If you had thought to continue further South past Thalaree, the path would twist and turn in all ways imaginable. This path led into the dead land that was Alekro, with its poisoned air and gnarled dead trees that were dotted across the landscape. The grass is course and sharp, like little blades that grew from the ground. The air there is thick and deathly poisonous, of which the only outside creature that could withstand it were Fire Demons. Although, if the air hadn't managed to kill you, the residents of this land would.

Sunken features, their skin pulled tight against their bones, their eyes wide and darker than the abyss in the Underground, their arms replaced with wide black feathered wings, and their feet replaced with bird feet the same colour as their pale greyish skin; these are the Crows. They are the dark creatures that inhabit Alekro, and along with the Fallen, they are the soldiers of Mikaelis.

Dracava Lilt, their leader of sorts, looks up towards the sickly blue-grey sky, her wings outstretched. Her mouth is open, and a sound erupted from her mouth; a sound that would bring upon the darkest of nightmares. The surrounding Crows let out the same sound, something between a demonic growl and a normal crow caw. All at once, they bend their knees and push up, and they fly in circles above the trees.

Dracava flew above her subjects, her gaze focused downward. Her lipless mouth twists into an evil smile; soon enough the entirety of Arraila will be as poisoned as Alekro, and Dracava will rule it all beside their king, Mikaelis.

***

The silence that had enveloped the castle was usually welcome company for Jakob, but today it just felt unnatural. Deep in his bones, he could feel the coldness of dread. 

So, he sat at the long dining table, freshly dressed, and unable to eat the food laid out in front of him. The mere smell of it caused his stomach to rumble; it was a delicious selection of different breads and spreads, but the dread sitting at the bottom of his gut caused him to push the food away.

"Jak?" His mother enquired, looking concerned rather than angered.

"It's nothing" he said quickly, not wanting to bother his mother with his irrational feeling.

His mother frowned, not believing a single word. "It's not nothing. You love chocolate chip brioche and orange marmalade and you haven't touched a single piece. Are you sick? I knew you shouldn't have him outside today! You know it gets cold after it rains! You're sensitive to the cold-" "mum, please!" Jakob exclaims, "I'm not a child anymore! I'm 23 mother; I should be doing what I want to at this age!" 

"Not under my roof you won't be" his father booms, causing Jakob to snap his head towards him.

Jakob's father was a tall, muscular man who stood tall at 6'2 with a sword strapped to his right hip. He stalks forward, glaring down at Jakob. "You are the future king, and you should start acting like one" 

Jakob glowered. "And be confined to the castle carrying that stupid sword around simply to intimidate people and do nothing except sitting on a throne shouting orders? No thank you; I would rather die"

His father opens his mouth, preparing to say something else, but Jakob had already pushed his chair out and stalked away to the stairs that led up to his room. He ran up them, almost tripping once or twice, and didn't bother greeting the guard stationed at his room before he swung his door open and slammed it shut.

His father's presence was suffocating and completely unbearable to be around. When he was younger, his father's words and his heated stare would make him cry, but now he felt the crushing weight of his future king destiny crushing his lungs, forcing the air to leave his lungs and the childish hatred he felt for his father.

"He thinks he's so superior with that sword. He hasn't even used it!" Jakob hissed to himself, pacing his room.

He stalks over to his plush feather bed with its blue silk duvet, and goes to fall into it in a dramatic fashion, however he stops himself as his eyes land on the closed thick leather bound book lying at the end of it; the same one from earlier that morning. He stares at it a while, until he decides to carefully pick it up and open to a random page.

The page he opens on is an illustration of the infamous Blood Hound; a legendary being who lived long before even the First War, but disappeared in the Fall of Osoa. It was said they had died, but even someone like Jakob didn't believe they were totally gone from the world.

Jakob heaves a sigh, throwing the book to the darkened corner of the room where a large pile of filthy mud covered clothes had started to accumulate. He turned back to his bed and fell onto it, groaning. 

'Screw Destiny! Screw it deep into the Underground!'

***

The road from Brindor to Laanfier wasn't long and mostly downhill, but it was winding and dangerous. There were plenty of hiding spots for bandits, and for that very reason, Vivian had brought along a sword that she carried on her left hip. It was an odd sight; a hybrid in a flowy blue dress, barefoot withl a sword strapped to her side, but she knew how to use it.

She also figured she would ultimately run into some kind of trouble on the way there which was unfortunately unavoidable. Those who resided just outside of the kingdom of Brindor had a misconception that they were too soft, and weren't aware that the people knew how to defend themselves. Her gut was telling her to keep her eyes peeled, and to keep walking. Perhaps if she kept the sword out, it would deter bandits from attacking her.

This was a false hope.

It was three hours later when she felt eyes on her, like a predator waiting for the right moment to pounce. There was a certain stillness that was unnerving, too. There was no wind at all; it was as if the world had completely stopped. She looked left, right, behind, and up in the lush deep green dark oak trees, but she saw nothing. 

She focused her hearing, and there it was; the unmistakable sound of someone trying too hard to quietly sneak up on her. They were coming from the left, and she guessed they'd want the sword as it was quite a remarkable looking one with a pale blue silk covered leather handle and silver steel, but she'd cut the hands off anyone who dared touch the sword that was given to her by her mother. 

She kept walking, her stride never once faltering as the bandit pursued her. Their footsteps were gradually getting faster, as if they were trying to jump out in front of her. Vivian heard their fast approach, and unsheathed the sword the second the bandit appeared just ahead.

"I doubt ye' know how ta' use that there sword there missy" the bandit claimed.

"And how do you figure that, sir?" 

Vivian stood he ground; she wasn't about to allow some lowlife bandit stop her from continuing her journey, much less steal her sword as she suspected he would have done had she truly not known how to use a sword. 

The unnamed bandit swung at her side on, and was shocked to find that he would soon be eating his words, and perhaps dirt as well. 

'Bah! All she did was block my-' his thought was cut short by Vivian bringing her sword around, resting the blade on his neck.

The sharpened edge kissed his neck, the bandits blood running cold. For a second, fear crossed his previously angry expression, and he seemed to be far younger than Vivian was.

"One wrong move and I slice your neck open" Vivian warned.

"You wouldn't dare" the bandit snarled.

"Oh, but I would dare"

Vivian presses the sword harder against the bandits neck, blood trickling down their pale neck. He made a low, pained sound, though he made no further moves. If he were to move even a step forward, he'd accidentally slice his own neck open and bleed out on the forest floor. 

Vivian hadn't made any moves to injure the bandit further as she heard rustling from up in the trees. This bandit didn't travel alone, and as she suspected, four more bandits jumped out from their hiding places, landing with ease. They were wearing clothes with the colours of the forest, greens and browns, so they were able to blend in their surroundings. 

Vivian narrows her eyes, keeping her sword still. 

"If any of you move, your companion here will die" Vivian states as more of a promise than an empty threat. 

"A bloodstained sword will still sell" a female bandit drawled, "so go ahead. Kill him. It's not like we care"

Vivian looks to the frightened bandit she was holding captive with her sword. "What is your name?"

"Rhyse. T-that's my name" the bandit trembled. 

"You seem young, impressionable, so I will let you go" Vivian sheathes her sword. "Let this be a lesson; do not cross those who carry swords, for they more than likely know how to use them well."

With that, Rhyse scurries off, making an attempt to hurry past the female bandit, but with no such luck. The female bandit grabs Rhyse by the throat, and curses at him.

"You were always so pathetic and weak, little brother. I think it's time for you to die"

She produces a dagger from her belt, and slices the blade across his neck. He chokes, blood spurting from the wound. Darker blood drips from the corners of his mouth, his eyes widening, his pupils rolling back. His body convulses, and the female bandit released her grip to watch Rhyse's body crumble to the ground. 

As that was happening, Vivian had already ran off. One of the bandits had seen her run, and gave chase, but she was fast and light on her feet, therefore she knew she would clearly outrun them. 

'That was a very close call'

***

Hidden in the cave in the outskirts of Tandour, Wyntar sat by the fire in silence. The man hated being told he was wrong about something, or someone. Then again, he had never even met Alana, and he was making assumptions based off what Daevina told him. However, Wyntar was known to be judgemental and harsh, so Daevina fully expected his cold comments. 

"You must stop doing that, little one" Daevina chided.

"Stop doing what?"

"Stop being so... judgemental and cold towards someone you have never m-"

"She is no warrior" Wyntar starts, "she has not seen what you and I have seen. She does not know death as we do. She is but a child in my eyes" Wyntar was adamant, and when he believed in his own word, it was near impossible to change his mind.

Daevina shakes her head, heaving a soft sigh. She cracks her stiff neck, stretching out her limbs before she makes an attempt to stand upright. Wyntar makes no move to help her, knowing full well he would be waved away. After a few fails, Daevina finally managed to stay upright, her bangs falling over her stormy blue eyes. She glances down at Wyntar, who refuses to even look at her, and says, "you may have through a lot yourself Wyntar, as have I, but the girl you call a child has known pain beyond her years when she was barely a hundred years old facing the Fallen in the war 500 years ago"

"And I'm sure she cries and whines about it to her subjects. She is royalty after all" Wyntar scoffs. 

Daevina spits out a curse word in the long forgotten language of the old world, Wyntar staring at her with an odd expression as she does so. The dragonkin flings her hair over her shoulder, stalking out of the cave. 

Daevina stood outside under the clear sky, relishing in the heat of the desert landscape. Brindor was too cold for her, but the interwoven caves were the perfect place to hide away in. However, Wyntar's cave was a little too stuffy for her, so she had to get some air.

Not even a second later, she heard the telltale signs of an incoming storm. Lightning flashed in the near distance, and Daevina looked up at the blackening. Wyntar soon followed her out, a loud clap of thunder sounding the moment he exited the cave, effectively cutting off anything he'd wanted to say. 

"Something big is coming Wyntar" Daevina murmured, "bigger than the fall of the old world"

"You say that like the oncoming storm will be the cause of the downfall of all of us"

"No...it is an omen Wyntar. That storm came from the North; from Laanfier. It hasn't stormed like that there since before the War of the Fallen…"