The morning came like any other, with a clear sky and birds chirping. The morning fog, while ideal for covering your movements, also made things more difficult when riding. So, Alatar decided to continue on foot. His destination was the capital, where he had visited only two days ago. His feet began hurting and he grit his teeth. Books were good and all, but he really needed to get himself into shape; this was ridiculous. Even the most lazy stable boy and milkmaid could do as much without any trouble. He began making a mental checklist on what to prioritize when he got to the capital.

"Let's see… first, sell the horse. And the scrolls. I will need some cash at hand. No, no, wrong, first check with the garrison and the Mage's Guild. If they haven't learned of the city's fall, they must be informed at once. Then sell whatever I can, buy some equipment. Then… what?" he pondered. The wizards at the capital might help him, but he doubted they would spare much, in face of this disaster; all of their resources would be poured into protecting the city, and a no-name mage's needs would likely be ignored.

An idea struck him. He could join one of the military factions. Even a foot soldier got bed and board, paid by the city. He shook his head, as this was a frankly idiotic thought. With his frail body, even the farmhands would be better suited at this than him. He clutched the reigns harder. One memory he repressed began surfacing. He shook his head even harder. Don't think about it! It is in the past now! Yet the sight of blood was burned into his memory, and the lustful panting face of the succubus brought it up, even in his troubled sleep.

The sun rose quickly, dispelling the white cloak of fog. He mounted his horse and began galloping to the capital.

As he reached the capital, his heart calmed. The towers were filled with patrolling soldiers, and some mages too. The news, it seems, reached the capital fast. As he approached the gate, he saw a small crowd clamoring. Before them, some officials were trying to calm them down. A few knights, a mage and a high ranking priest listened to the crowd.

Many of the people in the crowd seemed to have seen better days; their clothes were ripped at places, and dirty. Refugees, from the look of them. He came closer. Some of these people might have some valuable information on what happened to the city.

The priest was trying to enforce order with the typical haughty manner common in high-ranking officials, but then a merchant said something that made all the blood drain from his face. He snapped at the merchant, but others seemed to agree with him. His ear caught a name: Sasha Fullmoon.

The priest looked very sick, all of a sudden. His overweight body hunched and trembled. Alatar quickly closed in on him. The mage caught sight of him and came close as well.

"Greetings, fellow magister" he greeted. Alatar pulled the hood from his eyes. Instant recognition hit him. "Alatar! Good to see you escaped all of this!"

"Nice to see you too, Pallanto. It seems the news are already here. Can we get to an inn or a tavern? I am starving and tired."

"Yes, yes, let's get you inside. Let's get the head priest too; the news about his daughter hit him hard."

The mage called Pallanto wore the same red robe as Alatar, albeit cleaner. He turned to the priest, who seemed to have trouble standing.

"Come, Father, let's go somewhat private. A strong drink will help. Trust me, I know."

The priest looked up, his face in a daze. The shock must be great, Alatar thought.

The two mages helped the priest in a modest inn, where they told the host to give them a private room. As they sat around the table, the host brought a bottle of strong liquor and three mugs, as well as some bread and roasted lamb. Alatar didn't stand on ceremony; he tore through his meal as if it has insulted him.

"Well well, look at that! The genius whelp can actually get hungry!" Pallanto teased. His blue eyes sparkled with amusement and his wavy hair shook with his laughter.

"Please, not now, Pallanto. I've had a… rough night."

Pallanto became serious. "This is a clusterfuck on all accounts, Alatar. We got information that the fall of the city was actually an inside job."

"!"

"Yes. It would seem, as all witness accounts, that most powerful people inside the city were turned into monsters, and attacked the city from within."

"You mean..."

"Yes, Willmaria Noscrim, that brat Miltie, Merce Dascaros, Primera Concerto, even Princess Francisca. And..."

The priest took a gulp of the liquor and slammed it down the table. "It can't be! My daughter was blessed! She wouldn't succumb!"

"...and esteemed priestess Sasha Fullmoon."

Alatar told them of the lilim he saw at the city gate.

"Damn. We had reports of the lilim Druella in the area, but this… the priestess is different, Alatar. She wasn't turned by a monster. It seems… she fell herself-"

The priest moved quickly, grabbing the table knife. Pallanto jumped back, startled, but Alatar moved quickly, as the priest brought the knife to his heart. He grabbed the priest's hand.

"Enough!" he was surprised, as the other two, at the tone of his voice. "What will your suicide accomplish?" Don't think about it, don't bring forth that memory, don't, DON'T!

The head priest looked at him with startled eyes. Tears started running down his washed blue eyes. Alatar took a deep breath, and sat down. He filled his mug to the top with the strong-smelling liquor.

"Alatar…" Pallanto spoke, in half warning, half comforting tone.

"It's OK, old friend." Alatar said.

"I'm not old."

"Listen here, Father" he began talking again, with such disrespectful tone, inconceivable for a young mage talking to a head priest. He took a deep breath.

"When I was five, I lived with my parents at a village near the demon realm." The inner dam in his mind broke, and he fought to keep himself in check. "My father was a mage, my mother was the daughter of a local merchant. My father was responsible for defending the village and setting up wards to keep the demonic influence at bay. He was missing from the house often, trying to protect us, all of us."

He gulped down all of his mug in one swoop, and refilled it. The alcohol burned his throat, but he continued. "One night, after returning from a patrol, I was waiting to meet him. He was the person that drove me to learn magic. That night, we went to mother, to surprise her. He had this amulet..." he pulled out his golden amulet from his robe, " as a gift to her, for their anniversary. Don you know what we witnessed?"

Alatar emptied his mug again. "She had become a succubus, and she was fucking a stable boy on their bed. Their marital bed, where she had conceived me. She was in love with that fucker, and had been cheating on my father for four years." Alatar felt his hands shake, and motioned the mage to fill his mug again. "They were meeting outside the village for their adulterous relationship. It was there where they turned. My father..." he took another gulp from his mug, "...my father was… he took a knife, and killed himself in front of them. That bitch didn't even seem to care."

His voice and eyes hardened. "It was then that I felt it. The torrent of magic. One of the first spells father taught me. I set the house aflame, and burned their monster asses." The image of his mother and her lover, along with the body of his father, his hands streaming torrential fire, the sounds of his screams, the adulterous couple's moans turning into screams of pain, the smell of burning wood, hair and flesh…

He emptied his mug again. "My father committed suicide for a bitch in heat. I left the house and ran all the way to a nearby village. I slept in a barn. The next day I tried to pickpocket a mage to get something to eat." he smiled bitterly. "That mage was the late headmaster of the Lescatie Magical Academy. He saw something in me, and took me in. But I was the lucky one."

He took another deep breath. "The village was turned soon after. That amulet is my reminder of him, my reminder of what despair can do, and how it can destroy. Without my father, my village never had a chance. And he killed himself over…"

Alatar felt a hand on his shoulder, and turned to see it was the head priest's. His face was calm, and the tears were drying on his cheeks. He stood up, and his form no longer spoke of despair, but of a calm dignity, an almost divine aura.

"What is your name?"

"Alatar Moriatan"

The priest placed both his hands on Alatar's head. He whispered a prayer, and his hands seemed to glow a faint white light. "By my faith and by your penance, by your heart and by your pain, as seen before the Chief God, I grant you absolution. I am not worthy, but-".

The priest stopped abruptly, and looked as if the roof was talking to him. "I understand. Your will be done." Another prayer, and the priest's hands glowed an intense blue light. "By command of god, as seen before Her eyes, you are judged worthy. I bestow upon you the Hero's blessing."

Alatar felt his thoughts clear, and a strange comforting sensation coming from the hands of the priest. He never was the religious type, always preferring the cold logic and measurable effects of magic. This, however, was something… different.

The priest took off his hands and collapsed into his chair. "Thank you" he whispered.

"For what?" Pallanto, who had quietly watched this bizzare scene unfold before his eyes.

"For restoring my faith. For saving me from myself. I heard Her voice, after all this time." He sighed. "However, I won't be able to keep this position, not after this. I can't bear to face the altar, after what my daughter has done. I will resign."

Heavy silence fell upon the room.

"I will do what she did, before she fell. I will tend to a small temple and an orphanage in the slums. This is the least I can do, to make up for her sins."

"Alatar, what will you do now? The mages are in an uproar, they will surely accept any helping hand." Pallanto said.

"No."

Pallanto seemed stunned by the answer. "Are you quitting magic as well?"

"I never said that." Alatar's eyes were filled with a determination and fire that made him look dangerous. "I will enlist in the Order. As a soldier."

"WHAAAAAT?!"

"I cannot go on in this frail body. I cannot sit idly by. I will train my body and my mind. I will fight them with everything I have. Every tactic and trick I can think of."

"You sure do hate them. Monsters, that is." Pallanto said with a smile.

"I don't hate them for only that." Alatar answered. "It is another matter too, something entirely logical. We fight for our survival here. Not as a nation, or even as a religion, but as a species."

"Well, it seems it will have to wait until lecture time. However, let me remind you Alatar, that foot soldiers don't get much time off to pursue more magical research."

The old priest coughed lightly. "Perhaps I can help. As my last act of selfishness." He smiled. "Even God thinks it's fine."

P.S. Third chapter. A bit rushed, both in writing and in developments. Criticism welcome.