Darkness had fallen, yet the storm still howled with all its might. Branches moved like whips, cracking fast and dangerously. Orlin lowered his head just in time—a wound was the last thing he needed right now.
Around him, voices sang in a low tune, carried by the wind. Thankfully, they had managed to meet with the others before Dark, and the plan could be set in motion. He strained to listen, to distinguish each sound amid the blinding darkness and raging wind, when a hand settled on his shoulder.
With water pouring from the heavens, they could not carry torches—and even without the rain, they still would not have. Yet he was still able to make out something of the man standing before him. Two glowing gold coins floated in the dark—no, not coins, he realized. Eyes like gold stared back at him.
The man seized Orlin by the hand and pulled him closer to the group. As they passed, Orlin heard curses and yawns from a few men. It was clear they were all exhausted, and from the look of it, they would soon be sleeping on damp ground now turned to mud instead of solid earth. Every step was a battle against his boots; they sank deep, growing heavy with clinging mud.
"Are you Cassian?" Orlin asked.
The man did not answer. He only kept dragging him forward.
They pushed through another cluster of men, stepping on one in the process. The man cursed, but they did not stop.
"Good—you brought him, Cassian," said a voice, raspy and strong. "I expected more, but he will do."
They halted. Orlin tried to look around, to see where he was, but it was a fruitless attempt. The only things visible were the spectral white flames burning within the houses below the hill where they had gathered.
"So the two of you are my company on this dangerous and blind mission," said Orlin, trying to sound as friendly as he could. He was met only with silence—then the man with the raspy voice laughed loudly and mockingly.
"You hear that, Cassian? Bloody Darkness give me strength—I asked for a man, not a boy," said the rasping voice.
Orlin felt embarrassed, but mostly annoyed at being called a boy. Beneath the cover of Darkness, he hoped they would not see his face—but under the watch of those golden eyes, that hope died. A boy? With Reward Light so close, he would soon turn sixteen cycles old—almost a man. Still, he dared not say anything.
"Close your left eye," Orlin heard Cassian say.
Uncertain of why, Orlin hesitated, distrust gnawing at him.
"Do it now," Cassian repeated.
And so Orlin did as he was told. He closed his left eye—and the world came into being.
Greys, blacks, and whites were the only colors he could see, but he could see. The world felt different, a shifting of shadows; the living world carried an oppressive weight, as if Darkness itself pressed closer.
"Wait… how—" Orlin began.
But when he looked at his company, he saw them clearly. A tall, muscular man stood before him, face unmoving, eyes closed. Beside him was someone closer to Orlin's own age, his right eye shut, the only color left in the world a single golden eye blazing.
And Orlin understood.
Both wore boiled leather, with the links of mail visible beneath. A greatsword rested upon the back of the tall man, while a longsword hung at Cassian's waist. Orlin was taken aback by them both—one taller than any man he had ever seen, and Cassian… Cassian was wrong.
Pale as a corpse, with white hair like that of an old man, sharp features, and an eerie fairness to him. Rain-soaked strands clung to his shoulders. Both men were striking in their own way—and the sight left Orlin bitter.
"Let's get moving," said the tall man. "Light waits for no man."
As the three began descending the hill, Orlin couldn't help but look around, now able to see within the Dark. The wind still howled, forcing him to remove his cloak for fear of being thrown flat on his back. Houses made of logs danced beneath every heavy gust, their roofs creaking in agony.
Common folk lived beneath those roofs, unaware of what was to come. Blessed by Darkness, they felt no fear, no worry—why would they? When Darkness descended, no man, woman, boy, or girl could resist its call. No human could resist.
Unfortunately for them, humans were not the ones making their way.
Along the narrow paths of the small village, Orlin felt something was wrong—a strong smell drifted from either side. He said nothing; he could see Cassian and the tall man had noticed it as well.
"I'll open this house. Orlin, you take the other," said Cassian.
House by house they went, counting how many people slept inside, how many of them men.
By the time they reached the back of the village, only two houses remained. Cassian moved toward the one on the left. Orlin stepped toward the one on the right—but an arm stopped him. The tall man shook his head.
The door of the house creaked open, and someone stepped out.
A woman in full plate, a sword in her hand.
"Listen, boy—stay behind," the man said. "I haven't been myself for a while now, and I don't want you in my way. This wench is mine."
He snapped the rope holding his greatsword to his back and caught the hilt as the scabbard fell into the mud.
Steel met rain.
The massive blade gleamed sharp and deadly, a dark gray tone glimmering in shadows and whites. But as Orlin looked upon the sword, the world shifted.
The blade burned crimson.
The surroundings burned with it.
And the weight of Darkness lessened.
The Fleeting fire hissed as water struck its tail. The heat was so intense Orlin felt as if the water soaking his clothes were boiling against his skin. He noted how the tall man seemed unfazed by the Light—more than that, he was smiling.
"You have my thanks, my lady," he said, waiting for a response. When only silence answered him, he continued. "My abilities don't work well when affected by rain. They are not at their best—just like you, it seems."
The woman's face remained hard as stone, unblinking eyes never leaving the two of them. The tall man's smile faded, his expression turning into something closer to hers.
We truly are alike, Orlin thought.
Without warning, the two dashed forward.
Orlin expected the clash of steel—but instead the woman dropped low, the greatsword passing overhead, missing her entirely. Her blade burned white, striking like a snake toward the tall man's gut. Yet despite his massive frame, the tall man was fast as the wind.
A powerful gust burst from him, causing the surrounding flames to flicker. He raised his sword high above his head and brought it down with all his strength. The woman dodged, leaping to the side.
When Orlin thought the greatsword would bury itself in the ground, another gust erupted. The blade bounced upward, the tall man's muscles tensing as he used the momentum to swing again—this time toward the woman, who had barely dropped to one knee.
She had no choice but to meet him.
Steel struck steel in a thunderous clash.
The crimson greatsword cut clean through the woman's shorter blade and slammed into her chest. Her plate absorbed part of the blow, but not enough—she was sent flying, only stopping when her body crashed into the log wall of a house.
Orlin found himself in awe. Both the woman and the tall man were wielders of two abilities. They each possessed Strength—hers drawn from the lower body, his from the upper. And both held elemental gifts: the tall man command of wind, and the woman fire, which she had used to ignite the trail with oil.
"See this, boy," the tall man cackled. "Fire is not all in life. Even a breeze can suffocate the burning of death."
He laughed again. "Stand up, lady—we're not done with you yet. I know you can still put up a fight."
At his laughter and sniggering, the woman forced herself upright. Her chest was black with blood, and her grey skin had gone pale from the strain of healing. White flames ignited from her palms, drawing a groan of agony from her throat.
"That's what I like," said the tall man. "I'm going to enjoy you until my heart is content."
The woman glared at him and tried to dash forward—but instead she collapsed face-first into the muddy trail. The fire around her died, and the Darkness thickened once more.
"She can't fight anymore… um, sir…" Orlin said to the tall man, who was clearly displeased.
The tall man spat. "Can expect nothing else from a pampered woman."
From the house the woman had been thrown into, Cassian emerged. "Done now, Ezo. There's still one house left."
"Aye," Ezo said. "Kill her or whatever—she was disappointing."