Sometimes what pulls you back from the pit of despair... is just a simple, warm touch.

  The red building trembled with the panicked screams of enslaved children.

  The metallic stench of blood clung to the air. The children were not the least bit fazed by it; they had long learned how to live with it. Yet today the blood was not theirs, but of the people they considered invincible.

  The death of their masters before their eyes had driven them to dismay.

  When the masters were angry, pain followed. That was the only constant of their world. But now the masters were gone. What awaited them for that?

  The thought haunted their hearts. They could not name, nor picture it, only a gnawing feeling weighed on them—something unspeakable waiting beyond sight. Their very souls shuddered at the mere thought of the unknown.

  Amidst the chorus of screams and the clanging of metal bars, two footsteps could be faintly heard as they climbed the stair.

  Shying away from looking at the cells, Elsyn tried to focus on her goal: her friends.

  But she could not.

  Each cry felt like a plea for release from its own flesh, as if every voice called to her alone—begging for mercy, for relief.

  Her head turned on its own and her eyes without permission caught a glimpse of the children up close.

  Her heart skipped a beat.

  Their barely clothed bodies bore wounds and revolting marks that streaked all across them—even beneath their garments.

  But more than any cut or fabric, what caught her attention the most was their eyes.

  Hollow and devoid of any hope. Just like the eyes of the patrolling men after they fell before Corvus's blade.

  "El, we're here—this is it," Corvus's voice disrupted her rumination.

  She focused on the one cell in front of her; four children cowered inside, one of them was muttering something delirious while holding his head.

  Him, Elsyn did not recognise, but the other three, she did.

  "Livia, Sena..."

  One of the figures meekly pulled herself toward the bars. The dim light revealed her face—Livia Renwick.

  But her face barely resembled what Elsyn remembered. It was bruised and torn in several places. Her cheeks and eyes were blackened beyond recognition.

  "Is... that... you, I?" Livia asked. Her lips parched and dry, trembled at each word.

  Seeing her friend in this state, again snapped something within Elsyn.

  First Gar, now Livia...

  She felt like the world and fate itself conspired to snatch, mangle, break everything she cherishes.

  She swallowed back her wrath and focused on her friends.

  "Yes, it is me, Livia. We'll get you and everyone out, please step back," Elsyn softly said. Warmth palpable in each word.

  Two more figures walked out of the shadows—Sena and Olren. Their faces were also bruised but nowhere close to Livia's. They saw Elsyn with expectant gazes.

  As soon as Livia pushed herself back, Corvus instantly cleaved the cell in two. The metal offered no resistance against his lethal will.

  "Sena, Olren, let's go—we don't have long," Elsyn prodded them.

  Elsyn entered the broken cell and extended a hand to Livia to help her up. However, Livia did not look at her. Silently staring at the ground, Livia did not move a muscle.

  "Livia, we have to go. A lady is waiting outside she'll keep you safe, I promise. Get up, please." Elsyn lowered her hand.

  Corvus moved closer and gently lifted Livia into his arms.

  Elsyn was confused: "Hey, why're you—"

  Corvus quietly walked past her. Elsyn finally noticed what Corvus saw much earlier. One of Livia's legs was brutally crushed, shards of bones jutting through torn flesh.

  Elsyn's eyes lost all focus for a moment. She did not even notice her other friends leaving the cell behind Corvus and Livia.

  She only heard something in passing:

  "... Thanks for coming back, I."

  Her thoughts frozen around a single echoing thought: Was it because of me.

  Had her friends suffered due to her selfishness? The enslavers may have been the perpetrators, but was she the reason?

  Entwined so deeply within her thoughts that she forgot to breathe. Her knees buckled, and she dropped on the cold floor, gasping for air.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  The screams that once seemed like pleas for mercy and liberation now struck her as accusations—each blaming her for their anguish.

  Covering her ears, she let out a stifled shriek, trying to shut out the hundreds of accusing voices.

  But it was no use. The voices remained—growing louder and louder by the second. Soon they overwhelmed her. For the voices were in her head now.

  Tears rolled down her cheeks as she curled on the cold floor, shivering in guilt and shame.

  Meanwhile, Corvus had reached Ravina. He placed Livia inside an empty carriage and handed the others over to Ravina.

  "Make sure they reach safely," Corvus instructed.

  "I'll do my best, but no promises," Ravina replied.

  "In which direction is the Covenant?" Corvus asked.

  "Demanding answers like that. You've got no manners, do you?" Ravina scoffed. "North-east from the Walker's Pike; just move in that direction and the Covenant of Eldara will appear within four days."

  "The Walker's Pike?"

  "The only horizontal mountain within the Silent Heights... the source of hundreds of folktales for the people of Bleakmoor Hearth... the big mountain you can see from here. Ring any bells now? Are you really the Vice-Captain of the Reavers? This is basic stuff—"

  "Okay, leave now." Corvus gave the horse a sharp slap, prompting it to bolt forward.

  He saw Ravina and the children disappear beyond the roads safely, and ran back toward the red building.

  The Walker's Pike... who walks there, again? He thought.

  Entering the ground floor, he froze.

  The clamour of the children evoked a familiar cynicism within him. But he was hardly disturbed by that.

  What grasped his attention was a girl sitting on an oil barrel in the centre of the ground floor.

  Surrounded by hundreds of wailing children, the sight of the girl idly sitting by and swinging her legs, painted an eerie picture in one's mind.

  Almost as if the girl was completely unbothered by the miserable setting around.

  Or perhaps she just finally snapped.

  And now she was all out of pity... out of emotions.

  "El... Are you alright?" Corvus asked.

  His voice drowned beneath the deafening noise of the children. Yet for Elsyn his was the only voice that seemed real—the rest a figment; a nightmare she wanted to forget.

  Elsyn looked at him. It felt as if only a husk of her usual self was staring back. Her spirit, zeal lost somewhere behind her distant gaze.

  Corvus approached and sat on the other side of the oil barrel. His back resting against hers.

  A warmth—something other than the unforgiving cold and reality—pressed against Elsyn.

  She breathed again. Blood coursing within her felt warm again, her dull heart began to beat with life once more.

  She felt like a person again.

  She was alive.

  "Corvus... how do you do it... How do you remain... sane in the face of... all this?" Her voice close but distant.

  Corvus started swinging his legs too. The motion, oddly childish, brought him a strange sense of calm.

  He thought for a while before answering:

  "Honestly, today was new. I've killed more people than I can count. After a while, death stops feeling like anything. I swing my blade and people die, simple. But this... breathing, screaming corpses all around me... Honestly, it is scary."

  Despite the tumult of their surrounding, they felt a serene lull settling in the atmosphere.

  Corvus weighed his next words carefully, and continued,

  "You asked how I stay calm. Earlier, I used to just accept things as they were. No matter how wrong. I thought the world was the way it was, and I was just... passing through. Doing what I had to."

  He paused. "It kept me alive. But... I was not happy.

  His voice softened. "Right now, you look the way I used to... uncaring, detached. I know that feeling. Like you're just drifting, and solitude seems like the best option. But it's not. When everything falls apart, you hold on to what still matters. Your friends, your sister. They're your anchor. You stay calm for them. You feel for them."

  He exhaled. "Took me one too many encounters with death to figure that out. So you better be listening, El, 'cause I won't repeat it."

  "No need; I got it," Elsyn spoke.

  "Your mother's letter. What'd it say?"

  Elsyn visualised her mother's letter, and spoke as if her mother was whispering into her ears: "... Forge a fate the stars envy..."

  Just as she finished, a strange yet familiar word echoed within her like a breath pressed to her ears:

  ... Love.

  She was certain, the voice was not hers yet for a fleeting moment it was all she could hear. Perhaps it was her imagination, her longing for her mother materialized. Or perhaps something else entirely.

  Strangely, her cheeks felt warm and wet. Her heart, suddenly heavy—as if something gentle had touched it and vanished.

  For a moment, she felt like crying till she fell asleep.

  But clenching her fists, she relented.

  Corvus's voice broke the silence. "There's only one thing the stars envy, and you know what that is."

  Elsyn only smiled. By shining brighter than the stars.

  They sat in silence, content in each other's company.

  Surrounded by the hundreds of onlookers, yet unbothered by any of them. They were alone in that moment. They could freely speak their minds and nobody would listen in.

  They felt at ease.

  A few quiet minutes passed by, then Elsyn spoke, "You know if Lea saw me like this—sulking—she'd scream my brains off."

  "Yeah, I can see that happening," Corvus replied.

  "Don't tell her about this."

  "Sure thing."

  After a pause, Elsyn again spoke, "Can you do me one more favor?"

  "I know what's on your mind. And I told you, I don't consider what I enjoy a favor."

  ***

  Seven people moved through the streets of Bleakmoor Hearth.

  Night had engulfed the settlement within its all pervading darkness. The darkness which heralded the start of the night wars.

  Yet the seven walked without a hint of unease, as if they owned the night itself.

  "They said a Doomwarden was sighted at one of our outposts," one of the seven men said.

  "No. They said he was looking for one—and he was with a girl," a woman corrected the man.

  "There've been no reports of any movement in the Bone-Rend Kin. They won't launch an attack on us without proper mobilisation, and a Doomwarden by himself can't pose that much of a threat. Perhaps we're overreacting," another man said.

  "In any case, we'll have to check ourselves. Where are the rest of the men?"

  "I've given the orders, they should be with us before long."

  "Good. That Doomwarden better pray he didn't—"

  The man stopped, as he saw an unexpected incident unfolding before his eyes; hundreds of enslaved children were running wild through the streets.

  They soon flooded every alley and corner. Some hid behind buildings, while others aimlessly darted across the road to just get away from this horrid place.

  The sight was bedlam incarnate.

  "Are they the loaned ones? Are they ours?" One of them asked.

  "... Is that smoke?" One of them noticed.

  They looked up and saw plume of black smoke rising into the sky. Following the smoke trail, they reached the red building—one of their outposts.

  Their eyes widened in disbelief and fists clenched in rage.

  The red building was ablaze. Fire claimed its walls; timbers cracked and stone tumbled under the heat.

  The light of the inferno illuminated the ground: the carriages with doors flung open, and dozens of headless corpses strewn across the ground.

  Drifting across the air, ash and soot had blanketed the ground in a layer of grey and black.

  Breathing in the dust-filled, singed air, one of them spoke,

  "It's war..."

  Soon, the seven figures were joined by dozens more figures. Gradually, more joined their ranks, swelling their number to a truly staggering quantity.

  Hundreds of shadows danced against the flames, however, their owners shared not a hint of their playfulness.

  Seething with rage, the forces of the Frostbound Legion threatened to drown the whole of Bleakmoor Hearth to quell the wrath blazing within them.