"I refuse."

"What do you mean, you refuse?"

"I mean, I refuse. What part of 'I refuse' do you not understand?"

"The part in which you're refusing broth."

At this point, anger was inches from breaking the surface of his carefully laid out façade. Once again he was stuck in this more than deplorable situation. Cassin knelt in front of him, expression scrunched with annoyance and underlying frustration, and a bowl of steaming broth held tightly in her hands. Ghirahim glared back at her, trying his damnedest to keep anything more than a tense, tight lipped frown from breaking across his face. He was sitting up against the same damned bland bronze wall he had been sitting against for the past few days, right leg outstretched to the side and left leg crooked in front of him, acting as a sort of barrier between him and Cassin. She was good at creeping into his personal space, something he had made very clear he wasn't a fan of. Even now she was too close to his leg for comfort, but at least with his leg between them he had the chance to kick her if she got too close. She seemed to have known this herself, sitting tense just in front of his leg and daring not to move closer. Good thing too. If she crept into his personal space one more time, Ghirahim wasn't sure he could keep himself from giving himself away to the rest of the village they were situated in. Cassin tapped the bowl with an irritated finger, and Ghirahim glanced between her finger and her face.

"I don't know what's gotten into you, but-"

"I can damn well tell you what's gotten into me," Ghirahim cut her off, arms crossing tightly over his chest. "I've been given nothing but broth for the past who knows how long, and if it has done anything it would have only made me feel weaker."

Cassin sneered at him, and he sneered back.

"What, is it some secret weakness of yours? Never thought such a proud sword would be done in by something meant to help you."

"It is no longer helpful to my well being."

"What do you know of medicines and healing?"

"I should be asking you that!"

Ghirahim spit the words at her as if it was a foul taste he couldn't free from his tongue. Hot rage was starting to wash over him, and the small frown he had let pierce his expression began to grow into an open lipped snarl. How could something that claimed to be a knowledgeable healer possibly be this thick in the head? He chided himself mentally for a brief moment amidst his rage. Of course he shouldn't be surprised by this self proclaimed healer's abilities. She's only human, after all. Any human could easily be trumped by his Advisor any day. Longing threatened to sprout forwards from the chiding, but he was able to push the troublesome thoughts away when another wave of anger spread through him.

"You assume that I am just like you! You assume that all I can eat like this is broth! You force nothing but broth upon me!"

"I only give you broth for that is the only thing your body can handle like this!"

"Don't you interrupt me! You know not of the extents of my body and how I heal like I do!"

"I am fluent in the ways of a healing body!"

"Not one like mine!"

"How do you know that?! How do you know I haven't treated someone like you before?!"

"Then prove it! Prove to me you've healed another like me!"

An intense flame of satisfaction burst forth from within his gut as Cassin opened her mouth to yell back, hesitated, and shut her jaws with a sharp click. The flame was fanned as she sat there, eyes darting around as if searching for a believable lie and her lips pursed with intense thought. The longer she sat there, the more he became amused, satisfied, and enraged.

"Well? What's wrong? Prove to me you've treated another like me!"

"I can't!"

A sharp, one syllable laugh of triumph left his throat, piercing the air thick with rage and bringing a bright bright red to Cassin's face. That was an expression he liked on her; her face was so wrought with humiliation and anger that it looked like her skin could tear off at the seams. Cassin must have known this and she futilely looked away, only fueling his ego even more. Ghirahim let himself bathe in her embarrassment for a few moments, reveling in her silence. It wasn't often she stopped talking long enough for Ghirahim to really enjoy himself, and he savoured every moment he could. Like all of her other silences, however, this one did not last nearly long enough.

"I have experience in medicating people. Just… Just trust me on this, all right?"

Her voice was softer, almost as if he had punched her in the gut and it hurt her to speak. At the very sound of her semi-defeated voice he could feel some of his lost energy return to him. Though her words were still frustrating, hearing her defeat had soothed parts of his anger.

"And I implore you to trust me when I say that I know my limits far better than you do. I have countless experiences in tending to my own ailments and wounds. I know how to care for this better than you ever could."

Cassin furrowed her brows and set her jaw, something that singed Ghirahim's patience. Seems she never learned how to agree and give in.

"I still think that your body would reject anything more than broth."

"For the sake of the lords above and below, I need something more substantial than that bloody broth!"

Ghirahim's temper was quickly running short, evidenced clearly on his face in the form of a new scowl and knit brows.

"You're still too weak for more than broth."

"That is because I haven't had a real meal in days! There is not enough in broth for it to even be remotely considered a proper meal!"

"There is! You lost a lot of blood! You need to get your strength and energy back before you can start on something bigger!"

"Then let me out of the damned house and I'll find my own meal! I've got the energy to shout at you, and I've got the energy to fend for myself!"

"Prove it to me then."

Now it was Cassin's turn to be the smartass, and Ghirahim immediately regretted even mentioning it. He could talk big and act even bigger, but that was of course only in optimal conditions. Sitting weak and battered on his ass was not what he would have called optimal conditions. He is not one to back out, however. He would prove to her that he could damn well walk and stand on his own. Any self doubt or concerns he had regarding his earlier attempts and his leg were immediately pushed to the back of his mind as he shuffled himself about on the floor.

Moving quickly and smoothly were not an option for him in his current state of being, but he pushed himself to try and be both. Gripping the wall he pulled his good leg underneath himself and gave a hard push. He didn't have to look down at his leg to know it was shaking like a wilting reed in a blizzard, and he did his best to try and ignore the lack of stability in his leg. Just as quickly as he pushed himself up the nausea and vertigo he felt when he had attempted it before came rushing back, washing over him and bringing a black haze to his vision. He tried his damnedest to continue standing, breath coming in short gasps and releasing in quick bursts through his nose. He clenched his eyes shut, gritting his teeth and gripping the wall as if it were a lifeline. The world dipped and swayed beneath him once more, shifting like the raging water rapids, threatening to throw him from his feet. He fought the vertigo, knowing full well how pathetic a sight it must be to see him as such. He himself felt pathetic as he gripped the wall tight, struggling to find his balance and trying to push past the vertigo. His right leg pulsed angrily as he positioned the wounded limb beneath and attempted to apply pressure to it. The pain increased as he pressed down, but he didn't dare stop, didn't dare let himself be proven wrong. If there was one thing that he was, it was that he was stubborn. The pain, though still present, died down to a sharp tingling in his leg the longer he stood there, and with both feet on the ground he pulled his hand away from the wall.

For one glorious moment he was standing on both legs, sturdy enough and strongly enough to be able to push the pain away with a wash of pride. His moment didn't last long when he swayed away from the wall and staggered, falling heavy onto his right foot as he shifted. A new burst of pain, this one searing from his knee all the way and down his leg and scorching his torso. He could hear the bowl of broth clatter on the ground, the contents splashing, as a set of hands grabbed at his wrist and shoulder. He was quick to pull his hand out of Cassin's grip and even quicker to lean back, letting his head thump dully against the wall and his back slump into it. Quite suddenly his energy left him, and his body felt as though it was filling with lead. He was tired and heavy, and through the mist of exhaustion he opened his eyes to glare at Cassin, voice feeling scratched from his efforts.

"Don't touch me. I can handle myself."

"Obviously you can't. You can hardly stand on that leg of yours without it giving out from underneath you. You need to rest."

She reached her hands out to him again, face written with terrified concern. Her concern made him sick to his stomach, and he knocked her hands away with a sloppy swat of his own. The concern on her face quickly turned to frustration and he couldn't help the sneer that covered his face. Again with her unnecessary invasion of his personal space. He could see it in her eyes, believing it was a necessary action to help him. He was fine! He didn't need some human lurking around him, waiting for him to fall just so she could pull him back up onto his feet again. He is more than capable of doing so on his own without any sort of outside help.

"Ghirahim, you need to rest."

"I need something better than broth."

"Are you seriously still arguing about the broth?! Are you kidding me?!"

"'Are you seriously still arguing about the broth?!'"

Cassin's face started to twist with anger, something that made Ghirahim's gut churn in the most pleasurable of ways. Seems that was all it took at this point to push her buttons, and push her buttons he shall.

"Do you hear yourself? That is exactly what you sound like. Nasally and grating on the ears. You sound like a damned fool shrieking at the top of their lungs like that."

"You sound like someone hit you too hard in the throat and tossed you off a cliff!"

"Is it really that noticeable?"

For a moment genuine fear and guilt crossed Cassin's face, but it was soon washed away by rage when Ghirahim gave her a snarling laugh.

"You gullible dolt! Of course being punched in the throat didn't make me sound like this, I was tempered like this!"

"You over pompous windbag! We took you in when you were on the verge of death!"

"Doesn't it really make you regret being selfless sometimes?"

"Sit down and shut up! Just rest your body before you hurt yourself more!"

A laugh, rattling and forceful, shook his chest. He almost didn't recognize it as his own, having believed it was the laugh of another's. It seemed to startle Cassin as well, as a marginal amount of the anger drained from her face. He pushed away his own surprise to stand up and away from the wall, body still swaying in time with the world around him.

"I don't need as much help as you seem to think I do. I am not as fragile as you humans are."

"That doesn't matter. You shouldn't be walking around like this. It isn't good for the body."

"Did you even bloody listen to me?"

A hardened look crossed Cassin's face, one that knocked at his stubborn refusal. Already he knew what was going to happen, and he wasn't about to have any of it. Cassin reached out her hands, no doubt attempting to help Ghirahim sit back down. With what little energy he had left he shot his hand out. Hearing Cassin yelp in such a way soothed his churning stomach. That's better, that's much better. He tightened his grip on her wrist, bones beginning to splinter and crack under the force. Cassin whimpered and tugged, and he squeezed even harder. Warmth began to spread beneath his hand, slowly spreading and oozing down his hand and both of their arms. A sharp bone shard poked at the meat of his own hand and he relaxed his grip, holding her crushed wrist firmly in his hand. Cassin had already deflated, entire body shaking and trying not to curl into herself. Such a beautiful sight.

"I warned you about touching me, didn't I?"

Cassin didn't respond, eyes still fixated on her own wrist. A chuckle rattled through his body and gripped her wrist tighter once more. She winced and grit her teeth, eyes flying shut from the pain.

"I distinctly remember making it clear that I did not like those who forced themselves too close. Or was I not forceful enough for you?"

"Wh-What the hell is wrong with you?!"

Her question was hissed under her breath, almost too lowly for him to hear, but it mattered little to him. He was sick of this, hiding away in this boring house with nothing to do and nothing to see. A pang of something blasted through him, urging him to release her wrist, but he easily ignored it. He would acknowledge her and her abilities to bring him back from the verge of death, but beyond that she was meaningless. He raised her hand over his head, drawing her closer without much a fuss. He leaned down closer, close enough to breath into her ear.

"It doesn't matter now. I'll make you understand how much I value my personal space."

He regretted running off with the other knight yesterday. Had he not been there at the commotion, he could have continued having that light, joyous, carefree feeling. He could have felt happy and contented with his life like the rest of the villagers do every day. He could have been soaring above the clouds again, flying like nothing mattered with his bird like he used to. He could have been sleeping, or relaxing, or maybe even reading or whittling. If only he hadn't gone to deal with the problem, then he would have been happy again. But of course, he knew he wouldn't have been able to ignore it. He was still too scared of something happening to the village if he took a day off. He had no duties again today, but he found he couldn't relax. It was too much all at once. More tribes of people living on the surface, strangers showing up out of the blue, and then the strangers asking to stay the night. There were too many things wrong with what had happened yesterday.

Once more he ran his whetstone over the lifeless blade on his lap, listening to the sing song of stone scratching metal to a sharp edge. There wasn't much he could do here, sitting atop a hill near the Goddess Statue. From here he could see a good majority of the village, including the spot where the three strangers had settled and were still resting. Three little specks of black sitting beneath the mottled grey and green of a tree. None of them seemed to be moving, most likely sleeping as long as their bodies would allow them to or talking amongst one another. Another song of stone on steel.

The three of them hadn't asked for anything after they had settled down under the tree. No request for food or water, not request for blankets, nothing. All they had done was sit and talk and sleep, rarely acknowledging those who did nothing to initiate a conversation. He had heard from the other knights that they had even turned down food and water and blankets when the night grew cold. They didn't want anything that they had to give. Something about that really made him worried. Why wouldn't they accept free food and drink, especially after travelling as long as they had claimed to? Wouldn't it have better to request some more rations to help on the rest of their journey? Maybe it was out of courtesy to their hosts, but that still didn't explain why they continued to say no even after the hundredth time someone offered them food. Something wasn't right about these people. The song of stone on steel.

Why did they hide their faces? What was so horrible about their faces that they felt the need to hide them beneath fabric, masks, mesh and black pigments? Thick black pants and shirts that were better for keeping out the cold of snow hid any kind of hint of what they were like underneath their cloaks. Were they strong and bulky? Lean and swift? Thin and sickly? There was too much fabric to tell. The cloaks weren't much better either, hiding even more of their non existent forms. It draped oddly around their clothes and their bodies, bunching up thickly around necks and over heads until it hooked onto masks. And the masks, why did they wear those masks? Neither of them looked particularly functional. The crow mask couldn't have provided much visibility and was impractical. The beak was polished to a gleam, silver and sparkling in the light. No doubt it would have been easy to spot that from a mile away for person and wildlife alike. And Sol's mask as well. It had to have been a heavy mask, being made of white marble and what he could assume was sandstone and obsidian. It must have weighed a hundred pounds, it didn't have any holes poked in that nose for easier breathing, and no doubt it would have been killer on the neck. For what reason could Sol possibly need a mask like that? Stone on steel.

Past the song of whetstone on steel he could hear a flock of the surface's small birds gathering to his right. They were singing and scratching at the earth, digging for worms no doubt. Around him the trees rustled with a light breeze that carried a tinge of the lurking cold. Autumn would no doubt be here soon, and the world around him seemed to be preparing as much as their little bodies could. Even the villagers were preparing, drying meats and vegetables, flying seeds of sturdier crops up into the sky to plant on Skyloft, just in case the winter was worse than they expected. What livestock they had were being shifted over into pens made to handle the winter better than summer pens, and the crops they had now were being harvested. Something deep inside him was surprised to see the world preparing itself for the bitterest season of them all with such ease. How was it that he hadn't noticed the world working for itself as such? How did such progression pass him by without him noticing it? A deep drawn out sigh escaped his lungs in time with another scrape of his stone against steel.

"Is there something bothering you, Link?"

The unknown voice startled him out of his thoughts and he looked over his shoulder, heart racing from the sudden scare. An older knight in red, the one who had been there with him in the ashes of the forest, was strolling towards him. He still couldn't recall the other's name, but pushed it away as the other knight came over to sit beside him. His eyes were trained on him curiously, almost as if he knew that Link was hiding something, and he knew he couldn't hide it for long. Link sighed again, this time shorter and quieter than the first, and nodded.

"Feeling a little nervous with strangers on the edge of the village."

"I heard what happened yesterday. I only just met them today while I was on my patrol, but they don't seem so bad."

To that Link could only offer a meager shrug. He cast his eyes down at his blade, focusing on sharpening it with his whetstone. He sat silently beside him, though from the way he could hear the other fidget with his tunic and the edges of his gloves, Link could tell that there was something bothering him as well. Link cast a curious sideways glance at him, catching his eyes at just the same time before looking back down at his blade. The other seemed to take that as a cue to ask his own questions.

"Can you believe it? Other humans living on the surface. Who could have ever dreamed of such a thing."

Link have a half hearted grunt, trying at least to seem interested in what the other had to say. Link had known about other humans on the surface thanks to his journey, but he had omitted a strong portion of his stories to the rest of the public. He really just didn't want to talk about the surface in general. As beautiful as it was Link wasn't entirely fond of some of the memories he had on the surface.

"Hey I… I know you're not a big fan of talking about your travels, but I was wondering about it. Like, did you like it down here when you first found out about it?"

Nervous and uncertain, Link gave a small nod. He couldn't lie about the surface to him, let alone anyone else. He'd rather not speak of it, but he couldn't lie that he thought it was wonderful. Clouds soaring above them, the dynamic weather, the way life seemed to pass by on the surface unaware of what hung above them. The surface had fascinated him and brought him great joy. It was dangerous and unpredictable, yes, but beautiful and joyous nonetheless. He could only assume the residents who have moved to the surface thought the same of it, with all of the wonders it held that were too big to be seen on Skyloft.

"Was there something about it that you liked the best?"

He was still nervous to ask him these things, and he was still too nervous to give a vocal answer. He offered up a halfhearted shrug, eyes fixed to his blade like his life depended on it. The voice of the other only continued to get more hesitant.

"What… What was the scariest monster you faced?"

"Demon King…"

Link startled himself with his own admittance, his voice sounding a little more frail that he perhaps had meant it to. Trying to cover up what might have been come across as a weakness, he gave another half hearted shrug.

"Someone I met on my journey told me once that the Demon King could use your fear against you, and could make himself into something that looked different to everyone…"

With his voice already stronger in speaking of the dreaded king, a form of relief began to pool in his gut. Maybe things were getting a little better for him. Unfortunately for him, however, the other had been captivated by the slight description and had turned his body to fully face Link. Link didn't need to look up to know that the other was staring at him with awe and curiosity, a look he didn't want to deal with.

"What did he look like for you?"

Wincing, Link worked up his courage to answer him.

"I… I don't know if it was his true form, or if he was pandering to my own fears…"

A moment of hesitance washed over him, capturing the other in it's wake, before Link shook his head.

"Three times taller than me, a little too muscular for comfort, black scales everywhere, fire from his head… Red and orange eyes… Demon King was a fitting title, I think."

For a moment, there was silence. The flock of birds to his right had flown off, the breeze had come to a halt, and the sounds that were carried from the village on the wind died off as well. The only thing breaking the silence was the sound of crickets coming to life and the song of his whetstone scraping along the edge of his blade. Even the knight beside him was silent, the gristly beard brushing against the fingers that rubbed his chin. The momentary silence, no matter how coincidental, was a welcome reprieve from questions and sound. It didn't last long, but it was long enough for Link to regain any nerves he lost describing the Demon King.

"Did you meet any other humans on the surface before we all came here?"

To that one, Link was happy to confirm with a quick nod. He didn't need to hear the other's follow up question to know what he was going to ask next.

"There was a woman down here. Her name was Impa. It was a nice break from running all over the place to come by and speak with her. She made her home in the Sealed Temple, as she called it."

"What did she look like?"

Link stopped sharpening his blade for a moment, concentrating on what Impa looked like. It had only been two years, and he was already forgetting her face? Had she still lived Link had no doubt she would scold him for forgetting her face, old or young.

"She was tall too. Tall and lean, and really strong. She had light hair, and dark eyes. Lots of energy too. When she was hurt it seemed like only a week or so before she was running around at full strength again. She was a good friend."

"Did she have any other defining features?"

The question struck Link as odd. Why would he be worried about other defining features? But after a moment's hesitation he brushed it off as simple curiosity. Impa was one of the nicer aspects of his journey, and he figured that if he were telling people anything, they would want to know all about it.

"Not much, I don't think. Painted or… or tattooed, I think? Had markings on her face around her eyes and forehead. She was good at magic, too."

"She sounds like she was pretty cool."

Link couldn't help the snort that left him and returned to sharpening his blade, running the whetstone along the opposite side.

"More like cold. When she was scolding us she spoke like her heart had been frozen over, and her words hurt like someone had poked us with a hot iron. But she was kind when we weren't messing up the parts we played in our journeys."

That seemed to have brought a laugh out of the other knight, one that echoed through his body and burst from his mouth so forcefully it tossed his head back.

"Well, it sounds like she was just worried about you."

Link nodded his agreement.

"She was a good friend, even when she was giving us a tongue lashing."

Both him and the other fell into another silence, this one more comfortable than the first. The wind had picked up again, carrying the sounds of the village around them once more as birds and owls and crickets and distant wolves began to sing. The sun was beginning to set, the sky streaked with the first few rays of purple and orange. Link relaxed, absentminded with his whetstone, and enjoyed the warm glow the sun cast across the land. Despite the coolness of approaching winter and night, it was just warm enough to still be comfortable. The dread and fear in his systems had seemed to drain away as he spoke with the other, and it was nice to feel this level of comfort once again. It was the kind that he had been yearning for all day, and he'd be damned if he wouldn't enjoy the last few hours of it. After some time the other knight stood and stretched himself out, brushing any dirt on the back of his tunic. Link glanced up at him and away from the village as he did so.

"I think I'm going to head home. We both have an early morning patrol tomorrow, don't we? Best we get our rest."

Link gave another nod, setting his whetstone down and grabbing a rag that he had hung on his belt hours prior.

"I'll head home soon. I think I might enjoy the sunset for a little bit longer."

"I hope you have a good night, Link."

"Same to you."

With a smile piercing his dark beard he waved a farewell to Link before slowly descending down the hill, no doubt to his own abode in the village. For a second Link thought about his dorm in the Knight Academy. He would have to move out soon so another knight could take his place. He was what, nineteen now? Twenty? Sometimes he forgot just how old he had become, and would sheepishly ask Zelda if she remembered. She'd always tell him with a laugh and a smile how old he was, no matter how many times he asked. That should be old enough to get a house built for himself.

His thoughts soon shifted to Zelda. Maybe he should pay her a visit tonight? They hadn't spoken in two days, and that was certainly unlike them. Perhaps they could take a quick night flight together in the open skies before they went to bed? That would be a nice way to end the already stressful day. Nodding to himself, Link stood himself up and began walking back to the academy, stone and blade in hand and the setting sun against his back.

Fangs glistened sharply in the darkness, a sticky mixture of spittle and blood falling from them as the owner twirled around. White patterns etched into skin glowed as brightly as white eyes, blood spattering against them and masking bits of light. Something in the darkness fought back, swinging and slicing as fast and as hard as they could. The silver of the blade glinted just as fangs did, leaving trails of light in their wakes as they leapt, lunged, and danced. In the dead of night where little light pierced the shutters on the windows, white and silver, black and red clashed. A blade fell down from above, meant to cleave the intruder in half. The blade was knocked away effortlessly, bouncing off of an arm without even leaving the hints of a scuff. The sound echoed in the room, the noise tinny and distant as if it had been heard through wooden block. Fangs lunged forwards, extended towards a throat like a snake's. Fangs met metal and bit down, sliding uselessly off of the steel and being thrown backwards.

The owner skid back, the floor slick with splatters of blood, and crashed back into an overturned table. The beast wheezed and snarled, the softer flesh of the mouth bleeding where it had been cut by the blade. The owner of the blade charged the unbalanced foe, raising their blade to swing again. The beast leapt back over the table and ducked down behind it, crouching on all fours as the blade came splintering down into the table. The blade halted just before it hit their head, and they scrambled to the left on all fours, pushing off with the power of a frog and the agility of a fox. The owner of the blade struggled, planting a foot on the table and trying to wretch their blade free of the wood that held it trapped. The beast, out of the way and already on their feet again lunged once more, fingers outstretched like claws and fangs bared for the throat.

A leg from the table that had been broken off in their scuffle was brought up and used to bash the beast right in the chin, jaw snapping shut on a tongue that had begun to stick out from both exhaustion and hunger. The beast didn't dare cry out it's pain, but instead staggered backwards, temporarily disoriented and struggling to regain their bearings. The owner of the blade whipped the splintering table leg at the beast, knocking it square in the head again. It staggered again, giving them enough time to rip their blade out of the table. Arm numbing from the strength of the fight, the owner of the blade charged once more, this time going to stab the beast in the gut. Disoriented and head ringing, the beast just barely managed to dodge the strike. No doubt it would have pierced their flesh and cut right through them. They hissed at the owner of the blade and grabbed hold of their arm as tightly as they could. Flesh squelched and bone cracked under the force, ripping a scream from the owner of the blade. Before all movement was lost in their arm they switched their blade to their other hand and twirled, yanking the beast forwards and swinging for their spine. The beast dove with the momentum, ducking beneath the swing and skidding across the ground. Fingers dug into the floorboards like a cat's claws and they pivoted on all fours, righting themselves to face the other. They had raised their blade above their head once more, one arm hanging uselessly at their side. Light flashed off the blade just fast enough to illuminate eyes filled with rage, mourning, and a kind of bloodthirst the beast hadn't seen in a long time.

Without thinking the beast dodged to the side, tripping over a body in the darkness. They tumbled across the floor, chased closely by the owner of the blade. They scrambled back onto all fours and launched themself at the wall. As soon as hands and feet hit the wall the beast pushed off as hard as they could, twisting in midair to face their attacker. The light flashed off of their blade and once again briefly illuminated their face in the darkness. A new emotion had bloomed in their eyes, one the beast feasted upon as time seemed to slow. Fear. Everything came crashing down as the beast landed atop the owner of the blade. Fangs sank into flesh, and flesh beat wildly on their head and back and arms and gut. A blade came down once more upon the beast, the edge slicing through flesh.

Without warning he jolted awake, pushing off of the tree he had been leaning on and planting his hands onto the soft earth beneath him. A sound akin to a roar must have left him, as his companions had flinched and turned towards him, fear clearly written in their stances. Breathing hard and with eyes adjusting to the light, he looked around, somewhat confused by his surroundings for a moment. The world had been silenced by his sudden outburst, the songs of crickets and birds gone. Looking between his two companions and his hands on the earth he soon pieced together the information he had now and the information he had taken from his dream. It was early in the morning, the light of dawn just beginning to wash over the village and trees. Birds and crickets soon resumed their song, and the wind picked up. Faintly on it's wake, the stench of blood hit his nose. Quietly, Nilr spoke to him.

"Sol, were you having a nightmare?"

"Krl'Desh."

"Krl'Desh?"

Loh tilted his head, clearly confused by his statement.

"Krl'Desh… Krl'Desh is alive."

Excitement bubbled up underneath his skin so quickly he couldn't control himself. He leapt to his feet, Nilr and Loh following his lead not even seconds after. The nearby knights of the village perked up at the sight of them getting up so quickly, but Sol paid them no mind. His mind was ablaze with static. Without warning he bolting, following the metallic stench of blood on the breeze. Nilr and Loh were close behind, seeming to have understood what he meant, and the knight were hot on their trail. Sol was sure of it now. Krl'Desh was alive.