The tail end of the mountains was in sight. Edinmire was only four days away. Like they had suspected, the trip was much smoother this time, having a cart for their supplies and an actual road to follow certainly helped. Flora was shockingly giddy about getting back to the estate. "I'll be able to sleep in a bed, and then wake up to food at my fingertips!"

"I do admit, a bed sounds nice." Barret said, polishing his longbow. "Do you have mattresses on your beds?"

"What else would I- oh. Right." Trace rolled his eyes.

"Never grew up with a bed. Are they just something everyone has? Where can I find one my size?"

"Nothing ever comes in your size." Keith commented, sitting on the back of the wagon. "You're giant. Every time I stand near you, I feel like a kid, having to look up. 'Da, can I go play now?'" Laughter filled the air, and Barret doubled over.

"And here I thought you had no sense of humor!"

"It's selective humor."

"Whatever you call it, don't lose it. I couldn't stand traveling with another Zen."

"What?! Rude!" Barret chuckled, receiving a thwack on the back of the head.

While everyone was laughing and chattering, Trace leaned over to Flora and put his arm around her. "How are you feeling?"

"Not much better. I still feel them sometimes… I still find myself looking down, feeling like a failure. I loved them, and I lost them. I carried death within me for so long, I just… It hurts to think about."

"Well… I can think of one way we can change that." Trace brushed the base of her tail and a small 'EEP' escaped her.

"Trace!" she blushed.

"Well, it's been a while…"

"I know, just- keep it in your pants for a few more days!" Flora said, glancing back to make sure no one else was listening to them.

"Just four more days. Then… you're all mine." Trace leaned on her, and sighed.

The weather had mostly been clear. January was filled with fog and mud, which caked the wheels of the cart now. Angela was likewise covered in grime, but the horse didn't really seem to mind. It was the first day of February, and the weather had started to get warmer, but a blanket of gray clouds had begun rolling in from the north, threatening with rain rather than snow. The wagon was not covered, but they regularly threw a spare blanket over it during the night to keep the dew off of the food.

Barret was still training Flora, who was still just as eager to learn. But after he worked with Flora, he would usually go to Natani. "Reach in, find the power, and release it." She would say. "You just have to focus."

"It's not there. I'm trying, but there's nothing. All I feel is the cold, the damp grass, and emptiness." If she was frustrated, she didn't let it show. Barret was not so subtle. After an hour of sitting, doing nothing, he often grumbled and scowled. Flora had asked Trace about him trying to teach Barret, but he shut that down. He wouldn't risk black magic. And he certainly wouldn't risk teaching Barret to use black magic as his only way of tapping into his power. And so, Barret did not learn magic. He learned nothing but anger. Not toward anyone else, but anger toward himself. He knew he had the power, he knew he was capable of using it, but he could not figure out how to make it come to him.

He had tried every day for the past two weeks. Tonight, he finished with Flora, and followed her back to camp. "Back a bit early." Trace poking the stew with a ladle.

"Yeah, my arms are just tired and sore. Archery is harder than it looks!" She plunked down next to him and pulled out a bowl. Barret sat down and devoured his stew. He usually ate faster than everyone, but tonight was extra quick.

"That was good. Try a bit more fennel seeds next time. I'm off to sleep." He said, leaving the fire.

"Hey, what about mage training?" Natani said, standing up after him.

"I'm done with that. I can't do it. We've been trying- I'VE been trying for weeks. And nothing. I can't call the power back, I can't use it. I can't learn it if it won't come to me. And I'm done trying. Just forget about teaching me." And with that, he walked over to his bag, and hoisted up his hammock. Without another word, he rolled over, putting his back to the fire.

He laid there for hours. The sun had fully set. No one had come over to him, because they knew he was serious. But he couldn't sleep. Finally, he rolled onto his back, and stared at the starless sky. Sighing, he sat up, and walked a short distance away. Holding out his right hand, he slowed his breathing and closed his eyes. "One last try. That's it." he whispered to himself. For several long breaths, he felt… nothing.

"You have great potential." a deep voice said, causing Barret to whirl around. There was no one there. He recognized the voice too, but it couldn't be.

"We are at rest, but we have watched you." a second voice came, soft and sweet. Tears welled in his eyes as he looked around in vain.

"Mom? Dad?"

"We aren't here." his dad's voice echoed, only in his mind. "And yet, because you are here, we are here."

"You have shut out your magic." his mom's voice said. "You have extinguished the fire in your veins."

"Then help me light it again." Barret pleaded into the darkness.

"The fire is extinguished, and we cannot help you if you are not ready for it." Baehmuth's voice was beginning to fade.

"I am ready! Help me!"

"We are gone. We can only help you in your memories. You said we are what you will fight for. Now fight for us." Tinaiat's voice grew quiet too. Barret's eyes flew open, and he fell to his knees.

"I can't do this without you. Please don't leave me!" His voice broke, and tears fell from his face. He lay on his knees for a while, sobbing as he heard their voices no more. "I can't do this alone…"

…

"Forward! Bring them down!" a Templar commander shouted. The small village stood no chance against their assault. Two hundred defenders lined the walls, a mixture of Wolves and Foxes. They fought fiercely, and their arrows stung as they hit the front lines. Magic was seldom used by the Keidran defenders, as they could not hope to compete with the might of the Templar war casters. Their mana crystals were being saved for shields or as a last resort. Still, two hundred stood their ground.

Against seven thousand.

They stood no chance.