Redefinition

by Enth V

As the Demacian Mage Rebellion begins, a group of Noxians is sent to further the empire's agenda. Led by the mysterious "Left Hand of Noxus" - a man who was once Demacian - the group aims to bring down the current regime. But, as the civil war breaks and the group's ideals are tested, only one thing is certain: the Left Hand knows more than he should... [SI-OC Fic]

20. Chapter 20

In the darkness of the dungeons, a weak groan echoed through the cell.

It wasn't Happ, though. Thanks to the alcohol running in his system thanks to the medic - it seemed the local doctors were as terrible as their mageseeker coworkers - Happ was in a painless sleep. Even with the kid being a diehard Sylas supporter, Aislynn hoped it wouldn't be a permanent sleep. That said, her focus was on the other mage she shared a cell with. Upon hearing his groan, the dream mage went immediately to her friend's side. Though kinder medics had sealed up his wounds, Cyrus had yet to fully recover; he'd been asleep since they arrived a day ago. Save for keeping the fire mage fed and hydrated, Aislynn had let him rest peacefully. But now, with him awake, she wasn't going to go easy.

"Stay down," she whispered, "You're still hurt."

"I can't even sit up?" Cyrus sighed, "I'll be fin-"

The fire mage was able to rise slightly, despite Aislynn pushing him down. Where he failed was in his reliance in his right arm; with the limb weakened by its wounds, Cyrus' rise reverted to a lying state. Aislynn thankfully kept his head from hitting the stone floor too hard, but still a pained hiss left Cyrus' lips.

"Where are we?" Cyrus asked.

"Well... somewhere north, on the bright side," Aislynn jested before explaining, "We're prisoners at a mageseeker compound. At least, I think it's mageseeker; there're some regular soldiers as well. Happ's here too."

"Happ?"

"Apparently he was sent by Sylas' side to search for him up north; he didn't want to say more, just in case the mageseekers are listening," Aislynn sighed, "He was interrogated a while back. Medics gave him alcohol as a painkiller."

Cyrus grimaced, "He could die from that..."

"Maybe... not that I could do much about it," Aislynn sighed, "Though, on that topic... I don't know why, but Luxanna Crownguard was here."

"Luxanna Crownguard?" Cyrus chuckled, "I'm not dreaming, am I? Or hallucinating?"

Aislynn lightly pinched his cheek, prompting a wince, "Well?"

"Alright, ok... so that's how it is..." Cyrus rolled his eyes, "Why was she here?"

"It seems she's to interrogate us," Aislynn turned away, gazing into the dark in pensive meditation, "I'd assume they think her connection to Sylas means we'd trust her more. How they figured that connection without throwing her in here with us is beyond me, though."

"Right..." Cyrus took the opportunity to sit up, succeeding this time by using his left arm, "So, what's the plan?"

"Plan? For leaving? Well, I don't even have an idea where to begin," Aislynn lifted her arms, showing bulky petricite cuffs, "No magic with these, so no way for you to burn our way out. Cutlery's barely sharp enough to cut meat, let alone metal."

"So we're trapped?"

"Unless Lux decides to free us, yep," Aislynn sighed bitterly, "... I'm sorry. We shouldn't... we shouldn't have gone here. This mission's done nothing for us."

"You did what you thought you had to," Cyrus assured, "We knew the risks, and we knew we had to do something. It just didn't go our way."

Aislynn opened her mouth to reply, but nothing left her mouth. The dream mage could only close her eyes and try to block out her regret. It didn't really work; Ohlenn and Jonathor's dead gazes haunted her mind's eye. The guilt was bad enough, but the accompanying memories…

"… how will the community survive?" that such as horrified whisper left Aislynn's mouth scared her almost as much as what caused it, "Oh… shit..."

"They'll be fine," Cyrus gave Aislynn a weak nudge, "You set them up for success, right?"

"… I know, but… there's still a number of things that could go wrong, and I'm not sure they'll be able to survive it. Of course, I can't say for certain that I'd help it, but…" Aislynn sighed, "… what do we do?"

"If we're going to get out of here, it'll be from something else. For now, we need to just bide our time…" Cyrus lied on his back with a tired sigh, "I guess that means resting for me."

"…Right... That's right; get some rest. I'll keep watch."

"You should get some rest too."

Aislynn grimaced as she considered the option, "Maybe. Good night."

With that, Aislynn set her back to the wall and glanced to the dungeon doors. Ignoring Cyrus' sigh of aggravation, the dream mage watched the dungeon. Torches on dividing pillars did little to iluminate the corridor, but Aislynn could still make out some details. A cracked, worn brick here, a seemingly rusted section of barring there… In truth, nothing particularly useful. A cell near the entrance of the order – the one where Happ was interogated in – had blood stains on the wall. But, it was wishful thinking to believe those stains would somehow fully rust its bars.

But there has to be something, Aislynn thought, Surely…

Muffled mumbles moved Aislynn's attention to the dungeon entrance. Whilst the guards usually chatted during their shifts, the shift that had taken over before and after Lux's visit was oddly silent. It was getting late, so Aislynn assumed they were taking a nap of some kind. For them to start speaking, it meant someone was here.

Aislynn retreated to the corner of the cell and nudged Cyrus awake.

Or, to be more accurate, prompted an annoyed groan from him, "I'm still awake. What is it?"

"Someone's coming," Aislynn said, "I can't say who, but-"

The door opened with the rasp of steel on stone. A party of three entered the corridor, wearing heavy coats of some kind. The leader – a hooden man, by Aislynn's estimation of his silhoette was accurate - ordered something to his compatriots. Whispered as it was, however, Aislynn couldn't make any sense of it. The poor lighting also made hard to identify them, but Aislynn could conclude one thing for certain.

"Not soldiers," she thought aloud, "But who…"

The question died on her lips as another figure brushed past the leader and investigated the cells. Though the torchlight couldn't clearly illuminate his face, the shuffle of shackles on stone and the silhoette of bulky petricite cuffs told Aislynn all she needed to know.

She growled the name of their new guest, "Sylas…"

Cyrus' squint widened, "Sylas is-"

The man in question stopped before a cell, paused, and called to one of his compatriots, "Xander, is this fresh?"

Aislynn had to mentally double take at the name. Xander?

Aislynn contained a gasp with her hand and continued to watch. The original hooded man stepped into light, revealing an intricate stone mask of sorts covering its wearer's face. Xander was quick to confirm his identity, however, raising a hand to summon the blood to him.

"Two weeks, latest," the Noxian assassin reported, "Magic blood."

"Sylas?"

Happ's weak voice calling his leader's name surprised Aislynn as much as it sprung out other emotions from her; dissapointment in Happ's loyalty, anger at who the call was addressed to, and concern for the weakened prisoner. The call did it's job, however; Sylas immediately arrived before their cell, kneeling to look closer at Happ. He didn't notice Aislynn, though.

"Sylas..." Happ's hoarse voice held a pained yet hopeful tone to it, "It's really you, sir."

"I told you not to call me that, Happ…. What did they do to you?" Sylas took a soft tone so unlike what Aislynn knew him to truly be like.

It disgusted her.

Happ raised his mishapen, casted arm, then sighed, "It's fine... I did what I had to do..."

"That's far from fine, but... thanks for holding out as long as you did," Xander stepped in from behind Sylas, "We'll get you out soon."

"I would've held out as long as needed, but..." Happ looked up at Xander, trying to peer past his mask, "Wait, who?... no, truly? You're real?"

Aislynn heard the wonder in Happ's voice and scowled.

You've got to be kidding, Happ. You fanboy over two people, and they turn out to both be monsters?

Aislynn didn't even try to contain herself, "Yeah he's real, Happ. The Noxian Ghost, claiming vengeance on the Demacian crown on behalf of the mages persecuted by it. The stories are real... same with the Unshackled Revolutionary, that just defier of the crown... well, to an extent."

An ugly mirth grew in Aislynn's heart as a shocked look formed on Sylas' face; from the Left Hand's wide eyes Aislynn had no doubt that Xander held a similar expression behind his mask. With the feeling growing with the two killer mages' horror, Aislynn pressed forward. She stood up, walked past Cyrus, and instinctively grabbed at the bars of her cell. Despite the pain of the runesteel activating, she continued to spit out her words.

"So, how about a serving of truth?" Aislynn demanded, a fuming laugh under her voice, "Cos I've had enough bullshit from both of you!"

Both Xander and Sylas had yet to catch up with their realization, though; they instead dumbly exclaimed, "Aislynn?!"

"That's my name, don't wear it out," Aislynn mused with a jovial voice, but her eyes betrayed a thunderstorm's frustration, "Now, I believe I'm owed a conversation... No. I'm owed an explanation, or better yet, justification! For... everything. From both of you, you both know what you've done... So who's it gonna be first?"

A smile crept onto Aislynn's face. She could practically see the answers form on ther lips. The vengeful thoughts on her mind made her ownder as to who she wanted answers from first. Sylas, of course, was why she was here. The months he'd been gone certainly had an interesting story behind them, not to mention the unknown woman who followed behind him and Xander. Not that it would satisy her… nor would anything Xander could say, either. After all, his friend was responsible for her friend's deaths; nothing could pay for that.

Xander seemed to agree, his shocked, perhaps guilty expression morphing to apathetic seriousness, "I'll be happy to answer your questions after we're out of here."

"You think I'll just accept that-" the sensation of runesteel violently sucking her magic forced Aislynn to withdraw from the bars with a pained hiss, "… Damn it, Xander, I deserve answers!"

"And you will have them later," The Left Hand of Noxus proceeded to ignore Aislynn, fishing for something in a pocket of his coat before turning to the corridor entrance, "I'll check the guards for a key. Maybe you'd like to oblige Aislynn?"

"Right," Sylas frowned as Xander disappeared through the dungeon door, then turned to face his old friend, "Aislynn-"

"I would've preferred Xander's story, but you've got much to speak on too," Aislynn countered, "So how about we start… who the hell is she?"

Sylas blinked, perhaps not expecting the question. The woman behind him came to introduce herself.

"I am Thorva," she said with an accented tongue, offering a hand through the bar, "Of the-"

Both Aislynn and Happ behind her raised a hand in warning, but the runesteel bars crackled to life a second too late. Thorva gasped in shock as a blue bolt of magic left her hand and charged the runesteel. The following spark sent the foreign-looking woman into a fall; if not for Sylas being behind her to catch her, the stone pavement would've been her fate.

"The bars are… a curse," Sylas explained to Thorva before addressing Aislynn again, "She's from the Freljord; her and her tribe. I've formed an alliance with them to bring down the crown."

"Bring down the cr…" as soon as the realizatin of what Sylas had done dawned on Aislynn, incredulous frustration bubbled in her, "You joined forces with a Freljordian raiding party?! What is wrong with you? Are you trying to give the country a reason to hate us?"

"Have you forgotten that they always have?" Sylas shot back, "They saw us as monsters, even when we did the dirty work for them. Think of how many of us just wanted peaceful lives before they deemed us evil things to be locked away. If we're going to change that, we need all the power; all the help we can get."

"And you're accepting the Noxians' help to that end too, huh?" Aislynn couldn't help but facepalm at that consideration before continuing, "This won't be worth it! The crown's just going to use this to show that they're in the right. All this bloodshed does nothing but give them an edge."

An exaggerated sigh announced Xander's return, "I'm assuming you've already noticed it from your previous history with Sylas, but since you need a reminder I'll point it out: he's not buying it."

"Because he's already buying what you're selling?" Aislynn questioned suspiciously, diverting her gaze to Xander.

When he replied, Aislynn could clearly picture the deadpan look hiding behind the Left Hand's mask, "I was just as opposed to an alliance with the raiders as you are… or maybe not, I wasn't quite as loud. But anyway, no, it's not because I've brainwashed him or something."

Sylas scoffed, "Me, brainwashed?"

Aislynn explained, "Well, after he had my friends killed, I wouldn't expect anything else from hi-

"Killed?" Sylas immediately rounded on Xander, "What did you do?"

Xander backed away from the Unshackled and spoke in shocked tone, "Nothing. I didn't have anyone try kill Aislynn… what are you-"

"Don't play dumb, you piece of shit!" Aislynn pointed a finger through her cell bars, "You had that red-coated bitch kill my friends!"

"Red-coated… who the hell are you talking about? I just had Erret tag along with me, and he's in the raider camp. No other Noxian assets were to be deployed."

"Really now? And you don't know who Shauna Vayne is?"

Xander straightened up and slowly approached, "Shauna Vayne? That's who attacked you?"

"So you do know her," Aislynn assumed, "A friend? Business partner?"

"No-"

Before Xander could answer the question, Sylas shoved him into the runesteel bars. Keeping one of the Noxian's arms behind Xander's back, a gauntleted hand forced Xander's masked head into the bars, keeping him constrained. Though the heavy coat and stone mask largely mitigated the effects of the magic-draining metal, already indigo sparks were flickering through the dungeon.

"I'd answer the question honestly, Noxian," Sylas threatened, "If sh-

An explosive show of strength harnesed through a vicious elbow pried Sylas off Xander with a pained grunt. Xander then shoved Sylas into Thorva, pacifying them both as they got tangled in each other's limbs; not to mention Sylas' chains. Backing away from the threats to his person, Xander straightened his apparel and cleared his throat.

"I don't know her from work, but I know she's someone to look out for. Knew it from my sources," Xander said, sending glances from Sylas to Aislynn, "She's a walking hate boner for magic working independent from the crown and from the Noxian spy network here. Now, then…"

Aislynn made to speak on her disbelief, but Xander's rapid approach made her back away from the cell bars in caution. Sylas recovered behind him, but Xander ignored him. He instead took the new set of keys from a coat pocket, and, with gloved hands, opened the cell door. Xander then spun around the keychain in his hands before flinging it at Sylas, who caught them with a suspicious expressino.

"Sylas, I doubt you'd trust me to do it currently," Xander tossed the stone to the revolutionary, "One of those keys should be the ones to unlock their cuffs. Get them freed quick, I need some fresh air from the flared tempers in this cell."

"You-"

Aislynn charged the bars again, only for her knees to fail and fold. The anti-magic aura of the runesteel bars, acting in tandem with her shackles, had thoroughly sapped her of energy. Yet, despite not beign able to stand, she demanded answers from Xander.

"Don't think you've convinced me," she growled, "You sent Vayne-"

Xander scowled incredulously, "What the hell makes you think that? Have I ever shown actual hostiliy to you and yours?"

Sylas replied behind him, "You threatened me."

"Because you're you: a willing murderer with pools of blood on his hands. She isn't," Xander waved Sylas off with a sigh, "I don't want you dead, Aislynn. Why would you even think-"

Xander stopped mid-sentence in realization, then bitterly chuckled. He quickly turned away in a show of disgust. Aislynn could only lean forward to try reach him.

"Wait-"

Xander turned a glare back at Aislynn, "You actually thought Vayne was Noxian because she wore red and black, didn't you? All this paranoia, and for what?"

Aislynn's breath hitched as Xander's words registered. She blinked in disbelief; had she really assumed Vayne's allegiance based on the color of her clothing? It made little sense: no spy would wear their nation's colours in the open; that would betray the whole point. And whilst she couldn't be sure with Noxus – they were a bloodthirsty, conquering people, presumably – Xander hadn't displayed those stereotypes. Did he want something from her? Most likely, but…

The Left Hand of Noxus sighed, "This is what I get, eh? I suppose all the relations I have in this room are built on threats of mutually assured destruction, if not just actual threats… Damn it. I'll keep watch. Be quick; those guards aren't going to sleep forever."

With that, Xander finally left. Sylas quickly took his place, entering the room with his Freljordian friend right behind him. He motioned for Thorva to guide Happ to one of the cell's walls whilst doing so manually with Aislynn, despite the dream mage's struggling.

"Let go of- I can-"

"You can't," Sylas said, "Running into the bars so much has drained you of your energy. If you want to even hope at walking out of here on your own feet, rest now."

"He's right."

Aislynn glanced to her side, where Cyrus sat. Like many times in the past, the fire mage clearly wanted to support Aislynn, but found himself agreeing with Sylas. As much as she disliked the sight, Aislynn figured it was to be expected. Other than herself, Cyrus was one of the more higher-ranked men back when they were still in Sylas' rebellion. Many were surprised that he was among those who wished to leave; it was in few yet crucial details where the fire mage disagreed with Sylas, and only by slight margins.

The Unshackled noticed his old friend and cleared his throat, "Ah, Cyrus… so you're here too."

"Someone had to look out for her," Cyrus said, "Or at least, I tried to."

"This Vayne character is quite powerful, then," Sylas assumed, trying to fit keys into the shackles' keyhole in quick succession, "Why did you two come?"

"We had no idea what you or the Noxians were doing," Cyrus explained, "Given that you two both have the capacity to make things worse for us, we needed eyes and ears on the situation. As for why us two specifically…"

"I know both you and Xander, and you two know me," Aislynn answered, "We weren't trusting anyone until we knew better."

"You don't trust me?"

"We left your revolution for a reason," Cyrus shrugged, "I'm more surprised you trust us."

"Excuse me?" the barest hint of hostility entered Sylas' voice as he paused his key-testing, but Cyrus remained stoic in the face of it.

"We disagreed on the extent of our war against the crown. We seceeded from your revolution to fight our way; a way that involves more mercy and less nobleman killing. Now, I haven't been with your end for a while, but doesn't that make me, ah, what was your word for it, swine? Or was it sheep?"

"…You don't serve the crown: you said it yourself, you still seek to fight your own way," Sylas frowned, then fitted a key into Cyrus' lock, "In any case, let's not keep Xander waiting."

"We're not done yet," Aislynn growled.

"We'll continue after we're free," Sylas took only three atempts to free Aislynn, "… Xander's right in that sense. We may be running out of time."

Before Aislynn could speak again, Sylas left her side for Happ's. She sighed, irritated at Sylas' avoiding her questions. Unfortunately, all the anger she held couldn't get her to her feet; Cyrus had to help her up, grimacing all the while from the pain in his wounded thigh. Sylas soon rose, helping Happ up, whilst Thorva stood watching awkwardly.

"Err, Thorva was it?…" Cyrus grunted as he tried to give himself a better balance, "Can you help us out? I'm still wounded…"

Thorva nodded, then offered a hand, "I can help you both-"

"No need, I can stand on my own. Help Aislynn."

"I can speak for myself," the dream mage muttered, "But yes, please do help."

Sylas watched silently before helping Happ out of the cell. Thorva followed slowly, helping Aislynn whilst making sure Cyrus could walk safely; the fire mage limped at an impressive pace, almost to keeping up with Thorva. Before they could pass the dungeon gate, however, Xander returned, carrying the dazed guards by their necks. He wordlessly passed them, flung the guards into the bloody cell, then returned to open the door; he motioned for the others to go through.

"Any reason you didn't do that earlier?" Sylas asked when they passed the gate.

"They seemed out of things; I thought maybe if I left them outside, they wouldn't realize they'd let their captives leave. The young one woke up, though, so now I can't risk it," Xander sighed, strolling back whence he came, "That said, it may be too much of a risk to try recon more anyway."

"How so?" Sylas asked, following Xander through the dungeon doors.

"At the very least, two people are needed to escort our freed men back to the tribe," Xander noted as he rose, hand gestures forming silhouettes with the stair's torches' light, "We have two men to spare, of course. But, I doubt you'd trust me to stay with the spare raiders. I suspect you'd want to watch me yourself, Sylas, but firstly, you're a major threat: if found, the entire base would be on you in a moment. Secondly, with you being a big, buff guy wearing clinking golden chains, you're not exactly stealthy."

"How about me?" Thorva asked, "You, me, and one of the scouts stay. Sylas and the others return to the tribe."

"Trust goes both ways," Xander stopped suddenly on a step to turn and glare coldly at Sylas, "And, if you don't trust me to not stab you in the back, well… How could I trust you to not kill Erret?"

"...You couldn't," Sylas concluded with a frown, "What then? The raid will still be happening."

"A raid?" Aislynn's question, despite its lack of volume, was noted by all present, "But... what would you get from attacking this fort?"

"...Truth be told, nothing," Xander noted, "We already freed you, and whilst we could get more food and weapons by stealing from the fort's stores, the weapons the Freljordians have is decent enough. Food isn't a problem either; they could forage an existence in the icy wastelands up north, so Demacia's more bountiful land's been easy pickings for them."

Aislynn frowned and forced herself off of Thorva, "Then why?"

Xander glanced to Thorva then answered, "Pride, in short. You'll figure it out when we get to the tribe."

Before Aislynn could question it any further, Thorva moved to support her again. The party rose up the stairs, eventually reaching the slightly-less-gloomy corridors of the Mageseeker wing. Passing by an intricate rune steel door, Xander halted the party's movements with a raised fist. Swift, muffled footsteps heralded the approach of another woman in tribal gear. Thorva shared a quick conversation before pulling Aislynn along wordlessly.

Which left Xander to wonder aloud, "Someone's coming?"

"Yes," Thorva answered, briefly nodding to the second scout as they returned, "Footsteps from the corridor above."

"Any details?" Though Xander's question suggested doubt, his pace quickened as he approached a wooden door at the end of the corridor.

"Does it matter?" Sylas questioned, "If we aren't pressing further, then we ought to leave."

"Quite," Xander shrugged, opening the wooden door and letting a foul odour seep through it, "Hmm. I suppose you guys can't climb ladder currently, can you?"

"Just give me a moment."

With a grunt of effort, Aislynn again left Thorva's aid to stand on her own. Though she was able to do so, the dream mage still felt off. She grit her teeth in the hope that the tension would somehow refocus her; it didn't quite work.

"I might be able to. Might..." Cyrus admitted, limping ahead, "But even if Aislynn and I could, I don't think Happ's in any shape to do it. You kind of need two working hands for that..."

Xander ushered the party through the wooden door, waiting for the last scout to catch up, before closing it behind them. He then navigated through the room, opened another creaky door, and glanced down. He let out a displeased hum before returning to address Sylas.

"I think our crippled could try sliding down the ladder, using the bars only as speed mitigation. They might trip up and fall, but you should be able to catch them if that happens," Xander shrugged, "Not ideal, given the height, but it's better than being caught by mageseekers."

Sylas nodded, "Agreed... Thorva, have one of your scouts follow me. An extra pair of hands should help just in case. The rest of you stay up here and keep watch. When we're ready, the wounded can come down. Happ first, then Cyrus, then Aislynn."

Sylas paused his orders to glare at Xander, then continued, "You stay up here last."

The Left Hand smirked, "Still hoping you can leave me behind to die?"

"Tempting, but no," Sylas took his first step down the ladder, "If worst comes to, your illusion magic might be the only thing that gets us out of here alive."

Sylas descended the ladder after that, the echoes of his chains clinking filling the room. Aislynn hoped it wasn't audible past the two doors they'd passed. The scout that followed wasn't as loud as Sylas, but Happ wasn't as lucky. He made it half way down the ladder before losing his single hand's grip; if not for Sylas catching him, he'd be leaving Aron's Defiance with two broken limbs. Whilst that was a small mercy, the sound it made was far more noticeable: Aislynn noted a blur to her side as Xander opened the door and threw a petricite pebble just before the corridor entrance.

"What're you doing?" she whispered, "If they see that trinket-"

"They won't be seeing it: I use it to overlay a daydream on viewers," Xander answered her with a face of tight concern, "That said, if a whole patrol sees it we're screwed either way."

Cyrus called from behind, "What do we-"

"You get down immediately," Xander replied, "Thorva, spot him."

Cyrus acquiesced, and by the short burst of bumps that followed, he seemed to get down the ladder scot-free. But that didn't matter as much to Aislynn: she watched closely as Xander slowly crept next to the door. The Left Hand of Noxus dared to glance through the door's rusty keyhole; a move that made Aislynn wish to berate Xander loud enough for the whole fortress to hear. The sentiment was heightened when Aislynn thought she heard footsteps past the door Xander guarded. Fearing the worse, she inched closer to the ladder, willing herself to prepare to burst towards it.

"Xander..." she called, anxiety building.

The Left Hand was silent, intently listening at the door. After a pause, Xander touched his petricite stone a final time, focusing his magic. After that...

Xander dashed past her, spun around the ladder's support, and slid down it quickly. Aislynn followed, spurred somewhat by the indignant remarks by her side - courtesy of Thorva - and at her destination - courtesy of Sylas. The spontaneity of her acts wasn't enough for her body to bear, however; as she slid down the ladder, one of her hands lost grip and she soon was in free fall. The next moment, her world was a blur, but the thought Aislynn had soon after was that she wasn't caught by Sylas; the timing was far too quick. A glance to her side confirmed, to her surprise, that it was Xander who caught her; her waist falling neatly into the inside of Xander's arm.

As Aislynn repressed an embarrassed blush, Xander grimaced in an almost cartoonish style. Where Sylas was built like a marble statue and likely had stable footing where he stood, Xander's thinner arms and strained position on a ladder made for a more difficult catch; Aislynn could understand where Xander's expression came from. Despite that, she didn't quite have it in her to fully forgive him dropping her as soon as was safe; a splash and a strong smell revealed to her that their getaway was through the sewers, and Xander had dropped her right in its gunk.

Aislynn wasn't the only one who had words for Xander, though: Sylas was quick to round on the Left Hand.

"I told you to be the last one down," Sylas snarled.

"I decided not to follow your decree. Funny being on the other side of that, eh?" Xander rolled his perhaps-overstretched arm, glanced behind him to note Thorva's safe landing, then continued down the sewage drain, "Besides, the source of the footsteps is just above us. We need to get out of here before they realise we dumped the guards in jail."

Sylas opened his mouth to continue his berating, only to growl away those concerns, follow Xander, and ask, "Who did you see?"

"Why, the person most likely to screw us over tomorrow: Luxanna Crownguard," Xander shrugged, "Now, let's pick up the pace; these sewers aren't exactly the most inconspicuous escape route."

---

Lux had to give it to her new coworkers; they were efficient.

It had taken all of a second for Cadstone to react to the sight of the dungeon guards in the cell. After that, he'd been a spitfire of commands. Cithria and Arno were sent to contact the rest of the guards and to fetch an array of magic-detecting gear respectively. Alys was as attentive as Cadstone, with the latter not needing to address the former to start a query to the dungeon guards.

One of them - an older soldier with a bruised jaw - squinted as Alys approached, waking with a groan.

"Err, next shift?" The man fully awoke, then scrambled in a panic, "Oh. Oh gods, what the hell happened?"

"I was hoping to ask you that," Alys frowned, then explained, "The prisoners are gone, and you and your partner were kept in here. What do you remember?"

"Well... we were sitting on guard... we might've heard something, but Armet said he didn't see anything when I had him investigate," the elder guard's eyes widened in concern, "He must've been tricked! He wouldn't betray us; I don't think he even knew who those mages were."

Cadstone frowned, displeased, then shook Armet's head with surprising vigor. The younger soldier woke then stood up, eyes alert and hand going to his sword. Alys restrained him before the blade could be unsheathed.

"The prisoners-" Armet's panicked gaze faded as he recognized Alys' standard military apparel, "...they escaped... I'm sorry, sir..."

Armet's legs failed him as his injuries - probably a concussion - took affect. Alys caught him and set him to rest against the wall.

The Dauntless Vanguard frowned with disappointment, but spoke softly, "Don't worry about punishment now. With your help, we might be able to solve the problem."

"With what I remember?" Armet assumed, a pained grimace on his face, "I.. I heard something in the staircase, but I couldn't see anything. I assumed it was the mountain; maybe some small earthquake, or a landslide far away. N-nothing was there then, but there had to be..."

"Stay calm soldier."

Where Alys was concerned for her fellow soldier, Cadstone was interested only on results, "What else do you remember? Your partner didn't recall anything, but by your reaction I suspect realized there was a breach...?"

"Not immediately. After I saw nothing in the staircase I went back to stand guard them... I must've been knocked out," Armet recalled, "It happened again later; I woke up some time after, lying on the floor. I heard some voices in the dungeon, saw a figure, then-"

Armet flinched as he put a finger to his right eye - an eye swollen blue with bruising, "Ggh... that bastard must've kicked me in the face. But how did he get there?"

"Magic is clearly afoot," Cadstone declared, "... I suppose you can't be blamed; you're basically unarmed against attacks of arcane nature..."

The sound of the door opening echoed, and Cadstone turned to face the newcomer, "Tch, Arno, to me!"

"I'm not Arno, sir," an armored soldier in white robes - the medic from Lux's last visit to the dungeon - introduced, "Your apprentice is just outside; he's noticed some sort of magic in the staircase."

Cadstone rose from the dungeon floor and quickly marched out. Alys followed, and so did Lux after sending a glare to the medic's back. The medic had gotten to work immediately after Cadstone moved, treating both of the soldiers with some salves; the mage they'd had captured and tortured barely got a caring look from the man.

Lux caught up to find Arno holding up a graymark before her. The light mage flinched, only for her panic to fade as Arno pulled her aside to motion his graymark at the dungeon. Lux willed for her magic to remain within her as she slowly took position behind Cithria and Alys. The two stood by Cadstone as he watched his apprentice.

"Hmm, not in the dungeon," Arno stepped back before the dungeon gate, and his petricite glowed a light indigo, "Alright... whatever spell was used, it was only used outside the dungeon; first in the staircase, about three torches up, then to the entrance.""

"What magic was used?" Cadstone questioned.

Arno frowned, "Can't say. It's unlike anything I've seen..."

"I've seen it before."

It took a moment for Lux to realise she'd said those words. She quickly recovered, ignoring the fear she felt at two mageseeker's gazes falling on her, then spoke.

"A-at the capital. When the demon came... I think it's host had similar abilities..." Lux shrank, both at the memory of the incident and at the two mageseekers she addressed, "I don't know what magic it would be, though: most of what I recall was more clearly the demon's power rather than the host, but..."

"Demonic magic is an affliction we have little knowledge of," Cadstone noted, "Of that knowledge, none hint at control over those abominations... hm?"

Cadstone's attention was caught by the arrival of a new Demacian soldier. His plate armor, gilded to highlight a rank of sword-sergeant, heralded his approach.

"We've found something at the sewage junction!" he announced.

"The sewage junction... they must've entered and escaped through there," Arno realised, "Have you sent a search party through the sewers?"

"Just now, but what we've found... please, follow me."

As they followed, Lux noted the increased presence of... well, all parties in the fort. Every runesteel door was manned by a soldier armed not only with a sword at their hip, but a halberd or spear in their hands. Mageseekers moved from room to room holding files and reports, if not magic artefacts poking out of treated fabric holders. Lux briefly wondered if this was the Mageseekers pushing their sins under the rug, but realised they were probably trying to make sure their treasures remained out of enemy hands. But surely the enemy wouldn't strike again so soon, right?

What she saw in the junction to the sewers made her doubt that.

The junction was filled with boxes, which, for the most part, made the room's actual walls near invisible. By one of the exposed walls sections, surrounded by two guardsmen with pointed spears, was a hooded figure. The figure wasn't quite familiar; the coat he wore was thicker than the one Lux'd previously seen, and the dark steel chestplate that had shrugged off the royal guard's blades was missing; no wisps of demonic magic could be seen, and the same could be said of the massive wrist blades that had severed arms and legs in single swipes. But, the mask of the figure was the same, as were the glowing indigo eyes.

"It's... him. Nocturne... or his host," Lux whispered, "But what is he doing there?"

"That isn't the problem: why hasn't he been gutted?" Alys questioned, unsheathing her sword, "This... bastard..."

"Well... we figured he might be able to tell us things," The soldier said, a nervous tone in his voice, "But..."

Alys didn't let the man finish, stepping ahead to confront the demon host. Swiftly ordering the spear-wielding soldiers aside, Alys raised her blade at the masked man... then lowered it. Her baleful glare shifted to a facade of disgust hiding unsettled nerves. Lux noted Alys' runesteel armor lightly glowing as he backed away.

"What is this?" the veteran questioned, discomfort barely traceable in her voice.

"We don't know..." the soldier answered, "But when we approach there's... something."

"An emotional response..." Cadstone mused, "Most unusual. But not unheard of... some magics deal with the mind."

One of the spearmen lowered their weapons and spoke lowly, "Sergeant Genred said he heard him speak before going down to the sewers. I didn't hear it though."

"A selective process?" Cadstone thought silently before addressing Alys, "From my recollection, the reports your captain sent our way concerning the Nockmirch incident mentioned an illusionist, yes?"

"This man is an illusionist?" Alys assumed, "Illusions do little against a blade."

"We do not know if it's an illusion for certain..." Cadstone leaned close to confront the demon host, "But, whatever this sorcery is, I imagine you had a reason for giving it to us, didn't you?"

The demon host remained silent and still, but somehow Lux could imagine a smirk beneath the mask. Cadstone perhaps agreed, scowling as he turned away. Arno glanced to his master briefly before investigating the demon host - or perhaps, the illusion of him - with a graymark. Lux noted the mageseeker's gaze, hoping it wouldn't fall on her as much as she was interested at its focus.

"It's been a while, Lux."

The familiar voice, undistorted yet somehow still faraway, caught Lux's attention. The illusion - or perhaps it was the real thing? - was looking at her with an intense focus. This focus was not shared with the guards, who seemed unfazed. Only Cithria noticed something off, but it wasn't the demon host's change that the Vanguard's prodigy noted.

"Lux? Are you alright?"

Lux calmed herself before replying, "The illusion spoke to me. Said it's been a while..."

"I heard nothing," Cadstone said, "But... speak with it."

Lux did so, "Nocturne. You're not even here, are you?"

The illusion chuckled, all but confirming it to be true.

"Why are you..." Lux took a hesitant step forward as she rephrased, "Why did you leave this illusion here?"

"To warn you," Lux could imagine the shit-eating grin beneath the illusion's mask, "There's much to fear up here, heh heh..."

Lux squinted, "What are you talking about?"

Nocturne's voice seemed projected and clearer as he spoke, "A storm is approaching; one that will wipe this pebble called Aron's Defiance off the face of its cliffside..."

"We're not afraid of such threats," Cithria claimed. Lux looked to find the guards around her had tensed and taken battle positions, "We will stand against you."

Nocturne ignored the Vanguard prodigy, rising from his crouch and gazing intently into Lux's eyes, "Which is why I'm here, to warn you; you need to run; you need to live."

With that final statement, the demon host's eyes began to darken in a familiar evil hue. One of the spearmen stabbed in instinct, but the blade fazed through. The illusion was revealed just as it faded to dust, leaving silence and a small stone on the floor. Arno picked it up and grimaced at the faded rune etched on the stone.

"My Ur-Nox isn't particularly good, but..." Arno offered the stone to Cadstone, "Doesn't this look like an Ur-Nox rune, master? Harsh lines, sharp angles, all that?"

"Perhaps... if it is true that the demon host is of Noxian origin. A few Freljordian runes have similar stylistic features," Cadstone grimaced, "But, we have bigger problems to deal with, no?"

"Indeed..." Alys sheathed her blade with a troubled expression, "This storm that's supposedly coming... could it be literal?"

"Literal?" Lux followed the train of thought and gasped, "You don't mean...?"

"Winter is coming, but from what I've heard storms don't occur out here until the season's fully in swing," Cithria noted, "We should still be in autumn."

"Some Freljordian legends speak of gods that can call upon storms," Arno added, "But, nothing done by mortal hands could achieve such feats."

"Yet. A demon is involved, and magic of all kinds is rising across the kingdom," Alys listed before giving an unsettled sigh, "The storm may not be natural..."

Alys turned to Lux, "Gods willing, your brother is fine. But in any case, I think it best if you depart soon."

"You're forcing me to leave?" Lux asked, "But... that's playing right into Nocturne's hands. We don't even know if he's telling the truth about the is upcoming attack."

"Whether it's an empty threat, an army, or the armageddon, you needn't be here," Alys noted, "You've returned me to the vanguard, and you got some answers out of the mages before they left. The only thing you being here provides is risk."

"But, I can help!" Lux insisted, memories of her previous meetings with Nocturne rising to her mind's eye. She still wasn't the best with a blade, but surely with her magic-

But... what if that's what Nocturne wants?

That realization kept Lux silent as Alys spoke, "Luxanna, with the kingdom's state, your safety is more important than any victory we might achieve. You're to be queen. I may not be a politician, but even I know this kingdom doesn't need another tragedy..."

Even with the reminder of Garen's potential fate, Lux nodded, "I understand... I'll call my escort."

"I wouldn't be so hasty..." Cadstone noted, "You raised a good point, Lady Crownguard. This Nocturne might be trying scare you out of here to get you out in the open."

"An on-road assassination?" Cithria paled, "What do we do, then? We can't keep Luxanna here if the fort's to be attacked."

"Then we must act fast," Alys answered resolutely, "Luxanna, be ready to move out. Cithria, get the rest of First Shield. We'll give the storm thirty minutes to calm, then we're riding out regardless. We're going to make sure the paths ahead are clear; for both our Crownguards."

---

If he had a choice, Erret would've preferred waking to an ambush then bickering.

It had been a rough night. Rather than spending it, say, in a warm, comfy apartment with cheap liquor and Yin at his side, Erret had stood in the cold snow, watching the night sky rise. Keeping perfect focus, he waited patiently for Xander and the scout party to return, all the while preparing for the worst case scenario. It never came, but accommodating the new arrivals was quite the process, never mind Thorva leaving them to sort it out on their own, whilst she started a sermon to rile up the tribe. By the end of it, Xander had mostly healed up the prisoners, gotten them fed, and set them up on the hammocks in Sylas' cabin; he, Xander, and Sylas himself would have to settle with the floor.

The busy night had left little time for the newcomers to speak with their would-be leader, though. Erret knew from what Yin had told him that Aislynn wasn't too keen on supporting Sylas; when they were introduced, Erret knew they were the pair to watch for. Glares were all that were traded the previous night, however, and Erret had hoped it to be a sign of reconciliation. A naive hope.

It had come slowly to him; he was certain their new guests' complaints were what woke him, but the conversation between Sylas and Aislynn had gone on for a while by the time he gained full consciousness. He remained respectfully still as the two ranted, wondering if Xander'd left for breakfast before the two had woken. If not, he knew he'd be here for a while.

"... really? Name one good, moral noble! You can't, because they're all swine!"

"...Luxanna Crownguard seems nice enough, or have you forgotten-"

"Forgotten what? She betrayed us!"

"We are both alive because of her; you have to give her that!"

Not even bothering to hide his growl, Erret wrapped his coat - his pseudo-pillow for the night - around his head. Had he known, the saboteur probably would've gone to sleep early the previous night. The threat of the tribes' knives be damned; he needed the rest.

Through muffled cloth, the argument could be heard dying down. With a tight frown, Erret turned to face Aislynn's embarrassed expression.

"Did we wake you? Sorry."

Sylas snorted, "And you call me two-faced? That switch was absu-"

"Shove it up your ass, you... you ass!"

As much as the wake-up had sucked, Erret couldn't help but chuckle at the exchange, "I'm up, so what matters... You're Aislynn, right?"

"Yes..." a confused frown graced graced the dream mage's face, "I introduced myself last night-"

"Just double checking," Erret shrugged, sitting up, "I was a bit groggy last night; needed to make sure I got it right... where's Xan-"

The demon host appeared at that moment, poking through the tent's entrance flap. The sound of the tribe preparing for war echoed through the now visible sky; still dark, but with the sun rising.

"I'm right here," Xander said, "I see everybody's up?"

Erret glanced to the hammocks by the entrance. With yawns, the other two freed prisoners rose to sitting positions and made noises of affirmation. Cyrus the fire mage rose with the discipline of a trained soldier, perhaps with the sun if Erret's internal clock was correct. Happ the shadow mage needed more convincing.

"Gods, that was not a full night... Is that..." Happ sniffed, "Chicken?"

"It's only sunrise, so not a full night. And, some bird the raiders got last hunt; I didn't ask," Xande have Happ a stick of meat, offering a set of others for collection, "In any case, finish breakfast quick. We head out for the raid soon.; hopefully before it gets really bright."

"The raid," Aislynn frowned, "We're really going back there?"

"Aye," Xander responded, balancing his meal in his mouth as he started prepping his weapons, "As I said, tribe pride."

"You said I'd figure it out," Aislynn mumbled, "I haven't..."

Xander shrugged, strolling to the tent entrance and opening the flap again, "Hear for yourself."

As the prisoners were introduced (again) to the tribal chants of victory that had made his evening sleep hard to achieve, Erret took to his weapons. A sheathed sword on either side of his waist, like at the trial, combined with an array of hidden knives... he'd be ready for war, most certainly.

The freed mages clearly weren't.

"There's no stopping that, is there?" Aislynn mumbled with anxious nerves and aggravation in equal measure.

"As I said, would've stopped it if I could've," Xander shrugged, a mask in one hand and his breakfast-kebab in the other, "But we can't. Best we can do is adapt to the situation."

Erret noticed something odd, though, "Xander, is that a new mask?"

"Ah yes. One for you too," Xander flicked said second mask at Erret, who caught and admired the carved bone skull, "I figured it best if the loyalists didn't realize we Noxians were working with the Freljordians, so I procured some."

Sylas ignored Xander's digression as he sighed with minor irritation, "Why're you two so against this?"

"We've already explained it ad nauseum," Aislynn shot back with greater frustration, "Even assuming they stay loyal and don't try to conquer us too, these Freljordian's will give the crown something to use to convince everyone that we're in the wrong."

"Convince? We're far past that point already," Sylas crossed his arms, "The arguments' settled. We're on to war now."

Xander shook his head with a chuckle, "We're fighting a war, not a revolution."

Sylas stood, his chains falling from his arms, "There's a difference?"

"Of course," Xander replied, "War's simple. Two leaders disagree. They send their men to kill each other. A revolution, often, involves more than that."

Sylas, after a pause, nodded, "That's fair. It's the people against the leader in a revolution. The leader and their mindless slaves."

"Aye, there is the problem that it's not all the people against the leader. At least, not at first," Xander continued, "There are the rebels: your lot. Then there are the loyalists: the Crownguards, for example. But what you're missing is that after that there's everyone in between."

"You mean me?" Aislynn asked, exchanging glances from Xander to Sylas. The latter frowned, though not out of pure disgust, as Erret would've thought.

"...yes, but it's a spectrum. You're certainly closer to Sylas than the crown," Xander explained, perhaps trying to diffuse potential conflict, "There are some closer to the crown, others to Sylas, some right in the middle. I'm sure you know this, Aislynn, but for our Unshackled leader-"

"I don't lead the revolution," Sylas claimed, "It's a joint effort."

"-of which you're the loudest voice and main inspiration. In the most disorganized sense, that's what being the leader means," Xander snarked as he strapped his musket then his new Freljordian spear to his back, "But as I was saying, our new Freljordian friends may bring those in-between-ers onto the crown's side... but as I said earlier it's probably too late to change any of that. So we adapt... something I have a few ideas for, actually."

From the looks on their face, Erret knew both Sylas and Aislynn had the same question on their mind; the former was the only one to speak up, though, "And what would these ideas entail?"

Xander smirked, "Well for one-"

A horn blew outside, followed by the muffle roar-squeals of drüvask mounts and yells of warriors.

"... for one, I'll need you and yours to stick to the back line," Xander finished with an amused sigh, "Try not to get seen. If nobody realized you're working with the raiders, well..."

Sylas rose, "That won't be possible-"

A bit too late; with a shrug, Xander had left the tent. Erret was quick to follow, a grin forming on his face as the call of war beckoned. After days of tense diplomacy where his life was dependent on Xander's tongue, now he could return to what he was meant for.

The Noxians' excitement would've left Sylas in the dust, if not for Thorva appearing. Riding her drüvask, spear in hand, Erret noted a tense look in the Freljordian warrior's eyes. More so than because Xander basically dictated her political control; there was something off to it. She seemed eager to move along, and was almost insulted that he, Sylas, and Erret weren't as urgent.

Xander didn't seem to notice, an ignorant smile on his face, "The raid's started?"

Thorva shook her head, "Not truly. They found us."

The Left Hand squinted, concerned, "The Demacians?"

"A small group," Thorva answered, "On… four…"

"On horses," Sylas filled in, simultaneously reminding Erret that horses were uncommon in the Freljord, "So… scouts?"

"Aye," Thorva nodded, "We will kill them then begin our raid."

"If they get away and rat us out the fort will be defended. Good call," Xander nodded and got trekking where Thorva was headed, "Anything to note about our scouts?"

As Sylas mounted his drüvask behind them, Thorva's mount trotted by Xander's side.

"Their leaders wore steel," Thorva recalled, "Not furs or cloaks."

"Soldiers, not dedicated rangers," Erret noted, "Dauntless?"

"Most likely," Xander replied, "Someone with knowledge of Lux's ties recommended her aid. That's most likely Garen."

"Garen Crownguard?" Sylas and his mount caught up, both eager at the sound of one of Sylas' rivals, "Where is he?"

"Follow me…" Thorva's mount advanced by a pace then stopped, allowing its rider to glance back at the Demacian/Noxian party, "… each mount has room for two. I'll take one of you."

Xander made the decision, "Erret, go with her-"

Erret heard no more. Focus took over as the saboteur to his seat behind Thorva. The whistle of wind filled Erret's ear as Thorva took chase to join the rest of the raiding party. Soon, they were flanked by all matter of the Freljord's best. Other drüvask calvary rode ahead; a few iceborn mages with fanciful staffs to channel their magic willed the snow away to clear their vision; attentive hunters with bows prowled nearby tree-lines for clues. Some were men Erret recognized from their short tenure with the tribe; they were decently skilled, and he hoped they'd outperform themselves in the coming fight.

Thorva barked orders and questions to a nearby rider and continued far out past the tribe's camp. From the clearing they'd made their nightly abode, Thorva's drüvask carried its riders through snowy forestry. Their escorts in their various multitude disappeared into the trees. A mist further obscured them. Snow fell gently from the sky; a point that mildly concerned Erret as he glanced to the forest floor. It was a needless worry, though; he soon found the most subtle of footsteps in the snow.

"Slow down," Erret ordered, "We have to catch them by surprise."

After glancing behind her, Thorva met the saboteur's gaze, nodded, and complied. The excited pants of her drüvask calmed and the crunch of snow slowed. Erret dismounted before the massive pig had fully slowed, rolling through the snow and beginning to prowl. Even with the fresh snowfall the footsteps were deep, hidden largely by the monochrome material they were imprinted on. Erret traced the steps easily, finding extra trails in the snow. However, his hearing, whilst still decent, was mitigated by the wind and the trudging of Thorva and her mount.

"Recent tracks. Horse," Erret noted, audibly advancing through the snow with wet trudges, "You see?"

"Yes," Thorva crept behind him, completely unheard save for a stray dry branch. The Freljordian ignored it, pressing on, following the footsteps, "How long?"

"Minutes," Erret replied with a stealthy whisper, "Should be a bit ahead. Stay qui-"

In the distance, a man's yell echoed, "...o time, go ahead, and just run!"

Well, so much for stealth.

A horse neighed one the distance, its silhouette barely visible through the mist. The clink of steel plates echoed through the wind. With the growing sound, Erret estimated a large party; perhaps up to fifty men, give or take.

Thorva growled and advanced. She glanced around the forest line before throwing her spear through the air. A berating question was at the tip of Erret's tongue before a blue shine appeared to his right. As he caught up through the snow, he saw a fence of sharp ice burst from behind one tree and strike at the amorphous shadow in the distance. A body fell from it, cradling a wounded leg.

Other hunters? How's she know they were... doesn't matter.

Thorva mounted her drüvask once more and offered a free hand to Erret. With the saboteur onboard, Thorva rode past her spear, collected it, and charged. More drüvask riders began to flank Thorva and Erret, surprising the Noxian as they appeared from the woodwork. More surprised were the horses ahead; their narrow legs clearly were hindering them when compared to the drüvask's broader frame. Daggers of ice and stray arrows and spears nipped at the Demacian patrol, some projectiles bouncing off the soldiers' armor. As the Freljordian hoard approached, those arrows began to stick, and more bodies began to fall.

As the forest gave way to a clearing - where in the distance lay the shapes of Aron's Defiance - a twelve men turned around, unlatched shields, and dug in. Two broad-shouldered soldiers who looked to be siblings beneath their helms rallied eight others, hefting greatswords and yelling challenges. Six others spread out, forming a shield line, behind which the last four soldiers - crossbow men - took aim. Three drüvask riders strode ahead to meet the thin line but quickly fell; one was felled in spectacular fashion by the two greatsword-wielding soldiers, the next rode past them only to be speared by the shield wall, and the last, advancing past them, fell short as both mount and rider were shot through the head with crossbow bolts. Thorva swerved her mount behind a broken tree, glancing past it with a growl, "It's them."

Erret dismounted trying to find eyes on the crossbowmen, "Who?"

"Two siblings razed our great harbor at Frostheld," Thorva answered, peeking past their tree cover and nearly getting shot by a steel bolt, "Warriors with power beyond most others' belief.. but I believed. And feared."

Erret glanced past the tree with a grimace, watching a team of seven hunters charge the siblings. Five spearmen tried to best the siblings, supported by two archesr. Alas, the archers were outshot by the Demacian crossbowmen, and without support the spearmen were bested handedly. Two were felled in a single slash, their spears cut in half by the stroke. Another was stabbed through the neck, blood spilling on the snow. The second last one lost a foot and sustained a stab to the shoulder, whilst the final sustained a stab to the thigh and lost a head.

"And now they're blocking our way," Erret frowned, "Tch... Damn shame Brokvar left."

"They're far better than he was, and there're two of them!" Thorva could've hidden her desperation from most people, but after helping Xander manoeuvre around the Black Rose, Erret could tell the iceborn's nerves were getting to her, "We'll need another way to catch up with the main group."

Erret remained silent as he watched the situation unfold. Hidden by a flurry of white mist, two drüvask riders forced the siblings to retreat with their sudden charge. The footless spearman was spared a bloody end thus, with one of the riders - the Scarmother, Erret realized - collecting him and riding off, dodging steel bolts. The other rider wasn't so lucky, losing his mount to spears before being gutted by the siblings' converging blades. And yet...

"We can get through them. Look at the ground at their feet. Watch the steps," Erret paused to let Thorva act accordingly before explaining, "They're still retreating. However good they are, they can't hold the line forever. And maybe they're more skilled then Brokvar, but he had magic.

"That still leaves us with two Brokvars..." Thorva frowned, somewhat calmed, but still tense and concerned, "How do we get past them?"

"We could wait for the rest to show: they'll be here soon. But, we'd lose space..." Erret glanced around to assess his options, "Get your bowmen and iceborn to focus on the shield wall and archers. Keep them moving, archers on archers, iceborn on the shield wall."

"And the soldiers?"

"Can you make me a smoke screen? Perhaps more icy mist?"

"S-sure, but-"

"I'll deal with them," Erret said, "Give me cover and go!"

Erret bounded past their cover before Thorva. He eyed the crossbowmen's gazes as they disappeared in white mist and knew to duck the two bolts that pierced through the cloud. Unsheathing his swords, he stopped his sprint and backed away, slowly walking through the mist. The whistle of a quick swipe heralded one of the siblings swinging in blind. Erret sidestepped it easily and made to slash at the sibling's leg-

The tip of another greatsword caught his blades before they bit at the unaware soldier's calves. Erret immediately backed away, dodging the counter slash and grimacing. Both siblings were soon on him, using their swords to attempt entrapment. Barely two seconds in, and Erret no longer was fighting; all he could do was dodge each oncoming strike.

The intervention of another threat barely saved him; a barely missed barrage of bolts made the siblings hesitant. Erret backed away, eyes on the siblings but mind elsewhere. How could he be concerned with the skilled swordsmen before him? At least they were right ahead; Erret was worried about the crossbows and spearpoints aimed at his back. Raising his dual blades in protective stance, he sent glances to both parties. To Erret's horror, he heard a bowstring loose at the same time the first swordsman lunged again-

A longer arrow stuck itself in the swordsman's arm, misaligning his stab. The whizz of ice spells followed as Thorva's iceborn fired upon the Demacians. Erret allowed himself to be distracted for only a moment; he slashed at the swordsman, who was forced on the retreat by his wounded arm. His sibling stepped in with surprising speed, sending a flurry of stabs and swipes. Though the attacks held little effort behind them, the weight behind sibling's strong, massive frame put Erret on the defensive. A particularly forceful uppercut slash disarmed Erret's right hand; a thrust from his left was the only thing that stopped his attacker's momentum.

But, a quick thrust from the wounded sibling put a shallow scar on Erret's arm, allowing the healthier one to shove the saboteur to the ground. Fear gripped Erret's heart as the wounded sibling raised his blade with an enraged yell. The fear dissipated, however, like soup down a gullet. A bolt of indigo magic then struck the swordsman, stripping off a steaming steel plate. The wounded sibling pulled his slightly healthier partner along as stray arrows missed their mark. A hopeful gait quickened their retreat before a second magic bolt struck the then-healthier sibling's back. A lone shield soldier took over, blocking a third bolt and delaying Erret's retaliation. As he forced the shield down by his volume of strikes and impaled the soldier, Erret heard the tribe charging to his side. The shield wall was broken, and the chase could continue in earnest.

Two drüvask's rode to his side; one mounted by Thorva and the other by Sylas and Xander. The Left Hand of Noxus was recognisable by his musket; the petricite tip of the weapon steamed with magic expenditure. Sylas wasn't quite as discreet, wearing a large cloak to hide his chains and shackles, but they still hid his most defining identifiers. The absurd image still put the beginnings of a grin on Erret's face as he mounted up on Thorva's ride.

"Good work all things considered," Xander sighed, "But that was reckless."

"Either that or let them all escape to the fort," Erret replied, looking ahead, "...aaand never mind. Guess I've gotten sloppy."

As they approached the edge of a cliff and reached the mouth of the bridge to Aron's Defiance, Erret watched the last Demacian soldiers escape through the gate. The two wounded siblings were carted off by a final horse whilst a large man with a blue scarf watched and followed. From the frown that grew on Sylas' face and the amused sigh coming from Xander, Erret knew it was Garen Crownguard in the distance.

Sylas shouted an order, grimaced at the sight of arrows being missed, and cursed, "Damn it all! They're locked in now."

"Not to worry," Xander dismounted from Sylas' mount, holding his musket by its shaft, "The raid should still be fine. They have yet to fully fortify; they'd be pelting us with arrows by now if they had."

"We still need to break through that gate," Erret noted, "I presume you have... ideas, shall we say? For how to get through?"

"Of course," Xander's smirk was audible as he stepped forward onto the bridge, "Thorva, gather the iceborn. Sylas, you and yours will lead them. Then, Thorva, you and Erret, are with me; I will lead the charge."

Thorva nodded before acquiescing, but Sylas was less convinced. He dismounted his mount, "Hold on. Why're you leading the charge?"

"I'll need you to stay back. Remember what we discussed?" Xander turned with a sigh, "Besides, I do believe you'll be most effective from afar."

"These men are fighting for me," Sylas stepped forcefully before Xander, "You're just accessory to that."

"They're fighting for their gods; we're both accessory to that," Xander countered, "And, if you follow my lead, their belief will be deeper."

"How'd you reckon that? Going to trick them with your demon?" Sylas smiled; Erret figured that with his powers the Unshackled knew Nocturne was elsewhere.

"Nocturne won't be necessary for that," the Left Hand stepped close to Sylas whilst motioning to the growing crowd of iceborn with his musket, "Say, look at these guys; what do you see in them?"

"What am I supposed to see?" Sylas asked, unamused.

"Well, in short... power," the Left Hand explained, "You can sap and channel all the magic around you at a moment's notice. And with a small army's worth of unique Freljordian mages... well, I'd think that a whole blizzard's worth of power to throw at the Demacians. And someone who can wield that... probably'd put the fear of the gods in these folk?"

Sylas was trying very hard not to look interested; his response didn't explicitly state agreement, but it wasn't a direct no either.

"Will they be enough?" he whispered, "For that power?"

"Well, even if it's not a blizzard, you'd at least be able to fling enough ice to match the average Noxian artillery division. And that's definitely an impressive feat, let me say," Xander shrugged, "It'd still be enough to brown all the Vanguard's pants over there, never mind those mageseekers... So, what do you say?"

"If you insist... but I want to know one more thing," Sylas stared Xander down, "What's your plan for Luxanna?"

"You want to know if I'll assassinate her?" Xander assumed, "Don't worry; that isn't my intent. I need her alive."

Sylas grimaced, "To what end?"

"She chose - wrongly, of course - to side with the crown," Xander sighed, stepping forward, "But, when she realises her mistake... I believe the kingdom will follow. Regardless, we'll talk more after this raid. So, are we in agreement?"

"We will be having that talk," Sylas shrugged off his frown, trading it for a grin, "But for now... let us judge Aron's Defiance."

"Show them the worth of mage warriors, eh?" Xander didn't drop his shit-eating smirk as he turned to Erret, "Well, not all of us are mages but..."

"Yeah, yeah," Erret couldn't help but sigh, stretching before spinning his blades in anticipation, "You done? Finally... let's do this."

---

Even before the floor shook and the walls cracked, Lux felt as though something was wrong.

The first thing she suspected was that she was in the wrong place. She didn't need to be here; everyone had said so. But, in her foolishness, here she was - possibly about to contribute to the decline of Demacia's nobility, to put it mildly.

Another wave of fear struck her as the corridor shook again. Dust fell like snow from the corners of the room, made loose by whatever was going on outside. Lux wanted to investigate, but however wrong it was to be here, it surely would be worse to be out there. She had her own anxieties to worry about just here.

To her shame those fears had spread even to her reflections. The question had temporarily floated in her head; had she committed some great sin, prompting the demon's actions as karma? Lux had shoved such thinking aside, recalling her second encounter with the demon she feared at the capital. Nocturne wanted her to think she'd made the wrong choice. If the demon was saying otherwise, it meant she was on the right track.

But that was for the future. Rather than come try to assassinate her, Nocturne came only to intimidate her and insist that she survive. Did that mean it was better for her to die? Why was Nocturne certain she was at risk at all? If she needed to die, could she actually accept that fate?

"Miss Crownguard?"

Sergeant Praytor's sudden call snapped Lux out of her stupor. As she moved her gaze from the shaking roof to the man next to her, Lux realized her eyes were wide and her breathing had quickened. She took a slow breath to try calm herself before replying.

"I'm fine..." the breath wasn't nearly as refreshing as Lux hoped, "... well, maybe not fine, but..."

"I get it," the sergeant assured, "I'm rather terrified myself, honestly. Shit's just like from my nightmares... But we'll be out of here soon enough."

Another boom echoed through the corridor. As stressed as Lux was, it was oddly comforting to know she wasn't the only one. Her escorts had their own reactions, from growls disguising fear to unabashed curses.

"The hell's going on out there?" Sergeant Praytor asked to himself, not expecting an answer.

Private Jaime gave an offer anyways, "I could go back and check."

"... unnecessary," Praytor replied, seemingly interested in the idea but ultimately choosing to forgo the info, "We know enough: the fort's under siege, so we need to get Miss Crownguard out of here."

"Will we be able to?" Private Genna asked, "I mean... if it's making the whole fortress shake..."

"The whole Dauntless Vanguard's going to be fighting whoever's doing that," Jaime noted, "Surely they'd be able to make a path for us, or at least be a distraction."

"That assumes Alys and my brother returned..." Lux shivered at the concept of the opposite having occured, "... Gods, I hope they did."

"I hope so too," Praytor's voice shook lightly as he stepped ahead.

After departing the living quarters assigned to her a few minutes prior, Lux and her party had watched with growing dread as Aron's Defiance slowly got ready for war. Their first clue was the man who came to inform Lux that her carriage was ready. Rather than simply being armed with a sword, as per usual, the soldier had his blade sheathed, and his arms held a spear and shield. The second clues came as the prowled from corridor to corridor. As they headed for the Demacia-side exit, squads of heavily armed soldiers moved for the Freljord-side entrance. This was far from the myserious, guarded mageseeker study Lux had entered: this was a giant waking, salivating to make its bared fangs all the more visible and menacing.

As Praytor entered the main hall, Lux's escort shared a shiver as they came to a realisation: perhaps the previous clues should've been enough; they should've sprinted to the carriage as soon as it was ready. The massive hall that had once been a warm place of comfort had surprisingly seen damage, despite the warfront being near the opposite side of Aron's Defiance. Near the doorway they'd entered through, Lux saw a part of the hall's roof had collapsed. Sunlight pierced the whole of the roof, under which lay a set of loose rocks mixed with dust and snow.

Despite the fortress crumbling around them, a party of soldiers and Mageseekers carried on with their tasks. Only armed with the blades sheathed at their sides, the soldiers had their arms busy hefting a crate through the main hall's weary doors. Four Mageseekers stood by. One held a staff of gilded rune steel, another a graymark. The last two were familiar; Adept Cadstone took note and muttered orders, whilst Adept Arno watched, glancing to a set of notes in his hand.

"... if you're overwhelmed, throw all the extra petricite we've given you into the crate," Cadstone ordered.

"Wouldn't the petricite just absorb the magic?" one of the soldiers asked.

"Better the mages of Freljordians get a box of magic rocks than their old leader's weapon. The petricite we've allotted should be enough to permanently damage the crystal at least," Cadstone replied, insistent gaze surveying his party before falling on the newcomers, "Ah, Miss Crownguard. You've arrived."

"We had hoped we wouldn't need to leave so soon, but..." Lux grimaced as shaking emanated from the main fortress, "I don't think it's safe for me here anymore..."

"Who's attacking us, anyway?" Praytor asked.

"Freljordians," the soldier answered, "They chased the Captain's patrol back to the fort and have been pelting us with ice since he got back. At least, from what I heard from the guard towers. The Freljordians should be attacking the north gate by now, surely, but we sent most of the guards that way. It should hold..."

Even with doubt in the air, fear left Lux and breathed a sigh of relief, "I believe my brother will win the day. But... he doesn't need me worrying him..."

Looking to the crate, a sudden spark of curiosity filled Lux, "...what is all this?"

"An artefact of great power. The weapon of Captain Aron's great rival," Cadstone claimed, "I have no doubt the Freljordians will be seeking it. I need you to bring it to a safer place."

"Me?" Lux paled as she realised a mageseeker was giving her a job.

"Your escorts, gods forbid, may be the last men to leave this fortress," the staff wielding mageseeker said, "This artefact is what ended Captain Aron's life. Given the magic artillery we're being put through, if this staff were given to whoever is leading the enemy... Demacia doesn't need another threat on the horizon."

"... Agreed," Lux nodded, "So, I just will have this in my carriage when we leave?"

"That'll be all," Cadstone answered, "We've sent a raven to High Silvermere; the mageseekers there will know what to do."

"Alright then..." Praytor took over, walking over to the crate before addressing the soldiers who held it, "Will you be joining us?"

"If you would have us," the soldier answered.

"Very well. You'll ride with me, your partner with Private Jaime," Praytor motioned to Jaime at his side as the fortress shook, "Now, let's take this to the carriage and get the hell out of here."

The escorts replied, "Yes sir," and hefted the crate, leaving Lux and Praytor with the Mageseekers. The blue-cloaked masked men followed Lux as she tentatively walked through the main hall gates and onto the east courtyard. Peeking past the walls to where the north courtyard lay, Lux saw smoke rising and heard the clash of warriors in the distance. Knowing Garen fought in that mess brought a yearning to fight to her heart, but Lux knew the safer option was to flee. Ice blocks fell from beyond the north courtyard, not targeting her position; the Crownguard mage knew she had to leave before that changed.

Behind her, Praytor looked to the mageseekers; particularly at Arno and his notes.

"If you don't mind me asking, what exactly is in this crate?" he asked.

Arno glanced to his colleagues before replying, "Well, the artefact is a gold staff. Or, perhaps a scepter for a tall man. Its wielder's body was never recovered..."

The staff-wielding mageseeker continued, "It couldn't be wielded by Captain Aron, though; doing so seemed to have killed him, rather than any of the wounds on his person. It seems only certain mages can hold it. If you're not this type of mage when you wield it, you die."

"Hence the crate," Praytor frowned, "Must've been some monster to wield it."

"Indeed; the great ice mage, Rylai. Captain Aron's rival, said to be a giant who spearheaded his horde solely by his own strength and infernal magics," the staff-wielding mageseeker recounted, "From our studies of his weapon, it seems to magnify all magic, but particularly ice magic. Obviously, we don't want the mages attacking our fort to get access. Or any mages, for that matter."

"Of course," Praytor straightened up, "We'll get it to safe hands. You can count on us."

The staff-wielding mageseeker nodded, "You will do your duty. Demacia's fate just might depend on it..."

The graymark-wielding mageseeker stepped forward with a probing question, "Why were you asking about the weapon?"

Praytor squinted, "Just for safety purposes. I mean, if I hadn't known about the staff's killing properties..."

"And if I asked you to hold the staff in your hands, would you die?"

The question made the escort group stop in its tracks. The soldiers loading the weapon into the carriage finished their job quickly before advancing and unsheathing their blades. The mageseekers tensed, with the staff-wielder in particular stepping away and pointing her weapon's end at Praytor. The focus of every gaze was on the sergeant, who backed away from the graymark-wielding mageseeker with a confused yet horrified look on his face.

"W-what do you mean?" Praytor asked.

The mageseeker showed her graymark, revealing its faint purple aura. Lux's breath hitched, even after realizing it wasn't pointed at her. Her horrified gaze met Praytor's.

The mageseeker glared at the sergeant, "Will you confess, or will we need to use force?"

"No, there has to be a mistake!" Praytor outstretched his open hands in warning, "I'm not a mage."

"He isn't..." Private Genna's voice held doubt, however, and she backed away from her leader cautiously.

"The graymark doesn't lie," the mageseeker insisted, "I ask again, will you confess, or will we need to use force?"

"I'm not... I'm not..."

Praytor curled up, tensing and shrinking away from the mageseekers, closing his eyes and fear. Lux had never seen the man so frightened; even when Nocturne attacked in the capital, he'd at the very least appeared steadfast and stalwart. And even if he'd failed there, Lux knew he was a good man; mage or no, she felt it was her duty to help him.

The mageseekers disagreed. The one with the graymark made to warn her, but Lux cut her off.

"This man protected me from the demon at the capital. He can be trusted," Lux insisted, then turned to Praytor, "Sergeant, look at me. I know you're not a mage. I'll help."

"...Yeah," Praytor stiffened, then slowly straightened. The smile that grew on Lux's face faded as quickly as it grew when black eyes gazed at him, "I am not a mage. And neither is he."

The graymark mageseeker grabbed Lux, "Miss Crownguard!-"

Even with the burning pain of the graymark draining her magic, Lux's focus was on the demon before her. A faint silhouette of smoke burst from Praytor, leaving the man to fall to his knees, unconscious. A shadowy hand slashed at Lux, finding air but prompting a scream of surprise. Lux and her mageseeker savior looked up to find a shadow glaring back a them.

"How sloppy I've been... perhaps I should've bided my time, or returned to my master sooner..." Nocturne sighed, "Ah well... that staff should prove a good enough apology."

The mageseekers immediately got to work; the staff-wielding mageseeker activated his weapon, and a vacuum-like effected sucked at Nocturne's wispy form. The other mageseekers brandished similar weapons; canes or simple wands of gold and petricite. Before they could be used, a wisp of black condensed into familiar steel blades; Nocturne spun in a flurry of sharp edges. Cadstone, Arno, and the graymark-wielder were lucky, only being disarmed; the staff-wielder's throat was severed with a spray of blood, and Nocturne didn't seem interested in healing him.

With the mageseekers temporarily dealt with, Nocturne further condensed his form, pitch black musculature forming by the fiber and steel shoulder plates forming. They finished materializing in time, catching a strike from Private Genna's blade. Nocturne swatted her aside with the flat of his right blade before using the left to catch the strikes of Private Zekiel and Jaime.

As he and his louder, faster compatriot struggled against Nocturne, the usually quiet Zekiel shouted, "Guards, protect the artefact!"

Nocturne moved his dismissive glance from the two escorts to the crate guards, "Don't bother."

The demon forced away Zekiel and Jaime, the former's blade being cut in half. Not bothering to execute the two escorts, Nocturne phased through the floor. The shadow travelled through the floor, the smoke it emanated being the only clue to its movements. Arrows came from the walls as guards started firing shots, but Nocturne was safe under the stones. Even with the smoke heralding their foe's approach, the two guards couldn't counter, nor did they last long. One of them dodged the oncoming slash from Nocturne, ducking past it whilst her buddy got sent flying into the carriage. The last guard dodged the next slash as well, which saw Nocturne's blade imbedding itself deep into the crate. Rather than try attack the guard with its blades again, however, Nocturne pulled the crate into the guard, knocking her to the ground and opening the crate in a single move.

The ruined crate lid fell with a clatter, letting the crate's contents fall. The charged petricite fell from the crate surrounded its true treasure: a golden staff with an ice blue crystal imbedded at its tip. Nocturne approached it reverently, a chuckle coming from its breath. Nocturne casually moved its head to dodge an oncoming blow before raising a hand. In the smoky stones where he'd sank, Nocturne summoned forth his monsters. The imps rose, followed by shades in the shape of Freljordian barbarians. As the monsters crawled up the walls and began fighting the guards, Nocutrne floated down, reaching closer to the staff-

It caught Lux's oncoming blade with its own without even looking at her.

"Even if you had your ancestor and brother's skill combined... even with your power..." Nocturne grabbed the scepter as he sent a taunting gaze to Lux, "It wouldn't have been enough."

Lux only grit her teeth and channeled her magic into her sword. The mageseekers be damned, if Nocturne and his master got the power of the artefact-

"You have to run; you have to live..." Nocturne repeated his threat before shoving Lux off him. Lux was only barely able to raise her blade to block Nocturne's, but the demon then started pressing down, forcing Lux on her back, her arms falling closer to the ground, "That hasn't changed. So stay down..."

Lux continued to fight in vain, pushing forward despite the lack of progress and pain in her arms, "I'm not-"

"Not going to surrender?" Nocturne growled, irritated, before releasing Lux. The light mage took the opportunity and rose to her feet quickly, but quickly found herself back on her back. Only this time, she was disarmed; with a second slash, Nocturne sent her and her sword flying, "Foolishness... what's this?"

Rising to her elbows weekly, Lux saw Nocturne glance with surprise at the scepter - or rather, the hand that held it. Rather than smoky pseudo-muscle, a crystal growth seemed to emanate from the scepter. Nocturne's fingers were now rocky crystals, blue at the edges yet an eerie purple glowing at their center. Frost grew on the gauntlets of the demon's forearm as the crystal growth grew slowly past the elbow.

"Ah. So that's how it works," Lux could imagine the frown on Nocturne's face from the disappointed shrinking of the demon's eyes, "Regardless, there should be a worthy iceborn in the tribe. Stay alive, fool. The storm will pa- argh!"

A sword swung up, severing Nocturne's arm and breaking it to shards. Where the blade would've once found shadowy mist, the crystal growth left Nocturne vulnerable. The demon backed away with a growl, turning back to find Praytor had risen. The sergeant held a defiant look in his eyes as he pointed his blade.

"You'll pay for possessing me, demon!" he vowed.

"Behind you," Nocturne replied, taking the scepter in his other hand as his other arm regrew.

Another growl was Praytor's only clue to his new foes. He turned around and met a shadowy polearm as one of Nocturne's monsters attacked. Imps approached just as Praytor positioned his blade to deal with the pole arm wielder, and the sergeant was quickly on the defensive. Lux picked up her blade and rose up, but by then Nocturne had floated to the top of the castle walls. Another crystal growth had left his arm brittle and immobile, but with his otherworldly swiftness and monstrous slaves, he was able to dodge all the projectiles that came his way.

"I believe this scepter a good trade for your safe passage," Nocturne called out, glancing around the courtyard and past the walls, "Not that you should need to leave; the raid is passing... and, I've done a good job wrecking your carriage, so... until we meet again."

"No, Nocturne-!"

In a burst of black, the demon disappeared past the wall. The monsters howled into the sky as their master escaped. Lux watched then turned to banish the monsters with her light, only for them to disappear on their own. The soldiers and mageseekers around her watched in silence as the battle came to a close, and they could only thank their lucky stars for survival.

A desolate silence was left in the demon's wake. That echoes didn't come even from the northern courtyard suggested the battle had been won, and by the lack of victorious cries Lux assumed the fight north had been so successful either. Praytor rose from where his shadowy foe had forced him with a grimace, then surveyed the courtyard. As Nocturne had noted, the carriage was worse for wear, with a door blown open and cuts across its walls and wheels. Its escorts were in similar position, with Private Jaime numbly looking at his shattered sword, disappointed. Defeat permeated the air like evaporating blood from a battlefield, which this was not. A demon charged in and took what it wished with little resistance. The guards hadn't battled it; they'd merely inconvenienced it.

"Lady Luxanna," Praytor glanced to his charge with uncertainty, "You should get indoors. The privates will help guard you; tell Genna she's in charge until I return."

"Until you return?" Lux asked, confused, "From what?"

Praytor's gaze fell to the mageseekers, who stood around their fallen comrade. Blood pooled from the staff-wielder's throat, staining the stones red. His partner, the graymark-wielding mageseeker, wept over his friend's body, more open in his mourning. Adept Arno and his master stood silent, a restrained disappointment and disturbance etched on their face.

"... no," Lux stepped before Praytor, "You did nothing wrong."

"I didn't," he admitted, "But Nocturne somehow got to me. He... I don't even know how he arrived. If studying me can somehow provide a clue... if it can stop that from ever happening again... I'll submit to anything they need of me. Things are about to get worse, so... if Demacia is to survive, we have to do what we can."

Lux sighed, "What we can..."

Surveying the scene of ruin before her, Lux could only wonder what they could do when the forces that opposed Demacia were so brutal.

---

Author's Note: So yeah, in this timeline, the Demacians aren't the warriors who built the town... or something, that sentence doesn't really work without a prior-mentioned town in question. Either way, Aron's Defiance got wrecked, the Freljordians win, and Xander's plan continues. We'll be getting another aftermath chapter after this.

Speaking of prior mentioned items, I believe I noted once that Chapter 30 would be around half-way through season one, if this were a TV show? I'm considering changing some plans: don't really think my planned conclusion on that chapter works well with how the story is going currently. Other than said conclusion, the story should still progress as planned, but I'm not sure if i should stay the course on my plans or change it to let the story flow better. If you don't mind, let me know what you all think.

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.

[Edit 20/03/22] - Textual and grammatical errors corrected.