"He must be some kind of Easterling. Do they know of magic that could produce an effect such as that?"

Tobias von Aegir's suggestion fell upon either deaf or unwilling ears. None in the chamber seemed to give him the time of day except for sunken-eyed and dark-haired Marquis Vestra, who rapped his knuckles against the wooden table as he stared at his fellow noble.

"Such as? The blatant lack of an effect?" the marquis replied, his voice a delicate whisper. "The man – nay, shall I call him thing? – simply appear among our strategy meeting as if he had always been there. Had he not asked a question, we might not have seen him at all. A spy, I say. One that clearly has taken a few blows to the head."

"Much as I agree with your assessment of his intelligence, Marquis Vestra," the third person in the room, Ada von Bergliez, spoke up, flicking a stray lock of silvery hair behind her ear as she regarded her two compatriots. "His willingness to reveal himself betrays it. Even the most touched assassin or spy has the wherewithal to keep himself hidden, even in plain sight. Regardless, you and I both know that Nemesis has not been known to employ those types of underhanded tactics."

"What about the fortress?" Tobias asked. "Was that not a case of subterfuge? How else could they have apparently gotten through the walls? The city itself almost seems to be untouched, if our intelligence is to be believed."

"Fhirdiad is, indeed, a formidable fortress," marquis Vestra said, "but perhaps the powers of those weapons exceeded even stone itself."

Tobias pushed himself away from the table, his brows furrowed. "Saint Seiros will not stand for this. The rest of her followers will not either. This is an act of war, pure and simple. We all know that it has been brewing, perhaps longer than we have even been alive, but to see it declared without so much as a word – we had to rely on a survivor's account to make sure some giant beast hadn't cracked the city walls!"

"You are right in that regard," Ada said, "the saints will not stand for this, but we have an opportunity here. One we cannot waste."

Marquis Vestra raised a gnarled hand. "Before we move on to that, we need to discuss what to do about our little problem."

"Could we not petition him as a miracle, perhaps?" Tobias suggested, running a hand through his light orange hair. "He appeared out of nowhere, he does not match the description of any people I have ever laid eyes on – except, perhaps, as an Easterling, but that does not seem right."

"You want to-" Marquis Vestra shook his head. "That would be too difficult. It leaves too much open to chance. If Saint Seiros rejects it, we could be seen as blasphemers. We would lose our lands, our subjects, everything. It is through Sothis' divine mandate that we rule, now, but it can be revoked."

Ada watched the two noblemen bicker for a few moments, the corners of her lips upturned in a smirk. "Perhaps we do not need to worry about him at all."

Marquis Vestra raised a brow. "Explain."

"I will if you stop treating me like some common servant, Dietrich," Ada snarled. The marquis fell silent, waiting for her to continue. After a moment, Ada straightened herself up and put her hands behind her back. "We do not acknowledge that this happened. We send this man into the rank-and-file, and he dies in the ensuing battle outside Fhirdiad. It's simple."

Tobias looked away. "Would that be right? Sending a man to his death for…?"

"Whatever his intentions were, if he is capable of such – they matter not now. He is a liability," Marquis Vestra said, grumbling. "Much as I am loathe to agree with you, Bergliez, this is the path of least resistance. I pray that he dies in that battle and does not come back as a revenant to haunt us all."

"You should be no more worried of that than our other soldiers doing the same," Ada replied with a smirk. "And that is what he is now, isn't he? Just a simple, common soldier who wandered into the wrong tent. And if he looks like an Easterling? An immigrant perhaps? My, how unusual! But not extraordinary."

Tobias closed his eyes for a moment before taking a deep breath. When he opened them again, his gaze hardened. "So be it. Perhaps this will increase the chances of my son surviving this battle. Or have you all forgotten that he will be leading the first charge?"

"Of course not; if your heir is smart, then he will lead us to victory. If he is not…" Marquis Vestra did not finish his sentence, but the intent behind his words was clear.

"He is intelligent, if a glory hound," Tobias mumbled, "Cichol's blood runs strong in him, just as it does in him. It can make him arrogant. If he does not wait for the signal, if he tries a preemptive strike, then this entire-!"

"If you are so concerned, then take him off the battlefield," Ada interrupted, "of course, that portion of the glory will not fall on your house, as you no doubt intended. Ah, poor Aegir. Your hunger for power undermines your love for your family and your decency."

"Enough!" Tobias stood up, slamming his fist into the table as he did. "This meeting is over! I will inform our little problem of his situation, and then we will march to Fhirdiad. My house will attain the glory it has lost, and you two can lick our boots to claim what little of it falls to the floor!"

As Tobias exited the dreary tent, he swore he heard sniggering.

It had been a bad day for Ashton. Although really, it had been a bad week. Maybe even a bad year.

Definitely a bad year. I don't like those masks.

The one he was wearing had been taken from him along with everything except the clothes on his back. He never liked formal wear, either; too itchy, but it was the best his dad could afford, so he didn't grumble about it. Not like any of it mattered. Nothing was as he recognized it; last time he checked, people didn't skulk around in plate armor anymore.

Ashton remembered hearing about it once. He never watched anime, but even he had heard of 'isekai'. Another world or something like that. He had been transported to another world, he was sure of it. He also knew enough to not try and deny what was blatantly obvious; he liked to believe that he had developed better coping mechanisms than that. The minute someone came to retrieve him from his stony cell, he would try to explain everything. Even if they didn't believe him, it would be a start.

Perhaps walking straight into what must've been their command tent wasn't such a good idea. Then again, it wasn't Ashton's idea.

Ashton had seen some of the area before he had been shunted into that underground cell. It looked as if they were in some abandoned castle or fort, somewhat like the ones he and his dad visited when they went to Germany years before. Tents lined the ruined walls and fires burned into the clear blue and cold sky. It was like they were an invading force, preparing for battle.

If that was the case, Ashton wondered if he should just make a break for it. If they were invading, then…

Ashton perked up as he heard footsteps echoing from nearby. He stood up and braced himself against the bars, trying to get a good look at who was coming. Before long, he saw a tall man with orange hair followed by an armored guard. The moment the former made his way to the bars, he looked at Ashton up and down, analyzing him.

"Congratulations, soldier," the man said, turning to his guard before moving his intense gaze back to Ashton. "You are going to be freed."

"You called me 'soldier'," Ashton said. "Y I have not even spoken a word to you, asked you about anything, and you call me a soldier. Why?"

"Hmph. You are perceptive," the man said, crossing his arms. "It is by our decision that you are not to be tried and executed as a spy of Nemesis and his fledgling Free Kingdom, or as an Easterling sorcerer. You are hereby conscripted into the Adrestian army, with all of the benefits that that entails."

"You're conscripting me," Ashton murmured, tapping a finger against the wrought iron bars. "Instead of killing me, or asking me anything, you are going to conscript me. Am I that much of a threat to you? Or is this some kinda mercy? Do you think this is a mercy?"

"I think you have a better chance of survival if you decide to take this offer," the orange-haired man said leaning forward, staring Ashton in the eye. "You are free to refuse, of course, but if you do, I will charge you as a deserter, and you will be hanged."

"So, either I'm conscripted into a medieval army, or I'm hanged." Ashton pushed himself away from the bars and took a few steps back into his cell. "I suppose there's a better chance of surviving in an army than on my own. Fine. I'll comply."

The man let out a small chuckle. "I'm starting to like you, I think. No panic? Not even a hint of it? With one such as you – with such extraordinary circumstances – the fact that you have not fallen apart already is a testament to your strength of will."

"You're giving me too much credit," Ashton grumbled, "I'm pissed right now, but getting pissed won't help me any. This is obviously a way to kill me without making a ceremony out of it, but still, like I said, it's a better chance than I had before."

"Hmph, true enough," the man said, "know that I am Lord Tobias von Aegir, and from this moment forward, you will be in my son's contingent. His name is Roland von Aegir, and he will be your lord and commander until such a time when you are no longer fit for combat, whether it be through death or injury. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Ashton said, pausing for a moment before saying, "sir."

Tobias nodded, turning toward the guard and gesturing to the bars. "Release him."

Ashton's view of the camp before was right on the money. The only thing he was wrong about was the size; it was absolutely an invading force. Against whom, he did not know. All he heard was something about a 'Nemesis' and a Free Kingdom. Whatever it was, he doubted someone unironically named 'Nemesis' could be good news.

It was the morning when Ashton was finally freed. He couldn't have spent more than a day or so down in the depths of that prison, but even then, when he saw the sun, he couldn't help but squint.

There's something wrong about all of this.

In record time, he was set up with basic leather armor and a spear, and sent out into the awakening rank-and-file. Many of them barely gave him a glance, although those that did made sure to make him feel as unwelcome as possible.

As strange as it sounded, he missed the formalwear. It was itchy, but it was from home, and it was gone. Replaced by leather armor. While it was more comfortable, it felt colder.

Ashton tried to act casually. He tried to make it seem like he was always there, and it seemed most of the soldiers bought it, somewhat. Aside from the odd curious glance, he seemingly fit right in.

That was, until a well-dressed man picked him out of the crowd and approached him. Ashton watched him the entire time, noticing how similar he looked to Tobias.

His son. What does he want with me?

"I do not think we have been properly introduced," the man said, holding out his hand. "I am Roland von Aegir, son of Tobias von Aegir, and your commander during the coming battle. Unfortunately, my father did not tell me your name."

Ashton blinked as the noble son sat across from him. He had found a little nook near a ruined wall, but sadly, it wasn't enough to deter Roland. After a moment, Ashton shook his head.

"My name is Ashton, sir," he replied, looking at Roland's hand until the nobleman finally lowered it. "I guess your father already told you about me."

"He has indeed," Roland nodded, folding his hands together. "He also went into your extraordinary circumstances. That you 'popped up' in the command tent while my father and his allies were having a strategy meeting. I must ask, do the Easterlings really have access to such teleportation magic?"

Ashton looked at Roland down the bridge of his nose. "I don't know what an Easterling is."

"Ah, so either you're a liar, or you were born elsewhere," Roland surmised, "I'm curious, then, how you ended up in such a situation. Did you choose to move there? Or did a Warp spell misfire?"

"A spell? That sounds like DnD to me," Ashton muttered. "Guess it wouldn't be too much of a stretch to know this world has magic."

"This world?" Roland echoed, raising a brow. "You speak as if there are multiple."

"There has to be, if I'm here," Ashton said, rapping his knuckles against the armrests of his uncomfortable chair. "I'm not from here. The place I'm from doesn't use swords like this anymore. Or spears. Or anything you people seem to have."

"Either you're still lying," Roland said, "or your circumstances are far more extraordinary than I thought."

"You can think I'm lying all you want," Ashton shrugged. "It doesn't change what's true. Or the fact that your father has sent me with you to die."

Roland's mouth popped open. "Excuse me?"

"You can leave whenever you want," Ashton said, "I don't excuse you."

"No, what you said." Roland's brow furrowed. "My father sent you with us to die?"

Ashton nodded. "I can't say for certain, really. I know you're invading some place, but I don't know what or what for."

Roland looked down. "My father put you with me. If he wanted you to die, he wouldn't have done that."

"Then maybe neither of us knows what's going on here," Ashton said, leaning forward. "Maybe he doesn't have much faith in your abilities, or maybe he doesn't really want me to die. Who knows? I don't. I'm new here, but I can see the writing on the wall."

"What writing?" Roland asked, looking behind Ashton at the wall behind him. "I do not see any writing on it."

Ashton blinked. "Forget I said anything."

"Do you really know nothing?" Roland asked, "Nothing at all? Nothing about the stakes? About our situation?"

Ashton shrugged. "I heard a few things from your father, but not much. Not enough."

Roland shook his head. "I, at least, can trust that you are not from here. Regardless of your origins, you are a part of this army now, and I will not have you travel into the howling dark without knowing why."

"You're better than the people who put me in a cell, then," Ashton remarked.

Roland narrowed his eyes. "I would ask you to watch your tongue all the same."

"Understood," Ashton said.

Sighing, Roland continued, "We are assaulting the city of Fhirdiad to the north. It has been under enemy control for several weeks now, but that is not the real reason we are assaulting it. We can always regain control of lost territory. The real reason is because one of the saints was within the city, when it was attacked."

"A saint, huh?" Ashton mused. "I guess one person is more important than the people inside."

"In this case? Yes," Roland said, nodding. "Cethleann is a beacon of hope in this world, to the Church of Seiros at large. If she has been slaughtered, or worse, than we either need to know, or make sure that does not happen."

"Who is your enemy, then?" Ashton asked, "your father talked about a 'Free Kingdom' and someone called 'Nemesis'. That's who we're fighting, right?"

With a small glare, Roland nodded his head again, "Yes. Nemesis and his companions, the Elites. They are incredibly powerful. Incredibly dangerous. Until recently, they were content to stay farther north. It is no secret to the Adrestian nobility that the Church and the Free Kingdom have been marshalling forces and gaining favor among the population. A war has been brewing for longer than I have been alive. It seems as if Nemesis has made the first move."

"So," Ashton said, "who's in the wrong and who is less wrong?"

"Pardon?"

Ashton shook his head. "Who're the good guys?"

"The Church, undoubtedly," Roland answered. "The Free Kingdom preaches of freedom from the gods and from the vagaries of nobility, but that is a lie. They have no scruples, no true will of their own except those of their new masters – the thieves of the Goddess' gifts."

Ashton leaned back, taking a deep breath. "Something tells me that no matter how someone explains it to me, I will always be completely lost."

Roland shrugged. "Those are the bare essentials of this conflict. Once this coming battle is over, perhaps you and I will have more time to converse."

"If we survive."

"When we come back," Roland stressed, "there is no 'if'. This battle will be over before you know it. The Free Kingdom's forces are numerous, but they are no match for our trained army."

"Hubris," Ashton noted. "I'm sure a lot of people thought the same thing, once."

"They were not us," Roland continued, jabbing a finger at Ashton. "We have the Goddess herself on our side, and she will see us through."

"Who said that?" Ashton asked.

Roland blinked. "You do not know who the Goddess is?"

"You and your father kept calling me an Easterling," Ashton said with a frown, "would an Easterling know what the Goddess is?"

Roland sat stock still for a moment before muttering something under his breath.

"You are among the rank-and-file," he said after a few more seconds. "I have been incredibly gracious to offer you my condolences and to illuminate the circumstances that surround you. Know this, Ashton – you speak to a noble, but are among the commoners. Do not talk to me as if I am a child, that will only end badly for you. Do I make myself clear?"

Ashton's gaze narrowed. "Crystal."

"Good," Roland said, standing up, "we will begin marching soon. Help around the camp if you can before then."

As the noble left, Ashton still felt as if he had more questions than answers. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, knowing that his own poor word choice probably set Roland off. Whatever the case, it was over. In the end, he only had himself to rely on in those last few precious days.

The days that followed Ashton's conversation with Roland von Aegir were a whirlwind of noise and barking orders from people on horseback. The clanking of metal armor, things he had only seen pantomimed on the big screen – he felt like he was in a dream. Every movement he made, every step he took felt like he was descending further and further into a mist.

None of the other men attempted to make conversation; all Ashton received were wary glances at worst and absolutely nothing at best. Not that he would have made a great conversationalist, what with the way he was trapped in his own thoughts. His thoughts were consumed by the battle ahead, of what would happen to him.

I'm sorry, dad. Guess I won't make it home for dinner after all.

It just had to have happened after a funeral, too. Unfortunately, it didn't seem as if Ashton would be getting one.

"Are you ready?"

Ashton looked up and saw the rising sun in the distance. He hadn't been sleeping well, oddly enough. The field was just beginning to become abuzz with activity, and yet there Roland was, checking in on him.

At any other time, Ashton would have found it annoying. In that moment, though, he welcomed it.

"I haven't been sleeping well," Ashton admitted.

"With what you have been through, that does not surprise me," Roland stated, and Ashton could see his armor begin to shine in the sun. "After this battle is over, hopefully you will have time to become fully acclimated."

Ashton sighed, rubbing his temples. "I honestly hope that's not the case. I don't want to become acclimated; I want to go home."

"That day will come soon, I'm sure," Roland said.

"Maybe, Ashton replied, "or maybe I'll die in this battle. All I've eaten for days is hardtack. And I had to take a crap in the-"

"Ah, I would appreciate you keeping the rest to yourself," Roland interrupted. "We march soon, Ashton. Stick close, and you will survive."

Watching the noble son go, Ashton let out a breath again as he rubbed his temples.

Here we go…

Finally, after several days of travel and dreary weather, Ashton gazed upon what would probably be his deathbed.

Over a long field, a massive wall broke the monotony of grass and frost. Smoke towered into the sky, not unlike the ones he had seen when the army made camp for the night. He could see buildings inside the walls, none of which seemed to be fully intact. Above it all, sat a massive castle. It was like looking at those old Germanic castles, except in its full glory, without the weight of years of neglect on its stony battlements. At any other point, he would have been awestruck by the sight.

Maybe I'll find a shady spot to bleed out.

And unfortunately for him, he was in the front of the formation, pointed like an arrow's tip at the massive fortress-city in front of him. In his right hand, a simple spear, and in his left, a round shield. His leather armor was slightly dirty and his boots were caked in mud, but beyond that, he walked tall with purpose in his stride.

If Ashton wasn't about to charge into a horde, he would've felt like going for a morning jog.

"Look upon the city of Fhirdiad, men!"

His gaze shifted to see Roland on horseback, lance in hand and metal plate armor covering him from head to toe. Ashton had to admit, the man looked the part of a proper medieval knight, complete with a horse that looked almost as murderous as the people they were about to charge.

"See its walls! Its people! Taken and broken by the so-called Free Kingdom!" Roland shouted, turning his steed and pointing his lance forward, the sun glaring off of it. "They are our people! Our walls! Our land! But beyond that, a saint requires our aid! The will of the Goddess demands that we give our lives, if need be, to recover her before it is too late!"

I don't even know who she is.

Despite his general disinterest, standing among a group of armored people, facing down an enemy – it wasn't too dissimilar to when he played football. What he wouldn't give to be doing that instead; he wished he'd gotten that scholarship too. It got his adrenaline pumping, and he could feel his skin crawl as it flowed through his veins

All of a sudden, Ashton didn't want to just bleed out in a field. He wanted to get out of there, and no amount of proselytizing would convince him that what they were about to do was not a suicide mission.

They just wanted to get rid of me. I was too inconvenient.

"With me, then!" Roland shouted, holding his lance to the sky for a moment. "By the Goddess' will, we will be victorious! Charge!

It wasn't how Ashton expected his final moments to be; looking out at a field slowly growing with soldiers on the other side, like ants coming out of their colony to protect their queen. Even the sun seemed to become irritating – too bright, too hot, too wet, it was like he was trying to swim through the air. The entire world felt as if it was in slow motion. The men around him charged, and he moved as well, but there were no screams or war cries, simply the booted footfalls of men ready to die for someone they had never met.

Ashton didn't understand it, and yet he continued, charging side by side with them. It was madness. He saw the men on the other side of the field as the sky grew dark with something – they looked like dark clouds, but he could see fireballs clearly move through the air on both sides. He hadn't even seen the catapults be set up.

When the two armies clashed, Ashton felt it in his bones.

It was like a bomb had gone off. Dozens, maybe even hundreds of bodies slamming into each other all at once, the clanking of metal armor and the shouts screamed in his ears. Ashton's eyes could barely follow the collage of people in front of him. Friend and foe mixed together in one mass of flailing flesh.

It was in that moment that Ashton realized just how out of his depth he was. He was so stunned he barely noticed the man approaching him from the side, steadily gaining speed.

He was just about able to get his shield in the air to block the axe blow that came. He wasn't knocked off his feet. he had been hit by things far stronger than that in football, but the only issue was that the man wasn't deterred. With his fur rags and hooded visage, he looked like a Viking berserker, and Ashton had to keep himself from falling for any of his feints or blows.

The man let out a laugh – a deep, guttural sound that scratched against Ashton's eardrums. He didn't even attempt to speak; no attempt at banter, no other sounds came forth as he battered against Ashton again and again.

It went on like that for some time, Ashton simply blocking the blows and clumsily shoving his spear forward, only to miss almost every single time. He nicked the berserker once, but it only seemed to piss him off.

Ashton felt his blood boil.

Screw this!

Ashton pushed him away, forcing his shield against his attacker and forcing him back. The man snarled, but Ashton didn't let him regain his balance. He threw his spear away; it was practically worthless in such close quarters, doubly so since he had no idea how to use it. He braced himself against his shield and charged forward, propelling himself directly into his attacker's stomach. He heard the man retch as he continued, forcing him to the ground as Ashton wrapped his arms around him.

Once they were both on the ground, Ashton dropped all pretense of composure and started slamming his shield against the man's face. He heard the first crunch as his nose broke, but he kept going. The crunching of bone gave weight to the sound of squelching flesh before Ashton finally stopped and looked upon his handiwork.

Ashton realized, mutely, that it looked as if he had turned the man's head into spaghetti, and he suddenly felt his stomach begin to do somersaults.

With his shield falling to the ground, Ashton attempted to stand up. His legs felt like they were made of jelly, and his eyes never left the gored remains of his attacker. The more he looked at it, the more he expected the smell of tomato sauce and parmesan to flow through the air. It never did.

Luckily, he didn't have time to start going misty-eyed at his first kill; something changed. Something, or someone, was approaching, with power so great that he could feel it through the air, as if it was hyper charged.

When Ashton looked away from the man he had murdered, he saw something that nearly made his eyes bulge out of their sockets. It was a man, or what he thought was a man. Plain-looking, all things considered, if it wasn't for his jet-black armor and terrifying sword. Ashton could make him out through the bodies of Adrestian and Free soldiers alike, atop his shadowed steed.

The sword itself was like something out of a nightmare. Parts of it moved and it almost seemed to breathe with every moment that passed by. Ashton half-expected the thing to start screaming in pain. With its curved, bone-like blade, it looked like someone had stitched a weapon together from body parts and called it a day.

The weapon wasn't just someone's demented arts-and-crafts project, though, and Ashton felt the blood in his ears roar as all other sound was drowned out as he saw what the man did next.

With one swipe, the dark armored man cleaved a soldier in two. He made it look so easy, as if he was cutting a stick of butter in half with a superheated knife. With another swing, another soldier fell to the ground, blood pooling around him. It was like people were volunteering to enter a slaughterhouse.

Ashton's entire world became numb and quiet as man after man fell to the ground, limp and cut into pieces. He was just able to turn and see another man atop a horse, lance at the ready.

Roland.

"For Adrestia!" Roland shouted, his voice nearly drowned out by the horrific screams of his men. "For Seiros!"

He charged, but Ashton was ready for it. Just as Roland's horse passed him by, he shot himself up and grabbed the noble. Ashton was nearly taken right off his feet, his shoulders nearly dislocated, before Roland became dislodged, screaming and cursing all the while. Just as Ashton brought him down, his horse kept going.

It was slain without a second thought from the monster in front of them, and he kept going without missing a beat, his gaze placid and removed as if he were mowing the lawn.

"Filthy traitor! I'll have your head-" Roland snarled before Ashton covered his mouth.

"I saved your life," Ashton said quietly, men still dying all around them as he looked for a way out. "I killed someone for your war, and now I want payback. Stay quiet! Act like you're dead!"

Roland mumbled something about 'dishonor', and Ashton had to physically restrain himself from groaning.

"You were about to suicide into that monster over there. This battle is lost," Ashton growled, "but don't worry. I'm not gonna abandon you. If we leave when the battle is over, we'll have nowhere to go."

Roland stared at Ashton.

"We head into the city once the battle is over," Ashton explained, "act like we're their soldiers. Dress ourselves if we need to. We move and get to where they have that person you all died for. Once we do, we get out."

"Such cowardly tactics…" Roland mumbled.

"It's either that, or we go down swinging, which will not help anybody. Not you, not me, and definitely not the hostage," Ashton said, "So, either find a body or get back up and fight to the death. Either way, this is my only shot home, and I am taking it."

After a few moments of staring, Roland sighed.

"As you wish."

Ashton and Roland didn't have time to undress themselves, nor did they think enemy soldiers would take too well to seeing two naked men trying to put on their slain comrades' fur armor. So, they settled for simply covering themselves in the fur of the fallen, although most of it was for Roland's plate armor; Ashton saw a few Free Kingdom men running around with it, but it was always piecemeal and rusting, a far cry from Roland's bloodstained but otherwise immaculate armor.

In the end, however, they were able to make themselves pretty convincing without drawing too much attention to themselves. Once Roland was properly hidden, and Ashton put a blood-stained wolf pelt over his head, the battle was already over, and the remaining Free Kingdom soldiers were making their way to the gates of Fhirdiad.

"I don't know how these people are supposed to act," Ashton whispered as he walked beside Roland. They were at the tail-end of the group, which would at least allow for a better chance to get away if they were spotted. "Once we're inside, we split off from this group and head towards the castle. Would she be held there?"

"We had assumed, once the Kingdom forces were destroyed, that we would be able to look at our leisure," Roland replied quietly, pulling the furs closer to his body. "These savages have been known to raid villages, plunder castles, all because of their 'freedom'. I can't imagine what they have done to Saint Cethleann, but we can repair any damage they have done, with time or magic."

Ashton felt a chill run up his spine at Roland's words. He didn't have time to ponder it, thankfully, because the gates opened, and the Kingdom soldiers were ushered into Fhirdiad proper. Ashton shushed Roland as they entered, nobody around them seemed to care or understand what they were speaking about.

Feeling the hair on the back of his neck stand on end, Ashton looked around. After finding nobody even giving them a passing glance, he moved forward with Roland in tow.

Fhirdiad looked like a mess, although Ashton didn't expect it to look very clean in the first place. Broken cobble streets and tattered banners littered the ground, and the stone buildings looked to be moments away from crumbling into dust. Doors were either slammed shut or broken into, and Ashton did not want to question what happened in those houses.

Besides, he had a job to do, and he intended to do it.

Quietly, Ashton and Roland slowed their pace until they were at the very back of the unorganized group of soldiers. Once he was certain no one was looking, Ashton pulled Roland aside into an alleyway.

"I'm guessing the gates will be guarded," Ashton said, "Maybe not too much considering that battle, but enough to where we won't be able to just walk in."

Roland sighed, pushing himself against the side of a house. "I do not know how I let you talk me into this. There is an Elite here; he's beyond us. Beyond me. If he finds us, death might be a preferable outcome."

"Death is the only outcome, if we do nothing," Ashton said, "I don't care if there's an Elite here, or what one even is. We don't lose sight of our goal. Do you want to see your father again?"

Roland's lips thinned.

Ashton looked down. "Maybe that was too far, but you get my point. We don't have much of a choice here anyway; we're already in the city. What's the harm in trying?"

"I did just say that death might be preferable to whatever that Elite would do to us," Roland mumbled, "who knows – perhaps, by the end, we will beg for it."

"I will not beg," Ashton growled, "I didn't beg to your father and I won't beg to these people. I am going home, no matter what happens, do you understand?"

Roland raised a hand. "I know, so you keep saying. Perhaps you will. Say we make it into the castle, Ashton, and we save Saint Cethleann. What do you propose we do then? They will have clear sight on us on those plains, and depending on what the weather favors, we might die before we reach civilization again."

"If the castle has an escape route, we use it," Ashton replied, tapping his fingers against the stone wall behind him, trying to ignore an awful odor coming from somewhere nearby. "If it doesn't, we try and use our new clothes to sneak out. Other than that, if anything serious goes wrong, we're definitely dead."

"Or we will wish we were-"

"You keep saying that. Stop it," Ashton said, crossing his arms. "Talking like that will only make things worse."

"Did you not speak like this a few days ago?"

Ashton looked down. "That was a few days ago. This is now. And we have a shot, a chance, at making this right, and I'm not going to let it by."

"You are a foreigner, Ashton," Roland said despondently. "You have no stake in this fight, and yet my father threatened you into our army. You could have run when the battle was lost, and nobody would have been able to find you. Why didn't you?"

Ashton took a moment to answer.

"Because I don't have a choice," he finally replied, "and I'm not about to let this chance slip me by. I'm either going home, or not at all."

He turned his gaze to the castle looming over them, and he felt tinier than he'd ever had before.

Did I say the 15th? Guess I got impatient because here's this chapter a full week early lol.

I've been enjoying writing this for the most part, and hopefully you guys will enjoy going through Fodlan's past with me.

Here's a link to our Discord server: discord .gg/9XG3U7a

Thanks to Stormtide_Leviathan for beta'ing! See you guys next time!