The two swordsmen knew it was a losing battle since they had begun to run, soldiers quickly closing in on them from all sides as they dodged and fought. But something in them told them to fight until their last breath. Something had changed. Power continued to spark in the air as the rain continued to pour. Iver managed to evaluate Argent's condition as they ran, and luckily the boy had no internal bleeding, but he did have to take into account broken and bruised ribs, a sprained ankle, and a jarred shoulder. Another line of soldiers had blocked their paths, and Noctifer valiantly fought, ignoring any cut he received while Iver could only dodge and kick anyone away with the boy still in his arms. Iver shouted in surprise when Argent suddenly shoved against him, freeing himself from the elf's hold and stumbling to the ground with a cry of pain. Yet there was pure determination in his eyes and he held out his hand, and lightning struck in the center of the line. Black scales had begun to crawl up the boy's arms and neck. Both Noctifer and Iver stumbled back in shock, unharmed, as the rest screamed and convulsed. Argent is a dragonkind, Iver fully realized, and each have their own affinity.

The boy had finally discovered his affinity: Storms. And what a truly devastating affinity it was.

A dark mist then engulfed the boy, too dark to see through, until the boy had disappeared from sight. It grew larger and larger, everyone stumbling back in fear of what was going on, and it grew until it nearly filled the space between the buildings, acting as a barrier between the soldiers and the swordsmen behind. The mist then cleared, Noctifer and Iver having to duck as a black tail swung over them, and before them stood a dragon with blazing silver eyes. The dragon—Argent—let out an ear-splitting roar that shook the ground and rattled the buildings as thunder and lightning crashed around them. It only took one swipe of the black dragon's claws for the soldiers to go flying back.

"Argent?!" Iver wasn't even sure the boy could hear him over the chaos but continued to try to get his attention as the dragon slowly began making his way back in the direction they had just run from. "Argent! Where are you going?!"

"What is he doing?" Noctifer demanded, pulling the elf behind him to cut down a soldier who somehow snuck around the dragon.

"I think—" Iver's mind was still reeling from everything that had happened. "I think he is trying to get back to Darin!"

Noctifer spat a few curses before joining the elf in his efforts to somehow stop the dragon. But how were they to do that? It was obvious Argent was protecting them, pushing the soldiers back with his claws or bolts, but Noctifer knew what the Order of Ordephus was capable of. They had tools and magic specifically designed to deal with a shifted dragonkind, and it appeared they had already begun to employ them. Argent stumbled back as an energy blast hit him in the chest, and he snapped his jaws in the direction of the magic, only to receive another to the face.

"We need to get him out of here," Noctifer hissed to Iver. "The Order is here, and they could be carrying—"

"Argent!"

Both swordsmen's attention immediately snapped to the voice. They knew that voice, and although the signature was faint, Iver recognized the magic as well. It can't be—

The voice called out again, closer and beginning to sound hoarse. Someone was running towards them from behind. "Argent!"

This time the dragon heard and silver eyes focused on the stranger approaching. Argent took a step back, almost eagerly, when the sound of crashing glass echoed around the street, and sickly yellow gas enveloped the area despite the torrents of rain pouring down. The swordsmen sputtered and coughed as the strong-smelling scent, but Noctifer surged forward to where the mist had once again surrounded the dragon. It was exactly as he had feared: The Order had a vial of Draekor's Poison; a poison specially made to kill a dragonkind. And there was no doubt Argent had inhaled it as the mist cleared away, leaving behind the pale-faced boy. He clutched at his throat, his eyes wide in terror, and slowly began sinking to the ground. The soldiers were upon them at once, and Noctifer was soon too preoccupied to reach the boy. Luckily, or unluckily, the stranger had reached the boy in time to catch him before he hit the ground.

"Back!" the stranger snarled, low and guttural, and a wide arc of light cut through the air, walls, and lines of soldiers. All became deathly silent afterward, and Iver could only look on in horror as the rain washed the blood down the streets. Ignoring the carnage they had just caused, the stranger lifted the boy into their arms and swiftly strode towards them. Noctifer held out his sword in front of the elf, distrusting of the person who just slew an entire force with one command yet unwilling to risk harming the boy in their arms. The stranger stopped a hair before the blade before thrusting the boy towards Iver, giving him a single command in a raspy voice: "Keep his fever down and regulate his breathing."

Iver hastily obeyed, taking the unconscious boy into his arms as his hands gave a faint glow, but he couldn't keep in his shocked exclamation. "Darin?"

Noctifer quickly withdrew at that. As impossible as it sounded, the person standing before him was indeed the wizard himself as he gave a single nod in confirmation. Blood still oozed at a dangerous rate from the cut at Darin's neck, but the rain was quick enough to wash it away. The wizard's shirt, on the other hand, seemed to be permanently stained the dark red. Noctifer managed to pull his attention away from Darin's state, however, as he took off his cloak to wrap around the boy's exposed form. They could only watch as Darin nodded once again, jogging away a few steps to retrieve a fallen sword, focusing on the tip until it glowed with white-hot heat. The rain hissed and sputtered against it. Iver would've asked what he was doing, but judging by the hoarseness of his voice earlier, he could only deduce that the cut had damaged his vocal cords, if not had severed it. He shouldn't have been speaking—or even living—at all, but at this point, neither Iver nor Noctifer were prepared to question it in fear of what the reply would be.

Apparently satisfied with the temperature, Darin stabbed the sword into the ground. Sparks flew as he began to draw a pattern deeply into the ground, burning and grinding away at the stone as the sword chipped and broke away. All that remained was half the blade by the time the wizard was done, and he stepped away momentarily to inspect his work. Noctifer recognized the Symbol of Ordephus when he saw it, and he was about to ask why that symbol of all things when the wizard suddenly plunged the broken sword into the center of it. A blinding flash engulfed them, and for a moment it felt as if he was floating on air. The sensation only lasted a few seconds as his vision cleared, and he soon realized they were no longer in the blood-filled streets of Weststar.

Contrary to the dark and stormy skies from a few seconds ago, the sun shone brightly as it stood directly overhead. Somehow between the transportation, they had all dried as well as not a drop of water clung to them. They stood in a small clearing, surrounded by trees that still retained some of their colorful leaves, but most had fallen in preparation for snowfall. So we are in the same world, at least, Noctifer thought to himself as his eyes then fixated on the most obvious structure before them. Although a bit of a distance away from it, directly in front of them stood a tall tower made of dark stones and dark wood. Darin was already heading towards it on a slightly overgrown path, and they soon followed behind. What else were they supposed to do?

They entered into the tower behind the wizard and into what was surely the foyer, and Darin waved the door shut. The foyer was circular in shape with a few doors that lead out of it, and an unlit fireplace stood at the other end, most likely only used when it got terribly cold. Carved pillars stood around, all for decoration, as each held their own unique sort of carving. They didn't have time to look them over closely, not with a dying boy still in Iver's arms, but Noctifer made a mental note to inspect them later. Yet the strangest item of all was a single stand at the center that held a stone bowl. It was embedded into the marble floor below them, and inside the bowl held little glowing beads. It reminded him of the mana beads Darin had given them before the harbinger (an event that now felt years behind them), except that these were larger in size and tinted a greener color.

Darin took four into his hand before smashing them to the ground, and they were all transported to a different room—floor? At this point, the swordsmen had lost track of what was happening. This floor was mostly an open space—it looked to be a work area judging by the various instruments and shelves that were filled with potions and plants—and had lost much of the grandeur of the foyer. It was definitely a living space as the floor was replaced with a more practical smooth stone and the extravagant detailing nonexistent. Darin led them to the side where a simple door stood and quickly swung it open, ushering them in. It was a moderately sized bedroom with the bed in the corner near a window along with a few shelves and a desk that was crowded with books and loose sketches.

"Put him there," Darin said, pointing to the bed before walking out the room and into the workshop.

Noctifer gave Iver a questioning look, and Iver only shrugged in response before heading to the bed. He tossed the covers back for the elf as he laid the boy down, sitting next to him before laying a hand on the boy's forehead and one on his chest. The fever was still high and the boy's skin burned to the touch, but Iver was relieved to know that he was breathing fine. Perhaps the boy had inhaled less than he thought.

No longer needed, Noctifer headed back into the workshop to see what the wizard was up to. Darin stood near the wall with a wet towel to his neck beside a basin of water, and he wrung a bloodied cloth over the bowl after pulling it away. The basin hummed as the water cleared on its own. His shirt had already been cleaned of blood, probably having used the one spell from before. Curious, Noctifer walked closer, leaning against a counter with his arms crossed as he continued to watch the wizard. If the wizard was annoyed by the characteristically nosy action, he didn't state it. Instead, he popped the cork off a nearby potion, pouring its viscous contents into his hand and slathering it onto the cut, wrapping a bandage around it soon after. After rinsing his hands in the basin—it once again hummed and cleared—he corked the potion.

"Catch," he said, tossing the bottle to the warrior. Noctifer reached to catch it, his hand wrapping around it momentarily, but a sudden memory swept through his mind, and he reflexively let go. He caught it once again moments before it hit the ground, and Darin raised an eyebrow at his actions.

"In my defense," he said a bit lamely, "the last time you threw me a potion, it stung me."

Darin chortled at that, hiding his smile behind his hand momentarily as he, too, remembered the incident at the apothecary. He then pushed another towel towards Noctifer, tapping his fingers against the bowl. His voice seemed to have finally healed. "Clean your own wounds since our dear healer is currently busy."

With a nod, Noctifer stepped forward and grasped the towel, washing the cuts he received in Weststar and applying the potion to them, wrapping the deeper wounds. Meanwhile, Darin moved around the workshop naturally, flitting from shelf to shelf and gathering various amounts of supplies. So this must be where he lives, or at least a place he's familiar with, Noctifer thought, setting his soiled towel next to Darin's as he followed the wizard back into the bedroom. There, Darin pushed aside some of the papers on the desk and laid out the potions.

"We shouldn't be gone for long," We? "but here are some nourishment and energy potions in case it takes days," Darin explained to Iver, setting a jar that had frost lacing the outside of it on the side table and next to his spellbook. "Unfortunately, I don't have any mana potions up here—figures—but there's this that should help with the fever, and I'm sure I have ingredients out there—" he jabbed his thumb in the direction of the workshop, "—that you could probably use to make other things that would help. But the point is, do whatever you have to do to keep the boy alive until I come back with the antidote."

"I will," Iver replied dutifully, and Darin gave him a grateful smile.

"Thank you." He motioned for Noctifer to follow him as he made his way to another bowl of beads, grabbing two and smashing them to the ground.

They now stood in a room at the top of the tower. Bookshelves lined the walls, and a table sat at the center of it all. Spread upon it was a map of Amaredeia. Once again, Darin bustled around the room smoothly.

Unable to keep his questions contained any longer, Noctifer asked, "What happened back there? What is this place?"

Darin chose to ignore the first question as he scanned the map before pulling a gold-leafed book from the shelf nearest to him, replying idly, "My home."

"You know that's not what I meant," Noctifer snapped, peeved that the wizard was once again withholding information. For what had happened thus far, he felt as if he deserved a proper explanation. "Answer me."

The wizard gave a "tch" before snapping the book closed, returning to the map to measure coordinates with a compass. "Take a look outside, then."

"Darin."

Another huff and he went to write something on a stack of paper that teetered off the edge of the table precariously. "I'm not explaining it—"

That was the last straw. "Look at me when I'm speaking to you."

A slam resonated around the room, and Noctifer jolted back at that. The wood beneath Darin's hand had splintered, and the wizard snapped his eyes to his, furious. It was then that Noctifer noticed how the wizard's hair was a few shades paler than usual, and his eyes swirled with a darker color. So he is under a glamour, Noctifer noted. And he's losing control over it.

Slowly lifting his hand from the table, clenching it into a fist as to not let blood drip everywhere, Darin gritted out, "I said. Not. Now."

And for once, Noctifer remained silent.

Satisfied with his silence, Darin went back to writing. It was a few minutes before he finished, lifting the paper off the stack and incinerating it in his palm only to sprinkle its ashes on the ground. He then grabbed a round sphere from a basket that was filled with an opalescent liquid and smashed it to the floor as well. It hissed and smoked as the concoction mixed with the ashes, and the smoke quickly gathered into one area thick enough that Noctifer couldn't see through it. Oddly enough, it didn't spread.

"Walk straight," Darin instructed. "Don't attempt to turn until you can see in front of you." With that, the wizard disappeared into the smoke.

Noctifer hesitated at first, only staring where the wizard had disappeared, but with a deep breath, he followed him into the smoke. It felt as if he had walked about a hundred steps before the smoke cleared, revealing a place he could only describe as an open realm. There was no sky and no ground. Only a translucent path and an open gate before them that was made of the finest moonstone and covered in gold and jewels. Darin stood just in front of the gate—he now noticed the cloudy barrier that separated the two sides—and he looked back at him as the warrior approached. The wizard had calmed by then. He was never a man to hold onto his anger for very long, anyway.

"I recommend you let me do the talking," Darin explained once Noctifer stood by his side. "Don't even say a word if they ask you something. We're about to enter the Seelie Court, you see, and they'll use any of your words against you if given the chance."

He wouldn't get the chance to reply as Darin stepped through the barrier, and everything fell into place.

Noctifer could only watch in awe as the wizard's illusion fell away. Brown hair slowly melded into white, from the roots to the tips, and it was as if something had been lifted away to reveal the wizard's true power. He was never one to believe a bard's tale, but there was some truth to the story. It really did feel as if the ground shook every step he took.

The wizard then stopped, and Noctifer held his breath. There was a tense silence in the air, but it felt as if the void chanted a single name in the air; a name either feared or beloved by all. That was when he saw the wizard—the legend—clench his fists and turn to face him, confirming his true identity.

Noctifer stared into blood-red eyes. Ones that were once a gentle umber brown and full of understanding. That hadn't changed, but now he understood what it meant. Guilt. Shame. Sorrow. Eyes that have lived through centuries and lifetimes. He desperately wanted to say the name that sat heavily on his tongue, but he found he couldn't. How could this be? The legend with too many alternate stories to be plausible; the almighty power he was presented with. This man ... he couldn't possibly be real. The legend then nodded, and Noctifer suddenly remembered his own words from before:

I trust you. All I ask of you right now is that you trust me as well.

This was the legend's reply, and he waited for the warrior's response. Did he still trust him the same? He did, Noctifer realized. Even after all this time, after all the secrets and lies, he knew the legend was still the same as when he held the mask of Darin Alaris, a Paraglian wizard with a spellbook. So he pushed his conflicting thoughts aside and nodded back, striding forward to join the legend as they continued up the path.

It twisted and swayed, only materializing when it looked as if it ended mere feet away from him, but the legend continued forward confidently as if he knew it wouldn't dare drop him into the abyss below. They soon came upon a second archway, one that he couldn't see through. The legend gave him a small, reassuring smile before stepping through and disappearing from sight, and Noctifer followed without question.

His eyes squinted at the sudden brightness of the room, white marble surrounding them with lush greenery overtaking the pillars. They stood in a court, he realized, with thrones that each held their own ethereal being. All were beautiful and pristine. He would have thought of them as pure if it weren't for the sharp grins and greedy eyes that latched onto them as all focused on the wizard. The man in the center then spoke. Tall and handsome with golden strands of hair cascading down his bare, sculpted chest of unblemished skin. A crown of precious metals and jewels sat upon his head.

"It has been a long time since we've last met, Ordephus."

Word count: 3444