Be aware, added section to last chapter, moved another to this chapter.

Chapter 3: Wish upon a Fallen Star

"…The best lack all conviction, while the worst

Are full of passionate intensity…"

With the new weapons came the only week of training, as their operation was incredibly complex and required perhaps more time to fully master.

They had none, of course.

The first time Tumas fired the weapon, he struggled with inserting the powder within the barrel. Once he was able to then load the projectile, he lifted it up to his arm, as the seller told him to.

He pulled back the lever shakily, not knowing exactly how fragile it was. When it had clicked into place, he raised the sights to his eye.

Nervousness overtook him, the front swayed back and forth as he tried to keep the front sight on the archery-target center but failed utterly. Instead, he timed the swaying with the moment the sight eclipsed the target, a heavy thing indeed.

The grey sky caught his eye a bit. The snow was falling in large pieces now.

No, concentrate on the target ahead, if you are to beat even the True Eyes, then focus is of the utmost importance.

When he was fairly certain that it would sway back to the center, he yanked the trigger.

The force sent him reeling back, his right ear numb from the crack that now echoed throughout the frozen fortress courtyard.

All eyes were upon the target, Not only had the ball passed through the hay target effortlessly, it had also split it in half down the side of the second ring. The stone wall behind it had a gash no more than a few inches deep.

Two commanders, the quartermaster and a few soldiers watched in amazement at the wondrous thing, like a child discovering a new toy. Yet, even he saw it in their eyes: awe was accompanied by fear of the thing.

His shoulder began to scream in pain for a bit.

With footsteps crunching the snow, Rykovik approached Tumas, taking the weapon from his hands as he himself began to load the thing.

When he took the shot, Rykovik, being of larger stature, had not moved one step. Instead, the front end of the weapon popped upwards.

He let out a hearty laugh as he inspected it, letting it waver in his hands before turning around.

"Cold iron indeed, archers may become obsolete when even our most common soldier becomes proficient with it."

"The man from the west was correct; it is a most dangerous thing," replied Tumas, lost in thought, shivering, and rubbing his hands as he breathed clouds of warm breath upon them.

"Danger is a necessity of every weapon, the warrior will have to cut himself before he understands the true nature of his blade."

"That, unfortunately, is what I fear with this," then he paused, taking a deep sigh, the commanders left to their own posts still in amazement, "These are the very blades of the dark ones, cold precision, death even beyond a moment's notice, instantaneous. There is no room for mistakes."

"Then we shall start training now?"

"Yes, be ready in a week," then he paused, "Is regret the best way to describe it?"

Rykovik handed the thing to the quartermaster, and began to walk with Tumas, "How do you mean?"

"Our enemies fight with steel, we fight with fire. When we march into battle carrying the breath of the Dark Ones are we to feel remorse for the slaughter that is to take place?"

"In battle, a man does not feel remorse. Instead, he does what is necessary."

"Then it is only I who feels regret then?"

"Perhaps it is a passing thing."

They walked up to the south tower, overlooking the mountains. Silence hung like the snow; howling in the distance the sharp yet gentle winds glided upon the distant slopes.

Tumas broke the silence.

"A passing thing indeed, perhaps I should live with my decision instead, accepting the benefits and consequences."

Then, he winced a bit as shots below were fired, popping out of sync, then he let out a long sigh as if he was holding his breath the entire time.

Everything was…gone…stolen from her…

That was probably the best way to explain it.

This was her decision, not her fathers. Who was he to decide what path she wanted?

But no, arguing was useless. It's what your mother would have wanted.

The thought of those words angered her, her mother wasn't even alive. How could he know what she would have truly wanted?

The night stood still, the stars like pins in the sky, the clouds of heaven a deep purple splashed across the center and the moons rose high, lighting the wheat fields with a ghostly color.

The crickets sang their songs and the wind let the wheat whisper.

Krystal closed her eyes, letting the wind blow across her face, making colder the trails where forced tears trailed.

A warrior's path, yes. She wanted this more than anything, to prove her worth in battle and to be named a hero in the legends and her name among the ranks of others. She would tell Sida this, and Sida would respond about the wandering minds of children. This Krystal also resented, slightly.

But a governor? What use was an official? Talk was idle; little was done even in the Council of the Federations. Open disagreement was and should be the only way to settle!

Calm yourself….

It wasn't like he was setting a prime example of peace. He alone had killed thousands of his own countrymen in this civil war yet he asks his own daughter to enjoy the blessings of peace? Preposterous!

Breathe

She stopped thinking for a moment, and breathed in the cool night air, realizing her surroundings.

She often came up here to be alone among the sky, the clay tiled roof of the manor, to think, to vent or to simply relax.

She laid back, putting her hands behind her head and breathed, emptying her mind for the moment.

Moments passed, she lost track of time, watching the stars dance above her. Not a cloud in the sky, save for the dust of heaven that formed a ring in the center.

For a while, she rested her eyes, listening only to the wind and her heartbeat.

It startled her a bit, the clanging noise to the right of her. She opened her eyes, sat up, and looked over. A rock had hit the tile roof…

Looking down, three figures stood in the night, one of them waved.

"Krystal!"

She quickly hushed them, it was Liska, with two more.

"I'll be down" she replied, in a softer voice.

Entering her room from the window, she quickly walked to her bedside, sat down, then slipped on her quietest shoes. Leaving her room, she took care to slowly close the door.

Even though it was offered to her, she declined to move to a more 'stately' room. The attic was hers from her childhood, and it would remain that way. She felt closer to the sky, closer to the heavens, and it comforted her.

Outside her room was a small landing, then a set of stairs that led to the third floor hallways. The walls tan from the clay that was baked into them with the occasional sliding door along each side.

Quietly tip-toeing, listening to her surroundings, gauging each step carefully as to not wake anyone, she cleared the third floor, reaching the stairs at the end of the hallway.

On the landing to the fourth, one of the sliding doors down the hallway creaked open. Sida walked out, started down the hallway, and then froze for a bit when she saw Krystal.

"My my, going for a stroll are we?" She started walking towards her again.

Krystal saw no other way out, Sida's senses were strong, and lying would only make it worse. She nodded yes.

Sida finally approached her, she put a hand on Krystal's shoulder, "Your father was worried about you, running out of dinner like that child."

Krystal took a breath; although staggered, perhaps holding back more emotions, Sida would see right through it.

"As much as he may shelter you, it's all in good intentions. He understands more than anyone, you had the same spirit of your mother." She sighed, "Perhaps you will find it in time, but for now, I simply ask that you heed your father's wishes."

Krystal gave a little nod, acknowledging her suggestion. She would think of it later.

Sida took hold of Krystal's shoulder, and then began walking down the stairs with her.

"Walking these halls I still sometimes hear your mother's voice, strong as she was intelligent. Her gift was great, stronger than most with the ability to see. Yes, I had served your father from the day of their marriage." They reached the bottom floor. "A lot happened in these halls, child. The stories they could tell would be innumerable. The Kigios clan is a legendary one indeed, legacy filled with scholars, warriors, and great mystics. Although your father hangs to tradition, I instead wish to see you both create your own legacy."

Krystal nodded again, looking down at the floor.

"Well now, I will retire, I urge you to do the same. However, if you do happen to find yourself outside," she winked, "Please make it as quick as possible."

Reaching out, she let the grain slide against her hand as the group ran. Liska beside her frantically galloping as the two others behind them gave chase. The first was Kara, the daughter of a farmer. The other was Sadre, the son of a merchant.

The night was warm, the air as still as breath and the moons high upon the sky painting the wheat silver in the breeze.

The group played tag in the field, running until one tripped, then one by one, each followed.

Laughing and giggling uncontrollably, they laid among the wheat, staring into the sky.

Kara spoke up, "My father says that the stars are Kisre's angels in the sky, protecting Çyre'Nira from the black Nether."

"Well, my dad says that they're the guideposts for the spirit world," Krystal said, "When you die, they guide you to Çyre'Kirst."

"Well, what do you think they are Liska?" asked Sadre.

"My uncle works at the astrology guild, he says that they're all suns, just like ours, with other people, just like us!"

Then, Krystal laid there dwelling upon Liska's answer, perhaps imagining that on these stars, many lengths away, four other children were reaching out for them as well, grasping into the void to something almost unobtainable.

"Well, I think they're heavenly warriors, fighting for rule over the heavens," Sadre said.

Again, she could imagine it. A mighty warrior with a sword of fire, making battle with other knights of the sky, jousting among the heavenly cloud that sat upon the horizon. Chasing each other around the moons.

Then, a star suddenly streaked across the sky, scarring the black with a streak of white.

"When a star falls, a warrior gave his life for his people to rule over the Heavens." Sadre said.

"Well, someone make a wish!" Kara yelled with excitement.

Krystal closed her eyes and smiled, she made her wish long ago, but perhaps was waiting for this time to make prayers for it at last.

Farming was a simple life; it was joyful and honest work.

Cusso was known for warm weather and for its finest wines throughout all of Illisia, a common honeymoon spot for newly-weds and lovers seeking resort among these lands. It was also the more peaceful, being farthest away from the trifles and troubles of war.

This evening was a fine night, Redka enjoyed the soft night after the hard day's labor. The Suno fruit was not an easy crop; years of apprenticeship and even more of training. But the payoff was more than enough, the crop was a staple in Illisian diet, it also made the finest wines in the nation.

The farmer lethargically lit his pipe, then rocked his chair on the porch. In front of him, his field rolled over one hill, the crops forming lines, meeting at a line in the horizon where the great sea began, the last of the sun had just touched the horizion. He removed his dust ridden gloves and hat, then closed his eyes for a nap.

Five minutes later, the ground began to quake, he rose suddenly from his sleep, and snapped his eyes open. Throwing on his hat, he ran off the porch and into the field.

A great ball of light shone in the approaching purple night, a new sun was hovering just above the horizon.

Suddenly, faster than he could move his head, the sun streaked across the sky in a great line, headed for the ocean. The ground moved stronger at this point.

Then, the air around him seemed to close, a great snap filled the air for a split second and he clenched his ears as best as he could. The pain was insurmountable, two hammers upon each side of his head would've been far less punishing.

Moments passed, he had held himself in a ball on the ground until his pain passed a bit.

When he came to his senses, he looked to the horizon. His hearing wasn't restored, and he'd expect it not to for a while.

However, the second sun had set, crashing into the sea with a wave that spanned into the sky.

Night fell upon the castle, Tumas stood in the highest lookout tower on the wall with his scout.

He pulled from his pockets a small leather case and opened it revealing two lenses. He then conjured green and fashioned the lenses and the green into a looking glass. Adjusting it, he was able to spot a few lights in the distance.

Taking the glass away from his face, he then pointed in the direction of the lights, only barely visible by the naked eye.

The scout nodded, and then disappeared.

That morning, many records give account to this battle, although their consistency is questionable, many still take this as the final word.

The capital of Motchikyo sits on a plateau, a mountain top that had been cleared away over thousands of years to make way for the large settlement. The watch tower, however, was the remnants of the peak that once adorned the mountain top at the center of the city, spanning several hundred feet into the air.

Two guards had alerted the Governor of the state of a small army approaching from the west, count? Two platoons at best.

Two platoons to take on a Capital? Perhaps this was a sign of peace! If the rebels were retreating, this was grand news indeed, Blood Harvest would not manifest itself this year.

It was true, there were no gleam of swords or spears, no signs of bows or arrows, only wooden sticks, perhaps for walking the distance from their fortress maybe? Perhaps.

The Governor sat perched on a tower around the main gate. His flag bearer rode out. The black Sunderbeast on a field of White, wings outspread and claw grasping a curved blade. It was unharnessed, for the untamable wilderness that spread throughout the Motchikyan mountains.

The flag bearer and his best ambassador met with two more riders on beasts at the center. Outrageous! Perhaps it was a time of unorthodox however. Riding to meet in the center was an act of war, not of retreat.

No.

Then, the riders returned, dread splashed upon their faces.

The Governor then ordered the guards to lock the gates.

The conversation that took place was never recorded; it was between the color bearer, the ambassador, Forsaken Tumas, and his right hand man Rykovik. No scholar or magister was sent to record the words said between the men, such formality was reserved only for men planning to make war upon each other.

However, it was agreed upon that each army would march upon the other in two hours.

The spirit of Death, the demon of reaping, had fallen upon the field at that instant. A cold wind from the northern freeze began to nip at the air. The snow glistened upon the ground as the sun reached midday. Each man began his final prayers and offerings, to family, to brotherhood, to pacts unfulfilled and those completed ones lost in the plane of time.

The king had deeper thoughts on his head; his Magisters had prepared a bed of wheat from Syrika for this occasion. The offering of the Blood Harvest, prepared for the oncoming battle. It could not be burnt until the solders wiped their blades clean with the wheat.

Then, the gates reinforced, the guards outfitted as quickly as possible, all was prepared.

The rebel army began to march forward, the Governor sat perched upon the main tower at the center of the city, holding a spyglass.

What was this? Clubs? The rebel army expected to fight with clubs?

Then, just as they came upon the wall in range of his archers, they stopped.

The front line knelt down, the second line knelt behind them as well, then the third stood over them.

They raised their clubs to the walls.

Bursts of light came out of the ends; a few seconds later it was followed by the sound of gravel being crushed on a dirt road. The men at his wall flailed about suddenly, many falling to their knees in shock, what was this new magic?

The hand of Kisre.

Maybe.

No, their foul intention couldn't even summon the Old Ones for assistance.

The Commander at arms stood behind a wall in the gate guard tower, a hole in his arm keeping him from moving any further. However, he was better off than many of his men.

Some had holes poked in their chests, some in their throats, letting steams of blood jet. When he ran for cover, one of his men's head even exploded before his eyes.

This…unexplainable force…wreaked havoc unknown to even him, were the rebel solders suddenly magisters?

Pops, cackles, whispers surrounded him, the walls crumbled bit by bit.

"Fall back! Off the wall! Get behind the gates!" He shouted, whoever was left promptly followed orders.

Unbeknownst to him, this was perhaps the smartest order he could give that day.

The rebel army stopped its volley, Rykovik ordered his men to march forward.

A few archers who still had their arms working made whatever shots they could at the approaching platoon of men, some only able to lift themselves over the wall long enough to get a weak shot in. A few were promptly killed by the few rebels who were able to make their mark.

At the gate, the Rebels began to tear it apart with a battering ram and their fists. Several Motchikyan guards were able to fight back, removing random limbs through the holes the rebels made in the gate, thinning out the rebel forces.

Soon enough, the gate broke down, the rebels took shots at the crowd of guards rushing for the gate, the men leading the charge all fell in mists of red.

Soon, swords clashed with the iron and wood furniture of the rifles. Although a few shots rang out, a majority of the fighting returned to sword on sword.

However, the guard force was thinned, many with wounded arms who held their swords or shields improperly, a few limping from balls entering their legs but just missing bones.

It was three hours, and the rebels had taken the whole western quarter of the city, the guards had fell back and contained the rebels in the remaining two wards of the city.

The aftermath was true devastation. Between swordplay, the carnage was limited to whole pieces and the blood. However, the breath of the demons was much different. Bones and teeth scattered about, some unidentifiable parts lay strewn about in the streets. It was more comparable to a man ripping a parchment of paper about rather than making cuts with a knife.

Screams of the dying were heard, some servants began to soak up whatever blood they could in the streets. Although Tumas did not trust in Kisre any longer, it was best not to tempt fate. The rags of blood would be burned with an offering for forgiveness of Blood Harvest.

They said the streets of the city of Motchikyo were paved with ice. Really, it was more or less the stone of the mountain it sat upon, yet the bitter cold between ice and its stone was not easily contrasted. Tumas walked, his solders secured houses, shops, and residents. One hundred and fifty men cleared out the guard for a city of close to six thousand souls. This was not a feat one based upon skill, it was pure luck of the fates.

"I did not plan this rebellion to hold out for so long, I believed only me to have such a fighting spirit. These weapons may give us the upper hand, but I simply set out to prove a point, not fight to the death with it. I did not set out to topple the empire, only to make it stronger."

Rykovik walked slowly behind him, inspecting the damage as well.

"Your army is made of thieves, rabble, and those who fight because it is their profession. Many fight because it is their natural behavior to do so. Good intentions are enough though; it is the events that follow that are unpredictable. You did what you thought was right, so did every man that follows you unfortunately. We did not intend for this either, perhaps Kis…fate has a better intention in store."

Tumas summoned a little ball of green and blue in his left hand and began twirling them. He often did this to relax or to think harder.

"Maybe," then he let the energy in his hand go, bending down to retrieve a stray coin on the ground, "Wealth has a tricky way of influencing fate."

"How so?"

"Money and its lack of necessity was the reason for making that purchase with the arms dealer from the west. The fortress had a room of gold that the governor had stashed away. When we took control of the fortress, I had saved it for later use. Now that we were cornered, I saw no further use for it. Buying these weapons was out of impulse to spend the gold, not upon a solution for our state."

Tumas flipped it about in his fingers.

They continued to walk the streets, stopping every so often for Rykovik to give orders.

He gave the coin a flip into the air, and then pocketed it.

"I like to believe I can change the Empire. Although the Emperor's power is somewhat limited, and the Council of the Federations is weak, the perfect empire staffed by the more brilliant minds of Illisia, than an arbitrary blood lineage and appointed officials, could create a stronger Illisia; an Illisia to stand the ages!"

"Then think! Fate has given you this opportunity, you have taken it! The Empire can change if you take charge! When you demonstrate this power, perhaps the Emperor will give you his crown!"

Tumas laughed, for the first time in a long while, "I do not wish for the crown of Illisia, I can barely handle leading a small army. I like to think of myself as the voice of reason, irksome to the emperor to rethink the free privilege he stole from the proper men who should've been nominated Emperor."

But the thought did occur to him, "…yes, fate, perhaps…"

He lost himself in thought again.

"…yes, perhaps Kisre has given me these tools, to better change the Empire…"

Then, Rykovik noticed under Tumas' hood, the largest smile that he had ever seen out of Tumas.

Somewhere, two rebels were speaking to each other, one of them said, "looks like blood harvest is on its way…"