The sky was plenty open by the time Xoris was awoken by the whining sounds of the Welk, still attached to the cart. He rubbed the sand out of his eyes, a much longer process than normal, and got up. Lykos was scratching the front of the cart, long claws carving holes in the wood. "I'm coming, I'm coming," he called out to them, easing his body over the edge until his feet were on the ground. He unclasped the reins, leading them over to the water's edge. He looked away while they lapped up the fresh water, back at the sickening remains of the town.

This had been a place of trading, a town by the sea where those who were poor, criminals, or desperate enough to risk the Stain could be paid to collect the water in barrels, sending it to the High Court of Majes to have the heka broken down and filtered. It was an unwanted job, but an important one to save in the downfall of Humanity. But he had been too late, and only killed the Beasts after the rampage had spread too far.

Something about how he had taken Pruul down in an instant still bristled under his skin, holding more guilt than Rajul's death did. That Vampiric girl, she said something of a Higher Beast's Will. That implied that the Beasts did have some sort of ruler, whether real, or mythological, and from there, he assumed some reasoning for their actions. Did that mean that he had killed innocents, in their opinion? He didn't know what their mindset was, or if he agreed with it. But he wasn't like them. He was sure of that, wasn't he?

A pang of thirst ran through his throat, and he turned his head back to the water next to him. He shouldn't be able to drink it. The Welk could, because they were already Beasts. There was a barrel of filtered water in the cart with his title on it. Xoris knew this, and yet...

He let go of the reins in his hands, kneeling beside the sea. Not wanting to stain his gloves, he removed them, dipping his hands in the thick crimson liquid. Lykos tipped his head as Xoris lifted up a small bit of water in his hands, watching as it slowly trickled through.

Almost seeming to sense his hesitation, the Welk brought his head down, nuzzling his fur against Xoris' face, encouraging him. Taking a deep breath, he tipped his hands to his mouth, dripping in the last few drops that hadn't run between his fingers. Even so, he could taste the freshness, more crisp than anything he'd drank before, clearing up some of the raking soreness of his throat with the pitiful amount alone.

When had water begun to have a flavour? What had been a blank taste all his life was now soothing and juice-like, encouraging him to drink more, but not like this. It was much too slow. He looked back down at the sea, at his left hand drawing in large gulps of air to ease its own parching. After a moment, he lowered it under the waves, feeling the water pulling up his arm. It was more efficient, but it felt wrong. Everything did.

Drinking his full, he pushed himself up, dusting clumps of sand off his knees. As he looked at the two Welk next to him, he realised that he had still yet to give the girl a name. She sat there, raising a hind leg to scratch at the ear under her horn. Was it even right to give her a name? He felt like despite a life of studying, he knew nothing anymore. If they had a ruler, then the Beasts, Stained or not, were a people in a sense. What made it his right to claim he owned one, or force a name upon it? They could only be acting friendly because Humans have tampered with their magik at birth. That was what removed the violent tendencies against Humans, but if that instinct was there because of a ruler...

A harsh cry of frustration pulled out of Xoris' throat as he reached up to tug on his thick clumps of hair. Why did every little action need so much thought now? Rajul would have told him he was thinking too hard on things, that the Welk was an it, and lucky if it even deserved a name at all. Several people would. Humans were supposed to be above them, take what they needed and slay the Beasts that got in their way. If domesticated, they could be loved, but no more than a pet. Sympathy like this... That was also wrong.

Keeping his eyes down, he strode over to the caravan, the reins still knotted to the front. They were there for his use. His control. But... I don't want it.

His sword felt heavy in his hands as he raised it to the strike down on the thick rope. It split, pulling away in mere drips as the Welk tested the new, endless length. The two glanced at each other, almost seeming to have a mutual understanding of what the action meant, despite not being Stained. The girl looked at Xoris, her black eyes holding a sense of respect to them for a moment. That was all he got before they turned away, bounding off to live out their new freedom.

And now I'm alone. Why did he think that would heal the emptiness that sat in his chest? If anything, he felt more confused as he sat in a caravan with nothing to pull it, yet nowhere to go. He couldn't go back to the king. He had... killed his best general, failed a mission, and neither him nor Kraim truly cared for him, despite their smiles and kind words. So he couldn't be a paladin, not without working for someone, at least.

The idea hurt. It's not as though I don't want to help. I just don't even know who or what to believe in anymore. His thoughts trailed for a moment, running back to his short stay in the Church of Palkhiv. He hadn't enjoyed it, but he hadn't enjoyed several of his actions recently, and yet was unable to tell what was right, or wrong.

Could they be right? Do I just need some higher will or power? He certainly didn't want whatever one the Vampire had mentioned, if it led to things like this, but Palkhiv... They worshipped the Vilve, which were Stained, and they had treated him well enough last visit. Filling Kasr's collection box with chips had been the best he'd felt in ages. And Luke did say to do what I want for once. It wasn't much, but he supposed it was something, and without being able to think of many other options, he started walking.

𓂀

It had begun to rain, in clear, salty drops the size of a fist, somewhere along the trip. Unfortunately, he travelled at about the same pace as the twitching, closing edge of the cloudless sky behind him, making him have to duck constantly to avoid another drip. Even so, he couldn't keep it up forever, a large one smacking into the back of his hair and soaking him in an instant.

A deep, frustrated sigh filled his lungs. This is why I never wanted to live near the edge of the world. It rains so much here. Once again, he found himself missing his private study near the edge of the Wasteland's border. The centre of Where the Light Shown hardly ever got rain, and if it did, it was right before the sky closed anyway, so he would always be inside by then. He never minded hearing it patter against his stone roof, but being caught out in it like this was only going to burn and dry out his skin if the salt stayed on it too long.

Really, the only thing the liquid was good for was cleaning things, and as he wiped another drop off his arm, he hoped it would keep his cloak somewhat fresh. He already didn't like the stiffness Rajul's blood had given it, even if it was hard to see against the matching colour.

He wanted to feel nauseous as the thought of the man crossed his mind once again. Just to feel his stomach clench at the thought of his actions, to reject his last meal if only to have his own body prove to him that he wasn't meant to do... something like that. But the sour feeling never came. Why?

The fact that he felt healthy hurt more than the thought of his actions. He didn't want to mourn the man's death. In fact, he was glad Rajul was gone, and if Xoris was headed down the path of Palkhiv, he knew his first prayer would be of the man being punished by the Vilve as they weighed his blood in Lakhira, the scale tipping low enough him to one of the bottom kingdoms. Would killing Luke make him worthy of being sent to Vamhys? He hoped so. The man deserved to live in maddening isolation as he floated down Stained Rivers for eternity.

No, he didn't feel guilt on Rajul's death. What he wanted was to be disgusted at how he had gone about it, but instead, he could only bring himself to the same, half-numb state he'd maintained for countless turns now. Reality felt like an illusion as his mind circled endlessly. He could dig the fangs on his palm into his skin, but barely feel it. He could stare into the plains around him, but it was blurry, and he couldn't bring himself to focus. His own body felt out of his reach, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't pull himself back in. The only thing he could do was keep walking and thinking, no matter how much he wanted it all to stop.

He had become used to the trickling of the running stream beside him at this point, an inward branch off of the main sea, leading back to the Wastelands, but he finally stopped as cracking noise added to his surroundings. A dense, conforming vibration was in the air, similar to what he had felt at his last visit to the castle and yet, it was much more potent here.

His heart began to speed up, and as a dark, shadowed figure slipped between two trees, he could hear the snapping noises of the air itself being split by sheer force alone. The hair on Xoris' neck raised instantly at its presence, his instincts filling in the details before his mind. He turned his head to face it, a creature at least fifteen strides high, with black antlers branching off its head like cracks into reality. A Vilve...

If he was heading to the Church of Palkhiv, he knew he was supposed to worship them, but as he gazed into the void that made up its liquid-like form, a hue of dark blues, pinks and purples shifting like fog in the speckled black, he couldn't help the sense of fear that ran through him. They were powerful.

Catching note of him, the Stained took a step forward, a shape like a Human leg stretching from its body. Xoris watched as the world itself pulled away, warping and stretching to make room for wherever it moved to. He backed away. While Vilves never seemed to bother to attack the Human race, the ability they held to control distance and time itself made them dangerous to get to close, and he had no desire to be one of "Palkhiv's Choosen."

He turned back to the river. There was no reason to bother, or attack it. Most likely, it simply wanted a drink too, and it was safer to leave it alone, and continue on his journey. No harm done. At least, that was his plan, when he heard the cry of an attack. Not from the Vilve, but a Human.

What? He could see from his arm, even from a good distance away, that a girl was running through the forest, screaming at it as she dashed forward with a set of wooden weapons, with a handle on their sides so the thick log-like shapes could stay flat to her forearms. Even as a sharp screech like rushing wind cut through the air, she continued to close the distance between them.

Is she an ashclaeve? Attacking a Vilve was considered a sin, and besides that, a death wish. As the Vilve reached out a long arm, cracks pulled out of it to split off from the main body, chaining forward to rip apart the space that contained her. Xoris watched her duck and dip under each strike with horror. Even as she finally stood next to the Beast, flipping her hold on the weapon so that a long end stood out to bash the Vilve, it simply separated a gap in its body, leaving her to swing through nothing but air. Sekhif! She's going to die!

Nothing was running through his mind as he started sprinting at full speed towards her. He just felt the need to save her. It's what a good person would do. The space between him and the girl started to close, enough that he could make out the several bandages on her bare hands and feet, and an emblem of a pink aelwarda flower on her grey vest. She looked like a well-trained monk to him, just not one who knew how to pick out her fights. As another streak of abyssal black snapped through the air towards her, he jumped, tackling her body to force her to the ground.

It was a terrifying feeling, the bolt shooting above his head. Bumps began to raise along his body as he felt himself begin to be warped towards the streak of shadow. It dissipated in a moment, as quick as it had started, and yet, he knew that wouldn't be the case if a single strike made contact.

"What are you doing here?" the girl yelled from underneath him, more than a little angry.

"Saving you from a Vilve, clearly!" he shouted back, not in frustration, but purely from having to wrench his focus away to watch the Beast. Without opening his other eyes, keeping track of its movements was much more difficult, but he didn't want to do that. Not in front of someone he hardly knew.

He drew himself up to a standing position, bringing the sword on point with the Stained. Despite not being able to fully drop his grasp on looking Human for the monk, he tried to stare it down with his own two eyes. That had worked well enough back on the battlefield.

But the Vilve had no eyes, only flecks of white to break up the endless shadow that drew in Xoris' gaze. He squinted, his eyes starting to feel sore, but it only emitted a howl that swept through the air. This time it held a different pitch, filtering up and down like its own language.

Don't.

Xoris stopped, taking a step back. He had heard it. A voice like a murmur of nonsense, but it still made sense. He could feel the meaning behind it in his own chest. What? he thought. Vilve can speak? No, that couldn't be right. He was losing his mind.

Yes, if other Stained are present to hear it. Now stop. This isn't a battle for either of us to fight. The sound echoed again and again in his mind, but he barely registered the intention behind them. They could speak. This changed everything. The questions he could ask... the things he could learn.

What is your battle then? He tried to mentally reply, keeping his mind open if only to maintain whatever connection had formed. Are you a servant of Palkhiv?

"Are you going to just stand there? Either help, or leave!" came another shout behind him. The girl was back on her feet, advancing towards the Vilve again. It backed up, choosing not to strike again. Though its head was round, with not a single facial feature to indicate where its gaze was held, the tips of the antlers turned until Xoris felt it was staring at him.

I do not know of any Palkhiv, nor am I obligated to any battle. I simply exist as the absence of what the Higher Beast has already created. As a Stained yourself, we are kin, not enemies, so I ask you to leave. I'll handle this. Its tone was calm, practically emotionless, like the release of a steady breath of air on the back of his neck, but the words themselves cut a line of fear into his stomach. He pushed any sense of presence in his mind out in an instant, a small ache of exhaustion running through him as if he had slammed a door closed in anger.

He wanted the thoughts to end just like that, but they came anyway, leaving him to stand still in shock as the girl dashed forward again to strike with her thick weapons. What did it mean, it didn't know of Palkhiv? Is there no god, then? They just follow the same ruler as any other Stained? Vilves weren't any more innocent than any other of the Stained then. The Church worshipped them, claiming that they were different from the rest, simply because they watched, and never attacked.

No, they aren't innocent at all. They're still on the wrong side. His sword was held up by his face, and he stepped forward. He had missed his last opportunity to do good for the Human race. He would not fail again.

Stained, do not. I would prefer to leave you out of this, but if you insist on hurting me I will protect myself. The Beast raised an arm, sharp claws forming out of it in a single threat, but Xoris didn't care. A single breath resolved any rising nerves in him as he advanced once more. He was not this monster's kin, and they were not on the same side.

With a cry, he charged out of the slow, defensive stance, lunging forward with the sword to slice the Beast's torso. It cut through the dense air as well as a person could run through a pool of filtered water. He was barely the space of a hand into the Vilve's torso, and was already doing more pushing to get it through the mass than he was cutting.

The snapping, bristling noise was returning in his ears again, raising the hairs all along his neck and arms. He snapped his head up to face the Beast, already regretting his attack. The Vilve offered up no emotion in return though as its hand ran through him like butter. A black crack tore through him, ripping at his skin agonisingly, not as a hot pain, but a cold so intense– so empty– that it burned all the same.

It wrenched through him, eating away at the very fabric holding Xoris together. Yet the emptiness beat with a life of its own; an entire reality, splitting him apart until it was all painfully yanked away. He couldn't feel his legs, he couldn't move his arms, and as the sound of his own heart throbbed in his ears in rapid sets of three, a weightless fall seized him, dragging him down before his senses became enveloped in black.