Destiny had taken him to her like his old friend Death led his loved ones to their inevitable end-- without fail.

After a long way down a spiralling staircase, Xenro emerged into the crowded main hall. Warm firelight from the large hearth filled the room. Four long tables occupied the length of the oakwood floorboards, and to the back wall was set a wooden counter, like that of an inn.

In the middle, a cluster of people had gathered, and from there rose loud voices and shouts.

And there she was, exactly where she belonged, like a jewelled crown belonged atop a mighty ruler's head, like a sword graced the grip of a fierce warrior.

Her place was ever in the midst of chaos.

✦✧✦✧

The trek to the secret hideout of the mercenaries had been amusing enough, with warriors from all over Stormvale who spoke of battles long gone, old veterans who told Xenro--a naive young man out to find his fate, based on what they knew of him-- the perils of the mercenary life, and to crown it all-- old Captain Walric chanting with great devotion sermons by the Nameless One, things which Xenro had never in his long, tragic life had the misfortune to utter.

But she'd disclosed naught of her original plan with the wagons of weaponry and her attempts to contact the princess of Midaelia.

Before entering the woods of Kinallen, her companion named Gunvald went on ahead with the wagons. Next followed a journey on foot through the forest. At first, it was no different than a leisurely walk-- if Xenro could overlook the fact that a magic-wielding grandmother was keeping him hostage. Then the mercenaries began to split up in groups of twos and threes.

A nod and a wave from the captain told him he was to stay with her.

"Your Da ever mention how to get to our hideout?" asked Captain Walric.

"I uh-- don't remember," said Xenro, assuming once again the look of a clueless farm-boy who had no idea how valuable a sword he carried. And since he was feeling so brave and confident in his acting, he added, "folk were always mocking old Da, saying this Nameless One is a sham. There's no such God."

A harsh look crossed her weather-worn face. "If there is something else to blame for that, other than Lord Rhilio's wrath toward his own child-- it is the Council and their law of restriction. Paints us all in a bad light, that law. Our God is no exception. Only worshippers of him are the people of Kinallen, although they like to pretend as though the Unnamed and our lord is not one and the same-- so the Council fools don't come after them."

Now Xenro's cluelessness was not acting. "The Council? What's that?"

"To put it briefly, it's a circle of skilled mages who oversee and control sorcery-related matters all across Stormvale. It's said right after the Great War, all the rulers, esteemed warlords, Royal Sorcerers and Sorceresses came together to form this organization to keep sorcerous activities in check throughout the land-- so that another devastating war could be prevented from ever happening."

"That is a good thing, isn't it? Keeping a rein on sorcery?"

"It would have been, no doubt, if that's the thing the Council stuck to. They are supposed to remain a neutral entity, with branches spread across the kingdoms and their representatives present in courts. Yet that neutrality is purchasable with coin, it appears--Drisian coin, to be specific."

Xenro brought his long hair into a knot, sighing wearily. The land hadn't changed much, even after the Great War.

"The law of restriction," explained the captain, "bars the military from using sorcery, and same goes for armed forces such as us who offer our services. You wield a sword, you can no longer wield magic. And that law alone, dear boy, marked folk like us as criminals overnight-- simply because we did not want to give up the power we've wielded for centuries. And to think, this company once served the Midaelian throne!"

He looked up, her words sinking in his mind, the setting sun painting his face in a russet glow. "Yet sorcery is what brought the Great War in the first place. It is better to get rid of such power that corrupts."

Captain looked at him for a long moment before swinging her gaze back on the trail, fingers clasping her pendant. "That's idealistic talk. Giving up power only works if all of us do it. Reality doesn't work like that. Here, Midaelian soldiers abide by the law and most don't touch a single spellbook all their lives. O'er the hills in Drisia, it's a different tale. Unspeakable acts of foul sorcery go on there. So who is ever at a disadvantage?"

"Midaelians." As they were during the Apocalypse. And so I took their side.

During the Great War, a similar conversation had taken place with Dresius, when Xenro had decided to form the Chosen Warriors to fight against Drisia.

"Shouldn't a god remain neutral in matters such as this? See all folk as equals? Be they Midaelian, Velan or Drisian, they're still your worshippers," Dresius had said.

"Or has your sense of equality shattered because of ...me?" he'd added with a crooked smile. Xenro was ever fascinated by how he'd laugh even in the direst of situations.

"Well, Father has a better way to uphold equality. He intends to obliterate all equally to end this nightmare, and thus takes no sides," said Xenro, "do you want that? Or would you follow with me my principle of rooting out the source of the problem? Enough lives have been lost because of this illusion of equality."

Xenro must have become passionate with his words, for warm, calloused hands held his face and Dresius drew closer. "Oh, you don't need such justifications to convince me. Mine was a question of curiosity. You know I'll follow you nonetheless," he said in his soothing voice, "till the day I--"

His next words remained unspoken as Xenro closed what little of the gap was left between them, lips pressed against his.

A futile attempt, no doubt, for he could only stop him from uttering those words, but not the inevitable fate that would befall him.

The vision of the forest trail blurred before Xenro, and he wiped his face with the tattered end of his chlamys.

"We're here," said the captain finally. She went ahead to lift a boulder from beneath a tree with surprising ease.

Xenro looked up to find himself before a hollowed out tree trunk, the gap large enough for a fairly tall person to crawl through. The hole looked neatly carved out by hand, not caused by decay that comes with time.

"What are you waiting for?" Captain Walric said, "go on in. We haven't got all day."

Sorcery hovered in the surrounding air. Frowning, he peered in. Instead of the gnarled surface of the inside of a tree, he found himself looking into a stairwell leading below ground.

This obsolete branch of magic...it is still alive?

"This...this is Space Manipulation! Joining two different places together, creating a portal..."

"We've got a lad who's excellent at that. This is his handiwork." Captain gave him a grin before descending. "Renowned alchemist fresh from the academy of Byton. A good boy too, helps out all the folk of this village."

✦✧✦✧

Farren, of course, cursed as he entered the main hall and stepped into the chaos.

Eyes wide like saucers, she stared at him. "Who's gonna waltz in next, eh? Lord Rhilio himself? Captain Walric and the battlemages? Throw everything at me, folks, for nothing surprises me nowadays!"

"Interesting specimen, this one," said Captain Walric.

Gunvald gave an awkward cough. "Uh...this is Captain Walric," he told Farren.

Farren looked at everyone's faces-- the mercenaries, a big red-haired man with a ruby brooch, a bored-looking boy with a knife-- and finally at Xenro, but only briefly, eyes filled with both guilt and curiosity. Thankfully, she didn't reveal anything of their acquaintance yet.

"The Captain Walric?" She looked at the old lady head-to-toe suspiciously.

"Aye?"

Farren looked like she wanted to disagree, but sparing a glance at the cutlass strapped to her belt, thought better of it.

"And they are battlemages, eh?" Farren looked around at the sullen-looking warriors.

"Perhaps you expected us to have horns, child?" The captain's lip quirked, arms crossed behind her back and her posture perfectly erect.

"I sense no magic-- from any of you."

"We mask it well, or the Council's dogs would've sniffed us out long past. You on the other hand, seem unaware of the idea, for you stink of sorcery," explained Gunvald, then turned to a heavily muscled man and a woman with a lute.

"Bjorn, Hildegard, haven't you told her anything? Like who we are?"

"Not much scope for delivering important information," said Bjorn, "Hilda was too busy telling her life story and then spanking the hostage when she didn't like her response. Thank the Gods she didn't sing."

Xenro had several questions.

"Oho? And should I tell him that you were chums with Clearstrike all along?" said Hilda.

"Write him a ballad on it, I dare ya!"

Hilda took her lute out of its straps but it didn't seem the purpose it was going to serve was anything near music. Or ballads.

Farren looked entertained.

"Yeah! Crack his skull like a coconut," she cheered on as the argument rose. "Come on Bjorn, you can't lose to a mere bard!"

"What do you think this is, eh? A damned cockfight for you to bet on?" Captain dragged her away by the collar. "Enough dilly dallying, folks. Finish your supper and unload the wagons. And what's your business here today, Ryffin?" She nodded to the red-haired man.

Ryffin spared Farren a side-eyed glance. "Got vital information to report to ya," he said, then gestured to the boy with the knife. "And I caught a little eavesdropper."

"So did I," the captain grinned. "Very well, you may go and grab a bite to eat, too. Meanwhile I shall endeavour to entertain our... guests." She led Xenro and Farren to a table in one corner, motioning to the cook behind the counter to bring them some supper.

✦✧✦✧

Xenro hadn't realised how long it had been since he'd had a proper meal in the Mortal Realm, until steaming bowls of cabbage stew were served before him with large chunks of crudely sliced rye bread. The captain herself found a pitcher and poured mead in three pewter mugs.

His stomach growled at the sight of the simple yet delicious meal-- but the supper was more awkward than celestial feasts with Father, Edis and the rest of the Gods. Yet somehow he preferred this one more.

"Well, what are you waiting for? Dig right in." She watched them over her mug of mead.

Since Farren was looking everywhere but him, Xenro finally gave up attempts to communicate and turned to please his famished self.

"Do you always treat your hostages so well?" asked Farren, who hadn't touched a morsel. "I feel like a beast being fattened up before slaughter."

The captain watched her, her head tilted. "Well, just tell me this, lass. Why are you wanted in the first place?"

"Violation of the law of restriction."

"And you tell me. Why is our company outlawed?" the old woman now turned to Xenro.

"You would not yield to the law of restriction."

For the first time, Farren looked at him directly, a thousand questions in her eyes that would take all night to answer.

"You see, killing you sort of goes against our principle, doesn't it? Make yourself at home. We'll get to our plans, but all in good time, yeah?" said the captain, tearing off some of the bread from Farren's plate and tossing it into her mouth. "Eat. It's not poisoned."

And so they did.

After a fulfilling meal however, Farren's demeanor changed, and she threw a sneaky smile toward Xenro.

"Forget Ryffin. I can give you vital information," said she, "if you let us go."

"Nah," said the captain.

"Fine, at least let Helmer go. He's just a child!"

"A child with a knife. I can respect that, but the answer is still no."

"Wait till you hear me out," said Farren, "this fellow right beside me is your God. The actual Unnamed Lord."

"We've got potions to help you overcome your Dragontail addiction," said the captain. "Ask Gunvald for a vial."

Xenro choked for the third time that day. This time on mead.

"Hey! Why don't you show her the summoning trick you can do with this ring!" Farren turned to him desperately.

But Xenro was rather having fun being a member of his own cult. Besides, he was forsaken anyway, therefore officially dismissed from the responsibilities that came with godhood.

"I have no idea what you are talking about, Miss," he said sweetly.

"Oh, nevermind, I'll do it myself! You'll see how I can summon him from across the room." Farren sprung from her seat and strode to the back of the room. She sang a bizarre prayer, clutching the gold and sapphire ring.

Nothing happened.

The good thing about being a God, even a forsaken one, was they could only be summoned if they were willing to show up--which he wasn't now.

"Looks like the Nameless One didn't like your prayer too much, eh?" Bjorn let out a good-natured laugh. "But at least you sing better than our dear Hilda."

✦✧✦✧

While a fistfight broke out yet again between the bard and the mercenary, Farren clambered back to her seat miserably, throwing a look of betrayal toward Xenro.

"How about this one, then?" she said, "did you know, these Sacred Blades you have, can be used to slay the Vasaen?"

"That's vital but stale news, child. I know all about it and the dagger at your camp."

Farren now let her head fall onto the table in defeat, forehead thudding against it. "How--just how can you possibly know that?"

"Well, there's my lieutenant, Gunvald who first found out about the dagger. And my lovely wife. She wrote to me, and informed me of many other things-- autopsies and whatnot," said Captain Walric, a forlorn look crossing her face.

“And who is this mysterious, incredible know-it-all?” asked Farren in a drawl.

"Why, your camp healer of course! Doctor Eliora Sarek." The smile on the captain's face was triumphant. "We're married."

Farren's head snapped up. "You jest, Captain!"

"Why in the Nameless One's name would I joke about thirty seven years of my happily married life?"

Xenro had a pleasant sense of Déjà vu. He'd sat in a similar place many times before, and listened to old warriors recollect their fondest memories with shining eyes. They'd passed away, yet still lived on through centuries worth of faded tales now residing in an immortal's memory.

One more story to add.

Thus he now took a hearty sip from the spiced mead, and asked her the same old question. "...Why don't you tell us your story, Captain?"

The woman grinned, a heartwarming look spreading across the many lines of her beautiful face. "Not a bad idea, really. Bit of an ice-breaker to get this sceptical lassie to trust me." She nodded to Farren.

Captain Walric leaned back in her seat, propping her boots atop the table . A soft smile curled her thin lips, fondness in her brilliant eyes.

"Ah, Ellie. Where do I start? Feels like just yesterday I met her. I was a caravan guard then, and she an apprentice witch, learning the art of healing. When I'd showed up on her doorstep, bruised and bloodied from a troll attack on our caravan, she nursed me back to health. What's more, she went out there, and killed that damned troll herself," she said, hands mimicking two figures clashing in battle. "Gods, what a woman!"

"And then what happened?" Farren was rather invested in her tale by now.

"And then what happened?" she mocked. "Midlife crisis, what else? My stupid arse wanted to be a rebellious hero and landed itself among these outlawed battlemages. Now we don't even have the time to see each other--not even once a year. There, you've ruined my mood."

Xenro smiled. "Yet do you regret your choices?"

"With the Nameless one's blessings? Never. His legacy must live on. The world should know the descendants of the Chosen Warriors will not be held back by a handful of foolish mages with their heads up in their arses. We agree upon that, Ellie and I."

"Ah, so you are on our side," said Farren, visibly relieved.

"About time it got through your thick skull." Captain Walric turned and beckoned Ryffin to come over. "Oy. Let's hear what you had to say."

"Captain, here's this one dagger--"

"Heard that. Stale news. Next? The lad with the knife?"

Helmer now came over to their table, and casually glanced over all the solemn faces. He seemed to have made himself at home with this outlawed folk rather nicely-- even better than the God to whom the company was actually dedicated.

"I have news that you'll find interesting. Especially you, Corporal." He nodded to Farren.

"Better not be about daggers." The captain ran weary fingers through her greying hair. "Out with it, quick."

"The Council Mages say they have already captured Farren Clearstrike days ago."

"What?" Captain spat out her mead.

"Rude. They didn't even tell me?" snickered Farren.

Events from the night Xenro had been set free from the statue resurfaced in his mind.

'I beg you Lord! Whatever you do, do not expose yourself to a Council Mage whilst you are disguised as me-- my life would be ruined forever!' Such were Farren's words to Atruer, which the mischievous God would inevitably disobey.

And thus the Lord of Despair had walked right into her trap.

"You little devil." Xenro burst out laughing, dropping the facade of ignorance and thumping a hand onto Farren's back. "You did it. You really tricked that sly old bastard!" His spirits rose as she laughed with him.

"They also say Farren Clearstrike is already sent on her way to the Council Headquarters to face trials," finished Helmer, smirking at Farren. "Care to explain how you are in two places at once?"

After Xenro and Farren had recovered from their eye-watering fit of laughing, Farren shut her eyes and brought her hands together in prayer.

"Hail Lord Atruer," she said, "and his inability to deal with a bit of reverse manipulation."