"What's the use of this... ambience now that you have so thoroughly ruined my mood?"

With a clap of his pale hands, a disgruntled Atruer dispersed the cloud of acrid black smoke billowing ominously behind him. On his command, the plumes of smoke flickered into nothing, and the air cleared up once again.

Hands on his hips, he swung to face them, eyes narrowed on Farren.

"Now, we all know Edis is stupid, so I don't really blame him for not having found this statue-- which looks exactly like his little brother, by the way. So this, I'll let pass," said he, "but there's another unfinished business you and I have left, mortal. And I intend to make you pay for that."

Before she could so much as open her mouth to speak, Xenro stepped in between them, sliding his gleaming sword back out of its scabbard.

"Your ravenous hunger for the pain and suffering of innocent mortals disgusts me," said Xenro. His gaze, colder than the north winds and harsher than frost, was fixed upon Atruer. "One step further, and your fate will be the same as those mortal souls I have cleansed."

His look softened as he glanced at Farren. "Fear not, you are now under my protection. I would overlook your insolence for now," said Xenro, "I always pay my debts."

A mad, wheezing cackle echoed into the night, harsh enough to make flocks of birds take afeard flights from nearby trees. The God of Despair laughed until tears streamed down his sallow cheeks.

"Who grants protection to whom? You, protect this brat, from me?" he said, "listen, O Son of Rhilio, Commander of the Celestial Armies, it is I who needs protection, from that devil of a mortal! A blight on my otherwise peaceful life! The bane of my existence!"

"Quit whining, will you? What on earth happened?" Farren asked in a drawl.

Xenro's forehead creased in a frown as he looked between them. "You two seem acquainted with each other."

"Indeed, I had the misfortune of crossing paths with her, to grant her my generous help and advice, and look where it has landed me. Such dreadful dishonor I have had to face today in the hands of some filthy street thugs!"

"And I'm responsible because--?" prompted Farren, because the God seemed keen on going on about his despair, rather than stating what devastating fate had befallen him.

Atruer's pointed teeth bared in a snarl. "As if you don't know! A bloke almost died from poisoning-- because some wicked witch of Silver Knife told him Wolfsbane wine is a cure for headaches. And then she blamed it on me. I wonder who gave the witch this oddly specific idea?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about, my Lord. Apologies."

"Oh, really? Look, all I had was one little boat in the floating market down Ebon street--"

"--for scamming folk into making deals with you," finished Farren for him.

"--for helping distraught mortals in times of misfortune," corrected Atruer. "And this witch directed the Countess's lads to me, saying I was selling Wolfsbane. Then the Countess herself punted me out of my own boat!"

Atruer spun, to reveal a muddy bootprint stamped across his backside.

"So your charming fortune-teller's disguise did not work on the Countess, eh?" Farren clicked her tongue, wishing she were there to witness the spectacle. "Well, some folk are immune to that sort of appeal. Should've done your research, Lord."

Xenro watched, mouth hanging slightly open, looking as though he were questioning the meaning of life at this point, or whether climbing back inside his so-called 'rock prison' was a good idea.

"Odd one, this Countess. You sell narcotics in Silver Knife, nobody bats an eye, but get caught dealing in poison, end of the world!" Atruer cried.

Farren flopped down onto the rock she'd been sitting on. "That's just business. Give a man poison, and he dies. Give a man Dragontail, and he keeps coming back for more until he dies. Coin's all that matters in the end."

"I believe I am slowly losing faith in humankind," said Xenro.

"I may not be the best one to judge humanity by-- for I admit-- I am a fairly bad person," said Farren, then cracked up a grin as she faced Atruer. "Not to worry, though. Poisons have their place, if it's for dipping your arrows and slicking your blades, you know? If you're lucky-- or unlucky, an assassin from the Guild might just drop by your boat someday. Consider this for a future business idea."

"There's just one, tiny, little, itty bitty problem," Lord Atruer hissed like a feral cat. "My precious boat has been confiscated! And it's all your fault. I'd have shown that Countess just what I'm capable of-- if only I could reveal my true form in broad daylight. But no!"

He glared at Xenro, "Your daddy, His Majesty Lord Rhilio, prohibits causing a scene in the Mortal Realm."

"Yet he does not hesitate to obliterate the entire population of a land," said Xenro, eyes narrowed to slits.

Atruer nodded vigorously. "And nor does he so much as flinch to leave his son's fate at the hands of someone he barely trusts. You are indeed lucky that I'm so nice and kind-hearted."

"What?" Anger flared like flames in Xenro's eyes, fair face contorted by a vicious rage.

He took a step forward.

"So you are the one who trapped me in here," he said, his voice a hoarse whisper, low and dangerous.

Atruer's pale lips stretched into a wordless smile.

Around Farren, the forest churned. A dry, frenzied wind rose out of the quiet night, tossing around leaves in a whirlwind. Thin sheets of ice drifting in the water cracked with audible snaps, sending jets of glacial water and razor-sharp ice shards into the air. Rogue winds whipping his blond locks, there stood the mighty God of War, sword at the ready and eyes gleaming.

Sorcery roiled and twisted in the air-- and it was not the sort of mortal magic Farren was acquainted with, rather it felt all-consuming and overwhelming. A God's wrath.

Xenro's wrath.

It was at this moment she realised that the particular details of her deal with Atruer were best kept hidden from Xenro. He had simply presumed her to be a result of necromancy, and she prefered not to correct him on that aspect. Don't want my poor head rolling on the forest floor, do I now?

Uttering a roar, he swung his massive greatsword-- his movements swift and remarkably fast for such a large blade, his strength enough to cut down a mounted opponent in halves-- along with the horse.

Yet his sword did not touch flesh, for Atruer simply dissolved into a swirl of black smoke, and reappeared a dozen paces far. Xenro's blade swept through nothing.

"How mannerless!" shrieked Atruer, "never learned to respect your elders, did you?"

"My elders are not the most respectable lot," said Xenro, whirling to face him, who once again disappeared and reappeared just behind Farren.

"You seeing this, lass? Rhilio's parenting skills are shite, I tell you. And before you stands the result," he said, his voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper, "lad's got some...serious issues."

"It is you who shall have issues, after I am finished with you!"

Now, Farren would very much like to watch an epic fight go down between two Gods, and would certainly not mourn if it ended in Atruer's tragic demise, but she preferred to do so from a safe distance. Behind several barricades of burlap bags of sand to dull the blow of this virulent sorcery-- rather than being caught up in the battle.

And so she found herself uttering the words she never imagined herself saying. "Can't we settle this... peacefully? Without blowing up half of the woods?"

But there was no reasoning with 'Son of Rhilio, Commander of the Celestial Armies', it turned out.

Xenro's sword now swung in a wide arc, an arm's length above Farren's head-- and Atruer dodged in the same illusive way of his-- after brandishing a black-taloned hand across Xenro's face.

A thin cut appeared across his right cheek, blood blossoming in crimson beads.

"A gentle reminder!" bellowed Atruer, "of your mortality! You are a true God no longer, so quit acting like one. Stop exerting your sorcery beyond your limits-- else you'll kill yourself."

Despite his refusal to admit it, signs of fatigue were now evident on Xenro's sweat-beaded face, slacken movements and shallow breaths. "Me? A mortal?"

"As good as," said Atruer. "You have been forsaken by His Majesty. So unless the Torch of The Divines is set aflame, you wield power no better than a mortal man-- say, a slightly better than average sorcerer. Stop before you hurt yourself, I say!"

"You--" But Xenro could not finish. The younger God now doubled over, clutching his chest and one arm resting upon the pommel of his sword, his breathing ragged. The winds died down, the forest fell still once more.

Exhaustion dulled the edge from his wrath too early.

Atruer stood towering over his hunched form. "Stop thrashing around and listen, you foolish boy!"

"Your Father wouldn't have minded if I killed you, alright? In fact-- that's clearly what His Majesty implied," he said. "I did you a favor trapping you in that rock. What was more, I asked Migdros to sculpt you that fine little statue, with a pretty, shiny gem for a key to boot-- so that your stupid brother, Edis could find you after that damned Apocalypse was over. Now why that moron never found you ain't my fault. What more should I have done? Make a plaque saying 'search here' and hang it from the statue's neck? Good thing this idiot found you. Destiny and all that crap I suppose."

Farren sank to her knees beside Xenro, when the reality of the situation struck her at last.

Legends of the God of Winter and his unnamed brother, warped by retelling through generations, tales varying in its twists across different peoples of the land-- Midaelians, Velans, Drisians and the Vampirefolk of the north-- Farren had heard them all. But never once had she thought she would see herself in that story.

Yet every single step she'd taken in this woefully short mortal life, every leap into bad decisions and even the well-thought, good ones had led her here, to this place tonight. To be a savior to the forsaken God only spoken of in legends.

Her eyes locked with his.

Destiny always keeps its word.

Shivers went down Farren's spine. What could this union possibly mean? With the rise of the Vasaeni, the threat of a second Great War loomed on the horizon like a stormcloud, swirling ever closer. Was this meeting with a God an ill omen as the Midaelian sayings went, or a beacon of hope?

"The key to your freedom from imprisonment-- the sapphire-- was lost amidst the chaos that was the Great War," Atruer went on, "nevertheless, Edis plundered Stormvale in search of you, raising blizzards everywhere he went, not knowing his own desperation is the obstacle in the path of finding his brother. He scaled high mountains so he could look for you from up there; only to find the land clouded, shrouded by snowstorms of his own creation."

In Atruer's expression there appeared something Farren had never seen before-- something other than mad cackles and ghastly grins. Compassion.

"You lose a gold coin in a murky pool. What happens if you panic and dive for it? You only end up muddying the water. And so, Edis never found his little brother he so dearly loved. Centuries upon centuries of fruitless endeavor."

Xenro froze.

"Centuries?" His head snapped up. "It has been that long?"

"Aye. Thought you knew that."

"How would I?" Xenro snapped, "inside that forsaken pile of rock, there are no means to keep track of time. It feels as though only a moment has passed since then, and an eternity at the same time."

"The Great War's over, lad. The Apocalypse has long been unleashed, its mess cleaned up."

Before Farren's eyes, color drained from his face. He turned to her, a desperate look in his eyes. "I...I do not wish to be swayed by his treacherous words. You tell me, mortal. What year is it?"

"Year four eighty four, after the Great War. Thirty-seventh year of King Forthwind's reign."

Dismay flooded his face.

Farren wished she could tell him he was not too late, that there were still lives to be saved, other battles to be fought-- smaller than the Great War, but in no way of less importance. But there was no erasing the bleak truth. His Chosen Warriors had perished in the battle, the Apocalypse had ravaged the land while he sat trapped in that stone image of his. A pile of bones was all that remained of his beloved.

Xenro got to his feet, swaying from exhaustion and the cruel blow of reality. "I have to...go." He looked half-crazed. "Even if there's no one left. I need to pay homage to the fallen warriors, I must!"

And leave me here, alone?

Farren's fear must've shown on her face, for Atruer latched onto just that.

A cruel grin spread across his lips. "Then venture forth to the Autumnwind plains at once. Clarify for yourself whether a battle still rages there. I'm sure the mortal can fend for herself."

Very well. She would not beg Xenro to remain with her, nor would she let Atruer manipulate her any longer.

But Xenro had other ideas, it seemed.

"Your words fool everyone but me," he said to Atruer, sliding a ring off his index finger.

In Farren's hands he placed the gold and sapphire ring, his eyes boring into hers.

Heavens knew ornaments were the last things she needed to survive in the wilderness.

"An excellent reward this is," she said through gritted teeth, "would've fetched a good price indeed, down in Silver Knife-- if I could get there."

Farren had no idea Gods had a habit of rolling their eyes, but Xenro did it rather aptly. "It is not for selling, materialistic fool! Summon me with this, whenever you find yourself in mortal danger. I have given you my word, and keep it I shall-- even if I am not as strong as I used to be."

Atruer shook his head and reared back, beginning to dissolve into smoke once again. "Going soft for a mortal again. You're making a grave mistake, one which will bring you only torment. Especially this devil."

Farren shooed him away. "Your negative aura is tingling my bones, and that ain't a fun feeling. Isn't it about time you returned to your realm, Lord?"

"Indeed, I shall! For it takes a great deal of time and patience to shift my form into a new guise. As you know, my fortune-teller form did not fare so well. I need a new one, as I wish to sweep away all the unpleasant happenings of Silver Knife and start a life anew-- one that is full of ...fun."

"Oh? What are you turning into this time, then?"

"You," he said, half-smoke half-corporeal now.

Farren shot up to her feet. "Me?"

"Aye, Farren Clearstrike, you heard me right. I'll shift into your form and do... scandalous things. Then we'll see who'll have the last laugh. That lad may protect you from me hurting you, and I suppose that's fair-- gratitude and all that shite. But he has no control upon who I choose to transform myself into, has he?"

The Silver Knife thug in Farren snickered at that. You'll trip into your own trap, old fool!

She feigned a look of terror, throwing herself at his feet. "I beg you, Lord!"

His smile only widened. "Ah, if only you'd shown a fraction of that obedience before, I would not have to do this."

"Whatever you do, do not expose yourself to a Council Mage whilst you're disguised as me-- my life would be ruined forever!" she cried.

Atruer's smile was gleeful as he dissolved into the air. "That's the first thing I'd do then, dear mortal."

When he was finally gone, Xenro turned to her with a frown. "You mentioned the Council Mages are after your life, did you not?"

"Well, they're his problem now, if he wishes to be me." Farren smirked, brushing dust off her clothes.

"You are a little devil indeed," Xenro said, smiling.

✦✧✦✧

Sergeant Klo Wolturs was having a fairly bad day-- even by Kinallen's standards. While the battle was won with little casualties on their end, there was left the horrendous task of clearing up the corpses of the looters, carting them off to a pit and extend the evacuation order-- so the village folk would not walk into a slaughter-field and soil themselves.

And to crown it all, one of her most important squad members had managed to violate the one law they were not supposed to, noble as her intentions were-- and was currently being hunted down by an egotistic mage who would do Gods-know-what to her.

As the stars began to glint up at the dark velvet of the sky, and there was still no sign of Farren or the mage, worry gripped her weary mind.

Then a mounted figure came into view, emerging from the haze in the woods afar.

A swift gesture of her hand, and crossbows were cocked, the swords of her soldiers were at the ready at once.

"Approach at a slow trot," went her commands like whispered incantations. "Archers fan out-- wide crescent, eight men abreast."

The figure came closer. The moon's slanted rays cast ominous shadows across the snow. What appeared like a wooden staff was strapped to their back, and smoke sizzled out of it in coiled wisps. The air surrounding the figure was glacial. A wielder of ice magic.

Before Klo could so much as move her gloved hands to the pommel of her sword, the figure cried out in a familiar voice.

"Thank Lord Edis, it's good to see you again, Sergeant! Thought I would never find my way out of these woods! Er...you are not gonna shoot those at me, are you?"

Torchlight shone on their face as they stepped closer.

"Crowder?" Klo gestured for the squad to lower their weapons. "What are you doing here?"

"Got lost on my way to the camp. I was wondering if your healer, Eliora Sarek is taking apprentices?" he said, taking his hat off and crumpling it up with nervous fingers. "I--uh, have been fired from the Dark Saints Mail Service."

"Finally-- I mean-- that's very unfortunate, Mr. Crowder. I suggest you speak to her directly. She could use an extra hand, I'm sure."

She directed one of her soldiers to escort the young man to the camp.

"Uh, Sergeant?" He hesitated before leaving. "You might wanna do something about that Council Mage now sitting frozen in a slab of ice near the waterfall."

"What?" said Klo's squad in unison.

"Swear I didn't mean it! He appeared outta nowhere, sending lightning bolts in every direction. I just panicked a little, alright?"

A pleased smile spread across her lips. "Rest assured, it is quite alright."