2412 Xavem 20, Velpa

June pulled his hood lower, hiding his face from the rest of the crowd. It was a dangerous time, especially now. His eyes scanned the people inside the tavern with him. He had spent a week in Ansevir, learning everything he could before attempting to cross into Lanteglos via Thenaserine. After that, he had left it to the gods to figure out.

A sigh escaped his lips. One thing at a time. He still has to find the right people that could give him answers about what happened to Xanthy and what to do with a throne now cloaked inside his stolen satchel.

He spent the past two months stalking every dark alley, musty tavern, and hidden forest neighborhood trying to learn what he could about this new world he woke up in. Only flashes of recollection populated his mind after the stunt he pulled in Lanteglos when he...killed the High Queen. He talked to his friends one last time and promised to help them, Xanthy, most likely.

Whatever June was on during that time was extraordinary. How would he even think of helping people when he couldn't even help himself?

Images of braided blond hair, feathery white wings, and metal armor invaded his memory every now and then. What was that about? Sobbing noises that sounded a lot like Xanthy woke him up most nights. That's enough to tell June that she must have been crying before she did what brought her to this present state.

June tightened his grip on Xanthy's waist, fixing her head against his shoulder. He had woken up from the most excruciating slumber and found her collapsed by his feet, a glinting chalice in her hands.

She was alive, that much June could tell. Her trail might have gone dim but it's still there. The chalice, however...

It had only taken him a minute to realize that the onyx goblet was a throne—Desara's throne, in fact—as it carried the same energy as the warsei around his neck. So, he spent a day cloaking its energy with spells meant to conceal at least ten graspelis in a wide grassland.

Then, off he went, spending his days pretending to drink or smoke the pipe, all the while listening to passing conversations in an attempt to get his bearings back. Information first before any type of plan.

What he knew so far was grim.

Last month, as he was looking for dyes to do his hair in, he caught the news of the Dwanzeig Grand Monarch surrendering to Cardovia. Apparently, the Heiress had left her stronghold in Desara, revealed herself to the whole island, and proceeded to claim at least half of Umazure starting from the Nature Fairy territory.

He had woken up in Komery, traveled by foot to Acosa for gods knew how many days, and this was what he's going to learn? Great.

Another week later, while he was hanging out at the local market in Acosa, surrounded by elite nobles doing their shopping, he caught wind of an interesting story of a merchant who had been through the other half of the island.

June had listened in, hovering his hands over the wares presented on the wooden plank that used to be the wall of the wagon. He made a show of analyzing the nearest product he could find, which happened to be a jar of mint paste. It's a great ward against insects, but other than that, it served no purpose.

He had stared at it anyway, his ears catching every word the merchant said. The only audience present with June were nature fairies looking for exotic ingredients that weren't commonly found in Dwanzeig's natural forests. Most of them paid the merchant no mind.

June tried to appear like them, his conscience biting back at him for stuffing Xanthy in a discarded barrel tossed into some dark alley elsewhere. The merchant yammered on about the perils of trade routes through borders until June got what he needed.

The Sovereign had risen up as well and took control of the other half of the island, from Helinfirth until Peltra. Carleon was still resisting. Alkara was razed to the ground. He learned of the state of the borders between the two forces. Cities like Zalgend, Depandes, and of course, Thenaserine up north, and even Peltran territories like Yin Alora and Xai-Ren to the south, were turned into battlefields. The Heiress and the Sovereign were vying for each others' territories, using the island's people and resources to advance their agendas.

June remembered his stomach turning at that knowledge. He had to force himself to hold out until he flipped a versal into the merchant's waiting hand and brought the mint paste with him.

A month later, the jar mint paste sat unused inside his satchel, pitted against the chalice and a spare set of clothes. He had been stuck in Ansevir since—unable to cross past the border between Dwanzeig and Lanteglos without getting skewered in a war zone. He spent weeks loitering in crowded places, trying to get a glimpse of the state and system of the borders.

All he got so far were conflicting accounts. Unlike the merchant who had witnessed things first hand, these people were like clerets crowding on a fresh ajilte believing it's rotten. Some said that the borders had twenty men and that it had outposts with at least thirty more. Others claimed that the soldiers were lined up along the border like fairy walls. There were some that said dragons were blowing fire across the borders day and night.

What, even, was a dragon?

The last tavern he had visited, he had slammed his glass against the wooden counter hard enough to crack it upon hearing these ridiculous accounts. Thank the gods, he was able to get out before anyone spared him a glance and began wondering why he had a sleeping woman beside him. He couldn't afford to be labeled a kidnapper or something just as vile in a time like this.

That's how he ended up in a decrepit tavern in a desolate town just a few miles off the Ansevir-Thenaserine border, months after he first woke up in Komery. The people here were as gloomy as the town itself. It didn't even have a name. It's supposed to still be part of the forest but was seemingly razed to the ground with either magic or a kind of powerful explosive.

Fallen trees snapped at the trunks and felled by the fighting peppered June's horizon. The smell of burnt soil was thick in the air. June had chewed the inside of his cheek in contemplation. This town was not like this before. What had happened? Perhaps, the fighting at the borders drained all of its energy?

A tavern with a hazy build appeared past the line of trees. Already, even when it's just the first hour of the first quarter, nature fairies flocked into it and settled on seats fashioned from chopped stumps. June adjusted his grip around Xanthy as he trekked towards the tavern. Nobody paid him attention, mostly because they were too drunk on their problems. Why would they need to puzzle over why a black-haired boy carrying a sleeping blond girl would just walk purposefully into a tavern full of people like them?

June dunked his head. His untrimmed hair fell forward, enough to hide half of his face. Before, he had to rely on the darkness and shadows to hide him but he couldn't exactly do that in broad daylight, right? His nose wrinkled at the thin rays of light bleeding through the remaining canopies above him and the tavern. He clicked his tongue. Well, that explains why he hated going out as a child.

He sighed, propped Xanthy on a stool beside him, and flipped a coin at the counter, waving his hand in a gesture that meant, "I'll have anything". He learned that from his stepmother, Miss Zeilran, who frequented alehouses in Nanvera until the wee hours of dawn. A small smile crept into his lips as countless memories of him dragging his own mother inside the servants' quarters at the last hour of the fourth quarter and watching her retch into a washbasin just before she got called to morning duty.

Miss Zeilran. There's a reason why he took her name as his own.

The smile was immediately squashed at that thought. A smoking glass of cold ale slid into June's table, its pellucid, brownish liquid giving him a perfect reflection of his face. It was the face he had worn the past two months, the same one he had used when he was slitting throats for the High Queen.

He hated this face.

How ironic It was to have to resort to going back to this to avoid getting caught. It's the face of the person he had been and now that he had been given a second chance at life, it seemed like fate didn't want him to forget where he came from.

A scoff rose from June's throat. As if he could forget.

He refused to grip the glass the ale was served with, in fear that he would crush it with his balling fists. Emotions he wasn't used to feeling rose from his chest to his head and to his face. It's annoying and strange. It's...new.

June closed his eyes and massaged his forehead. He strained his ears at the idle chatter around him. Listen. Learn. Then, make a move.

Among the people lazing around the tavern, not one talked about the border. Not one even looked its way, even subconsciously. He frowned. This was the closest place he could get to the border without being found out. Shouldn't the people be filled to the brim with stories or even rumors about the other half of the island beyond them?

June had never been wrong in all his life. The people seemed to have lost the will to live. Instead of rebuilding their fallen town or making a living, they spend their days here, drinking and doing nothing. He looked around. Now that he thought about it...where did this tavern get their daily ale supply for this town?

June had studied trade routes, even traveled among them, but the major ones that were large enough for a wagon of ale barrels to pass through didn't touch this place. There were no routes anywhere, apart from the boot-trodden paths and the razed forest floor. If they're not getting supplies from the merchants...then where were they getting this much ale?

Two possible answers—they make it or the state provides it.

June ducked his head lower, casting his eyes on the nearest man to his right. He was a nature fairy, judging from the harsh green glow of his trail coiling around him like a tree snake. Fitted tunic showing off muscled torso and trousers resembling riding breeches covered the fairy. Veined wings were folded behind him, hanging out in the open. Unlike any normal winged fairy, he was clearly not bothered if it got severed from his back. Mud and something darker and wetter trailed his steps and caked at the tips of his boots.

That's when June noticed the pockets by his breeches and the belt tied around his waist. The man was slumped against a moldy wooden table but even then, June could catch a glimpse of a sword hilt jutting from its sheath by the man's waist. The pockets in the fairy's breeches were knife sheaths.

This man was a soldier, no doubt about it. So why was he lazing around and not fighting?

Unless...

June cursed when he heard a familiar whizz of a dagger sliding out of its sheath. It's a sound he'd heard hundreds of times, mostly made by his own hands. Someone had a blade and they're close. He had to get out of here.

In a flash, he flung Xanthy to his back, secured her legs, and made a run for the exit. He burst into the bright sunlight and made it past the tall tree that remained standing. He blinked his eyes several times, attempting to clear his vision and his head. Godsdamned, he grew soft after months of espionage with little to no action.

Then he went face-first into the dirt just as his feet were swept under him.

He rolled just in time to avoid the dagger tip from stabbing him in the nose. He shoved Xanthy off him, muttering a quick apology. A shield flashed to life around her limp form as June threw the satchel inside as well. He faced his attacker.

Her hood had come off after the struggle, revealing a girl with blond hair, blue eyes, and a sly grin on her face. Unfortunately, June knew who she was. "Marin Draswist," he rasped, having not used his voice for a long time. Has his voice always sounded like that? "I appreciate the greeting but let's not do it again."

The girl lowered into a stance. "Give me the Virtakios."

June scanned his surroundings. He had no weapon with him. Not even a fallen branch was present within two steps from his position. Bad. This was bad. His eyes made it back to Marin who brandished her dagger like a fist. Unlike June who used daggers for the kill, Marin used hers for upfront attacks and wounding.

First mistake.

Daggers were short swords and if used too close to an opponent with anything except the final blow, it puts the wielder into a dangerous position as well. He blew a shaky breath. Let him hope Marin didn't know that.

The girl lunged. Just as June predicted, her blade wasn't angled for the kill. It would likely pierce his shoulder or, if she's lucky, his neck.

June spread his legs and anticipated Marin's blow. If he has one chance of disarming her, it's now. The girl screamed as she rammed her dagger right where June could tell she would. He sprang, grabbed her arm from below, and flipped her around.

She crashed to the ground, her dagger clattering to the burnt soil. June kicked it away before she had the chance to retrieve it. He pinned Marin to the ground, his dark hair swaying with the sudden forest breeze around them. "Before you attack me, make sure you know how to use daggers first," he breathed against his heartbeat pounding on his temples.

Marin's grin told June she was enjoying this. "Oh, I do."

With a strength he never expected from a frail girl, she drew up and slammed her forehead on June's nose. Black spots danced in his vision. Marin wedged her foot to his stomach, sending him sprawling away from her with all the air knocked out of his lungs. As June gasped and hacked for air, Marin retrieved her dagger and smiled at him. "Surprised?"

June wiped the corner of his mouth and the back of his hand came away red. It's time to get serious, then. The grin plastered on the girl's face grew wider. Oh, son of a witch. Instead of lunging for him again, she raised her hand and began muttering a spell. June's eyes widened. He knew that incantation. Rudik's ass, time to run.

He disabled his spell around Xanthy, carried her in front of him, and broke into a full jog. To where? Well, he'd figure it out once he figured out the spell's blast radius.

True enough, the air crackled and metal shrieked like swords being sharpened. A thousand knives rained from the sky, all pointed at him. He cursed as he cast a shield atop him and charged straight through the pointy hail. They clinked and clanked against his magic but none managed to breakthrough. It wasn't as strong then. He's lucky it was just Marin. If it's April...

A shiver ran down his spine at the thought of his sister up in Falkirta. It's a sister whom he had heard of so much but never saw. It's only natural that she would be after him before she could take the Crown. But Marin? Why would Cardovia send a girl barely twelve?

Pain shot up from his arm, sending him and Xanthy to the ground. What the—?

A strained gasp filtered out his lips as his eyes dragged to the hilt protruding from his flesh. Dear Crozal. The dagger had pierced through his left arm, blood oozing out of it like a Nanveran fountain. Nausea slammed into his temples as the metal's sheen became agonizingly familiar. The patterns on its hilt...

It's...

"Don't underestimate me again, June Sylkrana," Marin burst out of a pair of bushes that survived both fires and the hail of knives. "You'll end up with more than just a busted arm if you do."

June gritted his teeth and looked around. His short run brought him closer to the border where he could see through a thin thicket the line of soldiers propped against a flimsy, mud-caked wall. Outposts hastily made from planks patched together occurred in random intervals along the snaking border. The distance between the two outposts was wide enough for him to run through. Red coats flashed against the midday sun; black helmets worn by the patrolling soldiers were a huge marking target for June. Assuming he didn't pass out while running, he could make it.

"Give me the Virtakios while I'm being merciful," Marin's voice bled into his ears. Close. She's close.

June's vision blurred. His blood didn't stop flowing and now dripped from his arm and into the soil. He was already panting with his breath coming in hollow gasps. "The Virtakios has a name, you know," he blurted. "It's Xanthy."

With that, he sent his spell upward, bending the earth beneath Marin's feet to his will. The girl shrieked as a wall of soil peeled from the ground and grabbed hold of Marin's boots. June huffed as he picked Xanthy and his satchel up. He shook his head in a poor attempt to clear it. If he's going to run, best to do it now.

One. Two. Three.

June burst forward despite the sharp pain on his shoulder. His grip on his spell slipped with his attention turned elsewhere. That sent Marin after him once again. His vision danced; his knees shook. Run. He couldn't stop now. They...they would never have Xanthy while he's around.

He burst past the border, tearing a trail of confused mutters and hurried shouts behind him. He gritted his teeth as he sank into the trail dimension and cast a cloaking spell around his form. The soldiers clamored behind him and continued doing so until he had vanished into an unremarkable alley into Thenaserine.

A weak smile spread from his lips. He's the Death Knight. He would not be seen in this town so large and familiar. Lanteglos was June's playground. Marin wouldn't dare pursue him here. Red coats were June's only worries and they seemed stupid enough. He adjusted his grip on Xanthy's form and staggered away from the border while his spell and his consciousness lasted.