MW: Before we begin, I would like to give thanks to those who provided reviews, OCs and other forms of support throughout this journey. By no means is this story over-we are barely halfway-and I hope it's not too much to ask if you could keep supporting me for the next...well, many more chapters I have. I have been receiving/received many OCs for To Survive in the Wild, and I absolutely adore how many of them have to do with nature and the forest since a majority of the story takes place in the secluded forests in various worlds.

Alright, aside from that, here is Down A Shadowed Road - Revised Chapter 13, the lead-up chapter to the war.

Some pre-chapter questions and answers:

Q: This may be a bit late, but what happened to Valkyrie? And what was her role so long ago?

A: Valkyrie, when she first met Talon, at least, worked at the prison as a volunteer and would help out with the food (which wasn't the greatest). Following that, she left the prison and enrolled in Ravenwood. That's about all we know thus far.

Q: The earlier chapters are rushed. Will you ever fix them?

A: Yes. It may take a while, though, so bear with me. My writing skill and quality has also increased since then, and I have been receiving help from all sorts of authors, in real life and online.

Q: Why did you make the dorms co-ed?

A: Honestly, I thought it would be both an interesting way to develop character relationships, and besides, there are no rules in-game or in reality that say that two consenting adults of the opposite sex cannot share a room. Aside from that, the only two characters of the opposite sex who share a room are Talon and Astra. No, the room assignment wasn't rigged, and I put them together because they're the characters who suffer the most and they have an interesting dynamic as well as a past relationship that can be exploited in various different ways.

Q: Are you pulling the wool over our eyes? What have you lied about? Plot twists? TELL US!

A: I do change my mind about ideas every now and then, but who doesn't? I am becoming very ambitious with the story, and I am not shy about traumas and deaths. People will die and you will raise your fist and bellow angrily. I'm not going to spoil anything for the general public yet, but let's just say that there will be many, many twists, and sometimes you'll just yell out, "What!?" in surprise when I flip the story on its head and kill someone unexpected.

Q: Why are there so many metaphors in your story? What else is a metaphor?

A: I LOVE MY METAPHORS

Almost everything-including the story itself-in the entire story is a metaphor, including certain dialogue, actions, and even the existence of characters themselves. Most of what I write about is symbolic, though. Some characters are representations of how I feel about certain things (Eron, Talon and Crowne), while others represent societal constructs, different ways of dealing with pain, self-loathing and how deeply it can affect someone, the effects of kindness on those around you, deeply knit friendships, the struggle of being in a position of power, paradoxes, and things of the like.

Q: What is the point of Vincent's segment?

A: It's to provide a little insight into how dangerous magic can be and some background to Vincent's character.

Q: What's the story behind this chapter name?

A: It's called "Last Call To Arms" because it is a lead-up chapter. The war officially begins in the next chapter, and this chapter simply covers the team members as they prepare. Read on, friend.


13 - Last Call To Arms

Astra gave a hefty sigh as she collapsed on her bed, staring blankly at the darkness above her.

Talon…

Her thoughts drifted to earlier, when she went to the team session and battled Talon when she felt it was her turn. She had fought Talon and expected him to go all out, but he seemed...distracted. Well, obviously he'd be distracted-her outfit was meant to be distracting-but to Astra he wasn't just distracted by her outfit, despite the fact that he would not stop scouring every inch of her with just his eyes. He seemed…distressed. Fatigued. Like he didn't want to fight.

Astra didn't care about Talon...not really, anyways. She'd remembered her love for him, but that was her past love, and she was a different person now. The feelings, memories and attitude she'd had back then were...repressed, according to Cyrus.

Even so...seeing Talon look so upset that morning had struck a chord within her, something that had not happened since she first found herself attracted to him so many years ago-or at least, as far as she knew. Talon was upset...and Astra found herself wanting to console him. Really, what could she say? That it was okay? It obviously wasn't, and the effects of her saying that would only be temporary. She couldn't tell Talon that she was there for him, because she wasn't, and because ultimately, she didn't want to be. A girl who had trouble with her own feelings couldn't help someone else with theirs. And besides, she'd rejected him. She pushed him away, slaughtered what feelings he had for her-or so she thought, she wasn't particularly sure-and kept her distance so that he wouldn't emerge hurt.

Apparently, she thought wrong. Talon was hurt, more than she'd expected him to be. Of course, they were practically living together, so his pain was understandable, but he would always give her longing or pained looks throughout the day, and Astra felt guilty.

Guilt was never something Astra experienced often nor was it an emotion she dwelled on-she completed her tasks efficiently and effectively, destroying any remorse she thought she felt. Everything she did was for what she perceived as the benefit of every party.

Well, Talon certainly wasn't benefitting.

She nearly winced, surprised at the thought that shot through her mind. Why would she think such a thing if Talon didn't matter to her at all? She felt guilty, sure, but it wasn't because she cared about Talon, it was because...it was...because…

Astra didn't know. The Conjurer, for the first time in what felt like forever, was at a loss. She couldn't explain why she felt this way because she didn't know. Astra didn't want to care, but she did.

And then there was the other girl on the team-name was Mirror-she was practically drooling over Talon the entire training session. She had watched with vested interest as Talon both beat and was beaten by his teammates, and when it was finally her turn to fight, she could barely keep up. Granted, by that point Talon was exhausted both mentally and physically and wasn't trying his very best, but the girl seemed so flustered by the Necromancer's mere presence that she had trouble fighting him.

Astra wanted to retch.

If she were interested in Talon, she wouldn't hang on his every word like some...lackey. She had dignity, and was woman enough to admit when she needed a companion-which hopefully would be never-much unlike Mirror.

If Astra was interested in Talon, she wouldn't lose sight of her other goals.

If Astra was interested in Talon…

She stopped herself. What was she doing? There wasn't any point in thinking about Talon because she wasn't interested in him. Why was she running through hypotheticals? Astra couldn't be interested in someone so...brutal, brash, broken; someone so afraid of themselves. She was perceptive, and Talon wasn't trying to hide anything that she didn't already know. Besides, she apparently knew him back in their younger days. Of course, there were moments she remembered, but it wasn't enough to consider him someone she knew. He wasn't gentle; he wasn't caring and soft like the Talon she'd remembered. He was different. People changed, of course, but there was always an aspect of their personality that they retained throughout their life, even if they tried to deny it. Yet...Astra didn't see that in Talon.

He hadn't retained any aspects of his old, gentle personality...it was almost as if he'd become a different person altogether-now, instead of the kind, soft, stable, submissive boy he once was, he was explosive, spiteful, and broken. Not to mention that he couldn't stop talking to himself. And yet...despite the fact that Astra should've hated what he was now-maybe because he was just as broken as her, or maybe because he seemed amoral, or maybe even because she just couldn't be near him-Astra had found herself giving Talon brief-very brief-glances.

It wasn't like they meant anything, though...right? She just wanted to make sure he was okay after her rejection. She just wanted to make sure that he could survive Mirror's onslaught of...whatever it was that she was doing.

Huh.

Make sure he was okay…

Well, in the end, Astra's newfound guilt at her initial rejection of Talon, her sudden and not-very-subtle jealousy and her simultaneous attraction towards someone she hardly remembered was an obstacle. She had to deal with it one way or another, be it beneficial or detrimental. It couldn't affect her or her performance.

She moved to a sitting position on the edge of her bed, sighing and shaking her head dismissively.

She would have to deal with her feelings as quickly as possible using the simplest method she could think of: confronting Talon when he returned home. Her thoughts were derailed as a small, black and red-striped dragon crawled onto her thigh,

Astra's serious expression softened, and a smile played on her face as the dragon opened its mouth and gave a small, pathetic screech. She stroked the beast's chin. "Hey, Gift," she murmured gently. "Are you okay?"

The creature nuzzled against Astra's leg, wings flapping behind its back. It glanced up at its owner, dark reptilian eyes flashing.

Astra gave another sigh and glanced at her clock. It wasn't too late-only about nine hours into the night. Standing up, she inhaled deeply, pulled Gift from her leg and set him down on her bed before she made her way to the large space near the dorm entrance . It'd be easier to wait for Talon to return home near the kitchen-she had no idea how long it would take Talon to come back and she was closer to the food.

Too bad Astra wasn't very patient.


"Leif, what're y'making?" Eron asked, staring over his roommate's shoulder at the contents of the silver mixing bowl.

"C'mon, Eron, don't breathe down my neck," Leif answered, his voice sounding like an invitation rather than a complaint. "You know that tickles."

"I know," Eron responded, the smile evident in his voice. "So what're y'making?"

"Cheesecake!" Leif exclaimed, grinning widely. He turned to glance at Eron. "It's the only dessert I know how to make, and my sister-" Leif paused, his face becoming somber for a moment. "-my sister always liked it."

Eron backed away, turning to the refrigerator. "I've never had it. Is it good?" He reached into the Marleybonian cooling contraption and pulled out two bottles of Coffee-Cola, one for himself and one for his roommate.

Leif nodded enthusiastically as he finished stirring the contents. "Hey, Eron, turn on the oven for me?" The Theurgist removed the metal spoon from the bowl before hefting the silver container, pressing the contents into a pan, and moving towards Eron.

The draconian pulled open the oven door, holding it open and giving his apron-clad roommate a glance. "What's the oven for?"

Leif chuckled, placing the pan into the oven. "I gotta bake it," He responded. "Then we have to keep it cool for a while, and then we can eat it. Unless you want something like flan." Leif retreated a few steps as Eron closed the oven door. Flan wasn't all too difficult to make, especially seeing as a dish similar to it could be made by eating the cheesecake before it was chilled.

Eron cocked his head to the side. "Flan, huh? The only desserts I've had're parfaits and tira...tiramisu, I think." The draconian nodded to himself. "So how do we make that?"

Leif raised his hand. "One at a time, man. Can't eat 'em all." The Theurgist laughed, ignoring his friend's impatience. It was difficult to understand how one could eat so much and still have room for dessert. "Now we wait about an hour, and then we chill it."

"How long'll that take?" The draconian put a bottle of Coffee-Cola to his lips and took a swig.

"The chilling'll probably take...um...three hours..?" His voice drifted into a questioning tone as he finished his sentence, almost as if he were making an estimate.

Instead of yelling in protest, the draconian groaned, slamming his head onto the table. "Three hours…" He mumbled listlessly. "Three fuckin' hours…" There was a long pause as Leif fell silent and Eron rest his head on the table.

"So what's in it?" Eron suddenly asked, raising his head to give Leif an inquisitive stare.

"Hm?"

"What's in it? The cake."

"Oh..!" Leif's eyes lit up. "Well, it's a classic cheesecake, so it's made of mostly cream cheese, water, an egg or two, a bit of starch, and I smashed a raspberry and mixed it in."

Eron opened his mouth to say something in response, finding that he could not, and simply chose to stare agape at the young man across from him. Eron loved food, sure, but he had never really delved into the inner workings of anything he'd eaten or wished to eat. To see someone-no, someone so near to him-so adept at cooking surprised Eron.

I wish I could do that, he thought. I wish-

"Hey, Eron?" Leif inquired, leaning over the table to grab the unopened bottle of soda from Eron's other hand.

Eron was snapped back to reality. The draconian made to throw his arms up in a defensive maneuver, but paused abruptly upon seeing Leif flinch. He relaxed. "What do you want?"

"When did you get assigned to the dorm?" Leif asked suddenly. Eron frowned. That question was...new. Leif didn't usually ask about Eron being in the dorm. Did it bother him?

"Uh...I think about two weeks ago." Eron responded. "Does it bother ya?"

Leif paused, tapping his chin. "Well, I mean...I've been in this dorm by myself for a while, and I was just-why haven't I seen you here until recently?"

Eron frowned in confusion. "What're you sayin'?"

"I mean...you've been here for two weeks, right? But we only met a week ago, back in the Spiral Chamber. Remember?" Leif added. "You...hit me with your tail and then we talked a bit-"

"Oh, right, right, right..!" Eron inhaled sharply, staring at Leif and saying nothing.

"So-" Leif began, but Eron interrupted.

"Yeah, I've been here 'bout two weeks, but...y'know, I don't really hang out in the dorm." Eron answered finally, shrugging. The draconian averted his eyes, an uncomfortable feeling washing over him. Although Leif was...well, at most, an acquaintance, Eron didn't feel entirely secure talking about what he did inside or outside of the dormitory. The last time he tried talking about his feelings, his father threatened to clip his wings.

How many times would the world try and gut him?

"What do you do when you aren't in the dorm?" Leif inquired, still staring at Eron. Apparently, he wouldn't be deterred this time around. Not as easily, anyways.

"...I dunno." Was the response. "Can we talk about something else?"

"Wait, no-you can tell me, man. I don't want you to feel like you can't trust me-we're friends, after all. I'm just curious, that's all. If it's a matter of-" Leif persisted, but he was cut off by Eron.

"Can I, Leif? Can I really tell y' anything?" Eron rose abruptly from his chair, paying it no mind when it fell to the floor. "The last person who told me I could tell 'em anything turned out to be the one that ratted me out t' my poor, helpless dad!" A note of sarcasm hung on his voice, but was quickly drowned out by a hidden anguish he didn't know existed.

Oops.

He didn't mean to vocalize that.

Leif frowned. "Wai-what's so bad about telling your dad? Didn't he support you?"

Eron shook his head, rubbing his snout. "He-I don't want to talk about it." The draconian sighed, turning away. "I don't want to talk about this...ever," he finished.

"Eron-"

"No! Not-I...just call me when the cake is ready." The green-skinned creature concluded, turning away and exiting the kitchen.

He sighed as he rounded the corner, turning abruptly into his room and closing the door behind him. Almost immediately, Eron fell against the wall, sliding down into a sitting position and burying his face in his hands.

While most would moan and anguish over being haunted by the souls of the dead, Eron could do naught but weep in dolor-a ghast loomed high above him, hollow, lifeless eyes fixated on his figure as he fled, out of fear, out of hate, out of what he thought was spite to a place of solace.

No matter where he traveled, he could not outrun the specter that inhabited his life. It knew his every move, materialized with every question asked, outstretched hand threatening to asphyxiate him with every word that brought him closer to another.

The ghost of his past would pursue him relentlessly. There was no escape. No catharsis.

He couldn't run forever.

"Eron?" Leif's voice.

"Is the cake ready?" Eron asked in a dismissive tone.

Don't do it, Leif, don't ask that question..!

"No, but…" The Theurgist trailed off, but spoke again as Eron opened his mouth. "...But I want you to know that we're friends. We-friends talk, I think. I want you to know that-that you can talk to me...if you want," Leif added, his conforming tone transforming into a mumble.

Eron frowned, his back to the door. "Leif, I told you I don't-"

"I know..!" Leif exclaimed. A pause. The Theurgist must've been surprised by his sudden outburst. Hell, even Eron was.

"I know." Leif tried again. "But you need to know that I'm...right here. Although we don't need to get along to be roommates or even teammates, I want us to, and I want to get to know you. I want us to be friends. You can't keep your emotions inside all the time, Eron." He placed his hand against the door. "I can be your sounding board. Just let me help."

Silence passed between the two as they stood immobile, breathing softly, the 'ding' of the oven signifying that the cake had finished baking.

It was then that Eron opened the door. He stared at Leif for a moment, and said flatly, "Maybe ya can meet my sister one day," before pushing past his shorter roommate and moving to the kitchen.

"Wait, what does-" Leif began, but realization dawned on him and he grinned. "I didn't know you had a sister."

Eron nodded as he opened the oven, staring in awe at the cake. "I got one, yeah. I got a little baby brother, too," he responded. "Hey, Leif, what do we do with this?" The draconian gestured to the pastry that had just finished baking.

"Here, you're resistant to heat, right? Why don't you hand me the cake, and I'll put it in the refrigerator." Leif placed an incredibly large pair of gloves on his hands, and Eron frowned in confusion.

"What're the gloves?" The draconian asked, reaching into the oven and withdrawing the cake.

Leif hefted the platter with the gloves on his hands and placed it in the cooling device-a refrigerator, the Marleybonians called it-closing the oversized cooler once he was done. "The gloves are for people like me, who aren't resistant to heat. Haven't you seen them before? They're fairly common in a kitchen."

Eron shrugged. "The attendants cooked for us. I never saw what they did back there, and I wasn't…" He paused, pondering whether to continue or not. Aw, to hell with it. "...I wasn't really allowed back in the kitchen."

"Oh." Leif responded. Surprisingly, the Theurgist did not press further, instead changing to a different topic. "Your sister-what's her name?"

"I don't-" he began, but paused upon glancing at Leif, and seeing the younger man mouth "please". The draconian sighed. "Fine, but that's it. My sister's name's Sahra."

"Is she older or younger? Is she pretty?" Leif asked in rapid succession.

"Leif, didn't I jus'-"

"Come on, Eron, I just have two more!"

"My fuckin' goodness…" Eron groaned. "Fine. She's younger than me by 'bout five years, and she's real pretty. Is that all you wanna know?"

Leif started to nod, but stopped halfway. "Wait-what's your brother's name?"

"He's-" Eron tried, but stopped abruptly. The draconian frowned in confusion. "His name is…"

Leif was silent as the draconian took a swig from his bottle of Coffee-Cola, finishing it off and making another attempt at telling Leif his brother's name.

"He's…" Eron began, his face gradually contorting into an expression of utter helplessness. "He's...oh, hell, oh...Goddammit!" He suddenly roared, throwing the bottle onto the floor, the sound of shattering glass filling the entire room. The draconian buried his face in his hands, unable to contain his emotions, and it suddenly dawned on Leif that Eron did not know his younger brother's name.


"Talon," Valdus began, trying to look his seven year old in the eye.

The boy pranced around happily, writhing in Valdus' embrace, eliciting an angry snarl from his father. "Hey!" The man barked. "I need you to listen to me, okay, buddy?" His voice softened.

Talon looked as if he were about to cry, and Valdus placed his hands on his son's shoulders. "Hey, now, don't cry, Talon, don't cry-come on, you know daddy's just tired, right?" He tried as a tear slipped down to the boy's chin.

Talon nodded in response, sniffling.

"Okay," Valdus tried again. "Okay, I need you to listen to me. You remember when you tried running with me, but I was suuuper fast, and you lost, right?"

Talon frowned in confusion but nodded vigorously. "Yeah," he said.

"And you remember what daddy told you, right?"

"Never stop moving?"

"That's right, Talon. Once you...run a race, you can't stop moving, can you?"

"No, daddy." Talon mumbled, averting his gaze.

"And you know why?"

"Why..?" The boy inquired, glancing up at his father.

Valdus' face became solemn, and the older man gazed at his son, tears welling up in his eyes. "Because the moment you stop...is the moment you die. When you stop running, you've resigned to your fate. You looked up into the sky, and you give up. You let it all end. And you can't let it end, Talon. You can't let it end. You have to learn from your mistakes, and you have to push through. Even if it hurts...you have to-" the man's voice cracked, and he pulled his son into a tight embrace.

"Daddy, please don't cry," Talon said, tears already streaming down his young face. "You're making me sad..!"

"I know, Talon," Valdus sobbed. "I'm sorry..."

Valdus' younger son, ran towards his father and older brother, a smile on his face. "Daddy, why are you crying? Be happy like me, daddy! Be happy!"

The older Necromancer could not help but smile, wiping the tears from his eyes. "Okay, Hunter," he responded, and Hunter turned and bounded away happily. Valdus turned back towards Talon. "Talon, daddy's going to be...gone for a bit, so you take care of mommy and Hunter, okay?"

Talon nodded, wiping his eyes with his sleeve. "Okay. ...When will you be back?"

Valdus' eyes were distant, as if he did not hear his son. "I don't know, but I will come back, I promise." He shot the boy a glance. "Never forget what I told you, Talon."

"I won't."

...

The moment you stop is the moment you die.

...He was nineteen now...how long had it been since he'd seen his father? Twelve, almost thirteen years?

You can't let it end. You have to push through.

He didn't come back.

Even if it hurts, you have to-

He promised, and he didn't come back.

Why didn't he come back?

How many people had promised they would return to him?

"I came back," the woman before him said. "Did you miss me, Ta~lon?" She sang his name, a smile that exuded insanity playing on her face as she relaxed, nearly prancing around him.

The Necromancer said nothing...or rather, he was unable to. He was breathing heavily, a pain in his chest so great that he feared he would glance down and see his entire upper torso imploding. His ears rang, a sharp, piercing screech that was audible to none but him, and Thalomir's cries for him to focus and stay calm were drowned out by the heartbeat.

Was it his heartbeat?

"Come on, you," the woman continued, her voice adopting a mocking tone. "Say something."

The Necromancer opened his mouth, pausing to lick his dry, cracking lips. "I…" He choked.

"Relax," she whispered, drawing closer to him. Her voice was like that of an angel's, so why did Talon feel such fear..? She circled around his body, brushing her hands against his neck, massaging his shoulders in a way that reminded him of someone familiar. "I won't bite, Talon."

I won't bite, Talon, she had said. Why was it that Talon felt so...threatened? Her words were lies-she couldn't possibly be harmless. She was dangerous.

Talon felt fear rise up in his chest once again, and in a moment of pure impulse, in a moment where he was absolutely sure of himself, he wrenched himself from her grip, whirling around to face her, eyes wide, one hand clutching at his chest, the other balled into a tight fist.

"Don't touch me..!" Talon managed, his breathing quickening again.

Boy! Thalomir thundered. Talon could hear him again. Good. Stay calm, boy, or she will kill you. She is not shy about her desires.

The woman's smile faded almost instantly, her visage contorting, becoming angry and hateful. "You…" She started angrily, but stopped abruptly. She tensed, but raised her hands in a gesture of surrender. "No, I'm not here to fight you...I wasn't expecting you to say that, but it's okay. I can do this." She exhaled.

What the hell was she saying?

Was this mystery woman trying to reassure herself? What..?

No, that wasn't important. The Necromancer needed to stay calm.

You have to push through.

Talon inhaled slowly, his exhale more shaky than he would've liked. Again. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. He did not wish to fight in light of the fear that gripped at him, but if he was placed in such a position, he would need to be calm. "I…" He tried again. "I don't…no, I know you…" Talon trailed off, not sure what to say next.

The girl's eyes lit up, and she leaned forwards eagerly. "Really!?" She exclaimed excitedly. "Then, you-"

"But why do I know you?"

"What?" She asked, stopping.

Inhale. Ex-exhale. Shit. Calm, calm, calm. Inhale. Exhale. "You're...Valkyrie…" Talon started. "But at the same time, you're different."

The woman across from him remained silent.

"Your hair is different," Talon continued. "Your eyes are different, your stature is...different, and you...you're not the same." He concluded, retreating three steps.

Brace yourself, boy. Thalomir warned, the deep voice rolling throughout Talon's conscious like a wave of water cascading down a slide. She is not of a right mind.

Instead of lashing out immediately as he had expected, her shoulders began to quake, and she threw her head back, laughing maniacally. Talon risked a glance behind him, taking note of the people who walked about the Commons. Damn, he'd lost sight of his surroundings. Wizard City was active at all times of the night…

If they were to fight in front of Ambrose's office…

No, he couldn't worry about that.

I can handle myself, right? I can-

"-Talon!" Valkyrie suddenly roared in anger. She thrust her finger towards him, and he flinched, as if expecting some attack. She paused momentarily, the anger visible on her face, before she spoke. "I'm...not here to fight you, Talon…I'm here to make a...a proposition." She seemed to struggle with herself. Her words...no, the words coming from her mouth were not hers. She wanted to fight. She wanted to kill him. There was no proposition. There couldn't be.

But even so, Talon wanted to know more.

Why?

"What do you want?" He asked. He was beginning to shake again.

"I want," Valkyrie began, emphasizing the "want" in the sentence. "you to accept me. Don't you love me still..?" She tried, her face twisting into a pout, an almost pleading look.

The woman inched towards him.

Stay away.

Valkyrie took another step. "What was it you told me last, Talon..?" She inquired, continuing to walk slowly to her former love interest. "You said, 'Go, Valkyrie. Come back to me when this is all over. Can you?'" A small smile spread across her face.

"How…" Talon began, his eyes finding the ground. The expression on his face verged on sad, upset...but he did his best not to betray his emotions. "How do you remember that..?" He inquired.

How was it possible that she had memorized every word? How?

"When they tortured me, it was all I could remember," Valkyrie responded flatly. "For a time, at least. And then I remembered the rest. But you gave me hope. I came back to you...but it seems you don't want me." Her lips curled downwards, and she frowned.

Talon opened his mouth to speak.

"No, shut up..!" Valkyrie barked. "I do the speaking. I'm not here to fight, I'm here to...make a proposition. I want you. We want you. Join us, Talon."

A pause.

Who was 'us'? What was Valkyrie talking about? She wasn't part of the war-she couldn't be-so where was she trying to take Talon? Why was she trying to take him? Him, of all people? Talon was...he wasn't very strong. He was no master, and had more to learn. That was the reason Ambrose had alluded to when Talon had demanded why he was to lead the frontal assault team.

"Who is-" he started, stopping abruptly and almost immediately as a hand curled around his shoulder and ebony hair brushed against the back of his neck.

"Hello, Talon." A woman… The voice was honeyed, orotund, and almost delighted, yet simultaneously sounded dead and conveyed the utmost malevolence.

The Necromancer's breath caught in his throat. His chest constricted again. His mind was blank, and Thalomir did not speak any words of warning.

He did not wish to turn around.

Valkyrie was dangerous-she genuinely frightened Talon. He was even able to imagine-no, foresee-his own death at her hands, but this woman behind him, the woman touching him, the woman coaxing him, the woman near him, the woman whose breath was frigid on his ear, the woman who had greeted him in such a manner was repugnant.

He did not need to turn around to know who she was, nor did he need to turn around to understand that she could kill him in his current state with a flick of her wrist.

Morganthe.


"Merle Ambrose," the Umbra Queen spoke, staring at the now grizzled, aged man she had once considered a mentor so long ago. "I like what you have done with the place." She spread her arms wide, a smile playing on her face.

She had teleported to Ambrose's office in a violent storm of darkness, throwing chairs, stands, racks and coats aside. The headmaster's office looked as if a boar had run wild inside. Even he himself looked terrible. His beard was wild, his hair unkempt beneath his cap.

Ambrose was quiet, beads of sweat sliding down his forehead at uncomfortably measured paces. Time accelerated to a crawl, a systematic speed that disrupted his concentration for the briefest of moments. He was unnerved.

Uneasiness was not something he could display to such an adversary.

"Are you nervous?" She asked, taking a step forwards.

Ambrose chuckled. "Nervous? My dear girl, I am no such thing. I am not as half-witted as I once was."

Morganthe's smile faded, and she frowned. "I did not come here to play," she hissed dangerously. "I am here because I wish to view who you have chosen."

Now it was Ambrose's turn to frown. "You don't mean…"

"Yes, I do."

The headmaster rose hastily from his chair, magic radiating from his fingertips. He may have been worn, but he was in no way incapable of fighting. Unfortunately, Morganthe was undoubtedly stronger than the headmaster himself in terms of physical ability, and chances were she had a contingency plan. She was cunning...worsened by the fact that Ambrose himself had once taught her.

The Spider Woman held up a finger. "Ah, headmaster…" She began. "Do not try it. I've already found one of them..!" Her voice was almost singsong.

He was sweating icicles now. Who? Who had she found? No, that didn't matter...she had found a wizard-no-one of his children. The headmaster gritted his teeth to stop them from chattering. His heart slammed against his chest. "You…" Was all Merle Ambrose could manage as he glared menacingly at the woman before him.

Morganthe did not laugh, simply smiled. She paused for a moment. "Looks like I found someone broken," She stated.

Talon.

He was the most unstable of the team Ambrose had formed. It had to be him. But where was he? There shouldn't have been any way for Morganthe to reach Talon without someone notifying her.

Oh, wait.

"You have a spy…no, you couldn't have, that'd be too risky. You..." Ambrose hissed. "How did you find him!?" The ire in his voice was visible, and he opened his mouth, roaring out the last sentence. The room seemed to tremble under the immense force that was his anger.

It had been a long time since Merle Ambrose was angry.

Morganthe flashed an unscrupulous grin. "Come now, Ambrose, I am not here to fight. Be at ease."

The headmaster, however, did not speak a word of acknowledgment, instead raising his hand. He would banish Morganthe from Wizard City-it was the least he could do without assistance-and she would not return…

...but his plan promptly broke apart faster than a damaged airship as his hand was seized by tendentious tendrils and snapped back to his side, the force of the arms blowing Ambrose's stacked papers aside. Before Ambrose could react, the other arm was restrained as well.

Having been reduced to mere growling, the headmaster fell silent, maintaining his gaze on his adversary. She was far stronger than he had imagined, it seemed. But...he had to have hope. The children were more powerful than Ambrose if they worked together. They could stop Morganthe. They had to be able to. If they couldn't, who would?

"Be at ease," Morganthe snarled, her face upturned. "Do not try, Ambrose, you and I both know that a fight right now would put you and your students in danger." She paused, the eyes that settled on the aging headmaster's figure full of spite.

"...Why are you here?" Ambrose finally asked, fussing against his bonds until they were taut.

"As I said earlier, I want to view who you have chosen to oppose me, and I want to test them."

"Test..? No-you wouldn't!"

"You underestimate me, Ambrose. It seems your mind has dulled with age." She said. "Now, if you'll excuse me…" The woman trailed off-there was no more to say, was there-and spiders began to flake from her body until she no longer had a physical form and was a mere mass of spiders, crawling, writhing, scrambling across the floor and to the threshold.

No, no, no..!

Was there anything he could do? Freeing himself wouldn't be a problem, but the children...how could he ensure that they were in their dorms? He couldn't keep all of them safe, could he?

Talon…he could at least protect him, right?

Morganthe's tone implied that he was close by. He had to be. But could Ambrose get to the others before she could? Pouring his own magic into the dark ropes that bound him, Ambrose steeled himself, focusing his mind. Most of the children aside from Talon were trained at Ravenwood...by the best. The young Necromancer had been trained by Dworgyn, but that was in prison. Not outside, where Ambrose could supervise. Not outside, not in Ravenwood where he could blossom into a superb individual, but in prison…

In prison, they broke you down the way bombs break apart the earth, and kept you...neutered, to say the least, by salting your body and leaving you to wallow in self-derision, anger at those around you, and fear.

The Necromancer could pretend all he wanted, but it was clear that he wasn't...he hadn't been the same since Valdus first happily showed Ambrose his son so many years ago. People changed, yes, but the transformation Talon had undergone was drastic and unbridled.

The ropes around his wrists cracked, and the headmaster burst forth, throwing open his door. Cold air blasted towards him, and Ambrose threw an arm over his eyes until the biting frost dissipated. The first thing he noticed was Talon standing erect, eyes locked on the cobblestones. The second thing he noticed were minuscule pieces-crystals-of ice floating away from the boy as if there had been a raging snowstorm around his body alone.

"Talon!"

The Necromancer did not move as the headmaster approached him, his gaze full of something that Ambrose could only describe as sorrow. The headmaster frowned. "Are you alright, child?"

"...Sure," was the younger man's flat response.

Ambrose paused. Well, he certainly didn't seem alright, and while he was not visibly damaged, something did not sit right with Ambrose. "What happened?" He asked, moving closer to Talon.

"Well…" He started. "I-Morganthe sent someone to attack me, but I...I handled it." The man glanced up at Ambrose, as if to confirm something. Ambrose sighed, reaching out to grasp Talon's shoulder. The Necromancer tensed, and Ambrose recoiled slowly.

"I am relieved to see you safe, Talon. Did the envoy reveal anything of worth?"

"Quiet!" Talon hissed angrily, glancing at the ground. Ambrose shot the boy a quizzical look. He glanced at the headmaster, surprised. "Sorry, Ambro-headmaster-I mean, no...the...the envoy didn't deliver any message worth noting."

Ambrose gave a curt nod and whirled on his heel. "Very well. Starting tomorrow, I will issue my thoughts on this...matter and we will proceed to prepare in a more thorough manner. Talon, do not train with your team tomorrow. Is that understood?"

Talon nodded vigorously.

"Good." With that, the headmaster inhaled deeply and reentered his trashed office. There was a long night ahead of him, and he would confront it bravely, no matter how much the feeling of desperation ate at him and threatened to consume him.


Vincent Deathwalker awoke with a start, tumbling out of his bed and to the floor below. There was a split second of silence-everything was dead-and a sharp pain lancing through his wrist elicited a small yelp from the Grandmaster Necromancer. He pulled down the sleeve of his nightshirt hurriedly, taking a glance at the number that had been burned into the flesh on his wrist.

73.

Vincent's brow furrowed in confusion. He hadn't used Necromancy since his battle with the...man who presented himself as the captain of their quaint "team", but as far as he was concerned, he was taking the utmost care in his show of power. He wasn't reckless like Talon, he was careful and precise.

So how did he manage to slice off ten years of the life he had left?

Could it have been a side effect of Von's Monster? He did hear stories that the summoning drew quite a bit on the health of a Legendary ranked Necromancers across all worlds, but brushed it off since he was careful. Well, unless the situation necessitated it...and the Immortal Games almost four years before had required his full effort. At the time, Vincent hadn't reached a Legendary level of mastery, but instead was a measly master, the spell having taken a large toll on his mana and his body.

He had recuperated completely within the year following the trio's trial, but the dreams had ended after a time and the number "83" was left on his wrist; a number practically glistening with heat, the very sight of it causing Vincent's throat to contract.

Why were the dreams returning? Why now?

William Lightningwind burst through the door. "Heard a yell, y'alright?" He inquired, eyes flicking about.

Vincent did not speak, instead giving a terse nod.

William frowned. "Alright…" he muttered, retreating and closing the door upon his exit. "Be careful, okay?"

The Necromancer's response was a small smile. He turned back to his bed, thinking; brooding. Odd. He had removed ten years of his life...simply by drawing on his power. If that was the case, there was the possibility that he would kill himself during a war.

Well, that wouldn't benefit anyone, especially Maximillion and William. How would they feel? How would they fare without him? Not well, Vincent figured. He was the core of the team-held them afloat when Maximillion's elaborate schemes crumbled and when William's unpredictability offered no quarter.

Hmm...so killing himself was out of the question…

Vincent glanced back at his wrist. The number still smoked, the heat creating a sort of haze that partially obscured his vision. But...that meant nothing. There was no pattern to the appearance of the numbers, and...come to think of it, what was there to say that the numbers would return?

Well, damn. That was no fun.

The Necromancer sighed and climbed back into his bed, sliding the covers up to his chin and rolling over on his stomach.


Astra jumped at the sound of the door opening and closing. She had been sitting on her bed and talking to her dragon for who knows how long, but now that she was...well, aware of her surroundings again, Gift was nowhere nearby, her room was dark, and she heard the soft taps of Talon's footsteps on the floor.

"I'm...home…" was Talon's mumble.

Shit, what was she doing? She was practically giddy hearing him return from wherever he had been. That shouldn't have been the case-she wasn't interested in him. She didn't want to be, she just wanted to ask-no, wonder why it was she fell in love with him in the first place. While she remembered that she loved him, her memories never bothered to explain why.

The Conjurer rose hastily to her feet and strode to the kitchen to meet Talon. "Hey-" she began, finding suddenly that she was at a loss for words and that Talon was not entirely paying attention. His face was inscrutable and he had what appeared to be a vested interest in the tile near the refrigerator.

"Sorry," He murmured hastily. He licked his lips. If Astra recalled, he did that whenever he felt nervous or threatened. She couldn't be threatening, so it had to be nervousness. "I'm a little...lightheaded." He finished.

He tried to push past Astra, but she stopped him. "Sorry for stopping you at a time like this," she began. "But I really need to talk to you."

Talon stopped, looking up at her. "What about?" His inquiry was practically a sigh, and he looked distressed. Astra briefly considered letting him pass, but...she needed to confront him now, before she could rationalize her feelings and proceed with more caution.

"Are you interested in the other girl?" Astra started. "The Pyromancer, I mean. Mirror."

Talon frowned, but his frown quickly transformed into sardonic laughter. "Why does it matter?" He inquired in response, a grin that looked more like a pathetic attempt at a smile sliding across his face.

Astra faltered. "I-What-it always looks troublesome to be around her, so I was just wondering how you were holding up." She managed. It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't necessarily the truth.

"She's…" Talon paused, looking down. "A lot like you, actually." He concluded.

Astra opened her mouth to speak. "What-"

"I need to go," Talon said quickly, pushing past Astra. "Sorry."

The Conjurer turned, saying nothing. Her eyes followed Talon as he rounded the corner, the subsequent closing of a door letting her know he had entered his room.

She's a lot like you, actually.

What?

How long had she been standing stock still, mulling over his words?

No, Mirror wasn't like Astra. Astra didn't obsess over Talon like she did. Astra was focused, efficient and capable. Mirror was...learning. But even so…

That didn't stop Astra from wanting to know why. She had more to ask Talon, which was why she cleared the distance from the kitchen to his room doorway in a matter of seconds and raised her hand to knock. "Talon, there's still more I want to ask..!" She tried, rewarded with silence.

Even with her enhanced senses, Astra could hear nothing but the soft breeze ruffling the curtains on Talon's window. She couldn't even hear him breathe.

Odd.

The Conjurer tried to enter the room. The door was locked. Astra sighed, shaking her head almost ruefully as she planted her foot in the center of the door and applied force, knocking the door off of all but two hinges and causing it to swing open partially.

Talon's room was dark-Astra had been inside once before, when the Necromancer nearly assaulted the clockwork...thing who left him with what was called "Sidhe" gear as a parting gift-and his sheets were ruffled. All of the three windows in Talon's room were open, the screen mesh that kept people from throwing themselves out immediately removed and the Necromancer himself nowhere to be found. His closet door hung wide open, full of...empty hangers and a small number of shoe boxes that had been previously opened and tossed about.

Her mind began to race.

Talon, Talon, Talon was gone. Kidnapped, maybe? But who had even an inkling of animosity towards him? It seemed like quite a few people-or at least, from what she observed-but did any of them have the ability or even the will to commit such a heinous act? Well, of course the Conjurer didn't know, as she didn't know the people personally, but the rate of crime in Wizard City was low. There were always nuisances in every world, as Astra learned from Cyrus, but only one in ten had the detachment required to act in malice.

By that logic, there were only two feasible options left. Talon either left willingly or fled from something. There could've been no way he was killed-in the time it took Astra to travel from the kitchen to Talon's room, no human, Draconian, piggle or otherwise could have slain the Necromancer and vanquished traces of evidence without being mortally wounded by Talon himself or caught by Astra.

From what Astra gathered,

Talon leaving willingly seemed unlikely, though he did appear to be…distract upon returning to the dorm.

Fleeing from something? That made the most sense. People and events seemed to follow the man everywhere, as indicated by the clockwork that surprised the both of them almost a week before, and the fact that Talon broke down crying earlier that day for seemingly no reason.

Something about seeing him so desolate diminished the feelings of neutrality she held for him. She pitied Talon, and how desperately she yearned for someone to save him.

Save him…

Save…

Save…

Her eyes were fixated on the window, her gaze distant. The soft breeze was but white noise in Astra's ears, and tears welled up in her eyes as pain shot through her skull and a memory began to emerge.


Talon found that keeping all of the things he assumed he'd need crammed into a duffel bag was not easy, especially when surrounded by people who knew him simply as "that one guy who had a life sentence and got let out early" or the "I-think-his-brother-goes-to-Ravenwood-hey-didn't-that-guy-have-a-life-sentence" man.

The Necromancer gave a sigh as he pushed his clothes farther into the bag, trying to avoid slicing them in half as he did so, before repositioning the axe and the curved sword that rest at the bottom of his bag. His toiletries and a small, obviously magical fold-up tent were somewhere in the bag-probably the things poking his side as he walked, but as long as he knew he had them, there was no point in removing them just to put them back again.

"Alright, let's get out of here," he murmured, strapping his bag together for the third time since he had walked the short distance from his dorm to the World Gate inside of Bartleby and rising to his feet. "Celestia, she said…"

Talon glanced around at the number of people walking around. It surprised him, even if slightly. While he was used to people up at all times of the night, he wasn't used to seeing so many young people away from their parents and their homes. Seeing such a spectacle reminded Talon of home, and for a second, he smiled, but the smile vanished faster than it arrived, replaced by a looked of despondence and anger.

Lucas flashed in his mind, followed by Valkyrie, whispering to him the words that had convinced him to do this in the first place.

We're both alone, Talon.

I just want to go home. Is that too much to ask? I just want to survive and go home. That's it. I don't want to be a part of a war, or any of that. I just...

You don't trust them, and they don't trust you. You're a criminal.

Was this the right choice? What the hell was he doing, traveling to another world, joining the villains-the ones who were supposed to tear the universe asunder? Was he an idiot? Did he really think that Valkyrie would uphold her end of the promise? Would she let him free if they won? Let him go home?

We're both alone,

What would they think of him when he appeared on the opposing side? Would they patronize him? They wouldn't understand, would they? Would they...think the same?

so why don't we be alone together?

"Damn it," Talon shook his head, reaching out towards the doorknob that kept the World Gate closed. Before he could open it, another person pulled the door open, emerging from the gate, a multitude of stars, planets and large, otherworldly rocks visible between the void that lied beyond in a magnificent, short-lived display-unfortunately, Talon's view was blocked as the door closed and the person pushed past him wordlessly.

The Necromancer had only been to two worlds, and never been through a world gate. He had used the train to pass by Wizard City many times, and actually made it to Ravenwood via sea, but never long-distance teleportation. Hunter had always begged Talon to take him to a World Gate when they made it to Ravenwood to study magic.

Here he was.

Talon nodded, inhaling deeply.

Wait. This...was a door, right? Then, did he need a key of sorts? He had been given one by Ambrose-one he carried with him at all times-however, it didn't seem like it was necessary, as every wizard passing through did just that-pass through-but...

He tried the knob, and much to his surprise, it wouldn't budge. Seemed as if people would simply enter and exit without hassle. Withdrawing from his pocket a key Ambrose had given him along with enough gold to furnish him dorm, Talon turned it in his hands, eyes flicking over the inscriptions on the key.

Well, this was interesting. The Necromancer could feel the excitement rising within him, drowning out the conflict that raged within his soul. Traveling through the World Gate for the first time, and to another world-a world that wasn't one he was familiar with-at that! This was truly a dream made reality.

He inserted the key into the doorknob, turned the key to unlock the door-or at least, what he figured would unlock the door-removed the key and pocketed it. Talon sighed, cracking his neck. Right then. He turned the knob, pushed the door open, and stepped out into space...

...And promptly vanished into thin air as the oaken door closed behind him.

The Necromancer's screams were drowned out by a loud screeching noise as his very molecules were rearranged, his body reconstructed and his very soul burned to a crisp. He dropped from midair, the outline of a dome flashing before his eyes, promptly crashed into the tiled ground, bag flying from his hands, his body bouncing unceremoniously, rolling twice and splashing into a puddle that had formed between two pieces of the ruined base camp earth.

Short-range teleportation, say from Olde Town back to his dorm, was not as...exhausting as long-range teleportation. Short-range simply sucked the air out of his lungs, but long-range quite literally reconstructed him.

Talon rolled over slowly onto his stomach, placing his hands grudgingly against the ground. His fingers ached, pain filling the gaps between his bones. "Aghh…" He groaned, pushing himself upwards until he could rest on his knees. "God, it hurts."

Inspecting his hands, the Necromancer cringed. The flesh that adorned his fingers was torn, not in a horribly horrifying manner, but just...disgusting. Pieces of skin clung to his bones and muscle like a child not wanting to leave its mother, and all along his arm were bruises, gashes and small pieces of rock. Talon sighed, wondering how he would deal with his injuries, assuming he had a run-in with something ominous. He knew no Theurgy, only Necromancy and Divination, favoring offense over longevity and potential defense.

Great.

He stood, brushing off what rock he could, looking around for his bag. It was nearby, fairly close, but still a stride or so away. Walking towards it, Talon paused momentarily. Did Valkyrie ever say where she'd be? She simply told Talon that if he wanted it, he would follow her to Celestia...and so far, all Talon could see was...very few people. Celestia had been vacated, and it seemed Morganthe was controlling it. There were three wizards who stared at him as if he had fallen from the sky-oh, wait, he did-and a wounded dog woman wearing a torn explorer's outfit. Several obelisks and entrance areas that appeared similar to the shutter on the magic powered cameras Wizard City and Marleybone had lay at nearly every corner of the camp. Talon inhaled.

Right, then, first things first. Where was he to-

Left.

"Thalomir?" The young man inquired upon hearing a voice within his mind. There shouldn't have been anyone else there, and the overlord was strangely quiet.

It was not I, boy. I have been quiet ever since you decided to leave.

Talon frowned. "Could it be Valkyrie?"

I do not think she would know how to communicate with you in such a manner.

"What makes you say that? We haven't seen her in six years-she could've learned a lot by then."

Thalomir was silent for a moment, and then a simple, I disagree. And that was the end of it, on the overlord's end, at least.

Talon, however, continued to mull over possible suspects. Who would be speaking to him?

Don't concern yourself with that. Go left.

Talon glanced around, noting that a few of the wizards in the area-albeit wounded-gave him looks of confusion or astonishment. One girl simply gaped, as if Talon were...talking to himself.

Like hell. He wasn't crazy.

"But who is..?"

Shut up and go left! The voice was beginning to become irritated. Now that Talon was focusing on it, the voice sounded male. And it sounded close.

The Necromancer turned left. "Who are-" he began, turning to look behind him.

"Don't turn around!" The same, clearly male voice hissed behind Talon, The owner of said voice pushing something into the man's back. The Necromancer held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "Just follow my directions."

"Who are you?" Talon inquired, cycling through his options. He could whirl around and be blasted into oblivion, he could run for it and be blasted into oblivion, he could go along with the ruse and ambush his assailant, or he could talk his way out of it.

The Necromancer was never good at talking, and running wouldn't help at all.

"I'm an envoy," the boy behind Talon responded flatly. "Sent by Valkyrie. Go through this passage."

Talon hesitated before continuing, the opening and closing of the passage that led to the tunnel deterring him very briefly. "She sends kids to do her dirty work?"

"I'm not a kid!" The boy hissed, and the man felt something akin to a thick, broad rod press into his back. So the kid had a staff. Alright, but could he use it?

"How old are you?" Talon continued, an attempt to talk the child into letting his guard down. Well, at least until they arrived where Talon was supposed to meet Valkyrie.

"Fourteen, but what's it to you?"

"Fourteen!? Hell, you're younger than I thought!" Talon exclaimed incredulously.

"And you're shorter than I thought. Your point?" The boy responded, reaching around Talon to push a button on the inside of the glass tube they had strode into. A single, padded vermillion chair was positioned in the center of the tube, and Talon was shoved forward towards it. "Sit." The boy commanded.

The Necromancer frowned. "If I don't?"

"I'll have to tell Valkyrie I took the liberty of killing you before she had the chance to," was the response.

"You? Kill me?" Talon started, sitting down anyways. "Well, for one, you have no armor worth anything, because if you did, I wouldn't…" the Necromancer chose to try bluffing as the chair lurched upwards through the tube. "...then I wouldn't be able to punch through it like I did to so many others." Talon started to turn around, but was pushed back into place by the staff held to his back.

"You're bluffing," the boy answered flatly.

Damn. "Who are you?"

"I already told you," the envoy murmured. "I'm an envoy. A messenger."

"No, I want your name." Talon demanded, beginning to turn to stare at the boy. Instead, one end of the staff smacked against his cheek and his head snapped back into the position it was before he had even tried to turn.

"My name isn't important."

"It is to me," Talon grated, attempting to stop an angry snarl from escaping his lips. Ire surged within him, but he quelled it-he didn't know his enemy, or what they could do.

I'm you, Talon could've sworn he heard the boy whisper.

"Why, so you can find me and try to convert me; drag me to your side like the people on your so-called 'team'? So you can claim to love me and neglect me like you're doing to Hunter? Or maybe kill me like you did to Lucas Lioncloud?" Was the response he Necromancer received.

"Who the hell are you!?" Talon barked, his voice rising in pitch.

There was no response, a soft ding signifying that the duo had reached their destination.

We're here. The male voice that had once resounded so clearly in Talon's head faded to naught but a whisper, and the Necromancer whirled around, slipping out of the chair, in order to finally view his assailant.

No one.

That is odd. Thalomir's voice. For a moment, it seemed we were...disconnected. You shut me out, boy.

"What're you talking about..?" The young man inquired, starting forward, head raised in awe as he marveled at the sights around him. What was this..? "...Where are we?"

This is unfamiliar to me. I have traveled the world, but never have a seen...an island. Even the overlord was stunned. Where are we?

"Celestia, I think," Talon muttered. But the world was underwater, wasn't it? Or so he had heard. He really didn't know enough about worlds beyond his own.

There was a crack, a chill wind behind him, and a hand on his shoulder. "Bloodbane!"

Talon whirled on his heel, finding himself face-to-face with James. "What the hell!?" He yelped, startled. The Necromancer aimed the tip of his axe at James' abdomen before relaxing. He gave a sigh. "James, what are you-no, better yet, how did you find me?"

The Thaumaturge's eyes narrowed for a split second, and when Talon shot him a quizzical look, he nodded tersely. "Snaketongue was worried about you, and-" he paused. "-I may have marked you earlier."

Talon frowned. Astra was worried? What? Instead of vocalizing his thoughts, he decided to direct the Thaumaturge's attention to something different. "Marked? What is that..?"

The legendary wizard cocked his head to the side for but a moment, as if he were startled that the Necromancer knew nothing regarding marking locations, but dismissed it swiftly. "Marking-it's when you focus your mana outwards, so much so that it leaves a trace on a location, sometimes a person. With a mark, you are able to teleport to people or places without the assistance of a Spiral Gate. Long-distance teleportation with marking does...hurt a little, though." James' eyes found Talon's. Was that...fear he saw in the Necromancer's eyes? Why was he afraid? "Bloodbane, I have to ask...What are you doing in Celestia?"

"...It doesn't concern you," Talon responded flatly, turning away. "It's something I need to take care of on my own."

"This isn't a game-Morganthe is here! We aren't ready for a war..! There is no sense turning away from your friends like the hero of a poorly-written fantasy novel." James retorted, grabbing Talon's shoulder.

"Stop!" Talon hissed, swirling and placing the golden blades of the axe against James' arm. Frost crept up Talon's shoulder as Talon repositioned his axe, the blades directed towards the Thaumaturge's throat. "I told you to stay the hell away, James. Morganthe is here-so what? I have my reasons, and you don't need to know them. So-"

Talon was interrupted by another crack. A puff of golden smoke and Astra emerged. "James, I-" she began, pausing abruptly upon seeing Talon. "Talon! You're okay…" she trailed off, finally drinking in her surroundings. "Celestia..? The scouts that came back from here are injured...this isn't a safe place to be."

Thalomir's descendant wrenched himself free of James' frosty grip, turning on his heel and sprinting forwards. "Valkyrie!" he roared.

"What the hell is he-" James exclaimed, moving forwards towards Talon.

Several more loud cracks signified the arrival of Hunter, Max, Vincent, William, Eron, Leif, and finally, Mirror. "I hate long distance teleportation…" Mirror complained, but she, too, was breathless upon noticing the island the team was standing on. "Where are we-"

"Valkyrie!" Talon roared. "I'm here! Come out!"

"You said you were coming alone," Valkyrie's voice resounded in Talon's ear.

He felt her cold hand caress his neck as she appeared next to him in a flurry of snowflakes, the very air around him freezing. He inhaled shakily-even though he had seen it before already, it never ceased to both startle and terrify him. "I did...they followed me. I-"

"No!" Valkyrie snapped, her breath just as cold as her skin. Her voice was harsh, threatening, dominant. "I tried to play nice, Talon." She retreated a half step, her expression torn. A tear fell from her eye as her face twitched, contorting into something horrendous, something evil, something horrid. An unholy snarl graced her face, her eyes shimmering with the hatred that could only be born in someone so wretched and vile.

"Val-" Talon began, his words cut off abruptly as his abdomen was pierced by the frost-bound blade held by a colossus, the creature's hand and head protruding from the sand that adorned the island.

"You just started a war," Valkyrie growled angrily.

Aw, hell.


MW: Yo! And that's all for now~ Hope you enjoyed! It might feel a bit rushed-I just wanted to get it out before I went on break. I will edit later after my semester finals are done. Time for some questions and answers.

Q: How does Thalomir not know what Celestia is?

A: Celestia didn't exist when Thalomir traveled the world.

Q: Why does Talon go to Celestia?

A: Why do you think?

Q: Astra seems a bit out of character. Is she?

A: She is just slightly. I need to get used to writing Astra as a warrior who still remains in touch with her feminine side. She still cares for Talon (even though she doesn't want to admit it), still has female needs and urges and all, but overall, she is a warrior who can usually put aside her feelings on a subject and complete her tasks.

Q: Valkyrie is fucking crazy.

A: Yep.

Q: Did everyone mark James?

A: Some marked James, some marked Astra. They didn't know where each was going, just followed one after another. It can be assumed for now (I'll comment on it next chapter) that Astra gathered the team members in attempt to find out who kidnapped Talon/where he went.

Q: What's up with Vincent?

A: I think I explained it earlier, but with Necromancy, it kills the user the more advanced the spell becomes as well as the more years the spell gleans from an enemy. The numbers on Vincent's wrist are to help solidify the concept of Necromancy in my reimagined universe and provide some background for future events.

Q: Who is the envoy who directs Talon to his destination?

A: Who knows?