I just realized that Galleous still doesn't know Ingressus's name. Oops. I meant to do that before now.

Ingressus didn't just take Galleous's word for it. He snuck around the forge again that night, inspecting the various nooks and crannies that the daylight had revealed. He even draped a blanket over his markings and risked creeping up to the cave entrance, in case Galleous might have Voltar hidden away up there. But there was no sign of it. Nor had any weapons appeared in any of the chests. He tucked away some extra food, and nabbed some supplies for making his salvaged blade into a more practical weapon. All the while, his thoughts were on what he would do.

He missed home so badly, missed the mountains and the snow, the silence that descended during a gentle snowfall, nights spent huddled together with his friends and family around the fire. He missed sparring with them, missed the hunting competitions to see who could catch the biggest game. He missed cocooning under a blanket with the other children to ward off the cold as they listened to the stories that Gyarus would tell them as the sun went down. He would give anything to go back, back to the mountains, back to before the raid. But he couldn't, could he? Gyarus was gone, the other children were gone, his father was gone. He was the only one left.

Ingressus blinked hard as tears blurred his vision, swiping roughly at his face to wipe them away.

The mountains were home. Ingressus knew they shouldn't be, knew that they were harsh and unforgiving, as much prison for his clan as sanctuary. But he couldn't help it. The Barrier Mountains were the only place he'd ever known. The thought of never seeing them again was… it was like someone was trying to pull his already-aching heart from his chest.

But if returning would lead raiders to his people… if that was why he had been spared… then he couldn't go back.

With this, you are now Master of the Voltaris clan.

But how could he stay away? What kind of Master would he be if he didn't even try to go back to his people? He was supposed to help them, to keep them safe, to find them safe places to make camp and to plan supply raids and defense patrols and do everything his father had done, and he wasn't sure he could do all that but how could he just do nothing?

And then there was the matter of Voltar. Ingressus hadn't been able to search Galleous's room yet; he wasn't sure when he would get that chance. If Galleous didn't have it, if it had been lost in the ocean– well, it wouldn't be the first time the Master staff had been lost to the clan. There had been a couple times that raiders had killed a Master and stolen Voltar as a spoil of war. A Master staff would always find its way back to its clan, though. Voltar had every other time, even if it took years. Ingressus knew it would this time, too, wherever it had ended up, whether or not he was capable of bringing it back. But could he lead without it?

It wasn't like he had no right to the position without the staff. His father had named him Master; his word was enough for Ingressus to succeed him. But what could he really do for his clan? The other groups had gotten by just fine without his father being there with them every day. A Master could only be in one place at once, but that hadn't stopped other groups from getting by without their constant presence. The memories Voltar held were a guide to its wielders, but it wasn't like a clan was doomed if they were without it for a while. The Voltaris especially were tough; they would always find a way to survive. Ingressus would need its guidance if he returned, but his clan wouldn't.

Ingressus pulled his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around them. His clan… didn't need him.

The thought hurt more than he would've guessed. Maybe he'd wanted to honor his father's last act. Maybe he had wanted to believe there was a reason fate had spared him when so many others had been lost. Maybe he had wanted a reason to have to go back home, to attempt the journey despite the risk.

Ingressus laid his head on his knees. He remembered the mountains, calling up the memory of their camp, of Sorays and Isanor and Tamera and Sinaran and everyone else, and his father crouching before him and resting a hand on his shoulder, telling him wherever you go, whatever life throws at us, never forget how much I love you.

Ingressus swallowed past the lump in his throat. I'll never forget you, Dad.

He thought of the rest of his clan, of the handful of Voltaris outside his group that he'd met and the others that were scattered through the mountain range. The rest of his clan was still out there, and that knowledge would have to be enough. Voltar would return to them, one way or the other, and would find someone worthy of wielding it and taking up the mantle he couldn't.

If this is all I can do for you, then I'll do it, he thought, a sad resolve settling over him. I'll stay away. I won't lead them to you.

Ingressus lay down on the bed, his tears soaking into the pillow beneath him.

Ingressus was running. Something was behind him, following him– or was he trying to get somewhere? There was only a thin layer of snow but it felt like it was deeper, slowing him down as he inched along. Something was tangled around his leg, that was weird, but it didn't really matter. The sky was shimmering with color, the northern lights dancing and waving so close above the mountain peaks that they sparked and shimmered around his hand when he reached up to them.

He rounded a boulder and he was in his camp. Gyarus was sitting on a boulder, the children huddled around him as he gestured intently, deeply immersed in his tale. Sinaran and Isanor were cooking something over the fire, and his father—

Ingressus ran and threw himself into his dad's arms, and Dominus pulled him into the hug and held him close. Ingressus wrapped his arms around his father in turn, clinging to him like nothing could ever pry him away. It was all how it should be, how it was supposed to be, there was nothing to ruin it all—

And then there was blue, blue where there should be only red. Ingressus turned and cried out a muted scream as he saw the ruins, the blackened markings, the ashes of all he had loved. He ran to help, diamond blade in hand but something pulled him back, a faceless Sendaris dragging him away from his people. Ingressus swung Voltar at him but a shining blade of diamond blocked the strike and the weapon splintered in his grip. Ingressus yanked at his arm, trying to pull free, but his captor dragged him further away, snarling something at him. Ingressus yelled and hurled a punch at the blue Ardoni—

And then he sat up with a cry, his heart racing in his chest. He ran his hands over his arms, there was nothing there, no one had him. It was a dream, just a dream, he wasn't there.

His hand hurt. Ingressus flexed his fingers, wondering what that was about. It was nothing compared to his foot but, at least. But why was there a blue light over…?

Ingressus turned his head, already knowing what it might be. Galleous was on the floor, one hand held to his cheek. His eye was half-closed, only a narrow line of blue shining between the lids. His other eye was on Ingressus.

Oh no. Oh no, oh no. What would Galleous do?

"Are we awake now?" Galleous asked.

Ingressus just nodded, too afraid to speak. What if Galleous had decided he wasn't worth keeping alive anymore?

He summoned his blade to his hand, gripping it tightly and hiding it against his leg. He wasn't a helpless victim, he could defend himself if Galleous made a move, if he aimed right he could finish it before Galleous could end him–

"Want to talk about it?"

Ingressus shook his head. Galleous got to his feet but kept his distance. "Goodnight, then."

He turned and walked for the exit, but paused and glanced back.

"You're safe here, kid, I promise."

And he was gone. Ingressus stared after him, then scrambled up and grabbed his crutch. He limped after Galleous, setting the staff down as silently as he could with each step. A yellow-white light appeared from Galleous's room and Ingressus limped closer, lingering just behind the wall. He'd guessed that Galleous would have hidden the weapons in there, was he going to return with a sword to finish him off?

He heard a creak from inside Galleous's room. That… that didn't sound like a chest…

He risked a glance around the wall. Galleous was sitting on his bed, no weapons in sight. He prodded at his nose gingerly, then studied his fingers. Ingressus thought he saw a hint of something dark staining them. Blood.

Nether. Void and Nether, I'm done. I made him bleed. I made him bleed.

Galleous stood again, making for a chest by the bed. Ingressus readied his blade, recalling all the training he'd had with a sword or a dagger. His reach was short, even shorter than a dagger, so he would need to get in close…

But when Galleous stood again and closed the chest, he held only a pale cloth in his hand. Ingressus ducked behind the wall again as the Sendaris turned around, then peeked out as the bed creaked again. Galleous was sitting on the bed with the cloth held to his nose, leaning forward to rest his elbow on his knees. Ingressus waited for him to bring out a weapon, a sword or a mace or a spear. But Galleous just sat there, holding the cloth to his nose and checking it every once in a while. Songs, what was he waiting for?

After a long time, Galleous set the cloth down. Ingressus tensed as he brought out something that caught the light, but he just wrapped the ice in a fresh cloth and held it to his face.

Ingressus's leg was starting to get stiff but he didn't dare move, didn't dare take his eyes off Galleous. It wasn't like he could run; his foot could still barely take his weight and the crutch was too slow, and Ataraxia was completely unfamiliar territory to him. Galleous had no need to hurry– that must be it, he was taking his time because Ingressus had nowhere to go. Ingressus had to be ready, had to get in his strike before Galleous could get him.

Again Galleous moved. Again Ingressus prepared to hide, to dodge, to stab. But Galleous just tossed the ice back in the chest and flicked the lever to turn off the lamp. Ingressus edged back but kept his eyes on Galleous's blue glow as the Sendaris did nothing but lie down in his bed and pull a blanket over him, curling up under the fabric with a long exhale.

Ingressus wanted to scream. He wanted to barge in and demand to know what Galleous was going to do to him. He wanted to shake his rescuer-captor-savior-manipulator until the truth fell out and all the uncertainty ended, until something happened already!

But he did nothing, just waited and watched in stillness and silence. Galleous did nothing either, only shifting in his bed every once in a while and sending Ingressus's fears sky-high every time. Before long the Sendaris's breathing turned into snores, but still Ingressus didn't move. It could be a trick, like everything else could be a trick. But he was wavering, his leg going numb and his fingers losing feeling from the crutch pressing into his armpit.

He slowly backed away, backed through the forge, backed inch by inch into his cave (as if it was really his, as if it weren't as much part of Galleous's cave as anywhere else, as if there was any safety to be offered him there). Should he run? Gather up all the supplies that he could and leave the forge? Take his chances with the floating islands and the Ataraxians and the endless lands of Ardonia that held dangers he didn't know? Surely he had no other choice!

But if Galleous wanted to kill him, why would he go back to bed? Had he noticed Ingressus watching him? Did he want Ingressus to think he was safe, to lull him into a false sense of security?

He said he wouldn't hurt me. He said I was safe.

But that had been before Ingressus had attacked him. Before he had repaid the favor of being woken from a nightmare by punching Galleous in the face.

Assuming he was even waking you. Assuming he wasn't there to kill you in your sleep.

But he wouldn't have left again if he'd been there to kill Ingressus. He would've just finished him then and there, especially after Ingressus had given him a reason to.

"If I wanted you dead, I didn't have to fish you out of the water."

But that was then. Anything could have changed his mind. Ingressus had stolen from him, maybe he had noticed. Maybe he did have Voltar or his father's sword, and had realized Ingressus would indeed be looking for them and hadn't just assumed they were lost. Maybe by asking, Ingressus had made himself a threat.

I didn't try to stop him.

Galleous had been party to the slaughter of his clan. He had allowed, maybe even enabled the Champion who had murdered so many Voltaris. He might have even forged the sword his brother had used to kill Ingressus's father. What difference would one Voltaris child make to him? It wasn't like he would face any consequences for it!

No. Punching Galleous could well have been the final straw that sealed his fate. A lack of harm in the past didn't mean he would come to no harm now.

So Ingressus waited. He prepared. He laid down, so that if Galleous came to kill him he would think Ingressus was asleep and Ingressus could catch him by surprise. He laid at the edge of the bed so that he could roll to his feet with his weight on his good leg, even though that meant he was lying in his bruised ribs. He had wrapped strips of leather he'd stolen around one end of his blade and tied them tight with string, giving him a dagger-like handle that was the best he could manage under the circumstances and that would have to be enough. He held it under his pillow, sharpened edge facing out and ready to slash as soon as Galleous was in range. No blankets over him, that would only slow him down, but he had pulled them loose from where they were tucked under the mattress in case he had to use them to blind his attacker. He had gone through his inventory, cataloging everything he had that could be a potential weapon– string or leather to strangle, the crutch or an iron ingot to hit with, even the flowerpot shards he still had.

And he waited, his eyes fixed on the doorway to the forge. He waited as time he couldn't count passed by, as the night breeze whispered outside and silence reigned in its absence. Every moment that Galleous didn't appear brought him no comfort, only more dread because anything could happen. He waited for the fight he couldn't assume wouldn't come because letting his guard down was suicide, and no, don't fall asleep if you're awake you can still fight, still save yourself, if you sleep you'll be dead before you wake! He waited for morning, he waited for death.

(2694 words)

It appears that I am evil, to put the chapter break here. I am sorry.