Travelling down a steep, snow covered mountain brought an odd sense of déjà vu to Jaune. Days, weeks, who knows how long ago he'd been travelling down Mira's End after the panic that gripped Snowmire in search of a dragon, secure in the knowledge his friends were relatively safe, his family far away and definitely safe, and that he might just be able to recover his old life by slaying a dragon and become a member of the the Order of Drachentöter, one of the few things free of Mistral's influence after the Great War.

How quickly things had fallen apart. He'd been betrayed by one of his 'friends' and the other had disappeared after trying to kill the only person in the last few months who'd genuinely tried helping him.

Ruby had tried at the beginning, for a little bit at least, but she'd been too determined to kill dragons, even her own flesh and blood, to truly care about him. He'd been poisoned and dying and all she'd worried about was attacking Yang.

She cut his throat and used him like a sacrificial lamb to resurrect a monster. For what? Glory? Riches? Magic? Power? He didn't know. His memories were vague and misty, and he struggled to recall things he knew that he knew.

Ya-The only person he thought he could count on had been no better in the end. She'd left him too, just like everyone else. Left him alone atop a mountain to die. Why? Because he'd not listened to her unwarranted 'bad feeling'? Because he had wanted to fulfil his promise to someone who in hindsight he should have cared less about but at the time he had trusted? He had made a mistake in trusting the wrong 'friend' that was true, but that didn't justify abandoning him for it.

Weiss was no better too. She'd strung him along and hung him out to dry when she had tired of him. Then she ordered him to run away and kill a dragon, no simple or easy thing, all because her betrothed was scared of him. Jaune wouldn't have had to have worried about Alexander Nikos' machinations if Weiss had gone through her own plan to push her father to allow them to marry. He'd been willing to cast aside the Arc name for hers and leave his family's future in question for her, though again the benefit of hindsight showed it was a good thing they weren't married or betrothed. She didn't love him nor did she care for him. She'd sent him to kill a dragon armed with nothing but his own waning luck, and he couldn't help but wonder if she ever had truly cared about him, or she'd simply seen him as another pawn to play with. He'd loved her, and she had abandoned him.

Did he love her? Had he loved her? It was hard to tell. He could vaguely remember forts made of fluffy pillows and warm duvets, of hushed conversations that inevitably devolved into giggling. He could remember the twinkle that entered her eyes when she was amused by something he'd said or done, and he could remember the way his palms became clammy whenever they held hands.

It felt strange. Like he was watching someone else's life. Someone else's memories, not his own. He had to fight to remember, fight to think at times too. It confused him, why everything he tried to remember was foggy and veiled, and that confusion scared and angered him. Something was wrong, but he didn't know what and he didn't know how, or even if, he could fix himself.

He stopped and stared at a yellow flower sprouting from the ground on the right side of the path. The landscape had changed the further he'd descended down the nameless mountain he'd been left on, and the snows gave way to mud and sludge and splotches of green and brown and black. The flower looked weak, but alive, and it's shade was warm like the sun. It's shade was familiar, comforting. It looked like Ya-. It looked like a similar shade of blonde hair he found himself missing.

His mind wandered again. To Ya-Her. Another Her. Another person who had betrayed him in the end. He thought of her smile, innocent and warm and confident all at once. He could remember the budding feeling of happiness he felt being near her. He could remember the hope he felt at the thought of peace between their eternally conflicted races. He could remember shifting towards her in the dark cave, drawn by the subtle but potent need to be near her warm body, to feel that budding feeling of joy. He could remember the sparkles in her eyes. The sadness in them too. The happiness and the joy and the nervousness and everything else. He remember her long mane of hair, the power in her muscles and the awe and fear he'd felt seeing her powerful draconic form.

He remembered a green valley. A warm hut. A shepherd and his dog.

He remembered bloodshed. Bodies of sheep and lambs and the shepherd and his dog. He remembered the way his anger and grief had coursed through him like a potent drug. He remembered killing the bandits, the thrill of the fight and the addictiveness of the adrenaline pumping through his body.

He remembered Ren, an old friend who had tried murdering him. Had that been divine providence of the other betrayals his 'friends' would soon inflict on him? He didn't know.

He didn't care.

There was not joy, hope or happiness. No irritation, sadness or grief. There was a lingering tiredness, and a gaping emptiness.

Sometimes there was rage. Raw, burning rage. But he tried to push that away, to ignore it. Ignore the soft whisperings echoing in the back of his mind. The soft-spoken temptations and urgings. The rage came with the voice, and the voice wanted him to kill, to submit.

Gods what was wrong with him?

"Jaune?"

"Yeah?" He replied tiredly, glancing at the sword sheathed at his side. Crocea Mors it had called itself, but before that it had called itself the God of Darkness too, and Jaune had little care or patience to learn whatever it called itself now.

"Are you well? You've been staring at the flower for a long time now."

"I'm fine." Jaune shrugged, though part of him wondered if such a gesture was wasted on an inanimate, albeit sentient, object. "Just thinking. How...How much of you is Crocea Mors and how much is the God of Darkness?"

"I am entirely Crocea Mors, though I came about through what remained of the God of Darkness' essence on Remnant." Crocea Mors answered patiently. "I have much of his knowledge, and a fraction of his power. Is there something I can help you with?"

"I don't know." Jaune mumbled, his hand clenching around the hilt of the blade in a subconscious action. The feel of steel in his palm was a soothing balm that calmed him, made his thoughts clearer, so he closed his eyes and bit out a question nagging at him. "I died right? The sacrifice...it wouldn't have worked otherwise in bringing Salem back."

"Yes but also no." Crocea Mors said, speaking gently as they continued down the beaten path. It was likely used by hunters and parties of men chasing bears away from hamlets and villages during the summer and spring. "The key part of the ritual was the act of betrayal. The blood spilled by your sacrifice only solidified what happened, it was not entirely necessary. You were dying, and would have died had the God of Darkness not utilised your Aura to stem the blood flow. He healed you with his own magic however, hence why you do not suffer any breathing problems or speech issues."

"I...I just..." Jaune breathed heavily. "I don't feel right. I don't...I don't feel much of anything, no happiness or tiredness or nothing. I don't remember things I know I should. Ican barely remember my sister's names damnit! What happened to me! Why...What's wrong with me?"

Birds squawked and soared from the branches of nearby trees at his outburst, and for a moment he heard nothing but his own heavy breathing and the pounding of his heart in his ears.

"You were dying." Crocea Mors said quietly. "Your soul started journeying to the afterlife, but the God of Darkness halted the process before it was complete. Part of you remains there, waiting for the day you die so your soul can be reunited. You used me in the fight against Salem didn't you? You used the God of Darkness' magic."

"I did." Jaune replied hoarsely, head pounding as he stared through blurry eyes at the hand curled around the hilt of the sword. "Why?"

"It came with a price." Crocea Mors admitted. "The God of Darkness is still a God of Darkness, even if he had mellowed over the centuries. His power is strong, but it comes with a price when borrowed and used by mortals. Salem was driven insane over time. The same may happen to you if you use my full power excessively and consistently. Your soul is used to fuel the magic, as it is the only thing you have comparable to the God of Darkness' power, though it is merely an imitation of it. Parts of your soul will be used to fuel the magic, though thankfully you have a lot of Aura, so it should not make much of an impact on yourself for a good while. Part of yourself is, was, lost to the afterlife however, and more will follow each time you use my magic. I am sorry."

"When were you going to tell me you'd drive me insane?" Jaune asked, and Crocea Mors said nothing. "Thought so."

"I did not know how to break the news to you correctly or in a way that would no distress you or make you loath to use me correctly." Crocea Mors said. "You will need to use me in our fight against Salem, it is inevitable. I am sorry for not telling you sooner, but I saw this as an adequate opportunity to inform you. I apologise if I was wrong in my assessment, and for withholding the truth from you."

"I'm used to it by this point." Jaune snorted, dismissing the sword's weak apology. "If anything you don't need to worry too much about making me insane. I feel like I'm mad enough already."

The sword had nothing else to say to that, so they walked on in an uncomfortable silence. When they settled in to camp for the night, hours later when the sun had set and stars dotted the sky, the sword finally spoke.

"I will take watch again." Crocea Mors said. "You need rest."

Jaune said nothing in reply, poking the fire he'd made for a few moments before laying back and rolling over, showing his back to the sword and gazing out into the dimly lit darkness. His stomach rumbled, the few berries he'd managed to identify as not poisonous whilst foraging for firewood a poor substitute for a proper dinner.

When his eyes finally closed and his mind swirled with tortured nightmares it was the forlorn sigh of the sentient sword that echoed in his eyes and mind as the nightmares began.

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"I don't like it here. I miss home. I miss Ansel."

"Why? Nördliche Burg has everything you need, everything you could want. Do you want more treats? More sweets? More gifts or more furs? Just tell me and I will make father give you it."

"It's none of that Weiss. The King is a good host, and your home is beautiful...but it just isn't Ansel, and my family aren't here either. I miss them."

"I...I don't want you to leave. Your my friend Jaune, my only real friend. Please don't leave me alone here."

"I won't. Even if I wanted to leave your father won't let me go just yet. Besides, your my best friend. I wouldn't just abandon you."

"Promise?"

"Arc's honour."

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"I never thought about it like that. We're really on a quest. Like heroes."

"Yeah! Like Gagea the Mage! The one who defeated Wyrith the Tyrannical."

"Oh please. We're more like Oswyn the Old One. He wasn't a mage so it's more fitting."

"Well yeah but he only killed Inkanus the Wrathful. Inkanus had nothing on Wyrith."

"Actually Inkanus is stronger. His teeth could bite through enchanted armour. Wyrith could barely bite through the doors to Mantle's Great Hall."

"That might be true but it took two dozen mages to kill Wyrith. Inkanus died with a sword through the eye."

"Yeah but it was a really big sword! Justifier was at least two times bigger than a sheep!"

"I'm not denying Justifier was a big sword. Just that it's a sword."

"Of course you'd think that."

"What?"

"Well you've got your silver-eyed magic don't you. That makes you biased in favour of magic users."

"It does not! I love swords and some axes are cool too but scythes are where it's at."

"Scythes? Aren't they used to bring in harvests?"

"W-Well yes but they're really effective as a combat weapon too! If you forge it out of Vacuan Silver then you could very easily pierce the hide of most dragons!"

"Most. What if you meet a dragon you can't scythe to death?"

"Oh I'd just use my magic. That's enough to defeat even the most powerful dragons!"

"Even an Ancient?"

"Absolutely."

"Wait a minute! That proves my point! If you couldn't kill a dragon with your scythe you'd just use your magic!"

"Firstly, his name is Crescent Rose and he is my baby. Secondly what point does that prove again?"

"That your biased in favour of magical heroes. Sorry for insulting your weapon by the way. It looks super cool and sharp and stuff."

"I forgive you. Also I am absolutely not biased in favour of magical heroes!"

"Yes you are! You said if you couldn't kill a dragon in battle with your weapon you'd just use your magic!"

"So?"

"You have an inherent bias towards non-magical heroes."

"I do not!"

"You do!"

"Don't!"

"Do!"

Ruby stuck her tongue out at him, having no better response to the rightness of his answer. He returned the favour, happy to have a rising feeling of warmth he had started to feel like he'd never feel again. She was like his little sisters, the ones he'd missed so much and now barely knew.

It was a good feeling. He hoped it lasted.

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"We'll be glad to help you Blake." Jaune said.

"Yeah. We can't be proper adventurers without a side quest!" Ruby cheered weakly, shifting under Blake's blank gaze.

"Thank you. I'm glad to join your party." Blake replied, a small smirk growing on her face. "Who knows, maybe we'll be heroes who have our stories told by the time we're done with all this."

"I doubt that." Jaune laughed and Ruby laughed too. After a moment, Blake's smirk slipped into a small, content smile.

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"I wonder when you will realise what is happening, what I'm doing." Salem's voice said mockingly. "I don't even need to be stood above your bleeding corpse and yet I'm defeating you, overpowering you in every which way. I can't be stopped Jaune. Just give in. It would be so much better for you if you did."

"Shut up." Jaune growled. He was back in the Abyss again, just like the night before. After the dreams, the nightmares, the visions he always ended up there. Had it been that way before the temple? Before he'd been sacrificed? "Leave me alone."

"I can't do that, not even if I wanted to." Salem chuckled, the rich sound echoing through the Abyss and his ears. "It's much too fun to taunt you like this, especially when I have precious little else to whilst I fly to Vale. It's interesting how much and how little can change over the centuries."

"Why are you heading there?" Jaune frowned. "Don't you need to kill some puppies and burn down a few orphanages in Atlas first?"

"Worried for your family?" Salem retorted. "Or is it the God of Light you fear for? Your thoughts, your mind, it betrays you Jaune. It knows I can't be beaten, and it hopes supplication will spare it and you by extension. I know your plan, and I know it will fail. Tell me, how does it feel to know that every friend you make pushes you away and abandons you? Ruby ran off to kill her sister the first chance she had, Weiss sent on you on a suicide mission, Blake murdered you and Yang...well, we know how that had ended up too."

"Shut up!" Jaune howled, swiping blindly at the darkness he drifted in, searching for the body belonging to the voice. He wanted to grab and punch and rip and maim and kill it away.

"Mhm." Salem purred. "I may be more Grimm than human these days, so stay angry. It smells so much more delicious than fear does. Less sweet, more tangy."

"I said shut up!" Jaune roared, panting as he stopped his wild, unthinking attack on the nothingness around him. "This is just a stupid dream. It's just a dream."

"Is it?" Salem asked, and he could practically envision the sneering smile on her face. "If it is, why do you have to remind yourself of that?"

"Leave me alone."

"Give in Jaune. It will be so much easier, so much more fun for you if you do."

"Never. I already made a promise, and an Arc doesn't go back on their word. You're going to die Salem."

"Perhaps. Perhaps not. I think I can drive you to insanity long before you get the chance Jaune. Pleasant dreams."

He plunged suddenly, the nothingness around him disappearing. He screamed as he fell, before a dark, unbreaking blackness engulfed him.

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"Good morning. Did you sleep well?"

"Fine." Jaune grumbled, rubbing his tired eyes before sitting up with a groan. His stomach felt like an empty hole in his body. "Anything happen last night?"

"The fire ran out of flame." Crocea Mors quipped. "Apart from that there has been no issues."

"Good." Jaune said, stumbling to his feet and fumbling for the parts of his armour he'd taken off the night prior in order to sleep. He'd gotten used to sleeping in his armour for the most part, but he stripped off the parts easiest to take off to provide a modicum of comfort. After picking up Crocea Mors' sheathed form and strapping it to his belt he took a deep breath and headed into the forest, following the faint trail he'd left after traipsing through the day before. Eventually he managed to find the bushes of berries he'd found the night prior, and he quickly stuffed his face with as many of them as possible.

He pocketed a few in his helmet was he held under one arm before following his way back to his temporary campsite at the side of the worn hunter's trail. He continued to follow it down the mountain, the ground levelling gradually and becoming more easier to walk on the further along he went. The soles of his feet burned, his legs ached and his body protested, but the pain was a familiar comfort by now, and he pushed on, finding himself enjoying the burning in his body, before he saw something at the edge of the path.

Jaune kneeled down and picked up a patch of white fluff at the edge of the trail. His eyes narrowed at the sight of it before he stared hard at the ground, blinking when he realised the trail was made up of hundreds of little footprints. He stared at the patch of fluff in his hand, heart clenching when he realised what it meant.

Sheep. So this was a shepherds path, not a hunter's one.

"I...I…"

"Stop." The old man ordered, raising a steaming cup towards him. "Drink."

Jaune did so. Then he spluttered as his mouth and throat burned.

"What…the hell…is that?!" Jaune rasped as he tried coughing out the burn and thumping his chest. The old man grinned mischievously.

"Highlow with a kick." He replied with a wink, gesturing towards a nearby bottle that stank of pure, unfiltered alcohol. No wonder it felt like a dragon had crawled down his throat and tried burning its way out.

Jaune swallowed, his throat parched and dry. He dropped the fluff and rose to his feet unsteadily, eyes gazing distantly down the trail, which winded into the dark green of the forest around him.

"Jaune?" Crocea Mors asked, and he shook his head.

"Let's just go." He said hoarsely, not wanting to get pestered with questions he did not want to answer. He had a head ache, something that worsened as the sun rose higher. He licked his chapped lips, but his tongue was drier than Vacuo and all he ended up doing was flinching away from the taste of the dead skin that were his lips. He lifted a few berries from his helmet and popped them into his mouth, savouring the brief burst of juice that erupted from them. They wouldn't last though.

His hands drifted to his side, where for so long he'd kept his pouch of valuables. He came away with nothing, and he frowned when he remembered he'd left it in Snowmire, thinking he'd only be gone for a little bit on a scouting mission to find a dragon. The fool he'd been. Now all he had was the sword at his side, the armour on his body and...

He raised his hand and frantically felt around his neck, feeling a wave of relief when his armoured fingered brushed against a cord of leather that felt like a second skin to him. Dangling from the cord and tucked into his armour was the Arc signet ring, something that could come in handy. He couldn't pawn it off, not even if he had to, but if he could find a lord or lady he'd be able to seek hospitality from them, though the thought gave him pause. It would have to be someone with a relatively trustworthy reputation, otherwise they'd sell him to Nikos and the Inquisition, though at this point he didn't much care if they found and killed him.

'Because you would kill them.' Something dark and seductive whispered in the back of his mind. 'You'd break their bones and send their souls on to the great beyond. You'd leave their wives widows and their children fatherless.'

"Can you hear that Jaune?" Crocea Mors asked suddenly, jarring Jaune from his dark thoughts. He stopped for a moment and listened carefully, heart catching in his throat when he heard the distant sound of sheep.

"Yeah." Jaune said dejectedly, remembering the blood staining the green valley, the maimed, broken body of an old and good man with his loyal and dead dog at his side. "I hear it."

"We could ask for directions and assistance."

"And if we're lucky we won't be misconstrued as a hedge knight or vagabond." Jaune retorted weakly, fighting the urge to tremble, to turn around and run into the woods before he brought violence and death to another innocent shepherd.

"We should at least try." Crocea Mors urged, and not wanting to fight the only thing he had left Jaune gave in and forced his heavy feet forward, his dirty armour jangling and breaking the relative peace of the forest around them. Patches of snow and ice littered the landscape, but they were few and far in between. They must still be south of the Snow mountains, otherwise there would be nothing but snow as winter steadily encroached on the land.

Another few minutes of mindless ambling brought him to a clearing, marked off from the forest by a stone wall. His hand brushed against it, idly wondering whether it may have once been used as part of some great fortification or structure, before he caught sight of someone hurrying towards him, little forms pointing and yelling at its side. He removed his hand from the hilt of Crocea Mors, waving his hand in greeting to allay the likely brewing worry teh shepherd felt at a strange, armoured person appearing at the edges of their home.

As the figures grew closer the littler ones hung back, clearly cautious of him. The shepherd strode on unfaltringly, and Jaune caught sight of a pitchfork held determinedly in his hands.

"Do not panic, but I can speak to you through your mind when you are in open conversation with others." Crocea Mors said, and Jaune let out a startled gasp at the muffled, echoey tone to the sword's voice. "I cannot read your mind, and you do not need to speak aloud to converse with me whilst I do this. This way you will not seem insane muttering to yourself trying to talk to me."

Stupid hunk of metal.

"I do have feelings you know?"

Jaune ignored the sword, unsure as to whether it was jesting or not. The shepherd stopped several paces away from him, a smart move. He was out of reach of Jaune's sword, and if he was quick enough he might be able to prod Jaune's eyes out with the pitchfork held iron-fisted in his hands.

"Who are you and what do you want?" The shepherd demanded, eyes narrowed and filled with hostility.

"My name is Jaune, I'm a hedge knight." Jaune replied, smiling politely. "I was wondering if you could tell me where I am. Those storms hid and I had to hide away in a cave. I got snowed in and had to wander through tunnels connected to it until I ended up on the other side of the mountain but I'm lost. Where am I?"

"My home." The shepherd retorted dryly. "But the lands belong to Lord Ironwood, though he is absent due to his position as Vale's governor. I take it you seek work?"

"Aye, I do." Jaune replied, and shepherd breath out a puff of air.

"I could use an extra pair of hands, but I'd pay with food and somewhere to sleep rather than gold or silver." The shepherd offered, and Jaune smiled at the thought of giving up on every duty and obligation he had and becoming a shepherd.

He wanted to. He'd like a quieter life. But he didn't deserve it.

"That's a kind offer." Jaune said replied honestly. "But I fear I cannot accepted. I need gold and silver to send back to my family. I have seven sisters, and my parents struggle to feed them."

"Everything's hard when it comes to rearing a brat." The shepherd snorted, glancing back at the watching children. His posture relaxed, and he let go of the pitchfork so that the bottom rested against the ground and he could lean against it. "Seven you say?"

"Unless they've had another whilst I've been away." Jaune smiled, though his heart clenched at the thought. He had no idea what was going on with his family, let alone whether they were alive or well or not. Who knew how far Nikos could reach or how spiteful or how paranoid he could be?

"Well you're in luck, what with the war and all." The shepherd said simply. "The lord needs soldiers, and if you have any skill with that blade on your hip you'll likely be paid well enough."

"War?" Jaune blinked. The shepherd gave him an odd luck.

"Aye, the one with Mistral." The shepherd said, slowly cocking his head. "You don't know do you?"

"Last I heard we were going to have an alliance with Mistral after the Queen married their prince." Jaune replied honestly, and the shepherd let out a snort.

"Well in that case you're in for a treat." The shepherd laughed humourlessly. "Mistral invaded and razed Vulcan to the ground. Last we heard they were advancing on Fort Reed and were going to attack Bessemer next. The lords mustered up most of the men to form an army and beat them back, but the storms came and everything went to shit. The levies got disbanded and the Mistrali are either dead or running with their tails in between their legs."

"How long was I on the road for?" Jaune asked aloud, and the shepherd snorted out a laugh, likely thinking he was making some joke.

"Gods if I know, or care." The shepherd said, face mellowing as he realised just how affected Jaune was at the news. The shepherd raised his arm and pointed at a track leading westwards. "Bessemer's that way, if you're quick you should reach it by sundown. If you want to earn coin its your best bet, but I'm going to have to ask you to be on your way unless you want to take up my earlier offer. Normally I'd at least offer you a hot meal, but with the war and then the storms bandits have gotten bolder than they were. Its best if me and mine stay quiet and overlooked."

"That's understandable." Jaune said, though his stomach rumbled at the thought of food. "Have a good day, I wish you well."

"Likewise." The shepherd said, looking guilty as Jaune turned to walk down the path. "Good luck Jaune. If it's worth anything I hope you get that coin and treat your family to nice meal with it."

Jaune nodded in acknowledgement of the words and wandered down the path, mind reeling at what he'd learnt. War? Invasion? Armies being mustered for battle and disbanding when the risk of it faded away? Just what in the hell had happened to the world whilst he'd been galivanting off into the wilderness?

"If it is any consolation you will not need to worry about the Inquisition or Nikos anymore." Crocea Mors said. "I doubt either will be welcomed in Atlas or Vale anymore if what we have been told is the truth."

Jaune nodded, though he wasn't sure if the sword saw or understood the gesture. Did it even see? That was something for another time. But the sword raised a good point in that rumours could spread far and wide, with even a benign tale capable of becoming ridiculous or terrifying as it passed on from mouth to mouth and was embellished or misunderstood. It was hard to mistake something for an invasion, but at the same time a disagreement at court could be inflated and made overly dramatic by gossipers, something made worse the further it spread away from the source of the rumour.

He shook his head, realising he couldn't 'feel' the sword in his mind anymore. It had been a subtle feeling, one of heaviness and strangeness, but he did not feel it now so he assumed the sword was keeping its word and doing its best to stay out of his mind.

That was a good thing, though Jaune doubted there was much he could do if the sword wanted to destroy his mind and use his body like a puppet. He'd seen it create massive arcs of spectacularly powerful magic and technically it had summoned a storm, though whether that had been the sword or God of Darkness he did not know. To be honest, the more he thought about it the more he believed the sword staying out of his mind was more of a good thing for the sword itself, as it did not have to see the things he saw, hear the things he heard and understand that its wielder had probably lost his mind.

"We can find out the truth of the shepherd's words at Bessemer." Jaune said finally. His belly rumbled weakly. "And hopefully find some food too."

"Are you well enough to travel further?" Crocea Mors asked worriedly, and Jaune grunted in acknowledgement of the question, glancing back down the path where he could see the grey corner of the shepherd's stone wall in the distance.

"I'll have to be." Jaune replied, turning around and continuing down the path. "I don't understand why some sort of guest right wasn't given. Atlesians tend to stick to the laws of hospitality, as they are the ones who are more likely to need it whenever winter comes."

"He truly must be afraid of this war, whether it be real or rumour." Crocea Mors mused. "Even if it is just a rumour then I suppose bandits would try their luck in the belief the local guard would be stretch thinly or even conscripted in order to fight the invaders."

Jaune hummed in agreement, though part of him still burned with anger at being turned away with just the vague promise of reaching somewhere else that might have food. For all he knew the shepherd had sent him on his way in the hope he'd die or starve. He could be walking into a trap set by those bandits the shepherd had seemed so fearful of.

"You don't need to be hungry." Whispered a dark, seductive voice he fought to ignore. "You can kill the shepherd and drive away his kin so that you can feast on his sheep and what lies within his larder. A man with a family would have stockpiled food for the winter. Imagine it, the feast you could have, if only you did what you know you want to do."

Jaune ignored the voice, ignored the way he felt himself agreeing with it's tempting words. He'd tried sticking to a code of kindness, honour and chivalry. That code had led him to a dark cave and an even darker temple where his throat had been slit.

"Do it." The voice whispered, but he refused to respond to it and it fell silent once more. But he could feel it there, in his mind, lurking and waiting for the next time it thought he was vulnerable. It reminded him of the feeling he'd had when Crocea Mors had been in his mind. Perhaps it was the sword, perhaps it wasn't.

He couldn't bring himself to care anymore.