Traveling through the archstone made it feel as if his body had been incinerated, and was now rising again out of nothing. He passed through solids and lights as if they were one in the same, and then stood again, reborn at his destination.

The sky was grey, as was the stone beneath his feet.

He had arrived at a miniature town, a plaza hidden behind castle walls. Who had lived here? Had they been only elite nobles, or refugees running from the demonic invasion as well? The latter seemed more likely, given that the bridge leading to this place had been littered with carts, human remains, and dead horses.

It was tragic, then, that there was no safety behind these walls.

He turned a corner and saw it: a pile of burned corpses lying on top of each other. Some of them were shaped like men, some like women…others like children. There were too many, far too many, they grabbed the ground as if in lieu of anything else, the solid surface on their feet would protect them. They shielded one another and sacrificed themselves and ultimately had their loved ones slain anyway.

And the smell hit him, too. A smell like burned meat but infinitely more foul. Everything in him told him that this was wrong. He wanted to cover his nose, but his helmet prevented his hand from reaching his face, and he bent over with powerful coughs as he tried not to vomit.

When he looked up, he saw a large, horned wolf. It tore a chunk of flesh from a burnt body, then looked toward him, and growled.

Another growl joined in from his right, and it became a chorus. He turned, and saw two more wolves approaching from the side, their fur bristling and their eyes flashing red as they advanced on him. There was a fourth somewhere, he couldn't see it.

He drew his sword.

The first Wolf jumped at him, and he caught it mid-lunge with his blade, cutting into its mouth and then through the back of it, and nearly severing its jaw from its skull. It whimpered and crumpled against him.

The second wolf tackled him from behind. He managed to keep standing, but it wrapped itself around his body. Its claws scratched against him while its powerful jaws held onto his neck guard and crushed it.

He thrust his elbow into the wolf's gut and it fell off him, onto its back. Before he could turn and run it through a third came at him from the side and grabbed his arm. A fourth grabbed his leg and pulled, toppling him.

And then they were mauling him, tearing at his body and ripping his armor away. At first he swung his sword, but soon he was flailing. Two of the wolves grabbed his arms, while the third grabbed his chest in its jaws, biting through his cuirass.

He screamed and kicked the wolf aside with his leg. His right arm came up, and the wolf on it collided with the one on his left. Again, whimpers. He twisted his sword, to remind himself that it was there, and then cut through one of the beast's necks. When another came he stabbed the sword through its eye, and then kicked its body off of the blade. He swung blindly and caught the third, nearly cutting it in half.

But the growling hadn't stopped, there were more. He pulled on his sword, but it wouldn't come free from the third wolf's body. He panicked, putting his foot on the demon and jerking on the sword until it finally came loose.

When he turned, weapon ready, he saw nothing more than carts, sitting there, with wolves in them. The beasts roared, and bashed themselves against the bars, but could not escape.

He sheathed his sword, then reconsidered, and drew it again.

To the left there was a long, wide set of steps going upwards toward a massive gate. Conspicuous, obvious, and easy to trap. Directly in front of him, however there was a tempting alley.

His choice was obvious. He went into the alley.

After walking down the shaded alcove for a few minutes, he found an unusual sight.

Lying on the ground, marked up with the teeth of wolves, was the body of one of the bloated ministers. They were foul, fat things that looked almost exactly like humans. He had been told that they had appeared at the king's side just before the coming of the deep fog. Even in death, the creature still carried its disturbing smile.

He kicked it, once, just to see if the face would show any signs of impact. It didn't.

He imagined what it was like, in the days before the attack, to see these things walking amongst humans as if there was nothing wrong. It made him shiver.

But he kept going.

The end of the alley gave way to the bridge over a seemingly bottomless gorge, and at its end, there was a tower. The architecture fascinated him, and he again reminded himself that this was possible with the help of the soul arts. He crossed the bridge, and at the other side reached the tower, only to realize that there was no door.

He stood there for a few seconds, feeling like a moron, before a strange, laughing voice shouted down, "who goes there?"

"It's I," he said. "A weary traveler. Allow me to enter."

There was no answer.

Of course. The speaker was one of the ministers. He wasn't going let him in.

He heard the slide of a panel, and managed to see an eyehole in the tower, watching him, just before it closed.

They can see me.

He looked back at the dead demon, lying in the alleyway.

When an unusually skinny official entered the tower, it was in no way cause for alarm. Though it was most certainly strange.

Now, when he pulled out a sword and stabbed the guard in the back; that was far more than strange. It was enough to convince the official to run for his weapon. Not that he reached it, of course. His stomach was cut open and spilled like an overripe melon.

And the very unusual minister changed his clothes again, grimacing at the scratchy seams and uncomfortable smells of his disguise as he removed it.

From above, a set of eyes watched him as he changed. The shirt came up over his head, and webs of scars ran along the back of it, weaving into each other and writing a horrid tale of pain. When he turned, the watcher saw his face. His deep, powerful eyes, his high cheekbones, and his full lips. His face was hard and sharp like a dagger, and his blonde hair fell over it like a golden hilt.

When he looked up, though, no one was there.

"Hello?" he said, now back in his armor.

He climbed the ladder to the top floor.

"Hello, is there even anyone in here?"

It wasn't a waste, regardless. I killed two demons.

"Hello?" he repeated, as he reached the top.

He looked over the edge, and saw a figure, sitting there, in the darkness.

Before he could get any words out, a woman's voice spoke, "go away."

"Are you a prisoner? I'm here to free you."

"That's exactly what shouldn't happen, leave."

But he didn't, he climbed to the top of the ladder and to his feet, and looked at her. "You have an unusual way of showing gratitude."

There was a pause.

"…thank you."

"Well, better late than never, I'd suppose," he said.

"But thank you…only because the horrors that would have been visited upon me are unspeakable, not thank you for freeing me. This is where I belong. I've…I've accepted my place."

He scratched the back of his neck, and felt his fingers failing to pierce through his armor. "Your place is to be locked up in a tower by Demons?"

"We reap what we sow…" she said.

"I don't know what you've done," he said. "Honestly, I don't care. I'm trying to find as many survivors as possible, and you're one of them."

There was a deep silence, but he didn't stop it. It was there, inevitable, like a chasm he had to cross to speak with her.

Then he saw her shiver, slightly. At least, it started that way, it ended as a series of shakes wracking her entire body, with her grabbing at herself in attempts to still them.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"N-nothing…thank you…I'm sorry. I don't deserve to be rescued…but if you feel you have to, then fine. Go on ahead. I'll head back on my own."

"You will?"

"Yes…I…" she tried to get up, but instead fell.

He rushed forward to help her.

"I can't get up…my legs are too weak…they barely even fed me. Please, please help me get up," she said.

He put his arm under hers and pulled her to her feet. It was easy. Too easy. She was so lightweight that it made him uncomfortable. He looked down at her, now that he was close enough to see. A skinny woman wearing ragged clothes with a pointed hat. Her face was dirty, but beneath it he saw a mousy timidity and gentleness in her eyes.

"What's your name?" he asked, as he lifted her up.

"Yuria," she said.

"Yuria...alright, I'm going to have to carry you, is that okay?"

Another silent pause, and then she said, "…okay."

"It's not to demean you or anything, it's just…you can't walk."

"No, no…I understand."

He walked toward the ladder, holding her, and she seemed worried at first, she even started to argue, but with her in one arm and the other wrapped around the side of the ladder, he shimmied down it, to the lowest floor, and then walked down the steps.

"You've been using the Soul Arts," she said.

"Yes, I have," he said in return.

She said nothing else on that topic.

He brought her down to the bridge, and they started crossing it.

"What's your name?" she asked him.

"I…" he hesitated. He wanted her to pick up on that hesitation, to change the topic, but she didn't say anything.

"I don't have one anymore," he finished.

"I see. I'm sorry to hear that," she said.

"It's alright. It's difficult, sometimes, but…it's alright. Especially given everything else that's happened, there are people worse off."

"I'd assume so."

"What were you doing in that tower?"

"The same thing everyone from Boletaria is doing, either hiding or imprisoned. Miranda was the one who caught me."

"Miranda?"

"Executioner Miranda, pray that you never run into her. She was bloodthirsty before, but the fog has robbed her of whatever mind she once had. Now there's nothing left of her but her cruelty and her loyalty to the king."

"Didn't the fog steal a lot of people's minds?" he asked.

"Very, very many. The soldiers you've probably encountered…they were all human once. The wolves that wander through these streets were once dogs. Most demons aren't just created as monsters…they're the corrupted form of beings that were already there."

"What about these things?" he asked, as he passed the dead Minister again. Now naked, the creature's fat hung over its grotesque body and went down to the knees of its stubby tree-trunk legs.

She grimaced, and looked even more sickened, "no, not them. There's nothing about those things that was ever good."

"Alright," he said, as they passed through alley. "I'm taking you back to the Nexus…but…we have to pass by something…hold your nose."

"Hold my…? Oh god."

They passed by the bodies again, and her hand immediately went to her nose. Again, he could not do the same. The foul scent of burned human flesh made him want to react in a myriad of ways, but he resisted the temptation, and kept walking.

The Nexus came to them as if they'd woken from a terrible nightmare. The golden symbols on its surface faded into being, and for a moment, he thought he almost understood them, but then that brief comprehension was gone.

"…Is there food here?" Yuria asked.

"Yes, plenty," he said.

"Good…I'd prefer to walk now, if that's alright."

"I understand," he said, as he slowly lowered her to her feet. She removed her hand from his shoulder. When his support was entirely removed, she stumbled, and he reached out to catch her, but her feet stayed true, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

She stood, and looked back at him, "I'm sorry if I worried you. It's just…it's hard to walk when so much of myself has been worn away."

"I understand that," he said, and he did.

She negotiated her way down the steps. At every stumble he almost caught her, but she managed to maintain herself until the bottom.

"I'm sorry, but…where is the food?" She asked.

"Oh, right," he said, and fled to Stockpile Thomas. The crates behind the man were filled with all manner of preserved edibles. Thomas said nothing to him as he ran past and grabbed fruit and dried meat from some of the food crates. He then turned and ran to Yuria, who didn't seem to have expected him to be back so quickly.

"Thank you," she said, with as much surprise as gratitude.

He shrugged, "no need for thanks. Food is to be eaten, after all."

"Yes, I guess it is," she said, smiling, and then sat down in her corner, and began to do so.

"In time, we can talk again, if you truly wish to," she said. "But for now I must tend to myself. And probably sleep. I'd imagine you're busy as well."

The Champion nodded, and turned.

"Goodbye," he said to Yuria, before crossing the Nexus.

She tried to restrain her hungry impulses, but couldn't. Soon, she was engulfing the meal, swallowing it down in huge bites.

And above, Yurt, the Silent Chief, watched.

But of course, he always watched, and this was no surprise. What would have been surprising was the observer sitting far lower, listening rather than watching, for she had no eyes that could see.

The Maiden in Black listened to the entirety of Yuria's conversation with her Champion, and then she stood, solemnly. She remained completely still for a moment, maybe two, her empty face showing nothing that a mortal could recognize as emotion. Then she took a step upstairs, followed by another. She lit the candles with her rod, and pondered not on the Earthly concerns which had, for a moment, stirred her.

-

There'll be more with Yuria, trust me.

I'm juggling this and the actual novel that I'm writing, and college will be starting up again soon. Updates may become slow. But don't worry, I intend to finish this.