway, come winter it would rise again from the snow of the very earth that had taken its life.


    ¡° I¡¯m sorry. . .¡± Asael whispered softly to the bird, ¡° Please. . . stay with me for awhile¡±


    ¡° Just. . . a little while¡±


    If he was to die now, would this not be the last trace of home he could reach? Asael fell limply against the bird, a wisp of smoke arose from him and Asael smoothed a hand over his body, feeling a soft snow like powder grow over his skin,


    . . . he was dying.

 Chapter 4: Through the forest

    Spirited laughter echoed through the forest. Under the silver moonlight they travelled hand in hand, adorned in jewels, scents and silken robes. With every step forward they cautiously gazed behind, conversing softly among themselves. The lady and the two disciples.


    ¡° Now I did want to break his arm. . .¡± Lady Lilia lifted her fist.


    ¡° Is it not unwise to get into trouble lady?¡± To her left was timid Ara, she trembled with each step and looked behind them anxiously, then jabbed the person beside her, ¡° You ought to practice some self restraint¡±


    Sarel rolled his eyes, ¡° Then you let the general grope you!¡±


    ¡° Another one of your tantrums and we shall be ousted from the capital, before long we¡¯ll be begging on the streets¡± argued Ara. ¡° Fine with me if you would prefer that¡±


    ¡° Now stop fighting you two¡± Lady Lilia chided mirthfully. She held with a bejewelled right hand the hem of her red dress and with the other a bright opal lamp.


    She turned  to the right and her hand paused upon the branch of a spruce tree. In the distance a flock of frightened birds flew to the sky and a broken wail rang through the forest. Their voices faltered.


    The forest fell silent, the insistent rain subsided and the sound of footsteps paused. Then they heard it again. Intermittent and muffled,  at times heaving and choking, the sound of pained crying.


    In the Ahsaran boundary forest, inhabited by beasts and creatures of darkness, strange calls and anomalous phenomenon were not usual.


    ¡° W-what- who was that?¡¯ Frightened Sarel grabbed Ara¡¯s hand.


    ¡° It sounds like an injured person¡± Lilia whispered.


    ¡° Are you certain Lady Lilia?¡± Ara hugged Sarel worriedly. ¡° Could it not be a strange creature?¡±


    Lilia had travelled the east boundary forest since her childhood, and knew the calls of these creatures with the familiarity of her own voice. This. . . was not the sound of an  animal or beast, it was the sound of an injured  person. And she was sure of it.


    They were no healers, animal nor human. But the lady carried with her the knowledge of herbs and medicine as was required of a perfumer. She looked behind her, the two disciples held each others hands and trembled akin to frightened mice. If it truly was an injured animal or person it would not hurt to help . . . but


    ¡° If it becomes too dangerous then you two return to the pavilion¡±


    Ara gasped but Sarel slapped her mouth, nodding slowly, ¡° Only if its too dangerous, but we would like to accompany the lady¡±


    ¡° Alright then¡±  Lilia smiled affectionately, ¡° Be careful and keep close¡±


    She handed the opal lamp to Ara and reached into her pocket to produce a small fire opal. Then she tied her skirt by her ankles so as not to stumble. Sarel and Ara also followed her lead and tied their robes to their feet. As they prepared to run in the direction of the cries, they heard the sound of frantic running and maniacal laughter. Sarel and Ara froze behind her. A few feet before them a man stumbled down the hill. His adorned robes glimmering even within the darkness.


    He did not seem frightened but rather. . . excited, his eyes focused on a small light emanating from his palms as  he ran in a hurry, blind to the dangerous forest paths he rolled over and the three strangers that stood in his way.


    The disciples looked at Lilia in shock. They could not see what he looked like nor the state of his being. But with speed with which he ran Lilia thought it impossible that this person was injured. So they tightly held their opals and walked into the deep forest. The ground was slippery, rain had collected in puddles and streams along the forest. They almost fell off its ravine like slopes many times before they could understand where they were standing or what they were seeing.


    If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.


    The dead air  of the boundary forest was chilling yet the wetness Ara felt by her feet was warm and pulsating with life. She lifted the lamp and held it against her leg. Stumbling back, she crashed into Sarel. Lilila looked at them threateningly and turned away. Fresh blood dripped all over them, and Ara even looked above in fear that a corpse may be hanging over them. It was collected in puddles and on trees, sprayed onto dew, flowers and leaves. All the colours of the forest were dyed a deep crimson.


    Sarel held the opal lamp higher and saw silver slip past his eyes. In the distance moonlight shimmered onto the ground, wisps of willow fire emerged from the shadows and brushed past them, From where they came from he did not know, deep in the shrouded forest, passing through abyssal vales and sleeping rivers their undulating flames circled a lone figure atop a hill.


    ¡° Woah there¡± Ara leaned against Sarel¡¯s shoulders, ¡° Now is that not the wisp of a siren?¡±


    ¡° The wisp of a siren?¡± Lilia turned around, confused. In these parts of the forest?


    ¡° Yes I do think so . . .  it is so far from a river what is a merfolk doing in these parts?¡±


    ¡° Could it be. . . that man from before attacked them and ran away?¡± Sarel pondered, frightfully looking behind them.


    ¡° We shall see¡± Lilia sighed.


    They hurried towards the willow fire , yet the noise of their footsteps and jostling jewels evoked no response from the person lying atop the hill. As Lilia brushed the leaves and foliage that had fallen over their body, a white powder rubbed onto her palms, this she knew was the mist of death. She began to doubt whether it was still be possible to save this person¡¯s life.


    What a tragedy. Even since the fall of Ahsara sights like these were not uncommon to see, many of those who wanted to flee the reign of the power hungry royal family and the tyranny of the Drugan imperial family had been caught and killed this way.


    She gestured for Ara to bring the lamp closer, and under its light, they saw blood and strands of black hair matted against a pallid translucent face. It was indeed a merfolk and one quite young. Their hearts ached.


    Lilia pressed her fingers against the cold bruised neck. The pulse was faint and fleeting but they were still alive. There was still time. It was difficult to assess the depth of the wounds but as she hovered the fire opal over the body a bloodied and torn midriff became visible. At first she had mistaken it to be the colour of robes but their chest which evidently bore a soul core had been torn apart, and pieces of shredded cloth string stuck thickly to the gaping wound. It was strange, Lilia hesitated. Only Nimyi bore soul cores, so . . . was this youth part Nimyi?


    Something terrible had happened here, Had the man they saw earlier been the perpetrator? Whatever it was, they needed to leave this forest if there was to be any hope of saving this life. The attackers could return any minute and lingering longer would only bring danger to them all.


    ¡° Perhaps he had run away from the general¡¯s mansions too¡± Ara pondered gravely, ¡° He is so pretty. .  .  I am glad he was able to run away¡±


    ¡° Now is not the time to speculate Ara¡± sighed Sarel.


    There were two arrows, one piercing the other, lodged deep into the glassy flesh of the siren. Lilia donned her gloves and as gently as she could, pried out the arrows. Then Sarel poured a healing draught onto the mangled flesh and bone. A thin film of protection formed around the wound and he did the same for the back, where the arrows had protruded from.


    Having runaway from the general¡¯s mansion, they carried very little supplies, so Ara and Lilia knelt on the ground and tore off strips of  their inner robes, binding the mangled shoulders and broken limbs together.


    ¡° Now let us hasten¡± Lila wiped her brow staining it with blood.


    The body was light as they carried him down the sloping forest and safely onto a clearing bright with moonlight. Under Sarel and Ara¡¯s curious glances Lilia produced a small box from her dress pocket. Then she poured the ashes within onto the damp earth, she rested Asael¡¯s weight on one arm and lit a match with the other, dropping it onto the hill of soot.


    Small flames began to smoke. Ara opened her mouth a few times to talk  but Sarel promptly shut her up. Strands of gold stretched upwards through the darkness and began to take form. Lilia carried Asael and retreated a few steps back. Ara hid behind Sarel and was dragged away by him.


    The phoenix raised its wings, bathing the forest clearing in golden light. It was an unbelievable sight to witness. If the perpetrators still remained within the forest they must have been seen by now. Lilia quickly and gently placed Asael atop the phoenix¡¯s warm glowing feathers. And when the watchful eye of the bird paused by his wounded figure, a small tear dropped from its eyes.


    Lilia collected it in her hands and placed it gently into the torn core cavity. As the teardrop was absorbed a fist sized golden orb formed within the chest, breathing the phoenix¡¯s life energy into Asael¡¯s body. Lilia placed her ear by his heart and listened to the gradually steadying breath.


    Sarel and Ara exchanged an uncertain glance,


    ¡° Now come on up¡± Lilia urged them, ¡° We shouldn¡¯t tarry about these parts any longer¡±


    The phoenix took to the dark foggy skies and flew sometime above the cover of clouds. And like this they travelled until the zenith of the night rose and fell.

 Chapter 5: The phoenix

    Situated to the south of Araya and east of Drugar, the autumnal land of Ahsara was the trade entryway of the northern continent. And as such was naturally inhabited by both man and beings of nature.


    The outer city, bordering the ocean and surrounded by the Augus river was home to passing travellers and merfolk. And  often times Nimyi too would  linger here during cold winters.


    But now, as they gazed at the land below, war banners of the Drugan battalion stretched over the desolate Ahsaran borders.  The river folk and forest Nimyi  had fled north to Araya and the lanterns along the river paths had been extinguished, shrouding the wilderness in a deathly darkness.


    The perfumery was built on the outer district, a street away from the inner city wall. And Lilia was good and honest about her business, they were a perfumery and not a brothel. But in the night where the margins of the boundary wall blurred, names and good nature served little purpose to remind those who were intent on chasing wild carnal desires.


    As they reached the perfumery, the phoenix¡¯s glow dimmed. A thick fog rolled over the evergreen forests and fields of grain shimmered silver under the clear moon light. Lilia looked up, so it is the night of the blue moon. . .


    Yesterday there had been a great feast in a general¡¯s mansion the next village over. To which hundreds if not thousands of concoctions were to be delivered. And so the night business of the perfumery had been halted. Inevitably the ordeal had gone awry, the general had returned in the night, drunken and dazed trying to sneak his filthy hands onto Lilia and Sarel. And it was to avoid the hunting wolves of the general¡¯s mansion that they had taken the obsolete forest path.


    Lilia was quite proud of Sarel for trying to break the general¡¯s arm. But naturally she did not express it. But the lashings and scolding Sarel had anticipated did not come and instead they stumbled across this fallen siren.


    The front gardens blooming with wisteria and silene were vacant. Those who remained within the perfumery were resting early or brewing the next morning¡¯s batches of perfumes. A faint scent was always to be found emanating from the gardens of the establishment no matter the time of the day.


    They touched down behind some overgrown vines and neglected bushes of the backyard.  Lilia carried Asael in her arms as the bird shrunk and scattered to the wind, returning to the box where it once more remained a pile of soot.


    Behind her Sarel and Ara dropped to their feet. They looked around to see whether anyone had seen them and the strange bird that had disappeared. But it did not seem so. A few streets away the night life of Ahsara was in full swing, but all around the perfumery the decorative banners and the lamps had been covered. There were a few customers swaying about the streets disgruntled that they could not come in to harass those who dwelt within. But they were wasted drunk and could not tell left from right, so it was going to be alright.


    ¡° Now be quiet¡± Lilia whispered, ¡° We do not want to rouse the others¡±


    There were three houses in the perfumery. The first, adorned with a garden and courtyard entertained guests .The second held the brewery and the third was where the workers lived and ate. Lilia¡¯s chambers were at the top of the third house. And thus avoiding the waking workers was not quite as easy. Yet the hardest part was carrying the injured merfolk up the stairs with their weary bodies.


    Once they arrived in Lilia¡¯s room, she spread a set of thick blankets on the bed. But as soon as  Sarel and Ara laid the patient down, the layers of cloth were instantly soaked with blood.  Lilia sighed, and wiped her brow, it could not be helped.


    ¡° Will he be alright?¡± Ara inquired fearfully, ¡° There is so much blood¡±


    Lilia did not know, and she did not want to give futile answers. So instead she instructed the two to bring basins of hot water and fresh towels. After sending them away she sat by the bed and uncovered a resting fire opal brazier in the middle of the room. She began to undo the tattered robes. Even with light it was difficult to see whether she was peeling back layers of cloth or flesh and skin. And the extent of injuries were far severe than she had realised.


    This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work.


    She wondered whether the lunatic they had encountered in the forest had inflicted these wounds. Yet. . . how was it possible for a single person to disarm a merfolk and cause this much injury?


    Sarel and Ara soon arrived with basins of hot water and sat down, eager to help. But she took a look at their disheveled and tattered faces and ordered, ¡° First you go take a bath and discard these bloody clothes. Or you will be mistaken for walking corpses¡±


    It was then that Sarel and Ara looked at their bodies and clothes. It was a surprise that the kitchen lady did not question them. Even if lady Lilia was known to bring injured and destitute folk into the perfumery never had they been drenched like this before. It was as if they had gotten caught in a corpse rain. Sarel gently tugged Ara¡¯s clothes and dragged her towards the baths.


    ¡°We look horrifying¡± he reasoned, ¡° It would frighten the merfolk if they wake up and see us in this state¡±


    Ara opened her mouth to object but withdrew her words dejectedly. Behind them the door closed without sound.


    On the horizon the sky began to lighten. Lilia pulled back her dress sleeves, soaked a towel in warm water and began to wipe away at the bruised body. She gently held a broken arm and cleaned the grime away. There was coagulated blood under the finger nails and the tips of the fingers were punctured by numerous small wooden splinters. They did not seem to be poison needles but rather pieces of arrow stem and fletching.


    The glassy face of the siren bore a horrible purple bruise and clear marks of finger prints. The bones of the shoulders had been shattered and the hands she held were broken at the wrist. There were horrifying nail marks dragged along his arms and around the core cavity.


    Though the fingerprints marring the skin so clearly belonged to a person it did not seem to be the work of one, it was like they had been mauled to death by a wild animal. Whoever had done this did not intend to leave them alive.


    Ara and Sarel returned, freshly dressed and carrying more hot water and towels.  They eagerly kept watch of the patient while Lilia went to bathe. Even after she returned her disciples did not want to leave and she did not hurry to chase them away. After all, the henchmen of the general¡¯s mansion were found to be prowling around the perfumery looking for trouble. It wouldn¡¯t hurt to have them hide for awhile.


    So the three sat around the bed and conversed lightly as Lilia began  picking out the wooden splinters off the wounds.


    ¡° Lady Lilia may I ask a question¡± Sarel mumbled.


    ¡° Hmm?¡± Lilia hummed, not looking up. She knew what the question was about and she had no qualms about answering them. The only reason she had not told anyone about it was because there had been no one to tell.


    ¡° That bird¡± .. he tottered closer¡­ ¡° Was it not a phoenix?¡±


    ¡° You could say that¡± Lilia smiled. Sarel had a good eye and spent much of his time reading fairytales. It was only natural for him to recognise the creature.


    ¡° Then¡± Ara scooted closer, ¡° Where did it come from? Is the lady a magician?¡±


    ¡° Well once upon a time when I was a small child, I saved a bird¡¯s life¡±


    The disciples drew closer, ¡° And then?¡±


    ¡° In exchange for healing it, it gave me its egg and it grew into a phoenix¡±


    ¡° I have never heard of phoenixes living in boxes, but I suppose it does happen¡± Sarel mumbled to himself and looked at her curiously.


    Lilia shrugged and ignored the conversation between Ara and Sarel. Her justification had not been entirely false. She was half Nimyen although she looked more human than the other. And during her childhood when the land of Araya and Drugar was at peace she grew up in the deep mountain monasteries of Ahsara.


    One day as she was harvesting herbs by Araya she had come across a Nimyi child. The little one stood up to her shoulders and cried, blood gushing from her chest. When she brought the child  back to the monastery with her. Her master, just had she had done tonight, imbued the essence of a phoenix¡¯s tear into the child¡¯s chest. And saved her life.


    Phoenixes still dwell hidden in the forests of Wengen. Though it was not easy to gain one¡¯s favour. And her master who travelled around the world had acquired a phoenix¡¯s tear during the war of Wengen and Sogol. And tonight it had saved another person¡¯s life. If her master was still alive she would have been rather proud of her.


    Lilia gently caressed Asael¡¯s head. She hoped he would heal soon.

 Chapter 6: Gone

    Raglar ran down the forest like a crazed man. Before him lay the treacherous ravines of battlefield and behind him abyssal vales, yet he did not see any of this, his gaze was trained intently between the moon wisp in his hands and the burning braziers of the southern Drugan camp.


    From the distance the scent of blood permeated through the forest and reached the battalion grounds. The two soldiers at the entrance eyed the drenched, frantic Raglar with suspicion and swung their swords, blocking his path.


    ¡° Identify yourself!¡±


    Raglar blinked in surprise, taking a moment to understand that he had indeed reached the southern camp and these were not soldiers sent by Araya to assassinate him. He hastily shoved the weeping moon wisp into his jacket and pried out an imperial seal given to him by the crown prince himself.


    The soldiers shared a doubtful  glance then wiped the blood away from the silver seal and held it against the light of an opal lamp. A bridge of a seven coloured rainbow stretched within the seal and reflected off the bronze shields in a pattern of entwined dragons. Amidst it engraved in emerald writing was Raglar¡¯s name.


    ¡° Please wait till the commander is informed of your arrival, sir. . . Raglar¡±


    Still skeptical of this man¡¯s battered appearance, one solider ran towards the commander¡¯s tent while the other kept watch. Just as the commander¡¯s adjutant Lyall stepped out from the tent he ran into the frantic soldier.


    ¡° Adjutant Lyall¡± The soldier saluted, ¡° Sir Raglar the imperial emissary has arrived and his appearance is . . . suspicious¡±


    Inside the tent, The crown prince and his sister, the first princess, Alara were having tea. She had come down to the garrisons to keep watch while Lucen was away playing warrior. Having heard the conversation, Lucen lifted his gaze from the reading glasses.


    ¡° Raglar¡¯s arrived?¡±


    Lyall stepped aside and gestured the man to enter the tent. As the soldier reported the situation to Lucen, Lyall observed a trail of blood circling the entrance of the camp. He drew his sword and as he turned around to get permission to investigate, Lucen lazily hung an arm over his shoulder and flicked his head towards the gates.


    The commander was evidently annoyed, ever since his arrival from the winter games and shaking off the mask of the Drugan warrior, the crown prince¡¯s behaviour had been rather odd. He had requested a book of Nimyen alphabet and spent the entire evening studying letters and books.The news of Ahsara¡¯s conquest and his impending betrothal seemingly insignificant in the face of this newfound interest. And now he did not seem too thrilled to be disturbed during said studies.


    When they approached the gates, the soldier on duty had escorted  Raglar into a temporary holding tent a little distance away. Lucen¡¯s brows knitted in irritation,  there was a horrible stench of blood, fresh and unfamiliar,  permeating the night air.


    ¡° Clean this up¡± He instructed the soldier that had brought them the news and ducked into the tent.


    Within, to one side stood a grim faced soldier whose sword was still drawn. And on the other side stood the imperial emissary, trembling in excitement as he squeezed something in his hands.  Upon seeing Lucen enter, Raglar fell to his knees and as if offering a sacred treasure, lifted his arms and  held the moon wisp above his head.


    Irritated Lucen looked at the bloody ground and his gaze flickered past the bleeding arms of the emissary. He had seen the latter wearing these very same robes albeit unstained a day before at the Araya winter games. Now there were  clear imprints of bloody handprints and nail marks scattered and embedded deeply into Raglar¡¯s arms. As if he had returned from the battlefield.


    What a lunatic. . .


    What had this loathsome man gotten himself into in Araya? Lucen¡¯s eyes trailed distastefully over the emissary¡¯s figure and paused. . . upon a soft white wisp held in Raglar¡¯s wounded hands.


    A scent of chamomile. . .


    Lucen jolted forward, breath knocked out of his chest. He gripped Lyall¡¯s shoulder tightly.


    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    ¡° What¡­is that?¡±


    Raglar¡¯s eyes glimmered and his hands trembled in excitement as the wisp fell limply onto Lucen¡¯s palm. The call of the wisp strained against the cold night. Lucen prodded it lightly with a finger. His heart hurt a bit. It looked too familiar to the little thing that had accompanied him during the winter games.


    ¡° The blue moon wisp your highness, this humble servant retrieved it in most haste¡±


    Lucen¡¯s smile faltered, and he looked up.  how was it possible for Raglar to retrieve so easily the thing that had plunged the lands of Araya and Drugar into a terrible war?


    ¡° And how sure are you about that?¡± He asked nonchalantly slipping the little thing into his inner pocket.The tiny cold body curled up against his chest and whimpered as if in pain  ¡° And what¡¯s with all that blood?¡¯ Lucen rolled his eyes in  disgust.


    ¡° Answering your highness! This humble servant had to fight off the second prince to retrieve the blue moon wisp¡±


    Lucen¡¯s gaze froze. He traced a finger over his robes, feeling the weight of the trembling wisp grow colder in his chest.


    ¡° And where is the second prince now?¡±


    Raglar gestured wildly, ¡° Do not worry your highness, that prince will not come looking for his core anymore. A Nimye without ones¡¯ core cannot live. He lay dead in the boundary forest as we speak¡±


    The cold northern boundary forest was silent and unmoving. It¡¯s looming darkness stretched across to the Drugan camp and encircled it in a dense fog.


    ¡° You attacked the second prince in the boundary forest?¡±


    Raglar continued enthusiastically, ¡° Yes your highness, this humble servant attacked the second prince with poison while escorting him to the northern monastery. I was able to kill him and pry away the moon wisp!¡±


    Lucen turned away slowly and  left the holding tent. He did not turn back towards the camp but stood by its boundary and listened. The forest was quiet, frighteningly so.


    ¡° Prepare the horses and the shadow guard. . .¡±  He instructed to Lyall who had followed him outside.


    Lucen felt cold, his bloodless fingers gripped the reins tightly as they waded through the forest. He pried away the byway vines and tore at the branches with the weakening resolve of a madman. Lyall followed him wordlessly, and they walked for a long while in search of something unknown.


    Suddenly a whistle resonated through the forest.


    ¡° Commander¡± Called Lyall, ¡°  they seemed to have found . . . something in the forest¡±


    Lucen¡¯s blood shot eyes turned and he raced into the dark night. A group of soldiers held long poles of opal lamps and lit the forest clearing. And at first it was quite difficult to see what they were looking at it. Puddles of crimson flowed akin to rivers along the sloping ground,  he saw it on the trees, the overarching boughs, everywhere his eyes caught onto was bathed in blood.


    Had Raglar done this? Where was the Nimyen prince? Lyall had heard and seen the death of Nimyi, within a few hours the white mist of death would devour their bodies and they would dissipate to air, leaving no trace of life or form, could it be that the prince had already dissipated? Would this not lead to war and massacre?


    A little distance away, up a lonely hill, there was a large willow tree in the middle of a forest clearing. Under the opal lamps, the leaves and flowers, the fingerprint scattered trunk with the hilt of arrows still lodged in it, and its blood soaked roots came to light. And hanging from the tree¡¯s broken boughs was a half torn outer robe.


    Lucen slowly walked towards it and stared at the ground. The sound of the raging wind cloaked his ears and the scent of blood crawled into his lungs. It was as if an impenetrable darkness had overtaken his senses. Blood. . . was all he could see.  The willow swayed gently in the cold wind and blood dripped thickly onto his hands.


    He followed a trail of crimson, gathering in pools on wet foliage and trickling down along vines and flowers, myrtle and willow. Every now and then he would see pieces of silk, embroidered snowflakes and dew drops soaked red and brown with drying blood. The trail travelled deep into the forest, until a long silver string tangled among vines caught his eyes. Yet when he touched it, he found that it was not string but rather a long strand of braided white hair. Soft and fleeting.


    His heart trembled, with a shaking hand he untangled the hair and held it in his hands but the wind soon scattered it into the night leaving behind a white powder that curled past his fingers. A faint scent of chamomile wafted towards him and a pained whimper came from within his robes.


    How long had it been?


    Lucen¡¯s voice broke, ¡° Search. . . search the entire forest, he could still be here¡±