"When the world bites us, we must bite back twice as hard. If it never yields, neither shall we. That is how we prevail in these times."

Trolls scream in terror, fleeing the streets in panic. They rampage through Trollmarket with thoughts of massacre staining their minds. 

Esmerion's eyes flare dangerously with embers, glowing in the dark sockets of his helmet. He moves swiftly on instinct, reaching for the weapon on his back without a thought of hindrance. It does not catch on the sheath and slides out with ease, finding its home in the youth's calloused hands as it gleams in the light of nearby crystals.

He snarls lowly in a near silent warning to the one who has yet to unveil his face. The knowledge of his opponent—the soulless slave—is what curdles his blood. It is his awareness of Mordred's twisting words and ways that curls his lip, that sends a rippling chill along his spine.

The Trollhunter speeds past with Toby and Claire at his heels, Blinkous and a Krubera Troll by the name Aaarrrgghh!!! following close behind. There's no doubt that they have chosen to investigate this pressing matter. But Esmerion has a crawling suspicion scuttling down his back.

It's when Draal passes through the main square that he does anything. To his credit, the young Troll doesn't even flinch when the tip of a blade invades his personal bubble.

"Watch yerself out there, clach-theine." 

The warrior moves the blade aside with his metal hand, leaning down to meet the eyes of his partner. "I will return from this, cerddwr coetir. Vow you will do the same."

Esmerion withdraws his sword and raises a hand to his helmet, unclipping the lower front from the main piece. He wears a sobering expression and his eyes lull into a glittering warmth, free of the feral hatred that has fuelled them. "Mo ghaol, I shall not fall beyond yer reach. I will not go where ye cannot follow."

He smiles softly and lifts a hand to Draal's cheek, drawing his thumb beneath his partner's eye. As the Troll leans into his gentle touch, he bumps his forehead with the male's. 

"I shall see ye at the end of this," he promises, drawing away from his old partner. "Keep Jim safe."

Draal nods shortly, a nearly unnoticeable quirk on his lips as he follows after the group of hasty Trollhunters.

The youth's smile fades, replaced with a scowl of uncertainty that darkens the air around him. He should not have made that promise, he thinks has he snaps the front of the helmet back in place. But it satisfied his partner, and that's enough for him.

Esmerion wields his weapon once again with a growl, watching over the Trolls with a wary eye. He has yet to recognise the foreboding pit in his stomach, though he tightens his grip on the hilt of his sword.

The cavern continues to tremble and quake, pebbles jumping like beans around the youth's feet. Almost as though the ground is screaming in torture, cracks rip open in the rock, engulfing market carts and small clusters of crystals.

Up from these cracks arises creatures of false life, mimicking the fragility with rough movements of their limbs and growling creaks of broken crystal. They snarl at those around them and waste no time in swinging their rocky arms at the defenseless population. Certainly not friendlies.

He moves swiftly, coming up behind one of the creatures with his sword held outstretched in his unbruised hand. No mercy is expressed in his speed, eyes burning with determination as he slashes the crystalline brute through with the steel blade, shattering the animus totem within. The golem crumbles without the source of its creation and falls to the ground in harmless shards.

"Ye will fall today, slave!" He cries with hatred, spinning around to catch a glimpse of the puppet master. "No matter the cost!"

A slight shift in the air makes him whip around with his weapon raised, bringing it to clash with the gleaming daggers of his leering opponent. His eyes narrow dangerously on the Troll and he twists the blade up, weakening the assassin's defense long enough for him to kick his chest and leap backwards. 

Angor stumbles only a little, spinning his blades between his fingers as a malicious grin finds a place on his lips. He circles the youth as a predator does its prey, wary enough that he dares not launch an attack in plain view of his target. It is with a flash of his own magic that he sends a chunk of stone flying toward the male.

Although he senses it, Esmerion does not flinch. Shades of autumn flare around his fingertips and small particles of debris shower his back, blasted apart by his own source of power. His lip curls into a grim smile, dark and twisted in origin.

"Mar chruthachadh de Mordred, bu chòir dhut fios a bhith agad gun a bhith a 'dèanamh deuchainn air aon de mo sheòrsa," he snarls, the words quietened by his masking helmet. 

Angor Rot sneers tauntingly, "Viem, že musíte zomrieť tak, ako to urobili ostatní."

"Very well," he mutters, readjusting his grip on the greatsword.

Then everything goes to absolute hell.

Three Trolls come barreling in with attitudes of arrogance and ignorance, each wielding poorly made weapons of their own. They cry shouts of believed victory and charge the assassin without a second thought, thinking that their combined efforts of little skill will end him.

"No!" Esmerion cries, shrieking as the first assailant is struck down. He's sickened by the echoing crack of the twisting blade in their gut.

The voice of the Trollhunter brings the moment to pause as the soulless assassin looks up at the group of fighters. A sickening grin darkens his features as he laughs coldly, and he tosses an open sack down into a nearby crevasse.

"Trollhunter," Angor sneers, "I have some friends I'd like you to meet."

The youth swears foully as the earth opens further, cracking beneath his feet. There is little time for him as he scrambles for a foothold, his attention on the assassin waning in his rush. To his luck, a golem forms beneath him and he wastes no time in thrusting his blade into the head of the being, twisting it in hopes of destroying the totem inside.

It crumbles under his strength and he tumbles down, stumbling over his sword as he falls to a solid section of ground. He has the misfortune of landing beneath another golem, a sight that he only just recognises by the motion of its arms. On instinct, he rolls between its legs and stops in a crouch, flicking his wrist in a movement that splits the being in two. His hand curls in a tight fist and the totem implodes.

A battle cry brings him face-to-face with the looming figure of the Krubera Troll, his markings radiating a green glow and eyes sharp enough to skewer a soul. He curses adeptly and drops back to the ground, a shower of blue crystal raining on his helmet. Esmerion glances up in surprise, discovering the Troll's fist deep within the chest of a golem. A breath of relief flutters from his lips and he flashes an appreciative look at the raging Troll.

As the being falls apart, Esmerion stands, sword held loosely in one hand. His smile can't be seen but the sense of its existence is clear to read, "Pleasure to see ye on this side o' the fight, Aarghuamont. Ye 'ave me thanks."

The Krubera nods hesitantly, "Aaarrrgghh!!! protect."

He inclines his head quickly before leaping over to Claire, who currently struggles in dodging the massive fists of their opponents. The gleaming blade of his sword slashes at the legs of one golem, knocking it over so he can easily remove its totem. Surprisingly, the girl beats him to it, stabbing the Staff into the crystal until it crumbles entirely.

"Tyler!" She starts in surprise, not expecting him to be standing over the rubble.

The youth shakes his head, wincing as his helmet rattles, "Finish the fight. There shall be time to speak later."

Claire sighs lightly in growing exhaustion but nods in agreement, leaning on the Shadow Staff in her hands. A squawk makes her look up, though she freezes as the owner of the voice lands on her shoulder.

Esmerion whistles sharply and the young bird makes a sound similar to a sigh before taking to the air again. He rolls his eyes lightly and turns away to slash at another golem, crushing its totem in a ball of blazing flame. The colours twirl at his fingertips, encircling his hands with torching glory that might corrupt any other.

Screams of terror and battle rattle the air, bringing too many ancient memories to light, enough that the youth shakes his head to clear the visions. He only requires the practiced strength of his past to do this but it's growing increasingly harder as he continues to push himself toward the limits he has.

A fist flies toward him and he leans back, falling to his knees as he spins his sword over his head and skewers the golem through the chest. The force of the blow topples the being and sends it tumbling into another that had been giving Vendel some difficulty. The elder Troll takes advantage of the moment and knocks the totem from his opponent, crushing it beneath his staff.

Then he turns, and Esmerion watches the world slow to a near stop as the dagger flies. He's already casting magic before he realises what's happening, a poor attempt to halt the blade. It gleams with poison, glinting with wicked malice as it finds a target.

A short cry slips from his lips and he forces himself to turn away from the horrific sight of Aaarrrgghh!!!'s body turning to stone. He can sense the curdling display of magic without even having to look and it hurts him. His own blade must be used to fix the awful cruelty, if only through the act of aiding those that inhabit this once-peaceful place.

"I destroyed your soul! Your fight is with me! Never them!"

Esmerion snaps his head to find the speaker and the colour drains from his face as he realises who it is. With a scramble of panic, the youth abandons the fight to chase after the Trollhunter and assassin, nearly losing his grip on his sword in the process.

Colourful curses slip from his tongue as flashes of purple light explode in the dark tunnels. He pays no mind to the sparks flying from his blade as it drags along the ground. The only thought on his mind is the vision of his brother falling to the lethal blade of the soulless. He runs faster.

A shout of fear echoes through the cavern, one of his own as his body slams in to the metal grate of the Hero's Forge. He cannot dare to await help, as he can see two figures dancing a deadly line within the active Forge.

"JIM!" He cries frantically, blade slipping from his fingertips as he trades it for attempting to lift the barrier. "JAMES!"

The knowledge of others appearing beside him is lost in his panic, all of his strength and attention focused on his task. He heaves with all his will, tears of fear running down his cheeks as he hoists it. A vision of Jim turning to stone haunts him as he roars, shifting the metal barrier only slightly.

Weakened by both emotion and physical strain, Esmerion collapses against his will, falling almost limp against the barrier. Broken sobs escape his throat and he cries hopelessly. With all the powers in the world, he was never meant to lose another sibling.

A battle cry breaks his blurred daze, drawing his watery eyes up to the three figures within the Hero's Forge. The moment of victory passes by far too quickly for him to register, and he watches dully as the three becomes two.

"Cerddwr coetir."

The youth jolts upright at the voice, scrambling to his feet with haste as the barrier slides up. His steps outpace his mind as he sprints toward the figure donned by silver armour, no hesitation lingering in his mind.

He collides with the boy with enough force that they both fall over and he trills softly in glee. Not a moment in the world can replace his relief, his joy of Jim's safety overriding every sensation. The helmet on his head cannot mask his excitement, nor his tears, and so he pulls it off to fully appreciate the life left in the boy.

"I'll bloody kill ye meself next time ye try that," he mutters, resting his head on Jim's shoulder.

The Trollhunter chuckles weakly, a sound cut short as Claire barrels into him with a bone-crushing hug that makes Esmerion wheeze. 

"Angor Rot's finally dead," the youth murmurs softly, only allowing his magic to probe the pile of rocks. He recoils sharply as several blue lights—souls—flutter from the rubble to unite in a globe above their heads.

"Finally," one whispers.

"Our souls are free."

"We return to our brethren."

"What—" Claire stops short at the condescending stare from the youth, "—Who are they?"

The ghostly apparition of a former Trollhunter shimmers within the luminous globe of gentle light, whose gaze lingers upon Esmerion's weak figure. The youth smiles tiredly at him and twitches his chin upward, a motion of silence.

"These are the spirits of our fallen brethren," Kanjigar voices distantly. "Trollhunters who lost both soul and life to Angor Rot. Our brothers and sisters shall take their proper place in the void and rest in peace. Thanks to you, James Lake Junior, and your friends. You were right, you are stronger together. We are in your debt. But the day will come, Trollhunter, when you must finish the fight alone."

Draal wanders over in a state of stupor, gaze lost in the appearance of his dead kin, "Father?"

Kanjigar turns to face the young Troll, deep wells of regret in his eyes, "My son. I am so sorry for pushing you away. I am—so proud of you."

"Father..." the warrior reaches for the hand of his parent, eyes widening as the apparition starts to fade. "Father? Father!"

A gentle touch on his arm breaks him from his desperate thoughts and he looks down at the youth leaning on his prosthetic. The offered smile is appreciated and he hugs his partner in thanks, uncaring of the confused stares on them both.

"I said I would," Draal muses somewhat smugly, earning himself a scoff of amusement.

"Aye, ye did," Esmerion snorts, nuzzling into the chest of the Troll. "As did I."

They must have spent quite some time like that, for when they broke apart, no-one is remaining in the Forge. A chill has settled over the cavern, one of unease and regret. The Troll warrior appears oblivious to it, frowning only as his partner visibly flinches from the atmosphere.

The youth scowls in confusion and sourly rubs his chest. Something within him is crying in panic, in horror. It does not settle with him that all is silent.

"For the Doom of Gunmar, Eclipse is mine to command!"

Esmerion cries out in desperation, feet running before he can even come to recognise the movement. The chain mail he bears feels a hundred times heavier, his speed not nearly enough for his wishes. He must do something.

The sight of the locked vault door alarms him, the friends banging on the outside pressing that alarm into terror. And so it is with all his remaining strength that he channels his magic in to the locks, the doors sliding open before he even reaches it.

He does not allow for himself to slow despite his forced weariness, and only pushes himself harder, dodging between the group as they descend the stairs. Jim is so close. He is so far.

The boy glances backward for a brief moment, contemplation in his gaze before he returns to the task. There's an air of determination that surrounds him, guilt evident in his stance. Then he steps forward without hesitation, foot deep within the portal.

"Jim!" His brother cries, and a hand latches around his wrist.

The cries of horror are deafening as the portal seals shut behind them.

Look out for the next book "Flyleaf".