"I need a weapon."

Garth blinked, face impassive. "Who ticked you off?"

Sarah, who stood on the other side of the tall bar, shifted. She wasn't going to answer that. Though it seemed she didn't need to.

"You wanna go after that cult."

Relenting with a sigh, she reached for the small bag on her waist and set it on the countertop. That was her current life savings—thirty-five silver pieces. "Yes, and for once, you can't stop me."

Garth held her resolved gaze for a moment, brown eyes piercing her green ones. This woman—this girl, as she was only seventeen—was the most reckless he'd ever met. She didn't care about her own safety; only to the extent of staying alive to exact her vengeance. So he had taken it upon himself to look after her. Someone had to.

"No," he said finally. "But I can refuse service to customers I believe are a danger to themselves. Or others, for that matter."

Sarah scoffed. "I'm the danger? Not the psychos who've started going around, burning villages, killing innocents—" She was cut off there.

"You know what I meant. This… obsession you have with those guys isn't healthy. It will get you killed one day."

Here, she hesitated in her next words. "Look, just because your brother—" Once, more she was interrupted.

A biting tone had risen in the man's voice as he frowned at Sarah. "This has nothing to do with him. You and him aren't the only people who have dedicated their lives to revenge. Every time I've seen it happen, it never ended well."

"It's not just about revenge. Someone needs to step up to those people! This violence will never end if we don't do something!"

"Is that right?" he said, voice back to its usual flat tone.

She let out a huff and took back the bag of silver. "If you won't equip me, I'll find someone else." She turned to exit the small weapons shop, ignoring the call of her name coming from its owner.

As soon as she stepped into the dying heat, though, she stopped. Who was she going to go to for a simple weapon? The next smith or seller she could think of was a day's travel away, in the city of Kir. This micro-village wasn't big enough for a smith, instead relying on… well, Garth.

Sigh. Better start packing.

Her small shack of a home was on the other side of the village, isolated from the rest of the people. When she came to them, around half a year ago now, she first met Garth, who, after allowing her to stay with him for a few weeks, started on renovating the recently abandoned house on the outskirts. She never had it confirmed, but she was pretty sure that it belonged to him and his brother, once upon a time.

To that extent, it felt odd staying there, but there really was no other option if she didn't want to forever sponge off of Garth.

She heaved a sigh as she closed the wooden door behind her. Garth really had done a lot for her. And what had she given him in return? Nothing.

At the same time, he had always insisted that he didn't mind helping out. Still, it had to be nice to know how much the other appreciated the efforts every now and then.

She had just been so focused on bettering herself every day for when the opportunity to take down the cult arose, training herself, honing her instincts. Saving up for a real weapon.

A weapon that she still needed to obtain.

...

She wasn't a danger, was she?

She shook her head, not letting herself have doubts. She'd made up her mind.

In the morning, then. She would be gone in the morning.

Ten. There were ten left. Out of over ten thousand people, only ten remained.

Captain Tristan Yuri had long since let his mind go numb as he withdrew from the tragedy that occurred little over half a day ago. Right now, all that mattered was getting these people—all ten of them—to the nearest settlement. The time for dwelling on the past would come, and he would be alone when it did.

If he was right in his navigation, they had another thirteen hours left until they hit Pol, a small, out-of-the-way village. It would be sundown by the time they arrived.

But looking at the condition of the nine other survivors… There was just no way they'd all be able to cross the shrublands. Not without some rest. Three were ready to pass out from blood loss, one had passed out because of the clotting wound on his severed arm, two were suffering from heatstroke. The rest were in shock, and no one had said a word since they left the city. They had no supplies, nothing but the clothes on their backs and a small survival knife kept securely in his jacket.

He looked around. Little more than bushes and cacti of a couple varieties surrounded them. The vastness of it all only made him feel more tired, frustrated and—he'll begrudgingly admit—a little anxious. He let out a sigh and felt the tension leave his muscled body before he righted his posture once again. They had no choice.

Finally, it was Yuri who broke the twelve-hour-long silence. "Terrace," he called. Paul Terrace—a young man in his early twenties—looked up at him. Yuri didn't expect that defeated look in his eyes to go away anytime soon.

"Yes, sir?"

"I want you and Waters to harvest the fruits of the cacti," he ordered. "If it's pink and spiny, break it off and bring it here."

A few others in the group eyed him confusedly at that.

"May I ask why?" Ryan Waters asked as he joined the pair.

"Those fruits have water in them," Yuri explained. The word water alone got their attention. They were no doubt wondering why he didn't say something before. "I was hesitant to use them because they contain a powerful and unpredictable drug. However…" He trailed off to observe the former citizens of Kir once again. "You'll probably die if you don't take of it."

Terrace and Waters wouldn't remember what they called the Trials back in the city. They had just been transferred around a week ago, with a number of other rookies who unfortunately didn't make it.

The yearly Trials weren't much more than building up the more experienced soldiers' tolerance for certain types of chemicals, and to document how volunteers reacted to the ones that could have been considered dangerous.

This cactus water, unnamed thus far, made it to the Don't Touch list.

Some people underwent hallucinations, some experienced other uncharacteristic and extreme psychotic breaks, others had lapses in time, thinking a month had passed (with memories to prove it) when only a week had gone by. There were physical conditions, as well, such as tremors, sweating, vomiting.

He, himself, could have sworn he lived the entirety of someone else's life, knew the names of the guy's friends and family, could name every gift he got for all forty-seven birthdays, could recount the adventures of every place he'd ever visited, even remembered the pain, both physical and emotional, this man had felt all throughout.

But no, he was assured that only a day had passed, no more. It took him a total of twenty-three days to readjust himself to his own life. He never wanted to touch the fruit again.

It had also been proven, though, that its contents were capable of filling a starved stomach and quenching a parched throat. And right now, that's exactly what they needed.

The two rookies, the only Kir soldiers besides himself that were alive, set out for the pink terror.

That thing was a last resort for him, as he needed to be sober and sane if he ever hoped of getting all of them to Pol.

He then addressed the perplexed people before him. "You don't have to drink it, if you don't want to, of course. If you wish to push your luck and see if your body holds out, be my guest."

One man shook himself from his thoughts and spoke to him. Yuri recognized him as the pastor of the chapel, the only building that hadn't fallen, despite the waves of destruction that swept through the city. He and his son were especially lucky to be alive, going and sacrificing themselves like they had.

"We'll abstain," he said. Yuri didn't need to question him; he and his son would probably rather die than take of a substance that altered their bodily chemicals and perception of reality. He couldn't blame them.

The Captain nodded. "We'll challenge the desert together, then."

The conversation caught the attention of the aging man's son, a boy not much older than Terrace in whose green eyes one could see tiredness and anger—if he looked hard enough, he could see red.

"How much farther?" His voice was soft, weary, despite it.

Yuri did a quick number crunch in his head. "I estimate another forty miles, maybe more."

The boy nodded.

"We'll be there by midnight," Yuri continued.

But it was just before noon. Midnight seemed ages away.

It took the rookies around ten minutes to get back with an armful of the cactus fruit, just pink orbs covered in spines. Yuri dropped to his knees and gestured for the fruits to be placed before him. One of the healthier ones perfectly fit in his palm. He took his knife from his inner pocket and sliced at the fruit, near the top, only enough to make a significant hole out of which the clear liquid could flow without the danger of… getting poked.

He handed off the first fruit to a reluctant woman, explaining, "The drug should kick in in about an hour, and can last for up to a week."

"But I'll live," she continued, bringing the water to her lips.

"You'll certainly have a higher chance."

She drank the water, grimacing for a moment as the bitterness of it washed over her, before swallowing harshly.

The others watched her step aside, and Yuri cut open another fruit.

Once everyone was relatively satisfied that wanted to be, they resumed their trek to the south.

She spent the rest of that day packing for her journey to Kir, making sure her home was spotless, and reading until the sun vanished and she couldn't see the words without straining her eyes.

She tried her best not to feel guilty about leaving for what would probably be her last time; once she had a weapon, she was finally set for taking down the cult. She was sure someone there could give her information about them, despite Garth saying that they were practically nonexistent. In short, she had little reason to come back.

What would Garth say?

He likely would be expecting it. Sarah had gone on for months about how dedicated she was to hunting down those cultists. At first, he had tried to talk her out of it, saying that it wasn't worth it, telling her about his brother, Grant, who got himself killed in his pursuit of revenge. Over time, he gradually stopped and quieted himself, not bothering fighting with her. It was clear that she had made up her mind, and couldn't be unconvinced of what she thought she needed to do.

Sarah appreciated that. But she couldn't help but feel like she lost the opportunity to gain a close friend, as her obsession with the cult made Garth sort of… distance himself.

She couldn't guess why.

But that didn't matter. Garth didn't have to worry about her anymore. She didn't have to burden him.

Her biggest decision now was whether or not to tell him goodbye.

If she did, he would undoubtedly try to stop her, calling her crazy—but in that way that told her that he cared about her and her well-being—in a last ditch effort to save her from herself.

If she didn't, she would be severing ties with him for sure. It would tell him that his words, everything he did for her, really did mean nothing, that he might as well have left her in the dust when he found her that day to fend for herself, that her life would be no different if they had never even met.

And that just wasn't true.

Sarah would be dead if he hadn't dragged her broken body back to the village after stumbling upon her. If not dead, then she would have killed herself to end her grief after losing everything.

Garth gave her the means to fight back. And he knew that.

She shook the thoughts from her head. She could sort this out tomorrow. She needed to go to sleep if she hoped to wake up early enough to get a head start on the road.

Of course, Someone upstairs had other plans.

The first thing she heard when she awoke in the middle of the night was someone screaming for help. The voice was a man's, and sounded torn and abused, like he'd been screaming for days and wouldn't stop until he was heard.

She got up immediately, throwing on a quick outfit and bolting out the door. The cold desert air clawed at her skin, but that was forgotten when she neared the north entrance to the village.

A small crowd had already gathered by the time she arrived, and one sprinted off as she approached. Garth was among the remaining and stepped forward with his arms outstretched—

—to two men, looking like they'd just lost a brawl.

Each was holding a body in their arms. Whether they were alive or not was beyond her.

Garth took the youngest man's burden, which was a man twice his age with greying hair and a small religious pendant around his neck. A priest? "I'll take him to Kaden's—he's our only doctor," Garth said, already heading for the nearby building. "Come with me."

Both the boy and his companion, a tall, broad-shouldered soldier whose insignia was impossible to see in the darkness, made to follow after, when the former suddenly stumbled forward, looking close to fainting himself. He was gasping by this point, and the nearest townsperson wrapped his arm around them as support, leading him to the doctor's home, just a few buildings down.

Sarah watched, waiting for someone to need something or tell her what to do to help. For the moment, she stayed close to the soldier, who appeared to be in much better condition, and followed him inside.

The clinic—divided into two different rooms; a lobby and the clinic itself—was small, but it was still one of the biggest buildings available and was well-equipped to take care of most issues. Kaden could be seen preparing his med kit to meet them, the townsman who ran to wake him standing nervously off to the side. When the five of them stumbled into the building, the doctor immediately began setting his things out again.

"Set them down," he said, gesturing to three of the empty beds. Garth and the soldier moved to obey, and the man practically carrying the latter's companion decided he better follow suit. "I need someone to tell me what happened."

The soldier sighed as he carefully took a seat on the edge of another bed, and the doctor checked the vitals of the survivors. "We crossed the desert from Kir. We're all that's left."

Sarah's eyes widened considerably, taken aback. Now that she could see the insignia in the dull torchlight, she could see properly that it was Kir's symbol on the soldier's arm. "What do mean, all that's left?"

Yuri stared down at his hands as he explained, "There was a massive attack. At first, there were ten of us, but…" He trailed off, not wanting to continue.

Kaden pressed, however. "I'm sorry, but I need to know what happened," he repeated.

The man shook himself out of his thoughts and nodded to the priest. "He passed out from the heat and dehydration a few hours ago. She…" The deep voice wandered off again but picked back up on its own. "We had no choice but to distribute the pink fruit if we had any hope of making it here."

"I assume not everyone took of it?"

"No. Not all of us."

Kaden paused in his treatments for a moment, trying and failing to put the pieces together. He had all the information he needed, though, so he turned his focus to the new patients after telling the onlookers, "I have to ask you to wait outside."

The soldier moved to follow them, but Kaden stopped him. "You're not going anywhere until you get some water and those cuts looked at."

He did, indeed, have a few scrapes on his hands and face. He was also littered with bruises, he was sure. But he didn't think they were any cause for concern.

He reluctantly settled back onto the bed, but the young brunette girl tensed her shoulders, clearly unhappy. She wasn't going to leave without getting her questions answered. Only Garth had stayed beside her, silently trying to convince her to just walk away, to ask later. It wasn't working.

Kaden, noticing her lack of departure, frowned at her. "I said I—"

Sarah cut him off. "How on Leria does ten thousand turn into four overnight?" Her tone demanded an answer.

"Sarah, please." Garth was reduced to near-begging now. He was starting to panic.

Yuri didn't respond to her, matching the look in her eyes with equal intensity.

"What happened to Kir?!" She was close to yelling, a rush of urgency washing over her. She had her suspicions. Brief flashbacks shot through her mind, images of fire, pain. She remembered the smell. Smoke and burning bodies. It was so potent and foul—she couldn't forget if she tried. The thought of it twisted her stomach, and she had to fight the urge to vomit right then and there.

Her body trembled as a shiver ran down her spine. Garth felt the room's temperature drop dramatically. The red in her eyes… he'd seen it in his brother's, saw it in Sarah's when they first met. He knew it wasn't a good sign.

Yuri was torn between telling her everything just to get her out of the room and continuing to ignore her, partly curious as to what would happen, and partly to spare himself having to relive all of his failures of the last thirty hours.

Finally, he relented. "A cult."

The girl's eyes widened. Garth froze where he stood. Kaden tried his best to simply disappear from the tension in the air by returning to his treatments.

Yuri continued. "They attacked from inside. Burned half the city down in an hour, then proceeded to kill anyone they could get their hands on. I was showing a couple of recruits around the city. We just so happened to be in the chapel when it happened." He shifted. "Us and a few others were able to escape through the tunnels. We came here after making sure we weren't followed."

"Did they wear purple?" Sarah asked. That, of all the things she remembered from that day, stood out the most. The most beautiful shade of purple she'd ever seen, untainted by the light of the fires and the spray of blood. Somehow, the purple always remained perfect.

She hated purple.

Before Yuri could answer, Garth, having come back to reality, placed a hand on Sarah's shoulder. "Sarah, don't do this to yourself."

But she hadn't heard him.

"Yes."

At that moment, the rage mysteriously died out, leaving an eerie calm in its place.

"Do you know them?" Yuri asked.

She heaved a sigh, and Garth finally let go of her, accepting that he could do nothing to this situation. "I do," she said. "They took everything from me." Her voice was just above a whisper.

Yuri didn't know what all that meant, but he certainly didn't want to press into this one's past.

"I assure you," he started, "I'm going to do everything I can to track those monsters down and take them out."

Sarah heard the man's own anger. Heard that underlying hate. He, too, had lost a lot, if not everything, to these people. And, frankly, she believed him. She believed every word he said. That he would end the cult.

And she wanted to be there with him when he did.

He must have seen that in turn, for he turned his gaze away, letting out a small huff of air, a ghost of a smile gracing his lips.

Garth witnessed the silent conversation with incredulity.

He'd surrounded himself with psychopaths.

A hand was wrapped around his throat, denying him oxygen and slowly suffocating him. The skin was cold despite the heat around them, clammy with sweat. But more unnerving was the way he could feel the various tubes in his neck clamp down. His trachea, esophagus, and carotid arteries all caved in under the pressure, stopping all traffic. The only thing going through his mind was a dull, distant voice he wasn't sure was even his own.

You're going to die.

It was true. There was no surviving, no matter how lame of a death it would be. He was far too weak to fight back. His body had lost a battle to both the elements and this crazed, high madman before him. The last words he heard before the dark took over were, "I'm sorry."

Yuri woke from the memory as if being pulled from a daydream—slowly and gently.

His eyes, after he was convinced he was back in the real world, settled on the wooden planks of a ceiling he didn't recognize.

He sat up, wincing at the soreness in his abdomen, disoriented. Where in the world…?

Ah. He was alive. Right. He vaguely remembered that he wasn't murdered in that desert. That Waters had given himself up to make sure Yuri brought those remaining to safety.

The dread set in then. Waters… was likely dead. Because Yuri had a lapse in judgment. Half of the group was laying in a bloody pool somewhere between Pol and Kir. And it was his fault.

But he wouldn't mourn them. In the end, it was their choice to drink the water, and they knew full well what could have happened. He wouldn't mourn them because he still had three people left to take care of. Speaking of…

In the dull glow cast upon the rectangular room by the setting sun, Yuri could see the forms of the three resting silently on their respective cots. They all looked to be breathing, which was a good start.

Closest to him was the unnamed woman, who he felt inclined to call Mary for the time being. She was the least physically damaged of the four, but Yuri knew her mind was in shambles.

Beyond her was the Pastor, Carter. The only injuries he sustained were from his passing out and hitting the ground and mistakenly thinking a cactus was going to support him without making him bleed a little from his hands as the began to collapse.

And his son, Dimitry, or Dima, was the furthest from Yuri. He had sustained a kick to the torso and having his head pushed into a cactus, causing a few scratches to mar his face, none of which were deep enough to merit too much worry. Yuri wasn't sure when Dima finally caved in to sleep, but it wasn't long after his head hit the pillow. Yuri himself wasn't far behind, finally falling asleep when the girl and her quiet boyfriend left the room; after he was given some bread and water.

By the wall opposite them, sitting in a chair, half-leaning on a small, tall table filled with various objects, was Kaden. Yuri only saw his back clothed in white and his cropped back hair. He didn't look to be doing anything, and judging by his even breathing, he seemed to have nodded off.

The whole image, including the golden afterglow everything was reflecting, was almost ethereal. Calming, haunting, sobering all at the same time.

He was suddenly brought back to a memory of his childhood, a similar image of a small camping trip with his friends from school. The day had been loud and chaotic, filled with adventures and misadventures alike. But the next morning, he had been the first one awake, and he had simply observed and appreciated the way everyone had passed out just in front of their tents, encircling the campfire that was nothing but smoke. The morning light, the way it filtered through the trees and shed beams of warmth onto the campsite had made it all perfect.

Of course, the situations were a little different. No doubt those same school friends—at least those who remained in Kir—were dead among the ashes.

Kir. The whole thing could have been a dream, for how distant it seemed, even though it occurred less than two days ago.

Pol would be his temporary base while he figured out more about this group that thought they could get away with a bloodbath. He needed to get his answers eventually. As soon as he was able, he would gather a group to sift through the rubble, then head north to Ara to tell Sir Asher.

This was assuming he could convince anyone to go with him, though. That Sarah girl would go, he was sure. Her boyfriend would likely be reluctant to let her leave without him to look after her. Dima, Carter, and Mary would probably stay behind. Maybe he could ask some of the townspeople? He'd go by himself if he had to, but…

He wasn't sure of how alone he really wanted to be when reality came crashing in. He had accepted Kir. His mind had adjusted to the shock and reacted accordingly. He was a soldier. He'd been trained most of his life to know how to respond to such a tragedy. His mentors had made him a stoic.

However, he was human—despite how he may deny it. Involved in mankind. He was affected by the loss of ten thousand people. He wasn't a monster. Not like them, who held no value for humanity, no empathy. Psychopaths.

He let out another heavy sigh and stood, stretching out the stiffness in his limbs, ignoring the pained protest made by his muscles. After a few satisfying cracks did he finally notice that his jacket and shirt had been removed, replaced by bands of linen wrapped around his torso and shoulder.

What happened? He didn't get injured… Not that he was aware of, that is. And he wasn't in pain…

He poked at his sternum, but there was no sting, pressed his sides, but no tenderness. Was it his back?

Oh well. It couldn't be that bad if he couldn't even feel it. Right?

He moved to replace his black undershirt. He'd leave the jacket on the bed. It was too dang hot to be wearing it.

And where in Ild were his boots?

Sigh.

He approached Kaden's sleeping form, intending to question the whereabouts of his footwear, but noticed instead the folded piece of paper on the desk.

On the face of it, a single word.

Asher.

It was a letter telling what happened to Kir, and what to watch out for. No doubt, Kaden was going to ask Yuri to take it up to the capital, knowing that he was already going back to Kir.

He guessed he was taking an extra two days' worth of supplies with him. That was fine.

Kaden seemed to be a hypersensitive sleeper, as he stirred next to Yuri and lifted his head.

Yuri could understand that it would've been startling to wake up and suddenly see a muscled giant looming precariously over you.

"Good evening, Doctor," Yuri greeted.

Kaden let out a breath and stretched his neck. "Hey…" He paused, suddenly realizing that he didn't know his patients' names. "Eh…"

"Yuri. Or Tristan. Call me what you like."

He guessed he no longer needed to introduce himself by his last name. Still, it had been too long since he'd even heard his first name. It just felt strange now.

"Tristan, then." Kaden eyed the letter in front of him. "You saw the letter."

"Yes."

Kaden sighed. "You don't have to be the one to—"

Tristan shook his head. "I'll take it with me. It's not a problem."

Kaden was reluctant to nod. "Alright. But you're—"

"I'll go with you."

They started at the raspy third voice. To their right, Dima day on the edge of his bed, one hand gently rubbing his throat.

Yuri had to admit, Dima no longer looked like the soft-spoken pastor's kid like he had in the Shrublands. Then again, he wasn't exactly too focused on what other people looked like at that particular moment.

No, he felt more… intimidating. His green eyes reminded Yuri of the stories he'd heard about Mikail Alkaev and his visual abilities, always observing, never missing a thing.

Yuri really hoped someone else was going with them.

"Fine. We're leaving in the morning."

"Uh, no?" Kaden stood, an incredulous expression on his face. He looked at Yuri. "You have a hole in your back, and you," he turned to Dima, "just went through a traumatizing—"

"I'm fine," Dima interrupted will an eye roll. "I'm not injured, just a sore throat and some bruises."

Yuri addressed Kaden. "So it is my back? I don't feel anything..."

The doctor frowned. That wasn't right…

He gestured towards the beds. "Take a seat. Let me look at it."

Yuri obeyed as Kaden flicked on the lights, flooding the room in a temporarily blinding white.

Kaden stepped behind him and released the bandages. When they pooled around Yuri's waist, he set them aside. But Yuri saw them. They were large bandages, used for wrapping torsos and troublesome wounds. He guessed a troublesome wound on the torso counted as well.

There wasn't much blood on them, but where there was, it was a dark red surrounded by dried brown. This mysterious wound of his had been bleeding for a while. He vaguely registered a trickle of liquid run slowly down his back, before its path was interrupted by a wet cloth.

"You tore it open," Kaden told him.

Yuri merely grunted a response and turned his focus to the doctor's hands, using them as his eyes to map out what had marred his back. All the details he gathered during the cleaning and redressing processes told him that it wasn't a cut. It was more like he'd been skinned; it was like a whole two layers of skin was missing. He wasn't sure of what exactly it looked like, but it was at most a cubit in length, trailing off into papercuts near the small of his back, and maybe a hand in width.

In short, it was a monster of an injury. So why didn't it hurt?

"Were those bandages medicated?" Yuri asked.

"Eh, kind of. I only used something to keep it clean. Why?"

Yuri described his dilemma.

"That's strange. The shock definitely wore off by now…

"Are you sure you didn't drink the Pink Water?"

A chill ran down Yuri's ravaged back. "Yeah, years ago, but…"

Dima observed quietly from the other side of the room.

"You mean the Trials?"

"Yes."

Kaden hesitated in speaking any further. He had been one of the doctors asked to come in and help investigate the Water. He knew what some of those people went through, had read and analyzed plenty of the results. There were a lot of names—that he remembers most clearly.

No one was able to take this stuff lightly. The Pink Water was truly a bargain to be made with the Null.

"It's possible that your tolerance to pain comes from that. I feel like you would have noticed it sooner, though."

"What does the fruit have to do with this?" Yuri asked, frowning in confusion up at Kaden. He wasn't aware that the Pink Water did anything but screw with one's head a little.

"I'm not… sure, exactly. All we know is that the people that actually survived the Trials each had something off about them. The ones we were sent to observe, that is." He shot Yuri an apologetic glance. "You were a special case, I heard.

"Anyway, it was little things, which is why we closed it down and left the Trials behind. Some found they could no longer make decisions on their own. There were cases of anxiety and paranoia consistent with post-trauma stress. Things you would expect to happen after going through what the Water does to you. There was no reason to thoroughly investigate.

"You're sure that this pain tolerance happened after the Trials?"

He almost scoffed. He knew what pain was. He had been tortured, had gone through the life of another tortured soul. He had died, then knew what afterlife was like, to an extent. He had been to Vand. He sat on the sands of the Shore, watching the waves push and pull in a perfect rhythm, almost mockingly.

That experience had been etched into his mind, the image of pastel colors blending and moving in the bright yet sunless sky, the way the stars danced with them.

It was agonizing.

Perhaps now it was a pleasant thing to look back on, but in the moment, when he was struggling to remember who he was and why he was there—again, it was agonizing.

It was like he'd been dissociated with himself; like his mind was no longer a part of his body. He had been two entities living in different phases of reality. The tug and pull on his soul was almost too much to have to sit through for as long as he did.

And when he felt rather than heard the Maker's voice thrum through his existence, calling him back to Leria, he felt whole again.

He knew pain.

"Yes," Yuri finally replied.

Kaden, though curious, wasn't about to question the long pause. "Well, if you want, I can look more into it. I think I still have some files from back then. I'm gonna need to keep an eye on that thing, though. I ask that you pop in at least twice a day for a week so that—"

"I'm leaving tomorrow."

He didn't need to be looking up to know that Kaden's shoulders dropped almost hopelessly. "Seriously? What is it with you people? You and Sarah both! You are not able to walk across the Shrublands!"

"So I'll take some medical supplies with me."

Kaden pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath. "Normally I'd have to refer you to a psychologist because you two are definitely a danger to yourselves. But seeing as the nearest is in Ara, you'd just go through Kir anyway." He dropped his hand. "If you insist on leaving tomorrow, I'll set you up with all you need to keep your back in one piece. Sarah will definitely go with you guys. She has some basic first-aid experience."

Yuri nodded. He wasn't expecting that, but he wouldn't argue. "Thank you."

Kaden waved it off before he could change his mind. "Yeah, yeah. Get some sleep. I'll go tell Sarah to sign her death warrant."

He awoke not knowing who he was, not remembering anything, not feeling anything, seeing only vague shapes and obscure colors and lights.

One of those shapes was moving, slowly. Back and forth. There were shades of brown, light and dark, but that was the color of the whole room. What stood out to him was the bright purple that circumscribed the figure.

Little by little, his vision sharpened, until he was able to determine that the figure was a human, blonde and tall. From the look on his face, he wasn't pacing because of nervousness, but rather because he was bored, and needed to move around.

He didn't look like the type of person to be too interested in what others were feeling. No, he was more of a the ends justify the means kind of guy. As for him, personally, he really didn't want to know what means this one was capable of.

He suddenly burst into manic laughter, the sound bubbling out of him, successfully startling the pacing man.

"Awake, huh?"

Matthew stopped in front of the captured soldier, face impassive as he waited for the sanity break to pass. This was nothing new—most people knocked out by this drug suffered the same effects.

The manic hysteria eventually subsided, but now the man looked like he surely felt—in pain, confused, wanting answers just as much as Matthew.

"The pain starting to set in?"

There was only a slow nod.

"I can have those wounds treated as soon as you answer some questions."

It was then the man tied to the chair knew that he was a prisoner.

"Where am I?" he asked in a tired, slurred voice. "Who are you? What do you—"

"I think, perhaps," Matthew interrupted, "that you misunderstood me. I will be the one asking questions."

At the dangerous tone Matthew's voice suddenly took on, the prisoner flinched. Panic started to arise in his green eyes, dread settling in his stomach.

He was confused, scared, but he wasn't stupid—not even with his mind muddled by whatever was accompanying his blood through his body. He withheld his concerns for the moment and listened to the person with a proverbial sword to his neck.

"Now," Matthew's voice was back to that false—almost sarcastic—politeness. "Would you mind telling me your name?"

Automatically, his mind set to motion. Deep down, he knew it was a simple question that should've taken no effort, but the more he thought on it, the longer the blank he was drawing became. Every time a glimpse of that word popped into his head, he grasped it, only to have it slip away again. It was frustrating, to say the least. He knew there was an Rinvolved. That's about it.

"I don't know," he answered honestly. "I can't remember anything."

Matthew narrowed his eyes. "Amnesia? You've felt Pain before?"

"Am I supposed to be able to answer that?"

He continued. "What were you doing in the Shrublands?"

This time, there was a brief flicker of recognition. There was a memory there. But it had apparently been denied validity. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Matthew noted the sudden confidence with which the statement was said. The sudden ferocity. This man was putting the pieces together. That Matthew was the enemy. Oh well.

"You were found collapsed in the desert about thirteen hours away from Kir. Also half a mile from a pile of bodies lying in their own blood."

Again, recognition. But this memory's suppression was more to do with shame and terror rather than sheer defiance. He remembered that much, at least, and it was wearing away at him, slowly.

"I just need to know who those people were, where you were coming from, how you're connected to them. The like."

The prisoner averted his gaze, looking instead down at the wooden planks beneath Matthew's heavy boots. "I don't know them. I—"

Little flashes of his life flitted through his head. He went silent as he tried to figure out what was being said to him. Bit by bit, the story fell together. He was crossing the Shrublands with a group of people—strangers. Before that, there was fire and purple. The same purple that Matthew had tied around his waist. Then a city, peaceful and full of people. Even further back was a different, much larger city, and a person standing by him most of the time. That person, a brunette around his age, was with him in the Shrublands. That was Terrace. Paul Terrace, his fellow recruit. They'd been transferred to Kir for further training.

He tried to push further. Tried to gain more information on himself. But again, there was just a blank.

Matthew watched him with growing impatience. He had things to get done and barely enough time as it was to do them.

"Brett!"

There was no reaction from the prisoner as he shouted the name, and none still as the wooden door behind him creaked open. "Yes, sir?"

Without turning to face him, Matthew said to Brett, "Get Fletcher to patch him up. Give him a temporary room for the night.

"I'll continue this in the morning."

The axe in Yuri's hand was mesmerizing. Its hilt, slightly ovoid in shape, allowed for a firm and steady grip, the burgundy leather wrapping hugging the handle only contributing to this feature. The head, crafted from Kaythan steel, boasted intricate etchings and designs that scattered what light graced its polished surface.

And that balance. How was an axe even capable of perfect balance?

"Careful." A voice cut through his reverie. "Don't drool on it."

Yuri's golden eyes flicked up to Garth, who wore a soft, but proud, smile. "I'm not going to—"

Garth waved a hand, interrupting the soldier's defense. "Not that I blame you, of course. A lot of work went into this weapon. I can't express how important it is that you treat it with the respect and reverence that it was formed with."

Of course Yuri would take care of it. Not only was it a marvel of craftsmanship, but was a gift. However…

"Are you certain that you want this weapon to be taken on our journey to Ara? A simple dagger should suffice." He had always been a reluctant recipient.

Garth shrugged. "It won't be put to any use here. It deserves to be wielded, and I can tell it belongs with you."

Sarah had to look on in disbelief at the two's conversation. "You guys sound like you're talking about a deity. It's an axe," she deadpanned.

Garth rolled his eyes. "You wouldn't understand. That's why you get the simple dagger."

What?

He walked around his counter and presented a slick blade. The sheath encasing it was obsidian black with white-gray decals drawn along the sides in a paint that doubt came from Silo. The dagger itself followed the same theme, with a pommel and guard made of silver, hilt wrapped in black leather.

"Don't make me regret this," Garth said as he set it in Sarah's open hands.

The four—officially dubbed The Suicidal Idiots by Kaden, who lingered by the door—stood in Garth's shop. It was the morning of their departure, and here they all decided to meet, make any last preparations.

"Thanks," Sarah didn't know what else to say as she took the dagger and secured it to her waist.

She was going to be perfectly honest here—she truly didn't expect Garth to come around and offer to go when Kaden told them of Yuri's plan. She thought he would absolutely lose it, both on her, on Kaden, and then Yuri. She was ready for him to berate her, go on some tangent on how she was slowly destroying herself like he had so many times before. But no. He was going with her.

His reason could be identified just by sitting in a room with him for five minutes.

He still believed what he had always told her. This could hurt her and everyone around her if done for the wrong reasons. There would come a point when she had to choose between her humanity and her thirst for vengeance. But being there with her, he swore to himself that he wouldn't let any of that happen. He would protect her.

It wasn't a hard decision, either. It felt obvious. Easy. All it took for him to make that decision was for it to become a real, tangible thing.

He cared about her wellbeing. He didn't think he was ever really going to just let her wander off one day.

Aside from that, Sarah observed her traveling companions, and her opinion of this Dimacharacter was to be determined. He was quiet, hadn't said a word to her yet. She couldn't be too certain if he was just shy, or if his mind was elsewhere, and—if the latter—whether or not that was a good thing.

She had to admit, though, he was handsome, but only because cute was a wildly inaccurate description for what she imagined his personality to be like. Despite his somewhat wiry build, he still maintained an aura of Don't cross me; you'll regret it. But with the thick, naturally curly-wavy dark hair, soft features, and light freckles that dusted and almost blended with his tanned skin, he could have fooled anyone.

Yuri was the opposite. Silver undercut, heavily toned muscles, and a staggering height of what looked to be over a head taller than her simple five-eight. And while he definitely looked like he would slaughter an army if given the command, she would put money on him being reluctant to step on a wildflower. There was a feeling of innocence coming from him, and it was… comforting to her. Innocence was a thing she hadn't seen since her younger years.

Then there was her. She could be colored as abrasive, obsessive, task-oriented, and she wouldn't—couldn't—disagree, for it was the truth. But it was important to remember that she wasn't born this way, and that while she never showed it, and sometimes denied it to herself, she did care.

She was more than aware of her tendency to drive people away from her. She knew she scared people, made them wonder what in Ild was wrong with her. But worrying about that wouldn't get her anywhere. If it was something that could be fixed, she would have done so when she first noticed it, years ago.

She shouldered the medical pack given to her by the good doctor and moved her supply bag over it. It wouldn't be comfortable, carrying this the whole way, but she didn't see herself complaining for at least five hours.

When she would proceed to make everyone miserable until someone offered a hand.

A satisfied smile graced her lips, snuffing out the bad mood that was threatening to ruin her next few days.

"Are we ready?"

It was midday now in Ara. The City of White was set alight under the sun's rays. If anyone looked down from the sky on them, they'd be blinded by the radiant beauty. Here, on the coast of the Ocean of Light, the air was cool and breezy, unlike most of the rest of the Waves territory. The Shrublands didn't reach this far, didn't even try.

It was here that someone could fall asleep to the sound of the waves crashing against the rocks on the shore, feel tranquil as the wind gently tousled their hair, zone out looking at the white limestone that the city was carved from.

A singular soul was instead in a state of despair. The room he sat in was bathed in sunlight, and he cursed the fact that he was able to read the words on the letter before him because of it.

Four words were written in elegant penmanship, a handwriting he wished he never had to lay his eyes on again.

The clock is ticking.

He grabbed the paper and crumpled it to a ball before tossing it in some direction.

Tears of anger were forming in his amber eyes. This whole situation—first Oro, and now another of his cities—was wearing down on him. The pressure… It felt as though his back would break under the weight.

He cradled his head in his hands, entwining his fingers into his red hair. He couldn't do this. Couldn't handle this for much longer. He would break.

Because he didn't know what in Ild was even happening.

The voice of the owner of that blasted handwriting rang from somewhere in the back of his mind—

The choice is simple, Asher.

No, it really wasn't.

He took a breath. He hated to have to do this.

"Eden," he called.

His loyal assistant opened the door to the tiny workspace. He almost found comfort in the gaze of her blue eyes. Almost.

"Assemble the Council immediately."

At the order, and the raw emotions written on his face and interwoven into his voice, Eden suspected she knew what had happened, but questioned nothing as she breathed out a, Yes, sir, and left Asher Raymond to his thoughts once again.

He glanced out the window with a tired expression.

He really didn't know how much more he—or his territory, his people—could take.

Sarah was honestly torn between soaking up as many UV rays as possible and staying safe beneath the sweltering protection of her shroud. Why was it that people dressed for the winter when crossing a desert? She hadn't had that luxury, of course, when she came crawling to Pol. She turned out fine. Relatively.

"Even my sweat is evaporating," she muttered bitterly.

"Be sure to stay hydrated," came the friendly reminder from the Team Captain. Yuri looked back at her. "And remember to drink before you get thirsty."

She gave him a mock salute before downing what little remained of her first flask of water. Seven hours in, one flask gone. It wasn't bad, but she needed to pace herself more.

"Yuri, how's your back holding up?" she called.

He took a moment to answer honestly. This wasn't the place to dismiss her and tell her he was fine. He slowed his pace to walk beside her to make conversing a little less awkward. "I can't feel it, but I assume the wound hasn't reopened.

Sarah nodded. "I'll check it when we stop. You let me know if you feel anything."

"I will."

Yuri remained at her side, Garth on the other. The brunette looked just as gloomy as Sarah felt.

She nudged the weapons merchant, catching his attention. "Wonderful weather we're having."

"Shut up," Garth grumbled.

"You should stop wasting your energy," were Dima's first words to her. He still hadn't so much as looked at her, though. Just kept his eyes fixed on the horizon.

Garth huffed. "It's pointless. She's the only extrovert in the group."

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

Before Garth could bite back a response, Yuri stopped suddenly just as they were passing a large rock formation. It provided a canopy of sorts, with its broad overhang.

"We should stop here," he said quietly. "There's something we need to discuss before we get too far."

Didn't need to tell her twice.

Sarah gladly removed the bags from her shoulders and sat next to them beneath the red and orange rock. Taking off the shroud did wonders, too, and after letting her long hair down from its loose bun, she ran a hand through it then put it back up.

She hated living here, in the heat.

The others joined her, the group forming an awkward circle, because of course Dimitry the Nonconformist sat off to the side, finally putting his attention somewhere but in the direction of Kir.

Yuri held a puzzling expression. He looked as though he was figuring out the right words to say.

While they waited, Sarah reached for her medic bag. "Turn around," she said.

The soldier sighed and turned his back to her. It was easier, anyway, to think when he couldn't see everyone.

He removed his outer layers of clothing, the protective shroud and heavy clothing underneath, before sliding off the thin black undershirt that kept his bandages in place.

Sarah hadn't seen the wound yet, herself. Kaden said it was bad, but… "You really should've waited before doing this."

Yuri was just glad he was sitting at an angle that didn't expose him to the other two.

His breath hitched as he felt only a slight twinge when Sarah began removing the wrappings. That meant it had been bleeding, and the blood had stuck to the cloth. Which meant it was bleeding more now.

He chose to trust the girl and addressed the group.

"We're approaching the bodies." He kept his voice level as he chose the blunt manner of speech. "They're maybe another hour or two off now. I just wanted everyone to know." He took a deep breath. "I'll try to steer around them. But it may knock us off our course a little."

"That's fine with me." Garth's voice was low.

Yuri nodded. "There's an oasis not too far from here. We can refill there, then continue straight to Kir."

Sarah could feel the tensing of his back and shoulders as she worked around the wound, cleaning and applying salves like Kaden ordered. "Can I ask how you all made it out?"

Dima moved his legs to a position that was ready to pick him up and carry him off should the conversation take a turn he didn't like.

"Ryan Waters." Even Yuri's tone was tense, distant, thinly laced with regret. "He escaped with us."

When he didn't elaborate, they all assumed that that was his answer, but Sarah wasn't satisfied.

"So… what? You left him behind? How did that—?"

"A fight broke out," he said simply.

Ryan Waters, one of the recruits sent from Ara to train under Yuri. After those under the Fruit's influence started losing their minds—something everyone had been praying to the Maker wouldn't happen—it became evident that they'd been abandoned by whatever good graces they thought abided with them. That was how the others got so beat up, probably when he messed his back up. He couldn't be sure, unfortunately. It was all a blur after that point.

His lapse in judgment came in when Waters told him to take whoever was left and leave, that he himself would hold the high madmen back long enough for them to gain some distance. But the recruit was untrained, uneducated in the ways of dissolving what would eventually become a bloodbath, but Yuri had a split-second decision to make, and he chose to use his own skills and experience, to save those with a greater chance of survival.

If that was the best thing to do, incredibly selfish, or the only thing to do, didn't matter anymore. It was done—what if's were a waste of time, and he really didn't want to dwell on it any longer than was necessary.

He didn't know if Waters survived that encounter. If he did, he either found another settlement or died of malnourishment. The latter was hundreds of times more likely, though.

"It was his decision to make, in the end." That statement sounded more like an excuse, personally. A rationalization. "If someone hadn't stayed behind, we all would have died out here.

"In any case, I'm grateful for his sacrifice."

Sarah pulled a roll of fresh bandages from the bag and solemnly wrapped the wound. Had the atmosphere been lighter, she'd have started panicking at how close she had to get to him to accomplish the task.

Freakin' muscled freaks.

"I hope he made it out," was all she knew to say.

Garth waited a beat before asking, "Weren't there any signs of the attack? How-many-people tore a city apart from the inside, and no one saw it coming?"

Yuri shook his head. That was yet another thing he blamed himself for. "I hate saying it, but no. We were completely blindsided. I think… perhaps, if what happened at Oro hadn't been waved off as a simple bandit raid, we could have been better prepared. We would have known what to look for."

At last, Sarah tied off the bandages and sat back. It was her turn to fidget uncomfortably.

Yuri continued as he replaced his shirt. "That's why it's so important that we get this letter to Ara. They'll try again in another city, we need to make sure they're ready." He turned to face the group. "That's why we're going to Ara first. We'll take some soldiers with us to investigate the ruins."

"Will Asher allow that?" Garth questioned.

"It's in his best interest. The more we know, the more we can use against the Purples."

Sarah had to snort at that. Purples? Fair enough, she guessed.

Purples, it is.

Ryan Waters caught only a glimpse of his blood splattering against the wall as his head was thrown to the side with the force of a fist colliding with his face. He didn't know where it came from—either his insides or the numerous times he was forced to bite the inside of his mouth—but he was slowly losing the ability to care.

His heart was skipping around like crazy, but breathing to calm it down hurt way too much to be considered healthy. In fact, he could not breathe so much that his head was starting to throb, and nausea was slowly churning his stomach. He felt like he could keel over at any second and spill what little there was in there.

In short, he felt awful.

Matthew even looked like he was starting to get tired. He was panting ever so slightly and was clearly getting frustrated with the lack of progress he was making.

"I'll ask one more time," he growled, composure slipping. "I know you remember. What were you doing in the Shrublands?"

Of course, Ryan knew he knew. Still, even if his silence gave away that he knew something, the truth was still being withheld, and that's all that mattered to him.

"Give them nothing," his mentor once said. "They can and will use anything you say." It was to be understood that that meant lies, too.

Once he remembered that, he had stopped talking altogether.

He still couldn't fully remember what Matthew had said happened in the Shrublands. All he knew was that violence had erupted somewhere along the line, then everyone was dead.

But he hadn't done that. He wasn't a killer. Not even in dire circumstances. No way.

But… If he didn't remember anything, who's to say that he didn't forget what kind of person he used to be?

No. He knew who he was. Not even amnesia could affect the core of someone's personality.

But how else would everyone have died but him?

"Was anyone else with you? Coming from Kir?"

"No," he said before he could think not to, so lost in his pain-dazed head as he was.

There was another pause, and Ryan finally noticed where he messed up.

He looked up at Matthew, who wore a small smile. It reminded Ryan of a smile a proud mother gave to her child. "Seems your silence has betrayed you."

Frustrated with himself, Ryan dropped his head, energy gone. He didn't care enough to acknowledge that Matthew had begun circling him, heavy boots thudding against the floorboards in an almost soothing rhythmic pattern.

"So, you're definitely a survivor. Shame. I could've sworn we had it this time. Those bodies in the desert—they must've been other citizens. If the six of you managed to get out, there had to have been others, right? Makes sense to me."

He said nothing. He wouldn't let his self-doubt distract him again.

He coughed.

Then instantly regretted it.

Pain shot through his body in waves of white, and he grit his teeth to keep from gasping. If he breathed in any deeper he would pierce a lung, he was sure.

His heart… His head…

A sigh was heard. "I'll go get Fletcher." Matthew watched Ryan's body go lax.