Heath gazed to the stars. So bright and shiny, he felt his mind wandering somewhere. That day again, he thought.

He even didn't remember how he managed to reach the border of his beloved country. Bern… a country where he born, lived and knighted, where he swore his oath to serve Prince Zephiel, the son of King Desmond. The young Prince Zephiel was young and talented, perhaps that made the old lion—King Desmond—despised him.

Heath knew something was about to happen when he heard the news about Zephiel nearly being assassinated before his fifteenth birthday. But who cares? The royal family intern issues were none of his concern; if he should concern something that would be their safety.

My duty is to serve. That's it.

He loved this 'journey' too much. Rambling. Ranting. Cursing. Praying. Hoping… for what? He was branded as a traitor. Nothing more shameful than that. He was a knight, yes, but he ran from the battlefield, letting his commander covered him. He let his comrades died. Nothing left, he thought desperately.

A tap on his shoulder brought him back to reality. "What are you looking at, laddie? Stars?"

"It was nothing," he turned his face. He ended up here, crouching before a campfire along with this mercenary group led by Eubans, a loyal warrior devoted to the state of Lahus and her lord, Darin, after spending some days to recover himself somewhere on hill top, alone and lonely. Later he remembered that he told Hyperion to do an emergency landing, some seconds before everything went black and he collapsed. He woke up, seeing his wyvern as exhausted as him, wounded as well. As a Bern's special squad soldier he knew well how to treat the wound, so he healed Hyperion first and went to get some rest. After done with his wound, he wandered alone, without destination.

I have no place to stay; for that I will go. But I promise I'll be back to Bern soon.

Hungry and understood how hard his path will be, this young wyvern rider began to look for a job. He would need some money for this long journey. He would need some to equip himself with fine lances or a Delphi Shield to reach Bern since wyvern riders were so vulnerable to arrows. He went back to his temporary camp with empty-hand, gazing at the stars, remembering Isaac's last words.

We are knights. We will fight no matter it is.

"I'm a knight," he repeated the sentence, "and I will fight." Soon after he understood that was absolutely true – he was a knight and there was nothing he could do besides to fight. Now he worked for Eubans. Living as a mercenary seemed to suit a deserter, but he felt numb as if he already sold his soul to the devil. The warrior Sealen, feeling Heath was an extraordinaire simply enjoyed Heath's doubt and sorrow with amusement. Cynical, of course.

What were you hoping, beautiful knight. In the end you would be like us.

"Then tell me other places to go, Sir," Sealen, the one who tapped his shoulder, answered, mocking him with the title as always. "I'm a Sacaean knight, and I will fight. You are no ordinary person, right? I can tell."

"… is that because of my outfit?" he watched himself, The armor, the Bern's crest on its chest.

Darn. I should get rid of this from the very start.

"I am indeed a Bern native," he continued.

Am I? Well yes. A deserted native, brings nothing but disgrace.

"No. Outfit means nothing to me, lad. Your eyes told me."

The eyes. What does this man see within my eyes? Can he s"pot the anger, disappointment, or anything inside? How does it look like? "… wait."

"Huh?" Sealen turned his back.

"I want to join you. I'm a knight, I will fight."

Sealen grinned. "You mean 'fighting', not 'join'. You are here already."

Eubans glanced. The dragon finally awakened, huh? "Lord Eliwood is dead meat. C'mon. What does that lance for! Living as mercenary is like sleeping on a bed of roses."

This lance?

Well, I am knight, therefore I will fight.