The countdown to Christmas has officially begun! My home has been decked out with decorations! I can finally blast Trans-Siberian Orchestra at 4am with no regrets!

What's that? Oh, right, new fanfiction chapter!

In all honesty, I think it's safe to assume we all have a pretty good idea who did it, right? I mean… I tried not to make it too obvious, buuuuuuut…

Anyway, here's this week's replies to my lovely reviewers!

Lily: Thank you so much! It's nice to know I'm still doing a good job! I'm also sensing a bit of a crush on Luna… I don't blame you at all. She's one ethereal woman!

theburningearth: Don't we all just want to give Ethari a hug? He's been through so much. And yes, the tension rises! We love good tension!

Catreallychaotic: I am honored! Thank you so much! And don't you worry, my feline friend, we'll be seeing more of Selena! Also, you've given me an idea…

Guest: Thank you, my friend! I always look forward to hearing from you!

Now, the moment you've all been waiting for… let's get this show started!

"Ah. I was just about to go looking for you, Runaan." The elf sheathed his sword, his chin high as Runaan stared at him from across the field. "Your finals are fast approaching, and it's been too long since you've trained your swordsmanship. We need to be sure you actually have enough skill to complete your training."

"Do we, now?" Runaan thought venomously. It took all of his self control to keep his face neutral. He bit his tongue as the elf stared back at him with his loathsome, dull gray eyes.

"Well?" Deimos frowned at Runaan's lack of a response. "What are you waiting for? Let us begin." He turned around, beckoning Runaan with a flick of his wrist. Runaan suppressed a growl.

"He's acting real bold, for a man that just destroyed Ethari's forge, the most important forge in the Silvergrove," Runaan thought, allowing a frown to crease his face. "If you seriously believe I'm going to let you get away with this, you're terribly mistaken."

"I'm waiting, Runaan." Deimos shot Runaan a look. The sight of those dusty eyes made Runaan want to scream. He clenched his fists, the fabric creasing where his fingers dug into his palms. It seemed as if his entire body was consumed with hate, but he kept his mouth shut.

"I can't confront him about it. Not yet," Slowly, he walked down into the field, Deimos watching him intently. "I have to be careful about this. If I can find enough evidence that proves he was the one who did it, I can talk to Luna, or any of the Council. If I do this right, they'll convict him."

"If I can somehow make him admit it… that will be all it takes."

"It's about time you've had swordsmanship training." Deimos dragged the crude wooden mannequin he had been sparring against to the center of the field. The wood had deep chips at the throat, chest, and arms, where on a living person, would be the fatal points. "I was lenient with the amount of time you took off. Here, I've even gone through the trouble to find you a suitable sword. You're welcome." Deimos tossed the weapon at Runaan, who caught it easily. Immediately, the tip of the sword dipped in his grasp. Runaan scowled at the blade. It was just as imbalanced as the one he had bent, perhaps even more. The giant guard and the rail-straight shape of the blade was reminiscent of Deimos' ideal sword: simple, boring, and highly inferior to the weapons that Ethari made. And he had the audacity to say 'you're welcome' like he had done Runaan a great deed.

"Begin with your warm-up patterns. Go slowly. You haven't done this for a long while." Deimos instructed him. Runaan pressed his lips into a thin line. Every fiber in his body wanted nothing more than to throw the sword he was holding right into Deimos' pretentious face. He gripped the hilt of the sword so hard, he swore he heard the old leather grip crack.

"Calm down," He told himself, exhaling slowly though his nose. "Keep your composure. It's just like swordfighting. Watch, wait, strike." Widening his stance, balancing his weight between his feet, he held out the sword and began his warm-up sets.

Deimos observed Runaan intently as he moved the sword from position to position, as familiarly as breathing. Despite the eyes of a traitor on his every move, Runaan allowed his mind to concentrate on going through his sets to the best of his abilities. Right parry, right slash, left parry, left slash, overhead parry, forward thrust. He repeated the motions dozens of times, each time assessing himself to see what he could be doing better.

"Lift the blade higher," Deimos told Runaan sharply. "You're shifting your weight too much. Relax your shoulders. Start over, that wasn't good enough to continue."

Runaan ground his teeth. The fact that Deimos was so over-exacting for only the warm-up patterns only added to the cauldron of hate. Before, Runaan just sighed and beared it. Now, Runaan was just one breath away from biting his own tongue off.

"That's enough." Deimos barked. He shook his head. "You've become more idle than I thought. I knew that letting that elf destroy that perfectly good sword would lead to this. And now here we are, only days away from your final exams, and you have too fallen behind." He clicked his tongue.

That elf That elf That elf That elf That elf

That was it. Whatever thin string of self-control Runaan had attempted to rein his rage with snapped in two.

"I'm sorry I'm not exactly performing my best," Runaan kept his voice calm, "this sword isn't exactly fit for me."

Deimos' eyes flashed. He dropped his crossed arms to his sides, staring down at Runaan.

"Excuse me?"

Runaan shrugged, giving the sword a mocking look. "You heard me. This sword isn't fit for me. There's too much weight at the top of the blade. Just like my old sword." He threw a glance at Deimos. "Kind of why I needed a new one in the first place."

Deimos' gaze grew dark. He narrowed his eyes at the boy. "Oh? Is it, now?"

"Yes." Runaan swirled the sword in his hands casually, swinging it back and forth. "Over the past few days, I've been watching Ethari's forging process. He's explained to me in great detail how exactly he works. The sword Ethari's been making me would have been a weapon that could have rivaled any…" Runaan stopped twirling his blade. "It's a real loss that he may never get to finish it."

Deimos frowned deeply. "Yes…" the corner of his mouth ticked. "It is quite a shame. A waste of time and energy."

Runaan scowled at the older elf. "You say that like that's what it was."

"Because it was." He replied simply. "Now get in position. We must train your reflexes."

"No."

Deimos was taken aback. "Excuse me?" His voice grew dangerously low. "I believe I told you to get into your training position."

"And I believe I told you no." Runaan stood firm. His turquoise irises flashed. "I refuse to train this sword." He held it out in front of him, then opened his hand and let it fall to the ground. Deimos' eyes widened, his teeth visibly clenching.

"Just what do you think you're doing, boy?!" He loomed over Runaan, the dust gray shade of his eyes becoming stormy.

Runaan was not intimidated in the slightest. "I will not train with a weapon that is not suited to me. All I am doing is training how to compensate for an imbalance. Not training my fighting skills. Therefore, I refuse to train." He crossed his arms, lifting his chin.

Deimos was livid. "You impudent, ungrateful boy!" He thundered, "I went through the trouble of acquiring you a high-class sword that I believed was more than worthy of your skill set, and this is how you treat it?! This is how you treat me?!" Shoving his foot underneath the blade, he flicked upwards into his palm. He shoved the sword into Runaan's arms, Runaan needing to step back to avoid being cut. "You will train. Whether you like it or not, this is how you must uphold your duty to the Silvergrove. This is how it must be done."

Runaan bared his teeth. "Uphold my duty? Uphold my duty?!" His voice made the songbirds pause, "if my duty is to fight, then don't you think I should have the weapon that would allow me to fight to the best of my abilities! But no! My duty to the Silvergrove is more than just fighting!"

Deimos scoffed disbelievingly. "Oh really?"

Runaan narrowed his eyes. "I have more worth than just an assassin. I have a life outside of fighting, and training, and killing!"

Deimos' eyes flashed in such a way, Runaan knew he was close to what he seeked to find. Runaan sneered. "Of course, what would you know about that?"

Deimos stood speechless. His mouth hung open, his eyes wide and appalled. Slowly, his hands balled up into fists, his teeth clenching once more.

"I knew you had been spending too much time there."

Runaan cocked his head. "What?"

Deimos straightened his posture, looking down on Runaan, his lip curled contemptuously. "I had tolerated that elf reforging your sword, because at the time, I had believed you would need a blade that was 'properly suited to your specific needs'," Deimos' voice turned mocking, making Runaan's blood turn to ice. "That was before I remembered the severe consequences of that elf's work."

"Oh?" The venom in Runaan's voice could dissolve steel. "Which are?"

"That elf, the Master Craftsman," Deimos' voice was drenched with contempt, "had so much potential. He had skill, skill that was on par with yours. He was adaptive, quick, and clever. He would have been such a valuable asset to the ranks of the assassins."

Deimos' hard gaze flicked back to Runaan. "But he was weak. He lacked resolve. His fighting skills were refined, but he had no will to take life. Of all his talents, he chose the worst weakness. It is impossible to be an assassin without death." His eyes narrowed. "And now, his weakness has rubbed off onto you."

Runaan could feel his heart go cold. "What."

Deimos sneered. "Don't think I haven't noticed." He began to pace around Runaan, his face hovering near his head. "Always running to be on time for dinner. Leaving the end of your classes in haste, spending much more time than necessary with that elf." He shook his head. "I didn't want to believe it. I thought you were too dedicated to let him influence you. It wasn't until I saw you the day before the blue moon that I realized you had fallen."

Runaan's eyes widened. "That doesn't mean…"

Deimos smirked at Runaan's expression. "Yes. I watched you come down from that forge like you had been possessed. You were quiet, you looked conflicted, and you said nothing to your friends, but I knew."

Runaan sucked in a breath. "How-"

"You had this look in your eyes. I knew that look very well." For a split second, Deimos' eyes grew distant. "It was the same look she had, the day she had fallen in love with that elf."

The realization slammed into Runaan with the force of a thousand shooting stars. "Ethari's mother…"

"Ah, so you've heard the story," Deimos' lip curled at Runaan's horrified face. "She, Zira, could have achieved great things. She could have led the assassins with unquestionable authority. But, after she had fallen for him…" His face twisted with disgust, "she sealed her fate. She let herself become soft-willed and weak. And even now, decades later," Deimos stopped right in front of Runaan's face. "The weakness of that family is still corrupting the strength of others."

Runaan was silent. Even if he wanted to speak, he couldn't. The words were stuck in his throat, clogged with shock and anger. He could only watch as Deimos turned away.

"I had predicted that that boy would have inherited the weakness of his parents. My suspicions were confirmed when he backed out of his training. And I wasn't surprised when you began to listen to him. But I would not repeat the mistakes I have made in the past." Deimos' back was to Runaan, his hands clasped together behind him. "This time, I did not stand by and let great potential be wasted. This time… I put a stop to it."

Runaan's eyes widened. His turquoise irises pulsed in time with his heart. Slowly, very, very slowly, he found his voice.

"… it was you."

Deimos turned his head, eyeing Runaan with a sideways gaze. "Oh?"

Runaan's teeth were bared in a primal snarl. He clenched the sword with both hands. "YOU WERE THE ONE WHO BURNED HIS FORGE!"

Deimos' eyebrows raised. His eyes flashed. For a moment, he looked genuinely shocked. He gaped at Runaan, who shifted his feet into a readying stance.

"… Oh?" His mouth pulled upwards in a sinister smirk. "Am I, now?" He turned, fully facing Runaan, and drew his own sword. "That forge was the one thing that that elf had to keep you from your destiny. Now that it is gone, you can become who you are meant to be."

Runaan's world turned red. Gripping the hilt of his sword, he raised it into position. "His," -he ground his heel into the sand- "name," -his eyes glowed almost white with rage- "is," -he sucked in a breath- "ETHARI!"

Fueled by the ever-burning passion of rage, Runaan charged at his enemy, sword whistling through the air, and swung.

Ethari hummed brightly as he moved through his shop, searching among his many tools for the right carving head size. His hands hovered over several different tools, before finally finding and selecting the right one. Twirling it a little in his fingers, he made his way back to his chair and sat down.

With practiced care, Ethari picked up the small circle of metal he had laid on the desk and began etching a crescent moon design into it. Carefully following the lines he had drawn onto it beforehand, he dug the ball-shaped head of the tool across the metal repeatedly, wiping away the flakes with a gentle brush of his fingertip. It was a delicate process, but Ethari had years of experience. His hands were steady, and his mind was patient. Slowly, the design was completely carved from the metal.

Setting down his carving tool, Ethari fumbled for his small square of sandpaper. After his fingers brushed against the grainy sheet, he picked it up and carefully smoothed the crescent design until all the facets in the metal disappeared, leaving a flawless, smooth moon. Ethari smiled at his work, nodding to himself. Throwing the sandpaper back on the desk, he stood up from his chair and carefully lifted one of the swords from the far end of his work desk and set it in front of him.

Flipping the blade over, Ethari carefully set the circle of metal on the end of the hilt, lining up the holes he had drilled into it with the holes in the hilt. Glancing out of the corner of his eye, he quickly grabbed the two tiny nails that remained within his small nail container. With the precision he had worked for years to build, Ethari set the nails into place. Once he was sure they were correctly positioned, he used his thumb to push the nails into the hilt, bracing the circle of metal completely against the wood.

Humming excitedly, Ethari held out the now fully completed weapon. He turned it over in his hands, inspecting the curved blade, hilt, and the sphere of turquoise with a trained eye for any flaws. He was delighted when he saw none. Grinning, he swung the blade through the air. It whistled almost silently, cutting through the wind as easily as a river flowed down a canyon. Twirling the blade, he held it in front of himself, laying the flat of the metal against his finger.

"Finally…" Ethari's whisper floated in the air as he brushed the flat of the blade with his fingertips, tracing the folded petal designs. "Finally finished."

Out of all of Ethari's weapons, complete and incomplete, that had survived the fire, he had nearly melted with gratitude when he saw that this weapon had been untouched by the flames. When Ethari had returned to the forge to take stock of all his weapons, this sword was still there, waiting to be completed. He had moved it from his storage room to his main store, as he always did with weapons that were almost done, just before leaving to attend the Blue Moon Festival. Once again, Ethari thanked the stars for his instincts. Without them… he could have lost his most precious order.

Ethari carried the blade to the end of his desk, where he lay it on a square of silken cloth. He delicately wrapped it around the sword, until only the vague shape of it was visible through the folds of white cloth. Picking up the bundled weapon, Ethari turned around, preparing to leave.

"I have to find him," He thought, his heart fluttering with excitement, "I have to give it to him right away!"

Just then, the doors to his store slammed open. Ethari practically leaped out of his skin. He was lucky he held the sword in such a way where he did not drop it.

"ETHARI!" Tiadrin burst into his store. "ETHAR- oh, you're right there."

"Bleeding moonstriders, Tiadrin!" He responded, shooting her a glare. "I'm way too young to have a heart attack!"

"I'm really sorry, Ethari, but this is kind of urgent!" Lain piped up from behind Tiadrin. His head appeared over Tiadrin's. "We need you to come with us, like, NOW."

"Why, why, what's going on?" He asked, his annoyance swiftly replaced with concern. He shifted the sword in his arms, drawing the two elves gazes towards it.

"What's that?" Tiadrin asked curiously, momentarily forgetting her mission.

"Oh!" Ethari glanced at the cloth-wrapped sword. "This is a sword! It's, uh, his sword, in fact." Despite himself, Ethari glanced to the side, a blush on his cheeks.

"You finished it?!" Lain exclaimed, a wide grin on his face. "That's wonderful!"

"Good timing, too!" Tiadrin chimed in. "He's gonna need it!"

Ethari blinked at her words. "Uh, what? Why?"

Tiadrin sucked in a breath through her teeth. "Ah… well, you see, ah- mmmmmm." She glanced to Lain, shrugging helplessly.

"It's… complicated," Lain searched for the best way to break the news to Ethari, "but… long story short, we met up with Runaan earlier, we discovered… something big… and now Runaan's swordfighting Deimos in the training field."

"Probably to the death." Tiadrin put in helpfully. "If worst comes to worst."

All of Ethari's trains of thought slammed to a halt. "He's WHAT?!" Spluttering, he transcended across the plane of reality before he found his voice again. "What's he fighting with?!"

"A sword Deimos brought him, originally for swordsmanship training." Tiadrin answered.

Ethari's mouth fell open. "That is not good."

She shook her head in agreement. "Nope."

"That's why we came to get you!" Lain explained. "Any sword Deimos has is not fit for Runaan! You're the only one who knows the kind of weapons he can best fight with!"

"And with that sword," Tiadrin gestured to the cloth-wrapped weapon in Ethari's arms. "He has a chance of winning against Deimos!"

Ethari's eyes flicked back and forth wildly, before he closed them. Facing the two elves in front of him, his gaze hardened with resolve.

"Well, we haven't any time to waste, haven't we?" He said, gripping the sword in his arms. "Let's go! Runaan needs us!"

Runaan's heart pounded almost as rapidly as his feet did as he moved and danced left and right to avoid the swiping sword that threatened to draw across his arms. Leaping several paces backwards, he brought up his sword to block another slash. Gripping the hilt with both hands, Runaan pushed against the attacking sword with all his might, throwing Deimos off balance. Taking a few backwards steps to balance himself, Deimos clicked his tongue, twirling his weapon effortlessly.

"Your reaction time is still slow, Runaan." He stated, circling Runaan, who panted as he mirrored Deimos' movements. "Whatever foolish idea that elf had put into your head that it's a problem with your sword is inane. It is clearly a problem with you."

"No!" Runaan spat. "You're wrong! This sword you have given me is even worse than the one I used to have!"

"And you've suddenly become an expert on sword balance?" Deimos scoffed. "Open your eyes, boy! You're never going to improve yourself like this! You have to admit you are weak!"

"Shut up!" Runaan's feet kicked up clouds of sand as he charged at Deimos again, slashing as fast as he could against Deimos' sword. Deimos parried all of Runaan's attacks, then drove his hand against Runaan's chest, sending him falling back against the sand. Runaan gasped as his back struck the earth. Coughing, he rolled himself onto his stomach as he gasped for breath.

"Admit it, Runaan!" Deimos yelled to him. "That boy had made you weak. You would have never been knocked down so quickly in a fight if you had continued your training as normal."

"Shut up shut up shut up shut up shut up!" Runaan pushed himself back onto his feet, shaking the sand from his body. The braid in his hair had come loose, much of his hair falling into his eyes. His turquoise eyes flashed from behind the strands of white, like the eyes of a predator from behind the underbrush. "You're wrong!"

Deimos shook his head, sighing exasperatedly. "When will you learn?" His dust-gray eyes were alight with anger. "When will you learn that emotions are the greatest weaknesses? That attachments are the greatest weaknesses? You are only dooming yourself, Runaan!"

"Dooming myself to what?!" Runaan yelled back. "To death?! Ha!" Grinning savagely, Runaan held out his arms. "I am already dead! I have nothing to fear!"

Deimos' face twisted with anger. "Foolish boy! You don't understand! You have duties that were bestowed upon you by your people! You must live your life to uphold those duties!"

"I don't live just for my people!" Runaan screamed, brandishing his weapon. "I live for myself!" Charging at Deimos once more, he locked them in a furious trade-off of slashing blows.

Runaan panted as he swung his sword left, right, back and forth, trying desperately to find a weakness in Deimos' form, but it was no use. Every time Runaan's blade met Deimos', an unnatural shudder went up his wrist. He couldn't move his sword quickly enough to keep on the offensive. It took all of his concentration to move quickly enough to parry Deimos' attacks. Runaan grit his teeth as he was forced to take a step backward.

And another. And another, and another.

Deimos' lip curled as he advanced, locking the two swords together. He laughed scornfully at Runaan, whose teeth were bared as he used all of his strength to keep the pressure on his sword, his hands trembling from the effort. Runaan's knees bent as Deimos pushed harder and harder, the tips of the blades mere inches away from his eyes.

"Even with all of your talents," Deimos sighed, "all of your skills, all of your efforts," his gray eyes bore into Runaan's, "You're. Still. Weak."

Deimos suddenly slashed his sword outward, ripping Runaan's sword from his hands. Runaan's gaze followed it briefly, before snapping back to Deimos, just as he mercilessly swung his sword at Runaan's face.

Runaan stumbled to the ground with a shout of pain. To his shock, he felt a sharp stinging on his right cheek, as well as a wet warmth that started spreading down his face. He brought his fingers to his face and touched his cheek. His eyes widened with shock as the fingertips of his gloves came back glistening and slick with blood.

Sucking a sharp breath through his teeth, Runaan tried desperately to catch his breath. Turning onto his back, he gasped when the tip of Deimos' sword hovered over his throat.

His eyes locked with Deimos'. He held his breath as Deimos stood over him, panting. His dust gray eyes narrowed at Runaan's shocked face.

"Don't be so surprised, Runaan." He grinned a savage grin. "You never stood a chance."

"STOP!"

Runaan's and Deimos' heads both whipped at the sudden voice. Their eyes widened as they saw three familiar figures run towards them from the top of the hill.

"Tiadrin?!" Runaan exclaimed. "Lain?! E-Ethari?!"

Deimos' teeth bared in a snarl. "DON'T INTERFERE!" He shouted at them. "HE NEEDS TO LEARN THE CONSEQUENCES OF BECOMING WEAK!" His gray eyes were wild, like those of a beast. Runaan, in a split second, saw his form relax ever so slightly. Instantly, he saw his chance.

And he took it.

Shifting his weight to his hands, Runaan kicked up his feet and shoved hard against the flat of Deimos' sword. Deimos let out a cry of shock as he stumbled backward, trying to maintain his footing. Runaan, seizing his stolen moments of opportunity, quickly tucked into a backwards somersault, scrambling back onto his feet.

Runaan, just barely regaining his senses, gasped as Deimos' furious eyes locked onto his. "WHY, YOU INSOLENT LITTLE-" Without pause, Deimos brought up his sword and charged at him.

Runaan's eyes widened, his hands instinctively going up to defend himself, before movement out of the very corner of his gaze caught his attention.

"RUNAAN!"

Ethari threw down what looked like a length of white cloth with one hand, and with the other, he threw something towards Runaan with all of his strength.

Time seemed to slow down.

The pounding of Deimos' heavy footsteps got closer and closer to Runaan.

Runaan didn't think.

He threw all of his fear to the wind.

In that moment, he poured all of his trust, all of his faith, all of his life, in Ethari.

In one second, Runaan's eyes flicked sideways to the approaching shape that whistled through the air. As it spun closer and closer to him, he suddenly recognized, deep in his mind, what the object was. Holding out his hand, he felt the smoothness of wood meet the skin of his palm. His fingers wrapped around it easily, as if it was meant to be there. Not wasting a single moment, he brought the hand that held the object across his face, just as Deimos swung his sword in a lethal downwards strike.

Deimos' sword met the object with a sharp, loud ring. It echoed across the field as Runaan finally saw the true form of the gift Ethari had given him.

It was a sword.

No.

It was his sword.

Runaan's eyes were wide as he beheld it. Sunlight gleamed off of the silvery white metal, tracing the folded petal pattern engraved in the curved blade. Runaan's fingers tightened around the hilt, which had swirling patterns of green on a backdrop of deep navy. Tiny circles of metal adorned the wood of the hilt, and at the very end, a smooth pommel of sea turquoise.

"What…" Deimos' eyes widened as he looked at Runaan's new weapon. "But… how…" He glanced at Ethari, before returning his gaze to Runaan. "Don't think this changes anything, boy!" He snarled, gritting his teeth. "You still aren't strong enough to defeat me!"

As Deimos panted wildly, Runaan cocked his head ever so slightly at his expression. His face was a mask of anger and desperate authority, but his eyes… in those dusty depths, Runaan recognized the emotion that flashed just below the surface. Fear. Deimos had the face of a madman, but inside, he was afraid. Afraid of Runaan.

All at once, Runaan's focus sharpened. He narrowed his eyes, and with resolve giving strength to his limbs, he ground his feet into the sand and threw Deimos backwards.

"I think you're mistaken," Runaan murmured as Deimos struggled to maintain his balance. "I wasn't strong enough before. You put chains on my hands and told me to fight with them, while your hands were free. I've been fighting with manacles on my wrists for a long time." Runaan, his veins flowing with adrenaline, locked eyes with Deimos'.

"But now," Runaan's feet spread into an attacking stance as he brandished his sword, "I've been set free."

The two elves faced off for one moment longer, before charging back into battle.

Runaan and Deimos traded blows faster than they had ever have before. It was an intense, hypnotic dance of flashing metal and scratched ringing as the swords slammed into each other in furious slashes and parries. Tiadrin, Lain, and Ethari watched from the sidelines, hearts pounding as they became enraptured by the skill and grace of the fight. Ethari had both hands around his scarf, clenching it as if it were choking him. Tiadrin and Lain grasped each other's hands, holding tightly as they watched their closest friend battle his opponent.

As the fight wore on, and blow after blow was parried and thrown, Runaan's lips curled in a grin. No longer did each strike send unnatural sensations up the bones in his wrist. After each parry, Runaan's hand moved swiftly to launch another attack. Deimos' gaze grew more and more alarmed as Runaan's attacks got quicker and quicker by the second, and he struggled to keep up with his speed. Then, after an agonizing moment of slashing and jabbing, Deimos was forced to take a step back.

Runaan's eyes flashed. A new confidence filled his nerves as he kept up his attacks, now turning fully on the offensive as he forced Deimos to retreat another step.

Then another.

And another.

The fear in Deimos' eyes only became stronger. He breathed heavily as he used all of his abilities just to keep up with Runaan's attacks. Runaan, seeing his opponent was weakening, immediately began searching for an opening.

'Focus on your every move, as well as the moves of your opponent.' Runaan had long since memorized Deimos' attack patterns. Before their swords hit, he was already predicting the next one. 'Wait for the perfect opening.' Runaan exhaled sharply as he swiped his sword hard against Deimos'. His eyes flashed as Deimos stumbled backward, opening his guard wide open.

'Then, without hesitation,' Runaan's mind chanted the mantra as he raised his sword, baring his teeth, 'strike with all of your power.'

Yelling with all the fury he possessed, Runaan slashed at Deimos' blade with all the strength he had. Deimos' weapon went flying across the training field, tumbling and clattering to the ground. Deimos fell backwards, the air rushing out of his chest as he hit the sand. Without sparing a single moment, Runaan planted his foot on Deimos' wrist and brought the tip of his sword forward until it rested against his throat.

There he stood. He panted slowly, his chest heaving as he pressed the tip of his sword against Deimos' skin. His eyes bore into Deimos', staring into the depths of fear within his gray irises. Deimos' eyes were wide and unbelieving as Runaan stood over him, his weapon pointed at his throat.

One move. One move made the difference between life and death. But this time, the decision wasn't Deimos'. It was Runaan's.

"You… you wouldn't dare," Deimos' voice shook. Runaan's eyes narrowed. Though Deimos was desperately trying to hide behind his mask of authority, his voice was not the voice of someone with cold certainty. His voice was that of a terrified man, who knew his life rested on another's choice.

"You're right." Runaan finally spoke. "I won't." After one final heartbeat, he lifted his sword from Deimos' neck. "Because I'm not a coward, like you."

Runaan stepped back as Deimos rolled onto his hands and knees, rubbing his neck and eyeing Runaan venomously. Runaan met his glare evenly, but he allowed his weary shoulders and arms to relax. Runaan knew Deimos understood that he had been beaten. He would not attempt to continue the fight. Because he knew, if he even tried to retrieve his sword from where it lay across the field, he would be back on the ground with Runaan's sword at his throat once more.

"WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?" A voice suddenly resounded from the edge of the training field. All five elves turned to see Lady Luna running down to the field, her flowing robes billowing out behind her. She was followed by several other Moonshadow elves, who gasped as they beheld the sight before them. Instinctively, Tiadrin, Lain, and Ethari immediately ran to their friend's side. Runaan spared a glance at Ethari. Ethari met his eyes, a whirlwind of emotions in his gaze. Runaan pressed his lips together, then nodded to him, assuring him he was alright.

Luna's assessing gaze surveyed the elves in the field, drawing in a sharp breath when her eyes found the cut on Runaan's cheek. Her gaze then flicked to Deimos, who had stood up, holding his side.

"What is this?!" She questioned the elves. "What has happened here?!"

"Swordsmanship training, my lady." Deimos quickly answered before any of the four could speak. All of their heads whipped around, staring at him. His mask of cool authority was back on his face, and he stood tall and dignified. "It got a little out of hand. My apologies."

Runaan stared disbelievingly at him. Deimos met his eyes, his gray irises flashing, as if in warning. Runaan realized what he was doing. He was playing off their 'little fight', as to try to get Runaan to play along, trying to lessen the trouble they were in. Runaan clenched his teeth angrily.

Luna didn't fall for Deimos' guise, either. "It doesn't look like normal swordsmanship training to me!" She gestured to Runaan. "He's been wounded! That is extremely bad for just 'training'!" Her gaze moved to Ethari. "And what about him? He doesn't train with you, anymore!"

"He was making sure Runaan's new sword was in proper condition, my lady, that's all." Runaan wanted to gag at the fakeness of Deimos' voice. Ethari, too, faced Deimos, taken aback.

Lady Luna's gaze hardened. Her silver eyes searched the faces of the elves before her. Behind her, the other villagers gathered, speaking in hushed, uneasy tones as Luna stared at the elves.

"Runaan," She spoke after a minute of thought. "What really happened here?"

Runaan blinked. Despite how skeptical Luna clearly was about Deimos' words, he was shocked that she turned to him for his side of the story. Luna had known Deimos for years, and though they were not friends, they had mutual respect for each other. Runaan's brow furrowed as he glanced at Tiadrin.

Tiadrin met his gaze. After a moment, she nodded ever so slightly. Runaan looked at Lain. Lain locked eyes with him, resolve covering his face. Finally, Runaan glanced back to Deimos.

Deimos pursed his lips as Runaan looked at him. He looked back almost daringly, his dust gray eyes unreadable. For a moment, Runaan was unsure. He didn't know what to do.

Then, he remembered Ethari looking at him, heartbreak in his eyes after the fire that had destroyed his forge was smothered by the rain. He remembered the empty hollowness in his eyes as he told Runaan he was fine, when in reality, he was so, so hurt inside. He remembered Ethari sobbing onto his shoulder in the middle of the night, because the last memory of his family had been taken from him forever.

Runaan pressed his lips into a thin line, resolution in his eyes. He knew what he had to do. It was now or never.

"It's true we were swordfighting here," Runaan spoke loud enough for everyone to hear. The elves hushed as they listened to his words. "But we were not training. I was confronting him. Because I discovered the truth."

Deimos' eyes widened as Runaan stepped forward, in the view of all the villagers of the Silvergrove. "The fire that burned down the forge of the Master Craftsman… it was no accident!"

The elves gasped loudly. Luna's silver eyes widened, her mouth falling open. Ethari looked like he had just been struck. He inhaled sharply when Runaan's words sank in.

"The fire was purposefully set alight that night," Runaan continued. "And the person who committed that horrible crime…" Runaan raised his arm, and with almost agonizing slowness, pointed at Deimos, whose eyes widened as Runaan glared at him savagely, "was Deimos."

This will be the LAST cliffhanger, I promise you. Believe me, leaving you guys on edge like this hurts me more than it hurts you.

… Okay, so maybe it doesn't.

HOWEVER,

I will tell y'all now, that next chapter is going to be a BIG one. Like, BIG big. Prepare your socks, my friends, because they're going to be blown all the way across the world!

See you all next week! Bye bye!

~TheMistDragon