The Demacian was looking at him.

Whether it was a glare or a glance of curiosity was unknown to Erret, but he didn't care. The Demacian was looking at him, and it pissed him off to no end. Questions and memories rose to his mind, and he felt his face burn up with embarrassment; that angered him further. As he clenched his fists, the thought to turn around and snap at the Demacian rose to his head. He ignored it; it would be a waste of his focus.

In the dark cave they lay in, focus was a luxury.

Trying to calm himself, Erret forced his mind away from the thought of the Demacian. It was a fruitless attempt, for his thoughts quickly moved on to his boss. Impressing the Ironhead had been a opportunity he'd never hoped of getting. When he did get it, however, he knew the stakes: win or die; the reckoner's way. Or at least, it was in the old days, before Draven's performances… or so he had heard from the Ironhead, who'd revealed he was quite the traditionalist.

So why keep him around?

Erret's frown deepened at the question, and its associated memories. Blood and sand, blurry vision, the crowds shouting a title that wasn't his… the crushing feeling of failure. The crowds turning on the victor and said victor helping him up didn't raise his spirits; quite the opposite, in truth. He was the enemy; there was no reason to spare him. Yet, the Demacian found one somehow, and convinced the Ironhead to do the same.

And he supposed he found a reason as well. His next fight was supposed to be his hour. A battle royale at the Noxkraya Arena; a battle royale the Glorious Executioner himself would've fought at. In hindsight it was clear his road should've ended there, with Draven cutting him down with his axe. It nearly was, even with the Demacian's help. Yet, as good as it was to survive, the victory was bitter. It wasn't his, after all. Once again, the Demacian protected him, and with dark magics grasped victory from defeat. And even then, with his energy spent and his back to him, Erret hadn't committed to his vengeance. He'd knocked the Demacian down and claimed the victory for the day, but something stayed his hand from spilling the fool's blood.

He'd decided to call it repaying a debt, and hoped to never see the Demacian again. But of course, the Ironhead was as impressed with the Demacian as he was him, and they found themselves under his direct service. And now, here they were: under some gods-forsaken island on Bilgewater looking for potential escapees from their previous raid.

The Demacian cleared his throat behind him, and dared to address him, "Hey, Erret, was it? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," he said, under grit teeth.

The Demacian didn't seem to care for his answer, "Are you su-"

"I said I'm fine," Erret insisted.

"Alright… but if there's a problem, feel free to sa-"

If he wanted his fury, the Demacian would get it. Erret turned to face the Demacian.

"What's your game?" He snapped, "What's with the questions?"

Something ticked at the back of Erret's head that he'd done something wrong. The Demacian was shocked at his rant for only a split second. His expression quickly chilled to a cold, analytical look. The Demacian frowned then responded evenly.

"Because, contrary to your statements, there is something going on with you concerning me. Since I'd rather there wasn't anything of the sort, I'd like to resolve the problem. So, if you don't mind spilling?"

"And give you something more over me? Yeah, I mind."

The Demacian squinted, seemingly confused, "Who said I have something over you?"

Erret wouldn't buy it, "Is that it? You want me to admit it?"

"Admit it? Admit what…" a light of recognition appeared in the Demacian's eyes, "Ah, I se-"

But of course, Erret wouldn't buy it, "So you're going to play dumb with me now?"

"I'm not playing anything! I genuinely didn't get it a moment ago," After the outburst, the Demacian cleared his throat, his frown returning, "And for the record, you don't need to worry about blackmail, or that sort of thing."

"So you think I'm stupid now?" Erret crossed his arms, "I'm supposed to just believe you saved me, a rival and threat, out of pure selflessness?"

"… no, that would be incorrect," the Demacian sighed, disappointed, "I was hoping that it would bring some level of gratitude, from which more… diplomatic relations could be reached, rather than this spitting match. But it wasn't purely selfish; friendships do incorporate reciprocity."

Erret flinched in disbelief, then scoffed as the sounds caught up to his brain, "Friendship?"

"Yes, friendship," Erret bristled as the Demacian's tone took a tired approach, as if speaking with a child, "Alas, as I said, reciprocity; if you won't bite, then I'll have to settle with a awkward coworker. Which is a shame; if your cynicism is anything to go by, you should know how hard it is out here; a friend could be useful."

"Useful? Caught you slipping, idiot; I'm not being your pawn."

"I'm not looking for… Fine then, awkward coworker it is…" The Demacian rolled his eyes, then laid his sights on something in the distance, "Well… at least I won't be troubling you for long."

Erret followed the Demacian's gaze, and to his surprise, found a cosy sight. Recently furnished and oddly clean wooden planks topped by stolen furniture and carpets, an unlit fireplace, and a small dock lit by luminescent coral… They'd found their target.

The Demacian straightened up,"Well, let's get back to the others. With more men we could flush them out faster."

It was a viable option, but Erret's keen eye caught something.

"They would, but let's make sure they can do so safely," he muttered, "See that dirt mound by the office? Something's under there."

"Like hidden treasure? You know, the type pirates often make?"

"It could be explosives."

The Demacian scoffed, "Seriously? Explosives? Surely they'd use that gunpowder for their guns, or for the cannons on the ship they fled on?"

"Noxian warships are hardier than Bilgewater ones, in case you haven't noticed. They have to use speed and ambush tactics to board our ships to contend; we'd tank their shots, they'd sink to ours," Erret countered, "However, if they can lure a war band down here then blow up the cave in the right way, they could bury us all and get away with little risk to themselves, and soften Noxian crews by reducing the soldiers on nearby ships."

After a moment of silence, the Demacian gave a low whistle, "Shit, you're right. Well, guess we're going in. Hope you can learn to trust me quick."

"Will there be a problem?" Erret glared.

The Demacian shrugged, "Nah, I'm just joking with you. Take the lead, I'll follow your plan."

Erret was looking at him.

Whether out of boredom (their trip was long and uneventful), irritation (from being away from Yin, or perhaps the situation they were in), or something else entirely was a mystery to Xander. He probably could've figured it out magically, further scanning Erret's subconscious for themes and making an informed guess. But who was he, Swain, LeBlanc? He could be cold, but not that cold; nor would he ever be to a friend.

And this far north, being cold was the last thing he wanted.

The vague imprint of Erret's emotions that Xander felt provided some warmth in the Freljordian storm; the warmth of reassurance. That he felt anything at all was proof that Erret hadn't been taken by the storm. Even with their preparations - made with information sourced from Darius' Freljord campaigns to the east, the Freljord was a brutal place. It had been fine a few hours ago, when they and their escorts from the Coldstone Company. The sun had shone on their company, melting frost as quickly as it froze on their coats. Unfortunately, the good weather didn't last, and a storm rose. Grey mists mitigated far looks, never mind the constant stream of snowflakes sent their way by a chilling gale. If not for their preparations, Xander knew they'd have died by now. As it was, a treacherous part of his mind believed they might be headed to that fate regardless.

Glancing to Erret, the Left Hand found a determined glare.

Ah, so its irritation.

"Erret!" Xander had to yell through the howling winds, "You good?"

Xander didn't know whether Erret was frowning through his balaclava, but his reply certainly held a cold disdain.

"I'm freezing… this is one of the worst ideas you've ever had!"

Xander rolled his eyes, "We're almost at the crevice Nocturne spotted. Just keep moving forward, and we'll rest for the night!"

Erret's reply, if there was one, was grumbled quietly; it was lost to the storm, as far as Xander was concerned. With the noises fading to meaninglessness in his mind, Xander reflected to his plan.

So… we got through step one easy enough. Nobody found us sus on our way to Coldstone. Though, Director Halm seems off… or maybe I'm just used to loyal patriots. Makes sense that someone born in Demacia but raised Noxian would feel odd about… everything.

Step two's not too bad as is. Nocturne got a lead on his location; we at least know that we're supposed to check the Freljord. Nobody found us sus on the way to the border, and the Coldstone escort seemed understanding enough. Our supplies are decent, we haven't ran into any raiders… or Lissandra's people… And there haven't been any giant fuck-off bears walking around, just this storm.

So all in all? Could've been wors-

Xander's train of thought ran out of railroad to go on as a cliff's sudden drop forced to it stop. Xander's next step through the storm gave way to a deeper step than expected; nowhere near fatal, but enough to shock and force a trip. When he lifted his face from the snow, Xander beheld grey stone fading to a deeper abyss.

"Guess you found it," Erret called behind him. He was quick to make his way to the cave, but not before helping Xander up, "Get the fires going, I'll set the tent."

With that, Erret let his bag fall to the cave's stone floor. He fished out a couple pieces of prepared dry-wood and rolled them to Xander before continuing to his own task. Xander, for his part, let his own bag rest against the wall. With care, he retrieved his fire starters; not a flint striker, but charged petricite. The stones they brought were a special commodity, at least as far as the campaign had progressed. With Yin they could refill healing stones with blood magic, and whilst they hadn't found use for it Xander could've done the same with his dream magic. The unimaginatively named firestones, however, weren't renewable. Never mind that they had enough fire magic in them to melt the stone on use; without a fire mage on employ, there'd be no restocking for them.

But, when faced with the Freljord's cold it was an easy price to pay.

Minutes later, and their temporary shelter was ready. Erret had struggled to set up the Demacian tent, not used to the different design, but Xander's old experience had come through. Thick blue cloth held up by strong wood and steel pins provided another layer of protection from the storm outside. In front of it was the small campfire Xander had set up, which burned bright like a miniature sun. The two Noxians sat by the fire side by side, backs to the tent's entrance and arms hovering as close to it as possible.

With their nightly abode set up, the Noxians took to dinner: cured meats and bread that were both hard as rocks. The fire proved a secondary feature in being able to heat them up quickly, frozen as they were from the Freljord storm. As good as their food was, however, Erret continued to frown and grumble. After taking a bite from a quickly made sandwich, the saboteur spoke his mind.

"If we came all this way to kill a single guy, I'll be really disappointed."

Xander shrugged, "Sylas is an angry idiot, but I think he'll see reason here."

"Expecting reason from a revolutionary," Erret scoffed, "So, that's how you nearly get us killed this time, eh?"

"It worked out with Rell, didn't it?"

"Rell's... well, it worked there, but if that vision you showed me is anything to go by, Sylas is a different beast entirely. You know it won't be that easy."

Xander shrugged, but could only continue eating in silence. Erret was right there. Sylas and Rell held some similarities; both were powerful mages who were weaponized and abused by powerful authorities, causing them to rebel against them. But, Rell's suffering had come from an almost comically corrupt shadow council who used ignorance to hide their deeds from a people that, at the very least, would be disgusted by. Demacia's very foundations had been built on fear and hatred of mages; stories of the Rune Wars had served as cautionary tales when Xander lived in Demacia, and he doubted that had changed.

Actually, scratch that. They've definitely changed, because Sylas' vengeance-obsessed ass went too far, and that's a far more relevant story now. Fits the narrative perfectly... thanks a lot for that.

Ultimately, the narrative was the key difference. The average Noxian could see what the Black Rose was doing with Rell and agree it wasn't Noxian, or at least needlessly cruel. From there, even a blunt, abrasive teen like the Iron Maiden could inspire change; and if not that, a brilliant politician like Swain could refine the idea and champion a reform with it.

But the problems in Demacia were much harder to separate from its history. The dichotomy of purging mages and keeping just nobility sacred, however paradoxical, had stood for too long a period. Only a king's word could even hope to start change, and without Xander's contacts, it made sense that Sylas would only see a hard reset as a viable option.

Erret seemed to notice the troubling reflections within Xander's mind; he teased his boss with a question, "So, how do you think we'll get out of this one?"

"Enh, I still think the plan'll work."

Erret sighed, "Well, it wouldn't be a mission you'd take if it wasn't stupidly hard."

"No, it would not. But, it ain't impossible..."

"You sure about that?"

"Well, think of it this way: you hated my guts when we first met, and up until Bilgewater you were hoping to off me whilst no one was looking. And look at us now..."

"I regret every other breath you take," Erret deadpanned with a roll of his eyes.

Xander smiled mischievously, "Half is better than none. I can work with half."

Erret sighed, chuckled, then waved him off, "I mean, you're not wrong. Fuck it, go sleep, I'll take first watch. I expect an answer on whether this is a waste of time or not when you take the next shift."

Xander chuckled as he wrapped what remained of his rations and lied down, "I'll give Nocturne your regards."

If Erret had another snappy comeback, Xander didn't hear it. Years of being a sleep mage helped one go to sleep quickly, and the Freljord cold didn't hinder in any way. Xander felt himself fall into a cold, dark embrace. He channeled his power and flipped mid fall to land on an unseen floor. He stood, clad in his Earthen body, and called into the void of his subconscious.

"Nocturne!"

Nothing answered for a long time, and for a moment Xander considered actually sleeping like a normal person. At that exact moment, his would-be familiar's dagger-like eyes appeared in the dark.

"Your call interrupted my session with the Crownguards," the demon snarled with irritation, "I almost got caught."

Xander squinted, "…How?"

"I heard your call and said your name - Xander, that is," Nocturne elaborated, "They thankfully know not of it. As far as they'll recall, their unrecognizable friend faded into the sunlight mid-conversation."

"And what were you talking about?"

"The worth of tradition compared to friendship."

Xander frowned, Fuck. That could've been good.

"Ah. My bad... so, uh-"

"I also looked into Sylas. He isn't sleeping yet, so it's only a vague presence. You're close, but that's all I know."

"I see…" Xander grimaced. The situation seemed all very anti-climactic…

"That was all you wished to know, I take it," Nocturne assumed.

"Yes."

"Then perhaps I can interest you with more information?"

Xander raised an eyebrow, "Of what nature?"

"Garen Crownguard was suggestible… your planned topic worked well."

As he knew it would. It was obvious to Xander that Garen held his sister above all else. He had let her go and accepted her as a mage… If Nocturne had played the plan correctly, the conversation they would've had would plant - or rather, further grow - the question of allegiances within Garen's mind. However, Nocturne had dreamt with both Crownguards…

"What of Lux?" the Left Hand asked.

"… less so. I believe she may have been trying to attain lucidity," Xander could imagine Nocturne scowling, even with his relatively featureless face, "It wouldn't have done much, but the fact that she suspects me…"

"Not used to having prey that can fight back AND you're not allowed to kill them?"

"Please don't tempt me from killing you, summoner."

Xander chuckled, and began to walk, "I'll try. Now, I imagine you have something else?"

Nocturne responded with a growl and a channeling of eldritch power. From his palm, the demon projected a vision; a memory. Its contents - a baleful red gaze - wiped the smile off Xander's face.

"When was this?"

"This afternoon. A letter was sent for a meeting."

"Fffuck... how the hell does Xin Zhao even- no, wait, of course he'd know. Why wouldn't he?"

"The stakes rise. She's a major threat.

"Indeed. Tell me everything you've learned."

Dread gripped Erret's heart as he felt something wet on his face. The fear faded when he put a hand to his face and didn't see red, and after a short breath he was up and attentive.

Outside their shelter the storm still raged. It had gone through his first shift, then through Xander's first awakening, then... a glance to his pocket watch revealed he'd accidentally slept for half an hour.

Troubling, but they hadn't died, so how bad could it be?

Probably a stray snowflake melting on my face... that makes sense, right?

From his position watching the cave entrance. Erret looked back to the tent. Xander had one of their bags clutched to his chest as though it were a pillow. Thankfully he wasn't using the bag with the firestones or their weapons; that one lay by Erret's side, far away from any igniters. With serene peace expressed on his face, the childlike image Xander presented was oh so far from what would be expected of the demonic Left Hand of Noxus.

At least, if you ignored his pupils glowing through the eyelids, and the black wisps that occasionally left his head's orifices.

Despite how late it was, Xander had confirmed Sylas wasn't asleep. That meant they couldn't get an exact lead on his location. Add more news - troubling, but Xander wanted more details before spilling - and Xander got to sleep another shift, whilst Erret had to remain conscious in the cold. Or rather, tried to, what with him accidentally falling asleep.

"I swear, you owe me big," Erret muttered, half bitter half amused, "How about... you take Gerris on your next ride out? Or just go solo; he is our best teacher, and we need that garrison up and running... you are the Left Hand of Noxus; surely you can do that without making life suck? Just got a bit?"

Xander didn't reply, still stuck in his dream. He took a deep breath, though, and frowned. Whatever secrets Nocturne had to share, they clearly weren't pleasant.

Another freezing sensation struck Erret's cheek. Given it was the cheek facing the cave's entrance, the saboteur's gaze followed it. Though his hearing was fine enough to know, the vision of the flurry of snow flying about confirmed to Erret that the storm was still going. He frowned.

I could die here. In this cave. That storm could go quite longer, surely. And if it does… I may never see Yin again…

Erret swore under his breath as his mind raced, Where did my Noxian cruelty go? I should've stayed home. Gods know Xander could've made it through here just fine; he has the magic, he has a demon… hell, keeping merged with Nocturne probably would make this trip much quicker than dragging me along. So why even am I here?

By the tent, Xander shifted in his sleep. He frowned deeper, swore under his breath, then turned his back to their fire. Dark violet smoke seeped from his ears, and the arcane sorcery reminded Erret of who he was dealing with.

The Left Hand of Noxus. Ironically named for the severed hand of Jericho Swain, for they're both demonic, and… someone has to make sure Xander doesn't follow the demon's example, right?

An abrupt feeling akin to tripping sprang in Erret's mind. Though he frowned, it relaxed substantially. If that was the answer for why he was here, he wasn't only dissatisfied, but confused. If Xander was abandoning ship, could he have stopped him? Not physically, what with the demon under his command… why not bring the rest of the crew in, then? Surely Lady Elia could've done her business with the Coldstone Company personally, and let them go on their Freljord adventure? A handler and three warriors would be enough to dissuade treachery on Xander's part… right?

It wouldn't, because he knows we won't stop him.

That thought disturbed Erret, for it heralded deeper confusion. Why wouldn't they stop him, he wondered. The storm outside raged much like his own mind, until…

The words Erret spoke that night when the plan was set in motion returned to him.

"Someone has to keep you alive; might as well be the guy who's basically had that job grafted to his soul."

Erret's mind wandered his memories, glimpsing the chains that bonded him to Xander. Ever since that operation in Bilgewater… nay, even earlier, for it was Xander who dragged him out of their duel with Draven. Bilgewater saw the start of a business relationship. Whether it was Xander being his manipulative self to get Gerris to keep pairing them or simply an observation of their synergy as a duo, it slowly became expected for them to pair up. By the end of their service in Bilgewater, they'd found themselves back to back, knee deep in the corpses of their foes enough times to use a full hand's fingers. By Shurima one couldn't count the situations with hands and feet, and by the time Yin joined the party Xander might as well have been his brother.

How ridiculous everything's become...

It didn't seem so long ago that Erret had just been some runaway making a living off weaklings' purses on the streets of Noxus Prime. It was only relatively recently that the legendary reckoner Gerris the Ironhead saw his brutality, agility, and quick thinking and thought to make a warrior of him. He'd taken the man up on his offer fully expecting to have to wait a long time to have his hunger sated; decades, perhaps. Granted, it would've been a wait shorter than most, given his apparent prodigious nature. But he never could've expected what was to come.

Direct service to Noxus' highest authorities, the fruits expected of such labor, genuine respect rather than the hollow adoration of crowds (that which Gerris had warned him against)... and romance? In the rare times he seriously considered his options, the most he'd hoped for was a worthy rival, so to ensure that whoever was born would be as strong as him, if not more so. Of course, that assumed he didn't scoff at the notion. His parents were deadbeats, or so Xander described them when they'd discussed their past. Most of his life was spent alone in the streets, and even if he hadn't, he'd been born Noxian. Yet, perhaps through Xander's aid, he'd not only scored far above his league, but found genuine affection, genuine care...

No, not perhaps. Xander had often told him that he would've always reached high in Noxian society. He was just the catalyst, the Left Hand would say. But, Erret knew that was an exaggeration of humility. Who else in Noxus would've taught him of genuine selflessness? What genuine romance looked like? Gods knew neither he or Yin would've logged their affections as romantic attraction if not for Xander's (in hindsight poor) matchmaking attempts. The Demacian nature that damn near everyone who knew Xander teased him for… it had done so much for him, hadn't it?

Perhaps it's I who owe you, and this is why I'm here; paying off the debt, Erret chuckled at the thought, Should've known I'd get in debt with you, Demacian. Oh wait, I did know! I saw this coming from a mile away, and yet I didn't bother getting out of the way.

And… if I had the chance to go back, I doubt I would.

Erret closed his eyes and sighed, letting his head rest against the cave wall. His reflections warmed his heart, and for a brief moment, he was content. That changed with another cold feeling on his face, prompting another cursory glance at the cave's entrance. Erret's eyes widened.

The storm had passed.

So where had the snowflake come fr-

Another wet tap struck Erret's face. Heavier, wetter, and on the other cheek. Erret looked not to a side, but up, and felt fear grasp his heart again.

The ceiling of their cave wasn't stone. Instead, a shelf of ice provided a roof against the storm. With the gales calming, Erret could say it had done its job well. The downside, however, was that it was now melting quickly. The ice directly over the fireplace was particularly moist, and the falling drops made the charred embers hiss. How long the wall had been dripping was a mystery to Erret, but he wouldn't have been surprised if it had started when they first ignited the fireplacez Erret was no expert, but he wasn't in a gambling mood; to say they'd been at risk for the past few hours was a downplay at best, and he was amending that mistake soon.

Immediately, the saboteur was on Xander. A forceful tap on the shoulder caused no reaction; the dream mage seemed particularly deep in his slumber. He remained unresponsive to Erret as tapping turned to rough shaking and worried mutters turned to panicked outbursts.

"Damn it, Xander, wake up... we've got a huge fucking problem!" Erret's voice rose as he glanced to the walls, trying to discern how much time they had, "Come on, I know you can hear me... Wake up!"

He didn't, so Erret slapped him across the face. Though it left a red mark, Xander remained a sleep. He scrunched his nose on distaste, however, and a grunt left his mouth.

Fuck it... we'll have to leave the stuff.

Deciding that Xander wasn't about to wake soon, Erret grabbed him by the arm pits and started pulling him towards the cave's entrance. Three heavy drops of water fell on Erret in quick succession, leaving stains where they fell. A stream slowly fell down a cave face as Erret repositioned to maneuver himself and Xander around their still smoldering fireplace. The saboteur pulled harder as a fresh breeze from outside chilled his back.

A fourth drop struck Xander's forehead, and after a blink, the Left Hand awoke.

He quickly scrambled out of Erret's grasp, but not before tripping and falling on his ass again, "I'm up, I'm up!... gah, did you slap me?"

"You weren't waking up, and sorry for not noticing my earlier, but our roof might fall on us," Erret quickly replied, "It's ice; it's melting, at least since you started the fire; you weren't up, so dragging our shit wasn't an option."

Another drop fell on Xander's face, prompting him to look up. The melting seemed to slow, but it wasn't as though Xander was an ice mage... was he?

"Well, I'm up..." Xander stood and turned back to the camp, "We should be fine, let's just calm down and get our shit."

"No, wait, Xander-"

"Sylas is close; might as well have something to give him, try bribe him to our cause," Xander disappeared into the tent briefly and came back out a few seconds later with both bags strapped on one arm, whilst their sleeping bags were rolled around his neck awkwardly, "Probably will have to ditch the tent, bu-"

A crack interrupted the Left Hand's monologue, and a shard of ice fell in front of him. Erret swore as the cave shook and snow fell in, but could do little but fall and try dodge the falling debris. As the dust cleared, Erret scrambled to stand and rushed back to where he last saw Xander.

The Left Hand lived, but had fallen on his butt again, half buried in the bags he'd hauled. He also was on the opposite side of an ice wall, his visage broken and refracted with the frozen surface's cracks. Erret leaned on the wall and knocked for his leader's attention.

"Oh, by the gods... Xander, are you-" the saboteur's concern faded to irritation as he saw Xander laugh behind the wall, "Now's not the time! What are you even laughing about?"

Xander ceased his laughter, but turned his head in confusion. Through the ice, Erret saw Xander's mouth move, but the sounds he heard were soft, muffled, and overtaken by the shuffles of snow still settling after the cave's collapse. Erret sighed.

"Brilliant, so you're stuck. One step forward, three steps back," Erret grimaced as he looked to the ice wall, "Hold steady, I'll try break you out."

A few lose shards were clear to be pulled, but nothing would to completely free Xander. He kicked at the wall to little effect, tackled it shoulder first to less effect, then sighed.

"Not sure I can do much... not even communication, huh?" Erret leaned on the wall, "Anything you can do on your end?"

Xander tilted his head again, then pointed to him, then made a motion of walking, then pointed again. Then he pointed to himself, and caused his hand to glow with magic.

Erret squinted, "Huh?"

Xander rolled his eyes and dug into the bag at his left side. Even through the ice and darkness, the rune of a firestone was visible. Given that it had been the Firestone's concentrated magic to melt through the ice originally, it was both ironic and viable for its use to free Xander.

And terribly in line with his terrible habits. One of these days he's going to make a mistake that he can't reverse. Here's hoping he can survive it then, but for now I guess…

Erret squinted, pondered how to refine his question, then yelled it into the ice wall, "Can you do this safely?!"

Xander took a moment to make sure he was hearing well, then took another to think. Mental processes clearly weren't enough, however; he took out the firestone with one hand and channeled magic in the other. The hands didn't meet, however. From his expression it seemed Xander didn't think he had the control needed to make a fire safe enough to melt through. The Left Hand raised a single finger then disappeared deeper in to the cave. Or rather, he became slightly less visible; it turned out there wasn't much cave to go. When Xander returned to the ice wall, he had a clear frown; it seemed firestones weren't much of an option.

Erret sighted in frustration, and no small amount of fear, "I'll… I'll figure something out. There's gotta be something I can use, right?"

Xander glanced to Erret for a moment in what looked like shock, then chuckled mirthfully. A hand came to cover Xander's face as the Left Hand found yet another reason to find amusement. For a brief moment, Erret felt his temper rise again; it was hardly the appropriate time. But, he couldn't help himself, and let a chortle out.

"Fine, laugh it up… the hell's your problem…" Erret shook his head, "Alright, I don't know how much air you have in there, but cool it. I'll sort something out, just sit tight… wait, what are you pointing at?"

Xander's chuckles faded as he stood from his position and leaned against his side of the ice wall. His eyes started to glow with magical light as he ceased his pointing. Instead, the Left Hand started waving. But at who? Erret noted Xander's eyes were looking over, and made to look their way. He couldn't help but gape at the tall, muscular, unshackled hooded figure who stood before him.

"I can't say I know who you two are, but any mage has an ally in me."

"Y-yeah, well…" Erret cleared his throat, "Do you have any magic that could break through an ice wall?"

"Breaking a wall you say," Sylas of Dregbourne smiled as his eyes glowed a frosty blue, "I may have that power available to me."

Author's Note: Apologies for the long wait. I got a holiday for Chinese New Year, and considering that meant a rare week of being at home all day I decided to indulge in my other hobbies. Didn't get much to show for it; I'm still hardstuck silver. Guess I should've stuck to writing.

But enough about that. This chapter was a bit tricky to write. I was trying to bring back the trend of the opening flashback from the first few chapters, but not doing it for a while made re-formating inevitable. My original plan for the chapter didn't flow too well with the starting flashback; both in terms of placement and themes. So, I had to make changes, which delayed the chapter further. But alas, here I am.

I hope you've enjoyed my writing thus far. Please leave a review; I appreciate any feedback I get for the fic, as it can help me improve or show where I'm succeeding. See you next chapter.