Amid the mist-covered islands stood three men. Among them were Elias and his father, Erian Novire. As the king had commanded, Captain Novire had led a group of men to Ruscao. On horseback, they rode south on the Trader's Trail over prairies and hills, reaching the town of Ruscao with intentions to quell the slaves.

What they found, however, was peace and harmony. The slaves tended the crops in the fields, and the nobles and common folk prospered in their stone homes and huts. The only complaint of any ruckus was from a few nobles, who claimed that they witnessed smoke from the Daeli Isles further south. Elias had highly doubted their assertions, but the nobles had insisted they were right.

"The clouds from the south are gray," one aged noble had said. "What else to assume except firewood. There are rascals on the Daeli Isles, I tell you. Old Bernard saw it with his own eyes on his trip to the Rura's mouth."

If Elias had any say in what to do, he would've left Ruscao without checking the Daeli Isles, but his father was in charge. And unlike him, his father fell weak to his sense of duty, so they traveled to the Rura's mouth, following the riverside south to the Rekaiah Sea, where Elias was shocked to learn that the nobles were not lying.

A thin veil of gray mist covered the beach, carding between the trees and the rotten deck sodden with mold. One wooden boat hung onto the deck. It was big enough to hold about three men, so one guard stayed behind to watch the horses. Elias went with his father and another guard to the boat.

The sand swallowed Elias's feet as he walked to the deck, the mist fogging his glasses. He went grumbling the entire way, muttering under his breath how this was a waste of time, but his father did not comment—even as they rowed to the Daeli Isles with two paddles barely long enough to reach the waters.

During the entire trip, Elias was bent over the boat, smelling the salty sea until they reached the bank of the closest island. Then, they searched for the Lost City, the deserted town once inhabited by Daelics. When they did, it was—as expected—abandoned.

The huts were ruined and burned, windows were cracked and dirty with grime, and the earth was scorched, layered with soot and gravel. Elias kicked a sizable chunk of charred bark that skipped across the land before digging itself into a heap of ash that was barely visible behind the mist.

"There is no one here, Captain Novire," Elias said. "Let's head back to Ruscao before we get lost."

His father dismissed his statement, brushing off the soot from a fragment of a sword's blade with his foot before picking it up, weighing it in his hand. "Patience is key, son, as is timing." Chucking the metal, he sighed. "So you are correct. Let us leave."

After another session of rowing and inhaling mouthfuls of salt and sea, the men arrived back at the deck. On Elias's way across, the wood snapped, and his foot slipped between the boards. Water drenched his boot, and he tripped as he tried to escape, chipping the edge of his glasses.

"Shit!" he cursed, struggling to free himself when a hand appeared in front of his face. His father waited before him, but Elias did not take his hand. He pulled his leg free himself, much to his father's chagrin, and brushed himself off as if nothing had happened.

The rest of the journey was uneventful. They dragged themselves to the horses, bringing nothing to prove their efforts fruitful, so pitiful silence surrounded them. As they made their way through the mist, Elias felt that it somehow seemed thicker. He couldn't see as much as he could before, and their horses were nowhere to be found.

He was about to groan his frustration, argue this was the result of wasting time, when he spotted four silhouettes out in the distance. One towered over the rest with crossed arms and legs, leaning back, while the other two were sitting.

The last silhouette, though, was odd. The person was limp and hunched over with their arms raised, their hands missing. If that observation itself did not deter Elias, then perhaps the next one did. The person was missing a leg. And a head.

"Who goes there?" the guard beside Elias shouted, grappling the hilt of his sword.

Elias failed to notice how the silhouettes got closer even though he halted. As their facial features and grim hair colors surfaced from the mist, he tensed. When one silhouette dashed forward, Elias did not hesitate to draw his sword and strike.

The silhouette parried his attack, and metal cried, the sound splicing with the shouts in the air as the enemy dragged their blade against the obsidian edge of Elias's to cut his hand. But before he was injured, Elias let go of his sword and jumped back, his father following suit. As the guard tried to escape, the shortest silhouette zipped in front of him and plunged their hand straight through his chest.

The guard's limbs dropped like rags, and he fell dead. In a split second, the tides of the battle turned to two versus three.

The last silhouette now made their way towards the fray, cutting through the mist with a slim arm. He was a young man—maybe a little older than Elias—with a sharp nose and a cheeky grin. Silver hair flowed over his forehead and curled slightly at the edges, blocking the piercing gaze of his scarlet eyes. His tattered coat draped over his shoulders, the uneven bottom reaching his knees on the left and dragging across the sand on the right. Everything about the way he displayed himself screamed danger and sent shivers down Elias's spine.

"Look who we have here," the young man said, grinning as chaos brimmed in his eyes. "Well, if it isn't the Captain of the Guard and his son: Erian and Elias Novire."

A lengthy silence proceeded. The mist shrouded the two other enemies, but Elias could discern the weapons in one of their hands. Across the sand behind them was Elias's sword. Glancing at his father, who had yet to draw his blade, he gulped.

"Oh, how rude of me! I didn't introduce myself!" The young man bowed with elegance like a performer on a stage before straining his lips into a smirk. "I am Raos. Raos Loirvin. It is an honor to be at your service."

* * *

If Raos was honest, he didn't anticipate his reposition to Ruscao. An acquaintance of his—Gerrarias, who he wouldn't have recognized if he had not heard his condescending tone—had told him the news after one of his tavern excursions. And even drunk, Raos had realized that another of the Zarynth visiting him meant trouble.

They had made their way to an inn, walking in silence amidst the dying crowds of Clarica. When they attained solitude in a stuffy room with a creaky bed and a broken chair, Gerrarias began.

"You are to move to Ruscao at daybreak." Scorn laced his words, the message of Raos's new mission short—perfunctory.

Raos only laughed. "I am sure Tiberius gave you more details than that, but what of my mission here? The prince is still alive."

Raos had relied on the chance that the redhead would deal with the prince herself. She looked capable, and Raos was no stranger to outside forces meddling in his affairs. So he had decided to wait and see how the story unfolded. However, Gerrarias—and Tiberius—had other plans.

After smoothing the dusty sheets, Raos sat and crossed his legs, the bed's hinges creaking as he leaned back. Then he took a good look at Gerrarias, at the shadows under his eyes, at the patches of skin graying on his neck and exposed arms. The body was dying. He would need a new vessel soon.

The corner of Gerrarias's mouth twisted down into a scowl. "Since you are incapable of doing a simple task, I am taking over your duties. Meanwhile, you will head to Ruscao and personally aid Rashi and Hestiara with their mission. You will find them at the rift in the Daeli Isles."

Clicking his tongue, Raos nodded. He got up and patted Gerrarias's shoulder. "Then may good fortune rain on your path. I shall walk on my own."

With that, Raos had left, and Gerrarias didn't stop him. It had taken him a week in a series of secretly hitching rides on wagons under the guise of his zari form to reach Ruscao. Another to reach the Daeli Isles by foot and more sneaking on wagons heading towards the Rura's mouth.

When he had finally made it across the Rekaiah Sea with nothing but two paddles that were too short and a wooden boat that was too old, he found the two Zarynth he had been searching for: Rashi Hyegamato and Hestiara Amoray.

They were kids in Raos's eyes. Hyegamato was shorter than him by a mere inch and towered over Amoray. His amber eyes were soft and worn, full of too much tragedy for a youth his age, and dirt stained his tousled white hair. A gentle expression on his face flickered into a beast's in an instant at the sight of Raos. He raised his sheathed sword and covered Amoray, shouting to anyone who knew that he was a member of the Hyega Clan with the pink hyacinths decorating his scabbard.

In contrast, Amoray was quite the opposite. Her loosely-tied blond hair covered her calm face, thick strands that escaped their confines waving in the wind. At Raos's arrival, she smirked, not even raising a weapon. In fact, she didn't even have one on her person.

"It's fine, Rashi," she said, patting Hyegamato's hand. "It's Raos of the House of Loir. He's with us."

It was in his personality to smile, but Raos couldn't find it in himself to pull one. So he had offered a slight shrug. "Fellow Zarynth should recognize each other. This should've been a touching reunion, but what a shame."

Amoray stood, crossing the distance towards Raos. "We are waiting for some Luxian guards. I heard a rumor that the Captain of the Guard and his son are among them, and after hearing that, I couldn't help but get a little excited. What do you think, Raos?"

Did Tiberius reach them that fast? Raos didn't know, but he also didn't complain. His mission was to aid them, so that was what he did, mindlessly waiting for the guards to show up, living in abandoned huts and eating the fish Hyegamato managed to catch. The days had continued monotonously until Amoray announced that they had to row back across the Rekaiah Sea.

Their targets had arrived.

A powdery mist covered the shore when they reached land. Its color was a charcoal gray, and it blocked the sunlight from breaching its perimeter. Even so, it was not hard to find the first sign of the guards' presence: a Luxian and four horses waiting next to the trees.

Amoray dealt with the Luxian in her fashion as the horses whinnied, Hyegamato doing her bidding by her side. Raos only watched as a pit of unusual disgust boiled within him. After that, it wasn't long before the other three Luxians returned, their dark outlines slowly clearing as they neared.

According to Amoray, they were supposed to kill everyone save for the Captain of the Guard. Hyegamato made quick work of that. Drawing his sword, he sprinted towards the nearest Luxian, who attacked first. At the end of the exchange, Hyegamato had pushed the Luxian to retreat along with another. The last one was not so fortunate.

When Amoray said they planned to kill everyone, she wasn't lying. She rushed forward and plunged her bare hands through the guard's chest, stealing the life from him.

How crude, Raos thought. He himself preferred to have a decent amount of fun before slaying his enemies—dance around death before dealing the last blow, think before making the final judgment. Amoray was not like-minded.

But his mission was to help Amoray and Hyegamato, and that he did, sauntering up to the last two Luxians and forcing a grin on his lips. All he had to do was play his part.

"Look who we have here? Well, if it isn't the Captain of the Guard and his son: Erian and Elias Novire." At the Luxians' grave expressions, Raos bowed and added, "Oh, how rude of me! I didn't introduce myself! I am Raos. Raos Loirvin. It is an honor to be at your service."

At Raos's introduction, the younger Novire visibly flinched, his ebony eyes darting from Raos to his abandoned sword in the distance. It wasn't long before Amoray noticed, as well, chuckling as she kicked the weapon farther away. Raos frowned but did not comment. Amoray did not practice fairness. How. . . unfortunate.

To Raos, announcing the purpose of his actions was a common courtesy, practiced and taught to the youth of the House of Loir, but Amoray cut right past that and charged. She veered into the assault, drawing her left hand back, while Hyegamato drew his sword and met the younger Novire in close combat. Unwilling to commit himself, Raos only observed.

Amoray and Hyegamato were still inexperienced, and the truth was apparent in how they fought. Amoray relied too heavily on her speed and brute strength, ignoring every slip and weave from Captain Novire. Hyegamato, on the other hand, struggled to hit his opponent with his sword instead of his scabbard. The trained Luxians outmatched their tactics, but there was more to note.

Captain Novire was distracted and had yet to draw his weapon, whereas his son tried too hard to reach his sword. Pitiful since Raos was blocking the way. When the young Novire jerked as if he was going to dive to retrieve his long-lost sword, Raos stepped in front with his hands behind his back, clicking his tongue. "Now, now. That is unfair of you, is it not?"

Checking Captain Novire's reaction, Raos smirked. Family had proved to be the Captain's fatal flaw, but Raos was not the only one who had unearthed a weakness. Captain Novire, blocking a punch from Amoray, twisted her wrist and kicked her to the ground, finally drawing his sword and resting the sharp edge against her neck.

The corner of Raos's mouth twitched, and before he could grab Hyegamato by the collar, the boy's visceral fury took over.

"Hestiara!" he screamed, shoving his opponent to the sand and dashing towards Amoray, mindlessly leaving openings everywhere. It took two hits—a sharp jab to the neck and a strike to the head—to knock Hyegamato immobile. When Amoray failed to escape Captain Novire's hold, Raos begrudgingly beelined towards the abandoned sword and swiped it off the ground. Then, he made his way to younger Novire as Amoray bought some time with her colorful language.

The wind was knocked out of the young Novire, so he was in the middle of getting to his feet and straightening his glasses when Raos kindly interrupted, setting the sword to his neck. Immediately, the boy stilled.

The mist was ever so present as Raos whistled, high-pitched and clear to turn Captain Novire's attention away from Hyegamato and Amoray. "Captain, may you please put down your weapon and surrender? This boy looks quite distressed if I say so myself."

A pause. There was an exchange of furtive glances, shakes of a head, before Captain Novire emotionlessly threw his sword into the distance, raised his hands over his head, and kneeled. It was too easy, but Raos wasn't protesting. The boy under him, however, had a different reaction.

"Why!?" he yelled, his hoarse voice grating in Raos's ears. "Why would you kneel because of me!?"

For Raos, that was enough family conflict. He was about to smack the back of the young Novire's head with the butt end of his sword, but he stopped at the sight of the boy's exposed neck. There was a mark engraved on the smooth skin, and Raos would be a fool if he didn't recognize it as what it was.

Gerrarias had made a claim.

Collecting himself, he hesitated this time but knocked the boy unconscious. Amoray stumbled to her feet, rubbing her wrists. For the first time since Raos met her, she looked distraught and was silent as she carried Captain Novire's sword to the ocean and threw it as far as she could.

"Just in case," she mumbled, lifting Hyegamato and dragging him to Raos's side before returning to the Captain and restraining him. "Well, finish the job, Raos."

There was a problem with that, though. Tilting the Novire boy's head with the end of his boot, Raos studied the bite mark and gauged Captain Novire's impassive face. They did not know what Gerrarias had done.

When Amoray finished tying Captain Novire, she hauled Hyegamato to the four horses, leaving Raos alone with the Captain on his knees five paces away from him.

"He is a lot like you," Raos said, nudging his head towards the young Novire as his heartbeat pulsed in his ears. "I could tell from his hair and eyes, but how unfortunate that he expresses himself too much."

Captain Novire remained silent, so Raos continued, prying how much he knew. "I wonder. Why did you surrender when you knew we would kill him either way? Aren't you both elementals? You could've escaped; my allies were no match for your agility and strength."

To Raos's surprise, Captain Novire raised his head. "In a battle against demons, no decision is wise except those made to protect those dearest to you. If you were me, wouldn't you have done the same?"

There was no ferocity in his eyes, but Raos instinctively drew back as the blood drained from his face. If the Captain could tell they were demons, did he know about Gerrarias—about Tiberius? Before Raos could investigate further, Amoray came back and frowned.

"What are you doing? Kill the boy." She wasn't upset, but underneath her unamused tone was a threat.

"We take him with us," Raos replied, lowering the sword. Before Amoray could dissent, he added, "Gerrarias has plans for him."

Amoray growled. "Do whatever you want then. If he dies along the way, that's not my problem."

Leading the Captain to the horses, Amoray left once more, and Raos stared at the Novire boy, his neck. Tiberius, for as long as Raos knew him, always had other plans to pursue, but Gerrarias was making an independent stand for the first time. It bothered Raos to know someone as dangerous as Gerrarias intended to use someone so young as a vessel, and this time, he even staked his claim beforehand.

Sighing, Raos sheathed the sword in its scabbard hanging on the Novire boy's waist and pulled him to his feet. As Raos walked to the horses with the boy in tow, he couldn't help but think about the bite mark, about what Gerrarias had in mind. And as he mounted his horse and set off to Ruscao, the thoughts of a dark future did not leave him.