Paladians were known for having a pretty strange meal schedule. The first thing they typically grabbed upon waking up was leftovers from last night's supper, which, when served on a plate while overlooking the stretches and intricate beauties of Lignoria, worked as a pretty hearty breakfast. They usually skipped dinner (or ate something small between meals), as they woke up much later than other races, with the sun nearing its highest point.

Paladians slept for about nine to twelve hours each day (and snored loudly), so they didn't necessarily have much time or interest in preparing something creative. It was usually glazed, chopped meat from the farm animals, a campfire for three families and roasted meals ending up in their hands, filling their stomachs before a good night's sleep.

Some would deem such feasts wild or without manners, but even those royals living in Saphrith seem to favour these methods. Except, there, they don't have campfires, as they instead vouch on dark, stone ovens, heating bread or minced beef served with a side of a typical Lignorian salad (apples combined with wunia leaves and cooked carrots) or rice.

Going back to the methods mostly seen in more open places such as Prope Portam, some people used the supper as an opportunity to strike.

Strike, as in, perhaps confess their feelings while looking at the dirty lips of the person sloppily eating the sauced porkchop. Love and fire create sparks, so no one should judge when and why it happens.

More importantly, it's worth mentioning that such intricate moments usually occur outside of the enclosed and well-known night fires of Prope Portam, further away from the palm trees and even stepping outside all the houses near the forest. After all, the town is built into mountains, woods, rivers and a beach on the other side.

Looking into the shallow banks of Orawood, a couple would place stones in a circular pattern, light a fire with willow logs and watch the sunset, holding hands and reminiscing the time spent together.

The cracks of the fire often overtook any sound coming from the far distance, turning it into a crackling silence.

"I remember that night so well, my dear Pastia." A voice spoke, brows relaxed and lips pursed into a smile. His tight squeeze over Pastia's hand hardened, and the girl he just mentioned looked into his dark eyes.

"I recall it too, Roser." She reached her hand out into the sky. "The setting sun painted the sky. It was basked with the colours we still see to this day."

"Orange," Roser muttered as an orange elm leaf dropped by the side. "Pink." he looked at the slight tint on Pastia's lips. "...and red." A maple leaf landed on his head, and Pastia giggled a bit, before brushing through his dark, thick hair.

Roser flushed, fixing his linen brown shirt and groaning.

Pastia breathed out, and her falling black locks flew with the calm wind.

"M-May I?" Roser asked, a beam tugging on his lips. Pastia nodded. The boy placed his hand near her dressed thighs and leaned in, presumably, for a kiss.

The cracks of the fire, however, didn't turn a nearby sound into yet another sparkle. Their moment halted with a loud laugh in the distance. Roser gently pushed Pastia away, with a sigh. "It's them." his eyes fixated on a pebble on the ground.

Pastia chuckled again. "They're probably just jealous."

"It's our moment." Roser stood up. "I won't let them take it away," he vowed, before angrily stepping into the coated darkness of the Orawood Forest.

He heard rumbling, something softly sweeping through the bushes and out into the open, but only for a moment. Squinting his eyes, the Paladian made out a silhouette, gleaming for a second. "Mark?" he asked, raising his voice, before moving forwards. "This isn't funny! Don't foil my chances, you hear me?!" he announced, his r's turning into softer sounds.

The rumbling stopped, but Roser advanced, sure of his earlier predictions. The nearby fire faded, completely invaded by the murk, only broken by all the red and orange leaves swinging above a stepped-out path on the bedding.

Roser finally looked down, seeing a pair of footsteps which didn't match his boots. He raised an eyebrow, leaning closer towards the marks.

With a thick breath, his eyes followed a trace of something peculiar. Such weren't traces, something was dragged along the ground. Sharp, meaty, gross and perhaps dangerous.

A branch cracked in the distance, Roser shot up alerted, breathing through his teeth. "Mark!? S-Stop it!" he yelled, grinding his teeth, desperately trying to replace fear with reasonable anger. A few steps forward the darkness only confused him and made his heart skip a few beats.

He knew the paths he trod so well, after all. How could he possibly have gotten lost, so close to home?

"Mark!" Roser yelled out, putting both hands together, and moving around before encountering the same marks. Fear battled frustration, emotions fought reason.

"Pastia, Ygda, Mark!" he screamed for his friends, but no voice answered his pleas.

Another branch cracked, and Roser's eyes shrunk, his foot landing on the yellow flowers he desperately avoided.

In Paladian belief, stepping on daisies was to bring bad luck.

"What an unfortunate fate." a creaky, high-pitched voice spoke to Roser, but nothing revealed itself. Entranced by fear, the Paladian moved back, clenching his jaw and fist. "Oh, I'm so sorry!"

"I-Is this some kind of sick joke?!" Roser asked, in an accent, all high and mighty. "Step out of there, Ygda! I know it's your voice!"

"Ygda?" something moved alongside the shadows of the bushes, revealing a small silhouette extending bushes from their back. Roser gulped. "Never heard, brother!" she slapped her knee, laughing audibly, pointing her skinny hand at the terrified Paladian.

What stood before him, was none other than a demon, and a smart one at that. Leaves turned into vines, continuously moving upwards towards the crowns of the maples, changing colour and hiding. Her teeth were big and sharp, perfectly matching her crazed smile.

With a shocked breath, panic settled into Roser. He wanted to run, but his legs didn't abide by his requests. Not because of the sheer fear, no adrenaline would've kicked in. They were trapped, even if he thrashed, they wouldn't budge. Roser yelled out, before calling out his lover's name. "Pastia!"

"Stop it already!" The demon spoke, in playful anger, moving closer and signalling with her arms. "Name's Katha! Not Pastia, Ygda, or whatever you keep coming up with!"

Closing his eyes, Roser opened his mouth, with the vines slowly nestling him into a strange cocoon, squeezing. Blood burst out from the green leaves, staining the vines in a thick velvet. "HELP!" he cried out, but the demon smiled.

Her shining red eyes quickly ventured to something on the side, her smirk disappearing for a second, curiosity battling the tide. "Get him." she mouthed, and before her mumble could reach the Paladian, an arrow zapped through the air, piercing his head.

Roser's tongue rolled out, and as the vines moved away, his body dropped to the ground, slowly entangled by new leaves near the oak. Katha crouched, placing her hand on his bare skin. She moved back, and her smile only grew.

A different figure stepped out of the shadows, his extremely long brown hair reaching the end of his spine momentarily flailing in the wind. "Did I get him?" he asked, calmly, slowly, greatly contrasting, Katha's earlier attitude.

"Not them, Ronpi!" Katha gave him a thumbs-up.

A genuine smile appeared on his face, denying his tired expression. His firm, muscular grasp on the bow's grip tightened.

"Still." Katha raised a finger, softly brushing through her green hair. "Closer and closer to the source."

"Hm?" Ronpi titled his head, curious.

"You know it, shark boy." she moved closer. "Klakunhoi," she recalled the words.

"Klakunhoi," Ronpi repeated her words, and Katha sighed, taking another step, avoiding Roser's barely moving body. "How do we know when we find them?"

"They'll put up a fight." she closed her eyes. "The others didn't."

***

The Klakunhoi swiftly made their way through the grand caves at the ends of Mirillis.

The ever-present, monotonous grey changed shape, featuring a thick, almost lush brown with a tint of green alongside. Banging on the ceiling revealed droplets of water, which mended their thirst and signalled hope for something in the distance.

The footsteps in the soil continuously led them forward, perhaps out of this dark solitude. However, after eleven hours, signs of weakness revealed themselves. Despite hopes and vows, their bodies sang a different song.

Breathing out, sitting in a small opening, and lighting a tiny fire, the group finally caught a moment of rest, without uttering a single word. The weight of this entire ordeal still rested on their shoulders, and despite a few noises or phrases here and there, everyone kept quiet. All through the eleven hours, and the five they managed to get some sleep in.

Even though things seemed promising, the atmosphere was heavy. Metaphorically, and literally, since they were still below the grounds, near the hushest of regions in the Mainland. Exchanging glances between the Paladian, Chyuuichi sighed, standing up.

Rowan was the hardest to wake up. It's not that they managed to catch a wink of sleep. They didn't want to stand and continue, even if things seemed to take a positive turn.

It was all too much, and Atomu wondered what was tainting the Tributal. Chyuuichi moved alongside, sometimes lost in thought about the earlier events or the caves around them.

After six more hours, through non-stop walking, the silence was finally broken when Rowan sped up a bit.

"How long until we reach..." Atomu stuttered, his shaking lip catching Chyuuichi's attention, yet, the Tributal paid no interest in his words. Speaking felt strange as if it was forbidden. "...anything?"

"I'm not sure," Chyuuichi answered.

"W-Well," Atomu added, chuckling awkwardly. "Considering that you're a Mirillian, I thought you'd know." he played with a strand of hair.

Chyuuichi punched his shoulder. "I've never been this far, Atomu! I'm not sure if any REAL Mirillian ever stepped foot below Morta!" he tapped the ceiling, as some water dropped on his face. "Probably even Lignoria!"

"Then, I g-guess there is some positive to all this."

Rowan shook their head.

"I'd say there were a lot, ya know!" Chyuuichi continued. "Like, I've seen a literal skeleton war!"

"You still have to tell me about that!" Atomu raised his voice.

"I battled against the craziest of demons, seen the city that was stolen from my people!" he continued, clenching his fists. "I've seen things I never would've dreamt of seeing! Temples, rumours of dragons!" he jumped up. "I made friends." he frowned a little. "...and lost them."

Atomu wanted to add a word to mend Chyuuichi's sorrows, but couldn't find the right one to use in such a situation. Instead, he looked to the side, gasping for troubled air.

"Hm." Chyuuichi scratched his cheek. "I always think that the good outweighs the bad." he looked up. "Look at Rowan!" he pointed, and the Tributal finally turned, albeit with a crude expression. "Their arrow's glow is so tiny and look at how much light it creates!"

Rowan sighed, blinking a few times.

"It illuminates our path to a new, special hope!" Chyuuichi jumped, grinning, and Atomu stared forward. "Lignoria!"

"L-Lignoria," Atomu repeated. "I never thought I'd make it back there."

"There?" Rowan uttered.

"You know, back home," Atomu added, taking his hand out of his pocket, hesitating a little.

"Home, huh?" Rowan chuckled sarcastically. "I'm glad then, that you have a place you can call such."

"You have a house too, don't you?" Chyuuichi pointed. "It has stupid paintings and that uncomfy couch but it's a house."

"A home isn't a house." Rowan furrowed their eyebrows, turning their back to the two. "A home is a place you can come back to whenever you feel everything gets too overwhelming. A place where all the sorrows and frowns of the people around you don't matter." They laughed again. "Where people are willing to protect you. Somewhere you feel safe."