After some final parting words, Asterix left Bobbo in the care of Pact medics who had the time to spare between the other patients they tended. A chopper would arrive very soon at the main camp, and bring the bear back on his way home under the promise and guidance of a Vigil beastmaster, who also carried the letter written for Margrit Strolfdottir. Not by Asterix, but by someone else who translated his words into New Krytan writing. Asterix promised himself he would learn the calligraphy and be able to read it without help as soon as this war was over.

Now that he was a member of the Pact, it was high time to learn what they were all about. Fortunately, Blademaw was able to get him up to speed quickly.

The Pact was comprised of three different orders: the Durmand Priory, the Order of Whispers, and the Vigil. Their means and goals were the same: the defeat of the Elder Dragons and ending their reign of terror. Their way of achieving those goals, however, were different. The Priory sought knowledge of the past to learn as much about the dragons as they could. Meanwhile, the Order of Whispers was secretive, but masterful at obtaining information through infiltration and spy work. And finally, the Vigil used a more direct approach, relying on strength and numbers to vanquish their foes.

It was this vast variation that made the collaboration work so well.

The Vigil, which was the order Captain Blademaw served under, was now Asterix's order too. He was only a simple recruit right now, but he was given provisions and the proper attire: the armor of a fallen asura soldier that fit his frame like a glove. Considering that the previous owner was killed in the crash, the military outfit was stained with some blood, dirt and burn marks, but Asterix was not someone to complain about any of that.

It was made from tough dark-grey colored leather that was flexible enough to not restrain his movement. The top concealed his neck with a turtleneck-like black cloth, and his arms remained mostly bare. The single gauntlet—the left one went missing—and the boots were adorned with a somewhat lighter colored metal trim, both perhaps for visual appeal, but more likely to make them more durable. A steel shoulderplate and his usual winged iron helmet finished the new look, and protected him further from harm. It was a huge upgrade from his thin wool clothing which he still wore underneath. Just so he didn't need to carry them around instead, or even ditch them entirely. His red breeches were the only thing still visible under the armor, but even they were well concealed underneath the leather padding. He had enough to carry, especially considering the brand new glider he accepted from the Itzel after all.

He still had his own weapons, but for the sake of staying safely in the back and out of harm's way as a fresh recruit, he was given a standard-issue rifle. The concept of the thing fascinated him. He remembered seeing them in the skritt den back when he was with Liliwen in the Caledon Forest, but now he got to see one up close and personal. It was just like his revolver and accepted similar ammunition, but it was much larger and heavier, with an elongated muzzle. Instead of holding it in one hand, he had to rest the butt of the weapon against his shoulder and keep it aloft, one hand on the trigger and the other on the fore-end to balance it out. A small telescope on top allowed him to peer through to accurately single out a target, and the crosshair inside the visor assisted in making his aim more true. It was something he greatly appreciated.

A few practice shots and he quickly learned the proper hold for the rifle. He rubbed his shoulder again, still sore from learning his lesson the hard way. And according to Blademaw, the best way. His new squad mates fully agreed with her and laughed when he got knocked back by the powerful recoil of the blast, but they were friendly enough to pick him back up and let him try again until he got it right.

Then, they were off, heading south once more. This time, it was to face Mordremoth. He was eager to punch the lizard in the face, but knew it was going to take much more than that to kill it. Magic potion may not even be enough. They needed an army, after all. The squad of nearly two dozen members was making good distance. And there were many more squads ahead that they would soon join, who were scouting ahead and collecting information to use against the dragon.

"You have to admit he has either lot of determination, or he has a warped sense of reality," the asuran engineer said to his norn teammate. "Emergency recruitment happens quite often, but he volunteered before anyone even asked."

That norn was someone that Asterix remembered from when he and Bohan first came to the first Pact encampment. He threatened him with his flaming sword when they pushed his sylvari friend to the ground. He wondered if the norn remembered that. "He doesn't know what he's up against," that norn, a hulk of a warrior in heavy armor and with a bushy brown beard and mustache, replied back to the asura at his side. "I'm betting gold on him chickening out after this is all over."

"You expect him to survive?"

"Shhh, don't say that out loud."

"I can hear you from here, you know," a disgruntled Asterix called out from behind at the two. "This some kind of initiation ritual? Pick on the newbie to toughen him up?"

The engineer laughed, turning his head around to gaze at the new recruit behind him. "Just saying, you chose one of the worst times to be recruited into the Pact, is all."

"I know. We're fighting a dragon," the Gaul retorted. "I'm not stupid. I know what we're up against."

"Then you'll know it only gets much worse from here. So make sure you stay near us and watch our backs. We're trained individuals; we'll protect you as best we can."

"Might be you protecting others one day, if you live," the norn added. "It's up to you."

"What do you mean, it's up to me?"

"It's because of the Emergency Voluntary Recruitment Policy," said the asura. "As the name implies, after the war is over, and assuming you'll still be alive by then, you get to choose if you want to stay with the Vigil to train and become a full member of the order or not."

Asterix nodded at the explanation. He supposed it made sense. It was not like Rome, who would conscript besides recruit… Didn't really matter to the empire how it got bodies, as long as it kept getting them to further its agenda. Here though, the choice was left to him. The goal was liberation, not conquest. He would have to think hard about that one, but at the moment, sticking around after the war didn't sound very appealing.

"Noted. But no need to keep reminding me of my survival chances, okay?"

The engineer nodded. "Fair enough. Our point has been made."

"Less talking, more walking," Blademaw growled at the chattering crowd. They all quieted down fast.

Asterix didn't like to be reminded of the very possible chance that he might die in the war. He didn't really care. If he was going to go out, he would go out having done something useful.

'I've made my choice,' he thought to himself. 'I'm going to commit to it.'

He didn't have much time to get to know the others before they started 'rolling' out. A few were worthy of note; eight sylvari Pact members were in this group. They were strong-willed and trusted soldiers with no intention to give in to the Elder Dragon, his captain noted. They were indeed different. They even dressed differently. Each of them carrying rifles like he did, they were hooded and wore cloaks, except for just…one, who looked like a regular Vigil soldier. Their mysterious aura was a little concerning. However, they were men and women who, despite everything, understood how difficult it was for both themselves and their non-sylvan comrades, and would gladly stand down for the sake of preventing further conflict, if so asked.

Some sylvari did stand down and went home – understanding they were the weak link in the Pact that Mordremoth could exploit. Asterix had already witnessed how easily that could happen, unfortunately, making him wish he had called off the old mission before it was too late and saved at least one. These Sylvari, however, took the beast's attacks on Tyria, and their mother tree in particular, deeply personal. They refused to listen to the dragon's calls, and were hell-bent on seeing its defeat, one way or another. Some still contemplated, however. What would become of their kind if they killed their creator? It was a sad and worrisome thought, however one that had little priority.

It didn't matter to them if they went down with it. If that wasn't going to win over the trust of everyone else, nothing would.

After a long afternoon of marching, a late summer twilight colored the sky a dazzling red and orange.

The smell and scars of war were being left behind them, the land turning more lush and undisturbed as they pressed on, replacing pockmarks and crevices with beautiful flora and light-brown stone canyons. They were leaving the initial battlefield. Asterix stopped only a moment to turn his head and take a look at what was behind him now. The Pact's ship graveyard and the vine-growth of Mordremoth were both still present, but only in the far distance. He had no doubt that there would still be plenty of dragon minions to fight, and hoped the Itzel villagers would be alright back there.

Once the squad had found itself nearby a large cavern in the canyon wall, they all slowed down in response to their captain stopping in place. Asterix, in a tired daze, found himself nearly colliding into the norn in front before realizing he had come to a halt.

The captain gazed into the dark throat of the cavern, pondering. It was overgrown with plant life, moss and vines crawling along the walls and ground. Her four ears were perked forward, listening for sounds in the cave, but nothing caught her keen hearing. After a short pause, she turned her head toward the squad's lieutenant, her second-in-command.

"What do you think?" she asked.

"Might make a good place to rest," the lieutenant, a human woman, replied. "Let's get some people to scout the cave. Make sure it's clear and has enough room for all of us."

"Very well. Some oil and a lighter to make torches." Blademaw turned to the squad and snarled. "Gaul, to me!"

The name startled Asterix, but he recognized it as his own. That was the reason he chose it after all – he knew he would remember it. This proved that it worked. "Sir," he answered, approaching his captain quickly as he put pace in his step. He didn't want to keep her waiting. The other soldiers helped him along by stepping aside as he approached. Blademaw looked at him and gave him an approving grin.

"You still got that match of yours?"

Match…? "Oh." Asterix gave his sword's scabbard a quick pat. "Yeah, I still have it."

"Very good. Let's see it."

Obeying the order without question, he pulled the sword out to demonstrate its ability. But then, there was no response. The blade was not lighting itself like it used to. After waiting a few more seconds without the sword answering his touch, his brow furrowed with concern. Did it finally run out? He really hoped not. Not in the middle of this while everyone was watching.

And watch they did. Eagerly awaiting what was so special about that sword. He was supposed to give everyone his best first impressions.

"What's wrong?" the captain began to question.

"Just hold on… sir," Asterix said nervously, deciding to try passing the sword to his other hand. It suddenly set itself ablaze, leaving the Gaul relieved but dumbfounded, until he deduced it must have been the leather glove on his other hand that was denying true contact with the blade's handle. The wings on his helm perked up at the new discovery, glad to learn he just found a way to handle it more safely.

"Sorry. It's working now."

In record time, they fashioned makeshift torches, using the Gaul's sword as the ignition. Two were enough. No need spending more resources. They were each passed to a soldier who volunteered to scout the area. A norn woman and the asuran engineer he had talked with briefly before.

"Think you can handle your first mission, recruit?" Blademaw began, "Go with these two into the cave and check if it's safe to set up camp. Your sword will be your lamp. All you have to do is stay close to them and use your eyes."

"Yessir."

His first mission… it was hardly worth calling it that. But he realized that the captain was merely trying to ease him into the new role. While he appreciated that sentiment, he felt that he was at least capable of something a bit…harder? Army life wasn't supposed to be easy.

…No. What's he thinking? This isn't some game. Any task here is important.

Slowly, each volunteer entered the cavity, with Asterix at the rear. The cavern got dark quickly, but the fire lit the way. Small lizards and insects were crawling along the walls, but they were all that was noteworthy about the place. A cave was probably one of the safest things here, provided nothing else chose to make it its home.

"Are you holding up back there?" the asura asked.

"I'm fine. You really don't have to baby me," Asterix replied, a bit of a tired but unbothered tone to his voice.

"Alright. Just checking."

Soon, they entered a large space. It was big enough to shelter the entire squad, for sure. There was no ceiling; instead the walls reached high up and abruptly ended in splinters somewhere along the way, revealing a star-littered, dusky sky. It took a moment for them to realize the cave was actually an ancient great tree, the only evidence of its existence the petrified bark that shaped the great hall-like room. There were several different entries from this place, but nothing that couldn't be barricaded.

The asuran engineer planted his torch between the rocks near the entrance they came from, just so they wouldn't get lost looking for the right one after thoroughly examining the room. "Let's split and each search a section of the area," he said, taking point. "I'll check the floor. You two each search half of the walls."

"Roger," the other replied.

Asterix also nodded. 'Roger', an interesting affirmation.

As ordered, he examined the fossilized walls closely, finding them coated with densely packed foliage that crawled up as high as it could. Strange, oddly straight-looking branches poked out between them, always in pairs of two. They had no leaves. Here and there, a strange, vibrant crimson half-leaf lined with knife-shaped lobes poked out between the otherwise green vines.

"It looks safe," the second scout remarked after investigating her half of the area. "Some weird plants, that's it. Nobody see anything out of the ordinary?"

The asura nudged a small rock around across the dirt with his boot, huffing. "Nothing alive... Just some bones, but otherwise I didn't find anything."

"I need a second opinion," Asterix said. He pointed out the walls as he did. "Am I paranoid, or do the red leaves look suspicious?"

Then, with shocking accuracy, the engineer kicked the rock, launching it against one of the red leaves growing on the wall. It rustled along with the vines nearby it. They waited for a response with bated breath. When there was still nothing, the norness shot a reluctant, annoyed look at the other two.

"Really?"she asked.

The asura shrugged. "Yes, really. He's right. Remember, even the poppies here could conspire to kill us."

"Well, there was nothing, so we're good, right?" She turned her head to Asterix. "You good too?"

"Yeah, I'm good."

"Then let's report back."

Once the campfire got going, the promise of a proper warm meal was delivered by the cooks of the squad. Steamed potatoes and a slab of well-done meat for each member. When one of them passed a plate to Asterix, he warned with a toothy snarl not to get used to it. Unfortunately he already was. None of it was seasoned, making the meal just as bland as the ration bars he still kept stored in his backpack. Yet, once more, he wasn't going to complain. The meal was warm and it filled well.

The entire squad was now stationed out inside the hollow tree, every exit well-barricaded, with the one they entered from marked with several stones stacked on each other. Torches were planted along the walls, lighting the place well and proper.

A sylvari was speaking, describing points of interest on a map to a small group of people, who listened with great interest.

"Scouts who went ahead have reported strange structures ahead of us to the south. Architecture and a material like nothing we've ever seen," said the sylvari soldier. The same one that was Vigil, and wasn't wearing funny clothes. The armor he wore was similar to that of Asterix, made of grey leather, but it was a complete set. Cactus spines for hair were an interesting variation he hadn't seen before. "We should reach them tomorrow and tell if we can make any use of them."

The asura engineer from before pitched in, curious about the sylvari's statements. "I bet the Priory will be all over that, if they haven't already," he said as he used his fork to squash the potatoes on his plate into a mush. Perhaps he liked them more that way. "I wouldn't mind examining them myself. But what if something lives there?"

Asterix stayed quiet. He didn't feel like talking with anyone, but listened in anyway while he used an old rag of cloth and some water to clean the burnt stains from his sword's blade. Now that he knew how to keep it from lighting itself, he noticed how poorly he had been treating it. The blade was blackened with not just how much he let it burn, but it smelled, too. Considering how often it met the flesh of a living thing, and as a result smoldered that flesh and blood… how often it hit the ground and got caked with dirt... it was really not a surprise. The scabbard was going to need an inside cleaning as well eventually.

He quietly went on with his task while he listened to them talking, eating, laughing… Slowly, the noise turned into a blur.

"If they're friendly, good for us," the norn warrior joked, also part of the conversation. The great lout shot a quick glance at Asterix, who was fully immersed in his self-assigned sword cleaning duty. "Isn't that right, recruit?"

When he didn't answer the first time, the Gaul was given only the slightest of a nudge. But from a norn, it felt like a push. With his concentration broken, he turned around and glared daggers at the norn. "What?"

"Whoa there, easy. Why the sour look little man?"

Before anything else happened, the sylvari cut in quickly to relieve the tension. "Let him be, Olaf. He had a rough week."

With a pang of shame, Asterix withdrew further into himself and turned away. "I'm sorry. It's just…" He stared down at the reflection of his sword, nearly clean and barely with any imperfections. His face, however, was far from that. He looked very tired, and his skin had small cuts and bruises from the struggles. He looked just like them, but far more bitter. That bitterness didn't suit him.

He continued to clean the sword. "I'll get over it."

"Don't worry about it kid," Olaf replied back. "Take your time."

"Yeah…"

The charr captain suddenly stood up, and immediately she had everyone's attention. "It's time to rest. Who will be on the first night watch tonight?"

For a moment, Asterix awaited to see who was going to volunteer first. When three seconds passed without a noise, it had already passed the point of awkwardness for him. "I will," he spoke up between the crowd before someone else did. He figured he may as well. "If you'll let me, sir."

"The recruit, eh?" Blademaw grinned. "So you would rather wait until the newbie responds out of politeness? Shame on you all."

It took a while for Asterix to realize that the captain wasn't mocking him, but everyone else. The humored chatter among the soldiers proved it. The next realization that dawned on him was that his confusion was probably a product of his long lack of sleep. He may have made a mistake in that regard…

"Fine then. I'll make the choice myself," the captain continued, thereby declining Asterix's offer, much to his relief. She pointed a claw down at the asura beside him. "Snagg, it's your turn. Gaul, you can do as many night watches you want, after you get rid of those bags under your eyes."

Alerted by the words, Asterix immediately took a hand to his face and felt for his eyes. Oh…it's that bad, huh?

"We will reconcile with the rest of the army in two days if circumstances allow us. Get plenty of rest. We're moving out again at dawn."

As some unpacked their sleeping bags for the night, the Gaul couldn't help but notice that the sylvari from earlier had decided to spread his sleeping bag beside him. He still didn't want to talk, but from the corner of his eye he could see the man taking short glances at him. He didn't want to make the guy feel like he didn't like him, just for being a sylvari.

"Hey… can I ask something?" Asterix began with slight hesitation. The sylvari looked up at him again with an expression of curiosity. A wide-eyed and almost child-like one. Immediately, Asterix wasn't so sure about it anymore.

"Sure, what is it?" he asked.

"…No, maybe not," the Gaul retorted, looking away and spreading out his own sleeping bag for the night. "I don't know how to ask this without sounding like I don't trust you."

But then, the sylvari just laughed. "It's okay. I want you to be able to trust me. That means asking the tough questions, too." Olaf was taking notice of the conversation, who was also nearby them, spreading his sleeping bag out as well. With a nod he let the sylvari know he was listening, but would remain quiet.

There was some truth to what the sylvari was saying. After what had happened, the Gaul still really wanted to know.

"Well… does…does the dragon, you know… speak to you?"

The sylvari nodded his head without hesitation. "All the time." The answer sent a dreadful chill down the Gaul's spine. Then, the sylvari turned and looked at the other members around him, seeing the other sylvari grouped together, settling in for the night. "It talks to every one of us."

"What does it say?"

"It gives us orders," he answered. "It tells us to kill and betray, but…"

That was all Asterix needed to know. "But you won't," he said, reassuring both the sylvari and himself.

"Yes. We won't," the sylvan man repeated, looking back at the Gaul and lighting up, a small smile visible on his face. "Sometimes, it's like a whisper on the wind. Other times the voice makes my head hurt."

Then the Gaul looked at the other sylvari as well.

"What about them?"

"Them? I'm not sure if they experience it the same way as I do," the Vigil sylvari admitted. "I think everyone does differently, but I know they are strong soldiers. They mean well. Don't worry. If it becomes too much for one of us, we will let you know."

Asterix smiled back, nodding. "Thank you."

"Listen," the leafy man continued, "I heard of what happened with you and your friends. I'm deeply sorry for your loss… I know you wanted to ask this, because of that."

Although it still felt like a touchy subject for him, the Gaul nodded quietly. "No time for grieving. Right now, I'm here to avenge them."

"I'm glad to see you have your priorities in order, despite everything." The sylvari smiled again, more obvious this time.

But then, the air around them filled with the sound of alert. Everyone immediately interrupted their routine and reached for their weapons. Everyone except for their only recruit, surprised by the suddenness of it all.

"Mordrem! In the walls!" Blademaw cried out, drawing her greatsword from her back.

Mordrem? But…they double checked! How did they not see them?

The red leaves… they shook. Pale heads began to poke out between the foliage in the walls. The strangely paired branched moved and lashed out.

He wanted to go for his sword for familiarity, but decided against it and chose the rifle instead, remembering that the Vigil gave him this weapon because he was currently the most vulnerable. Not something that he was glad to admit, but everyone else around him was far more experienced, evident by how much faster they reacted than him. He quickly checked the rifle's barrel, finding that it had plenty of ammunition for now.

Between the clatter of weapons making contact with flesh, and the crying of both monster and soldier, he saw the blurry vision of a beast biting down into the arm of a teammate, shaking its head violently and ripping flesh. He couldn't even see the poor man's face. It was just red all around, mixed with yelling and crying. Gods… it was his fault. Another was about to impale a soldier, when someone else came to their aid and slugged the beast's head with her mace.

He recognized these cries... A sound that felt as unpleasant as it did alarming. Something was not right. When the enemy finally fully revealed itself to him, he froze in distress.

It was the sight of a creature so hideous and terrible, it could never leave his memory. Not even if someone struck him in the head with a cudgel. He remembered the thick, strong horns curling around its bare skull. The tiny, three pairs of beady eyes that gazed with only a lust for blood. The crimson frills, decorating its arched back – the strange red leaves... The third set of spiked limbs that loomed over its canine form like folded wings, yet dangerously aimed forward like lances – the pairs of branches. Skin armed with bark and bone.

But there was not one. It was an entire pack of them, climbing their way out of the holes in the walls and facing off against the squad.

At that very moment, something snapped in his mind. He couldn't move, as though his joints all locked up at once. He couldn't even press his finger down on his rifle's trigger. His eyes were wide and he himself was oblivious of his own body trembling and turning pale. Oblivious of everything, except for those teragriff. Visions of a past bloodshed filled his head as he recalled the beast from back then.

Seeing these creatures again, up close and personal, he felt dreadful, hollow, and frozen. At the same time, he was burning. Burning with panic and despair. What's happening? His instincts fully had abandoned him; he was supposed to fight, but he couldn't. His heart pounded so hard that he felt it vibrate in his entire body like an earthquake, and have a loudness alike of thunder, pacing at several laboring beats in a second. His lungs worked just as fast, and he quickly found himself gasping to keep up. He realized that he was hyperventilating. This is unhealthy. Snap out of it!

Then, from the corner of his eye, he saw one of the creatures approach him between all the chaos.

He turned to look at it, fully honed in on the animal. That thing shouldn't be approaching him! No, no, no no no… A desperate cry slipped out of him.

"No!"

He could already imagine its jaws clamping down into his frame. Already feel the warm gusts of wind blowing on him from its flaring nostrils. He glanced down: he wasn't standing on dry, cracked ground anymore, but grass. He saw his sword – his old, shattered sword. It was in his hands, golden blood dripping off the broken, sharp edge of the metal. That moment of hopelessness. It felt so suffocating, and he couldn't help but tremble. A thought, a twisted thought, crossed his mind.

Maybe he'll wake up again after dying. It happened before.

And suddenly he realized that indeed, he might. His corpse could be taken and recycled by the Elder Dragon, no less. And his will would stop being his own. He would stop being him.

No. I won't allow that to happen... I refuse!

That very thought allowed him to break out of his stupor, and suddenly fury filled his eyes. The jungle was back. The rifle too was back in his arms, primed and ready to fire. The soldiers around him had returned, fighting off the animals. One by one the teragriff dropped, but so were Vigil soldiers. It was a bloodbath.

The creature lunged at him, roaring, and while Asterix aimed the rifle, he pressed the trigger. The recoil took him by surprise, again, already having forgotten how to handle the damned thing properly. The bullet brushed past the creature, and missed entirely. Thankfully, Olaf intervened before the teragriff could catch him.

"Watch out!" he shouted. His battle axe caught the teragriff's maw, but the animal's spear-like arm reeled back and thrust itself into the man's shoulder. The norn cried out, but he didn't falter.

All Asterix could do with look on with shock. He saw the blood creep out under Olaf's armor, dripping down across his back. The norn turned his head and looked back at him, a grin spread on his face.

"Promised we'd protect you," Olaf said, and suddenly, he shoved his own weight forward and tackled the beast, all while its sharp limb was still lodged into him.

The Gaul quickly got back on his feet, but before he could muster himself and aid the norn, Asterix heard a familiar sound coming from behind him; that of a growl that was far too close for his liking. He spun around quickly, and saw another teragriff not far from him. It was the one who had just murdered a man, its maw and neck stained red. This time, he wasn't going to make the same mistake.

When the beast came at him, he dodged its spear-arms by rolling forward, sending himself face-to-face with the animal, and shoved the rifle's muzzle in its mouth. The teragriff shut its jaws on the metal pipe, but he couldn't care less. Darksteel was much stronger than the brittle iron his old sword was made of. An offhanded apology he paid in his mind to Fulliautomatix, but it was true.

The beast attempted to press onward, dragging the Gaul with it, but all it did was push the rifle further in. While his back scraped across the ground, distancing him further from everyone else at the center of the clearing, he shouted out and repeatedly pressed the trigger until all he heard was clicking. The blasts were loud and the fire bellowed out from the teragriff's maw, confirming that he was doing damage.

Finally, the animal's rampage stopped. The beast made a loud gurgle and bled all over, and its weight toppled over him before he could pull and shake his rifle free out of its throat. With a shock, he heard the ground somehow snap underneath him and give out under the combined weight of his own and the animal's.

And down they both fell.