Elias awoke in the dark with a mouth full of sand and a dry throat that burned when he swallowed. Breathing shoved more sand down his windpipe, so he coughed his lungs out of their deadlock and slowly pushed himself onto his palms.

His surroundings were blurry, and when he reached for his glasses by habit, he found that they weren't on his face. So with a curse, he began sliding his hand over the sand that scraped against his tender skin, wincing and squinting his eyes to no avail. Once his hands bumped into an object that raked through the sand, he grappled for it, wrapping his fingers around the thin, metal frames and blowing the dust off before placing it on his nose.

Through his cracked lenses, he saw that he was in a cell. Iron bars trapped him on his front and left, and on his right and back were mossy stones that displayed the wear and tear of great age. In the cell to his left, his father sat with his head low, his knees loosely pressed against his chest. His black uniform was ripped and stained with his dark blood contrasting with his deathly pale skin. If Elias didn't notice the movement in his father's chest, he would've assumed the worst.

"So you are finally awake?" The hoarse voice startled Elias. His father's head was raised, fatigue lacing his dark eyes.

Elias gave a stiff nod. "Do you remember what happened?"

"They returned to Ruscao and seized control of the city before trapping us in the village prison."

Elias surveyed the bars, the mold, the green water dripping from the ceiling into a puddle on the other side of the prison. His father seemed tense, as if he wanted to say more, but they didn't have the time for their awkward pleasantries. "We have to get out of here."

But that was quite an ambitious goal for two beaten men caged like animals. There was no place to escape. The only light entering the prison was through a small opening about ten feet above his father's head. Getting up to that level was impossible without help, and the opening's size said it would be a challenge to squeeze through. The other cells were empty, and a wall blocked Elias's sight from the slick stairs that ascended to the surface. His arms barely fit through the cell bars, and Faestuna wasn't generous enough to leave the keys lying around. That was beyond the point, however. There was always a way.

But to Elias's dismay, his father shook his head. "They already decided what they would do."

The blood drained from Elias's face, and he dug his nails into the fabric of his pants. "Then that is all the more reason to try and escape."

Abruptly standing, he discovered he had no strength in his legs. He could barely support his weight. Tingles buzzed in his muscles as he caught his fall, took shaky steps towards the locked cell door, and shook it with vigor.

When the door didn't bust, he cursed under his breath. "Damn it."

In the other cell, his father didn't move. "Sit down, son."

Ignoring his father, Elias shook harder in vain. "Damn it!"

"Sit down!"

Stopping, Elias huffed out a weak laugh. "So this is how you are going to end your life? Rotting your last days away in a putrid cell?"

His father's eyes were downcast. "Elias, sit down."

Hearing his name, Elias stilled. It had been so long since his father had called him by his given name that it sounded foreign. He couldn't believe his ears.

"Elias, please sit down."

His father was acting so strange that Elias was tempted to ask who the hell he was talking to, if the person he was looking at was really his father. Reluctantly, he sat in front of the bars that separated the two cells as his father moved to sit directly across. Father and son. Separated by iron.

His father raised his hand like he wanted to reach for Elias but thought better of it and rested it on his crossed legs. "Save your strength. They have no plans to kill you."

Elias couldn't understand what his father was implying. "Then that's their fault for underestimating me. I—"

His father raised a hand, and Elias hated how he immediately shut his mouth—years of child-rearing still engraved into his memory. Lowering his hand, his father said, "Follow their instructions no matter what happens, and they will spare you."

Elias thought he was joking. Resentment seared his throat and aching legs. "What? Is this what you sacrificed our mission for? To give up?"

"It is for the best. In a battle against demons, no decision is wise except those made to protect those dearest to you."

Elias's breath hitched. Gritting his teeth, he slammed a hand against the iron bars, and the sound of hollow metal rang throughout the prison. Those three people were demons? That man who pinned him in place with his sword was a demon? Elias's determination to maintain his bitterness towards his father wavered as he struggled to come to terms with the information he was just told. Without knowing how to cope, he let himself fall into the familiar pattern of conversation with his father.

Tears stung his eyes as he chuckled. "Since when did you decide to care about me? Do you think acting like this right now will make up for the rest of my life? Well, it doesn't, so stop with the nonsense. Let's think of a way to get out of here."

Whatever happened while Elias was unconscious must've changed his father because all he got was the same response.

"Elias, please."

Elias couldn't look at his father's eyes, but not because of despite. Because, for the first time, he saw unfiltered regret radiating from his father, who he thought was a remorseless soldier. Desperate, Elias ransacked his mind for a solution. Any solution. His gaze landed on the small opening. "We can escape through there."

Without even following Elias's line of sight, his father shook his head. "You know that is not possible."

"Then we can kill those bastard demons ourselves." He sounded more insane by the second, but he refused to let the future unfold without a fight. "We can return to the capital and gather forces to prepare for whatever the demons' presence heralds."

His father did not move.

Elias clenched his fists. "What are you waiting for?" Fury seized his mind when his father still didn't move or acknowledge the question. "What the hell are you waiting for, old man!?"

His father, as usual, was stoic. Except for anger and disappointment, he had never expressed his emotions. Not sadness, not grief, not even when Elias's mother and brothers died in the war. It was unfamiliar territory. Emotionally relying on his father wasn't in their dynamic. That was saved for him and his mother when she was alive.

When Elias had somewhat collected himself, his father whispered, "Listen to me, Elias."

Looking away, Elias wiped a stray tear running down his cheek. He wouldn't show any weakness in front of his father. He never had—never thought he had the right to.

His father continued. "Do not make the same mistakes I did. I see myself in you, and I don't want you to repeat the curse that was my mistake."

Elias regarded his father in a new light. Him admitting his mistake? His father and "mistake" didn't belong in the same sentence, especially one coming from his father's mouth. It sounded absurd.

That familiar deep-rooted darkness clouded his father's eyes. Disappointment. Fresh and alive. "I have wronged many people, son, and I see you are about to do the same. Tiberius is not your ally."

Elias would've denied the claim and turned his father away if they were at the castle. But they were in a cell in Ruscao, so he scoffed weakly and balled his fists instead, facing away. "Of course, you noticed," he muttered.

His father didn't breach the subject any further. Elias felt something tick in his head from how unusual his father was acting, how bullshit this entire situation was.

"You will be tested," his father said.

Fury blazed like an inferno boiling his blood. Elias whipped around. "I was always tested! In the academy for being your son, in the scholar gentry for coming from a family of brutes! And especially by you, who never batted an eye at me because I couldn't replace my brothers! And now, when you are about to die, you spite me!"

His father brushed off his statements, but the crack in his voice did not go unnoticed. "And your greed will be your downfall as it was mine."

Elias captured his father's eyes and saw truth—raw emotion—probably the most he had expressed in his entire lifetime. The urge to go to his father and cry almost overcame him, but he resisted. He wasn't falling for this sudden display of sympathy, so he crossed to the other side of the cell and stared at the wall, unsure how to combat the waves of hatred and sorrow.

"Elias." The despair behind his father's voice rang in his ears.

Elias.

He bit the insides of his cheeks. There was a burning itch on his neck. "Don't call me that."

Elias.

Clutching his head, Elias screamed, "Shut up!"

As the remnants of his outburst faded into echoes, the creak of a heavy door and footsteps descending the wet stairs silenced them both. The first to appear was that man—Raos. Behind him was the white-haired demon that had fought Elias. Raos was in a fine, pristine vest—a contrast to the rags he wore at the Rura's mouth—and his companion was wearing dapper clothing, as well.

Raos nudged his head to the Captain's cell, and Elias couldn't help but ask the obvious. "What are you doing?"

Raos was silent, an indiscernible gloom veiling his scarlet eyes. The other demon opened the Captain's cell and dragged him out.

With more force, Elias demanded, "What are you doing?"

His father went silently and refused to meet Elias's pleading gaze. Elias wanted to shout, beat time to a halt, but he could only watch in suppressed horror as his father was taken up the stairs. Raos stayed and looked down at Elias, who responded with a scowl. "Damn you."

Raos didn't seem to care about his remark.

Emboldened, Elias continued, embracing the fire in his soul. "You can kill my father, but you won't kill me? Damn you, you worthless coward. Why don't you take me instead?"

Raos remained silent, so Elias marched over to the end of his cell and grabbed the lapels of Raos's vest through the iron bars. "What the hell are you planning to do with me? Just kill me already!"

Grabbing Elias's trembling hands, Raos twisted them, making Elias lose his hold. Out of the blue, Raos asked, "Do you know what you are?"

Yanking his arm back, Elias rubbed his wrists. It was Raos's turn to grab his uniform and yank him forward.

"Do you know what you are?" he repeated.

Noting the darkness emanating from Raos, Elias shook his head. The corner of Raos's mouth twitched as he let go of the front of Elias's uniform and rubbed the creases on his vest smooth with shaky hands.

"Because of what you are, we can't kill you until further notice, but there are much worse punishments than death. Do not step out of line."

Even though he mustered a glower, Elias still shuddered at the venom tracing those words. He didn't push his luck anymore and let silent tears fall freely. Soon, the same demon boy from before returned and nodded at Raos, who took a sword his companion handed him and turned to Elias.

"Hands up."

Elias begrudgingly complied. With a rattle of keys, Raos opened the cell and signaled for Elias to follow. With Raos behind him and the white-haired demon ahead, they escorted Elias out of the dungeon. When they reached the surface, the sunlight blinded Elias and forced him to shut his eyes. All he saw was burning white, so he tried to block his face, but Raos tapped the flat end of the sword against his arms.

"Hands up, young Novire."

Groaning, Elias obeyed and allowed himself to be guided through what he imagined to be a large crowd. People were chattering, and the voices blurred in his ears. By the time his eyes adjusted to the light, he was kneeling in the place they told him to. The voices were louder, whispers of Captain of the Guard and son ringing around him as the outlines of the crowd gradually cleared. Once his surroundings gained a sense of clarity, he found himself on a wooden stage in front of a mass of people.

The crowd was warped through the cracks of his glasses, but Elias could still see Raos beside him, his father at the center of the stage. His father was kneeling, his head bowed, and next to him were the other two demons: the blond girl and the white-haired boy. The boy held a sword as if. . . as if ready for execution.

They're going to kill him, Elias.

Elias's entire body shook, and the irritation on his neck scorched his skin. The blond demon had a wicked smirk plastered on her face, and her eyes were alight, sparking with pure happiness. She spread her arms open towards the crowd, and the whispers died instantly.

"Welcome honored citizens of Ruscao! Since you people were so welcoming and hospitable, we have decided to reward you. As you can see, we have a special guest." She grabbed a chunk of the Captain's hair and pulled his head back. "The Captain of the Guard is here to save your life. He is your savior, martyr, and has offered his own life in exchange for the safety of this town. In short, he is a hero, one that we all can learn from."

The crowd was silent, unmoving. Elias wasn't breathing, couldn't grasp the meaning behind the demon's words.

The blond demon smirked. "And today, the Captain is here to demonstrate what happens to those who play the hero."

A chill dispersed through the crowd. Elias tried to stand, but Raos pushed him down. "Behave, young Novire."

Elias tried to push back to his feet, but Raos held him down.

The blond demon snapped at the white-haired one, and Elias trembled without knowing why. Tears were gathered in his eyes, threatening to fall when he blinked. The white-haired demon raised his sword while Captain Novire lowered his head. From his position, the Captain's gaze caught Elias's. Elias saw tears glimmering in his eyes. An apology.

As the raised sword came down, Elias involuntarily screamed. He wasn't even saying coherent words. Just screaming. Feral. Instinctual. After a loud thump, his father went limp, his head detaching from its bloody stump. Blood dripped from the tip of the sword onto the wooden boards of the stage and between the cracks.

The crowd was speechless, but Elias cried. All the emotions from his life broke down his walls, and the tears fell harder than the time he sobbed at his mother's funeral, at his brothers'. Both of Raos's hands held him down by the shoulders, the sword forgotten somewhere on the sides, but Elias didn't notice, was too grief-stricken to notice.

The blond demon picked up his father's head and smiled at it.

Bitch. Bitch. Elias flared. "Don't dare desecrate the dead, demon scum!"

The blond demon wasn't impressed. Her smile grew wider as she ignored Elias and raised the head to show the entire crowd. "Those who want to be a hero, listen carefully! This is your reward. You will die in shame by our hands! Those who choose this fate, step forward!"

No one in the crowd answered the call. Pleased, the blond demon threw the head aside—towards Elias. As it rolled to a halt in front of him, the lifeless eyes of his father stared into his. It was too much. Elias hurled onto the stage. In front of everyone. Shamed. Degraded. Defaced. The proud Brigadier General Novire reduced to a sobbing mess.

"I'll kill you! I'll kill you!" he wailed, thrashing under Raos, who pinned him to the stage.

Grimacing, the white-haired demon stepped on Elias's neck. "Do not speak to Hestiara in that manner."

Hestiara? Elias rolled the name around in his head, making sure to remember it.

With that damn smirk engraved on her face, Hestiara laughed. "Drag him away, Rashi."

Lifting Elias by the back of his tattered uniform, Rashi led him back to his cell. Even though he was getting farther away from his father's head, those eyes were carved into his mind. And by the time he was locked back in his cell and left alone, his mind was blank, the burning sensation in his neck traveling down to his arms. All he felt was malice, and all he saw was blond hair and a wicked smirk. He traced one word with his finger over and over again in the sand, fixating it in his mind, connecting it to the dead eyes of his father.

The word was Hestiara.

* * *

Raos had many disputes with Amoray throughout events before Captain Novire's execution. And the execution wasn't the only reason for his dissent.

The first act of great concern was the torture. As a member of the House of Loir, Raos had championed courtesy, so when Amoray had suggested that they force the Novires into submission, Raos had hesitated. The idea went against every lesson trained into him, but he was sent to aid Amoray and Hyegamato. If they believed torture was necessary, then he would offer his services.

But that wasn't the end of Amoray's bloodlust. Once she had beaten the young Novire to his limit, the Captain had finally yielded. His surrender brought a list of demands, all of which Amoray accepted under the condition that Captain Novire quietly came when they executed him. Supposedly, the Captain agreed.

And that marked the second act of great concern. Amoray didn't inform Raos of the execution until the last second, calling it a necessary evil to solidify their hold on Ruscao. Raos didn't argue with the torture, but he couldn't accept the execution of a person who had done them no wrong. However, Amoray only gave him an unwavering glare in response to his outrage. So Raos set out to fulfill Captain Novire's last demands with displeasure.

He had treated the young Novire's wounds with the tonics provided—though his legs were damaged beyond Raos's skill set—and watched as healers bled the toxins out of his body. By the time young Novire would awake, Raos wasn't sure if he would remember much, but nonetheless, he left the kid in his cell. Whether he awoke before the execution was a problem for the Captain. Raos, on the other hand, had his own issues.

Amoray wanted the young Novire to watch his father's execution to teach him a lesson. Raos, in his shock, didn't object because what he felt in Amoray, what he saw in her, was a monster. Even on the sidelines, he was disgusted by the execution and with himself for pinning the young Novire down. It didn't settle well with him. So when Hyegamato dragged the young Novire away, Raos blended into the dispersed crowd and walked around Ruscao to clear his jumbled thoughts.

Everyone recognized him, so they steered clear away, a stark contrast to their previous defiance and grating words when they had first arrived. The markets were empty, the streets quiet save for the new mumbles that silenced when he glanced in their direction. If he had the energy, he would don his mask, laugh, and smile, but he was too drained.

No one stood in his way. Everyone walking on his side of the street retreated to the other, and the merchants' shouts to purchase their ware died when he passed their stalls.

Every place Raos graced was met with silence, and with every step, he felt eyes bore into the back of his head. After being a nobody in Clarica for the longest time, the feeling of being known was foreign. His path ahead was clear, as if he was a plague waiting to bring death to those in his way, and this walk that was supposed to ease his mind only aggravated it.

The more people who evaded him, the clearer it became: Amoray had made a mistake. He stopped in his tracks and looked—actually looked—at the people. Their eyes were shaking, and when he faced a group, they huddled closer together.

They were looking at him like he was a beast.

They were looking at him exactly the same way he looked at the Reapers all those years ago in his hometown.

His ears rang, so he shook his head and closed his eyes until the ringing stopped. When he was at peace, he continued his trek, and just as he stepped foot out of the markets, a child bumped into him and fell, dropping a loaf of bread. It was a small girl with short, greasy hair coated with grime, and her ragged clothes were enough to assume her position. She was a slave, and behind her was an old man screaming.

"Little wench!" the man shouted. "You—"

At the sight of Raos, the man stilled. He staggered back and ran as fast as he could in the other direction, leaving the girl on the ground rubbing her wrists. Raos offered his hand, but when she flinched away, he stepped back. As she scrambled to her feet, Raos was tempted to help but held himself back. He had no right.

The kid was on her feet in no time and began sprinting as fast as her short legs could carry her, holding the loaf of bread close to her chest. Raos, in pity, watched her run and was too distracted to hear the steps approaching from behind. It was too late when he realized what was happening.

Amoray zipped past Raos, chased the child down, grabbing her by the scruff of her neck and carrying her over to Raos, who glared at Amoray. This was pushing the limit.

"Amoray, what are you doing?" he hissed.

Amoray's words were light, ignorant of Raos's snapping restraint. "She disrespected you, Raos. Are you just going to let her get away with that?"

There was bloodlust shining in Amoray's eyes, and Raos had to suppress the urge to slap it out of her. They were companions. That was rude if he acted on impulse, but Amoray was dragging a child by the neck. That was a greater act of disrespect.

Raos tried to maintain his calm composure, but when Amoray pulled out a small blade, he couldn't help himself. "Put the child down," he said, his voice near a growl.

Amoray glanced at him with eyes dancing with delight. Disgust coiled in Raos's gut. "Since when did you care about humans?"

"Amoray," Raos warned.

She didn't listen and traced the blade over the child's exposed arm. "Maybe if I steal a limb, she'll learn respect."

That was it. Raos twisted the dagger out of Amoray's hand, and she let the child go. The moment the kid was free, she raced into an alley, forgetting the bread in the dirt. Raos released his companion.

Clenching her wrist, Amoray shouted, "Raos!"

Brushing off the dust on his vest, Raos wrinkled his nose. "Do not mess with children."

Amoray scoffed. "First, it was the Novires, and now, it's a random rat on the street." Fixing her posture and pulling her blade from Roas's grasp, she eventually laughed the tension away and forced a smile. "It was all for fun. Nothing serious."

Raos didn't return the laugh. Wrath burned in his eyes, and he felt heat radiating, miasma spreading. Calm down, he reminded himself. This was an ally he was up against. A bubble of tension thickened between them, and Hyegamato, who had just crossed the street, approached carefully.

At the sight of Hyegamato, Amoray grinned, forgetting the short altercation. When she left, she stepped on the loaf of bread. 

Hearing the crunch, Raos glanced at the destroyed bread and recalled the frightened child. He bit his tongue. The people who were watching scattered like ants, pretending they were minding their own business, but Raos was too fuming to care.

It was now clear that he and Amoray did not match at all, and if he happened to make an enemy of her, he would need an ally.

Fortunately, he just happened to know the perfect person to offer.