[i][h3]The Camp - Joy and Cyril[/h3][/i]
Joy marched her way through the camp with a confidence that had seemingly eluded her for years, although perhaps it was just due in part to the lack of a pronounced limp. She had been too busy since the battle to change and so she appeared in her leather armor that was caked with dirt and blood, although she had taken a moment to scrub the grime off of her face. Her blade hung at her side, tucked next to knife and the dagger given to her from the Lady of Demons, and her bow was strung across her back as if she was ready to go into battle if not for the nearly empty quiver of arrows that hung from her belt. Her hair clumped together around her chin, perhaps with a few more grays than had been in there since the time she had been reunited with the Serios, and there was nothing that could be done about the dark bags forming under her eyes from sheer weariness. Yet despite this, she seemed to appear younger and more vigorous than she normally did, although, again, perhaps it was all due to her losing that damn limp. 

She stopped within yards of the Prince's tent. An old part of her began looking for excuses, anything, to postpone a conversation that seemed to be inevitable, but with a sigh she forced herself to begin trudging forward. The very air around the tent felt heavy and the flap was drawn tightly closed; seemingly everyone else was either too cowardly or too smart to try bothering the Prince. Joy, unfortunately, believed herself to fall into neither one of those camps, which meant that if someone was to draw him out of his tent then it would have to be her. Nevertheless, her hand stilled as it reached to draw back the entrance to Cyril's tent. She didn't know how this conversation would go, but she did know that the last time the two of them had spoken neither had left happy. She knew that faltering could be devastating; she knew that she would not allow that to happen. 

"Cyril, it's V..." She felt the words catch in her mouth as she pulled back the tent's flap. Her voice continued, softer, kinder, almost unfamiliar, "It's Joy. I'm coming in."

And then she did. 

She hadn't received a response to her announcement, but then again she didn't seem to be expecting one in the first place. Within, the tent was quite dark, the only light came from what was let through by her opening the flap, and what managed to seep in under the cracks. The tent's layout was simple, considering the fact that it had only received a basic set up in anticipation of his return; there was a sleeping roll on the ground, courtesy of the Guratans, and a very low table as well, that one may have put maps on; however, there were none there.

Cyril was in there, but she might not have seen him at first. He was sitting in the back and to the side, near the tarp of the tent but not quite against it. He had sat down as he was; he had not cleaned himself at all, still covered in dirt and dried blood, especially smeared across his hair. His gaze was down as his arms rested upon his knees, which were bent up towards his chest, and his head was held down low. He was completely still, and completely quiet, and didn't react to her presence at all.

Every once in a while, the fingers of his right hand twitched and went through spasms unnaturally.

Slowly, her eyes adjusted to the darkness, allowing the pitiable sight before her to unfold as she took in a sharp intake of air. Her hand curled into a fist. It both hurt and angered Joy to see Cyril like this, because not only did it make her think of Gartian's atrocities, but her own pathetic behavior so many years ago. When she had learned that Olain had been lost, truly lost, weeks after she had fled, she had shutdown completely. Eventually, she had sought salvation, or rather damnation, in bottles and in violence on what would be the tipping point of her downward spiral. Years she spent riddled with guilt, hellbent on torturing herself. Back then, she just thought she was too cowardly to die. Now, she realized that she wanted to punish herself for a failure that hadn't even truly been hers to prevent. 

She feared that Cyril was being swallowed by that same kind of guilt, that guilt like a black tide that rips one out to sea, drowning them as they struggled to remain above the freezing water. Yet, she wouldn't let him fall into himself like how she once had, ruining himself with 'what ifs' and 'what could have beens' instead of focusing in on 'what is' and 'what should be done'. Joy took a half-step towards the Prince, and then another, waiting for him to shout, curse, cry out, anything, but there was nothing, and somehow that made her feel worse. When she was within arms reach of him she stopped and slowly lowered herself to the ground, one leg propped up and the other tucked underneath. Her hands unbuckled her sword and set aside her bow, and then they wrapped around her knee.

She had to say something.

"We...I..." Her voice was dry, drained, "I need you to talk, Cyril. We need to talk. About this, about, about what's next, about...I know you don't want to. Hell, I don't want to, but we have to."

[i]Shit. Is this what talking to me is like?[/i] she thought, looking at Cyril's lowered, unresponsive head. 

For a few moments after she spoke again, Cyril was still quiet. Even as she sat down in front of him he hadn't moved an inch, hadn't shifted in the slightest, and for all intents and purposes seemed dead. There was only a slight shift of his chest from his breathing, which were shallow and anything but consistent.

Eventually he did speak, and when he did so he did not look up. His voice was quiet and hoarse. [b]"She's dead."[/b] Just two words, and yet that's all he said.

"Yeah," she said with an exhale, her shoulders dipping. "She is. We have to accept that."

It was easier said than done; she hung her head solemnly. Kori had recognized her instantly, had welcomed her back without a second's doubt, and now she was gone. Joy hadn't found herself agreeing with the Queen's decisions some of the time, but she had respected them. Kori had come from a legacy of war, violence, and hate, but she had tried, no, succeeded by ruling in a completely different way. Even until the bitter end, she had been focused on what she believed was the best for her country, her people, and her family. She'd sacrificed herself for them; Joy could only imagine having the strength to do the same. 

"I know you're blaming yourself," she said, because she realized that she had been doing the same. "But she's not dead because of you, okay? You can't think like that. She wouldn't want you thinking like that."

[b]"What does it matter what she would have thought anymore?"[/b] He asked this even more quietly than he had originally spoken, as if he was saying something that was more than simply taboo, and he knew it. [b]"She's dead now. There's no thinking for her anymore. She's gone, and it was because... whatever happened didn't happen soon enough."[/b]

"She's dead only because Gartian and his damned Advisor, nothing else," said Joy, a heat sparking in her voice that had not been there before. "And she's only gone if we forget about her. I know that I never will, nor will you, no matter how painful it is to remember her." She paused, sighing deeply. "No matter what we do, we have to carry on. If we waste our lives worry about what didn't happen, then we will never be able to create what will happen—and we will avenge your sister."

For another moment he was quiet, and then he asked, [b]"And then? What happens when we avenge her? When we kill H'kelans and then there King just so we can try and feel a little better about the loss of our sister, who avoided conflict for just that reason? Who will they end up killing next? Will it be me, or Ayano? One of our children? How long will it continue after that?"[/b] He slowly lowered his head even further. [b]"I'm already tired..."[/b]

"So you'd rather give up, then?" she said through gritted teeth. "That'd be certainly easier, wouldn't it? But you can't think that giving up would make the violence stop. I'm sure Gartian would just hunt us all down after he was done burning Barcea. I know your sister avoided conflict, wanted peace, but sometimes the only way to achieve that is by carving it out with a knife. It's going to be a long road, it's going to be a dangerous one, but it's the only one we can take."

[b]"No, I never said that."[/b] Somehow once again his voice became quieter still. [b]"I know the bloodshed's coming. It always does. There's no stopping it, not now..."[/b] Slowly he looked up then, finally making eye contact with her. His expression, though tired, was surprisingly steeled, and his eyes were bloodshot. [b]"I'm not my sister. I can never be my sister. She wanted peace at all costs, and I..."[/b] For a moment he stopped, he reached towards his own throat, and then reached down his own shirt to begin pulling at a chain around his neck. [b]"I want him dead and buried. And I won't sacrifice my life for such a trinket..."[/b] Even as he said those words, he held the Gift in his hand, and despite the lack of light the locket still seemed to glow.

"You won't have to. I'll make sure of that," she said, the glow of the Gift reflected in Joy's gray eyes. Gartian had seemed so desperate to get his hands on it that he had gone to war with Barcea, desperate enough to let Joy know that he could never have it. If he was dead, he most certainly wouldn't

"But we need to focus on the now," she said, returning Cyril's steeled gaze. Her voice was soft again. "I've walked the camp, I've seen the defeat and despair in the eyes of our men and women, but I've also seen the fire, the fight, the rage lingering behind their eyes. If left unattended, it could be snuffed out, leaving them with nothing but darkness; it could turn into a wildfire, scorching everything in their path. What we need is somebody to stoke those flames, to keep their light burning brightly without burning out of control. What we need is the presence of a leader. We need you."

Her voice was stern now, like a parent reprimanding a child, "You're our King now, and with that it means that you can no longer afford the luxury of appearing weak. It's not right, it's not fair, but that's how it is, because the rest of us are weak and we look up to you for guidance. These men and women, your family, they need you out there. We will have to mourn your sister later—we should mourn your sister later—but now we've got to rally the others, we've got to be strong, and we've got to kill that son of a bitch."

[b]"I know."[/b] Cyril said. That time, he was just a little louder. [b]"I know all of this. That doesn't mean I feel like I can, or deserve it..."[/b] After a moment he pulled at the lock some, the chain coming apart so that it came from his neck entirely. Once more, his gaze went down to the locket, and briefly his hand tensed, closing down on it and gripping it so tightly that his fingers went white. Eventually, he brought both hands to it, seemingly like he might try to break it in half.

[b]"I don't need a damn trinket."[/b]

When he made the motion to perhaps try and break it in half, there was a flash. It was pure white, and so bright that it filled the tent entirely, blinding the both of them. However, this whiteness did not simply fade away. Instead, a darkness came from the locket as well, the blackness spreading out in a pulse that filled the white, and still they were left blind. Just like the white the black lasted for a moment, and then it suddenly retracted, back to Cyril's hands.

No longer did he hold a locket. The Gift had changed entirely, and had become blade, that could easily be held with one hand or two. Both edges of the blade were sharp, a distinct point at the end, and the hilt had a cross guard to protect the hands. The hilt and the center of the blade was gold, with one edge gleaming brightly, and the other edge seemed to eat light instead. The only thing that resembled the locket at all was perhaps the shape of the pommel, but the gems had been moved; instead, they were set along in a line along the lower half of the center of the sword.

Cyril's eyes went wide, jaw dropping ever slightly. Very carefully, he moved the blade, slowly lowering it; when it had first appeared it had been directed past Joy's head, and then he moved to carefully hold it with both hands, down low horizontally in between them. [b]"What the Hell..."[/b]

"I guess it heard you," said Joy, dryly, secretly thankful that he hadn't been holding the trinket a few inches to the left when it had transformed. She stared at the blade. It was an oddity, no doubt, but after dealing with magic for years, let alone having met an actual Divine, she was no long phased by such feats. Still, a sword was better than a fashionable piece of jewelry. 

"Even inanimate objects know what we must do next," she said, standing to her feet. She held out a hand for him. "We can't afford to wait."

For yet another moment Cyril didn't look to her, instead focused upon the blade entirely. After once more looking at it as a whole and then turning it over, he finally looked up to her. For yet another moment he was still, and then his hand went up surprisingly quickly, gripping hers to pull himself off as he immediately set into a walk past her, towards the flap of the tent.

[b]"No, we can't."[/b]

[hr]
[i][h3]The Camp - Four Leaders[/h3][/i]
The three Guratan Chieftains stood quietly around the table that had been set up in Kisarin's tent, considering it was easily the largest for the most obvious of reasons. While Yihira and Kisarin both seemed to be genuinely upset by the loss, even perhaps mourning, Seryosa seemed to have expected the result. They didn't speak because there was no need to. The plan was obvious from here: a full retreat, and preparation of defensive lines. Gartian would be spurred on by the Queen of Barcea's death, eager to deeply gouge the Barcean lands for all the blood he could. With the Guratans dedicated to the cause, they'd have to prepare for a war on two fronts-

All of these internal thoughts and strategies came grinding to a halt when suddenly the tent was opened, and Cyril entered. His arrival and appearance were not expected in the slightest; he stood tall, some sort of strange blade sheathed at his side and his gaze steeled. His clothes and pieces of armor may have been dirt and blood-smeared, but that did nothing to diminish his presence.

[b]"I apologize for my delay. Let's get to work."[/b] They all blinked, and yet were drawn to the table even as he stood in front of it, resting his hands upon the surface, looking over the map. After a few glances, Cyril reached forwards, placing his finger on one point of the map in particular; the Kirun.

[b]"This is where we head next. We regroup here, and then we bring the army to crush Gartian once and for all."[/b]

Seryosa made no effort to hide her snort, Whiskers seeming to imitate the noise from where he rested behind her. [b]"Has your grief driven you mad, boy? Attacking the closest thing H'kela has to a bread basket won't be easy. Never mind when Gartian pursues us-"

"We're not going to be attacking the Kirun. We're going to be let in."

"How is that possible?"[/b] Yihira asked, her brow furrowed.

[b]"Before the confrontation with Gartian in the Cracks, my sister and I had a conversation with Ennis Cade, the ambassador Kori accepted in the halls of the Capitol for quite some time. During this conversation, Cade showed the desire to bring the Kirun to our side, when the full war came. With the confrontation at the Cracks, Cade returned to H'kela. Hopefully by now he's found some way to hold up his end of the bargain."

"And what if he hasn't?"[/b] Kisarin asked, not to doubt, but to be certain.

[b]"We tear the gates down and invite ourselves in."[/b]

[hr]
[i][h3]Nighttime - Stark and Christopher[/h3][/i]
The news spread quickly throughout the camp, all of the warriors learning that they would be departing with the rising sun the next day, and heading to the Kirun. Despite the initial confusion, preparations were made, and as many as possible attempted to get rest as quickly as possible, what with another battle already looming over the horizon.

When the night finally fell, most of those within the Guratan camp had returned to whatever tent or patch of ground they had claimed to rest. Despite the news of the tragedy that had occurred rapidly spreading, rest was necessary for what was to come next. No matter what was decided by the leaders, they were deep within H’kelan lands, and whichever direction they moved it would probably only be through combat.

Christopher was not one of those who rested. He didn’t even try to, already knowing that sleep wouldn’t be coming to him that night. Upon arriving back at the camp his fingers had already been long healed from the attempt to draw the blade, and he had cleaned them briefly, but beyond that he didn’t really move, instead choosing to simply sit next to one of the dead and cold fires. It was there he spent the day as the sun travelled into the West, and it was as it set did he finally light the fire, it being the most that he had moved since sitting down.

His eyes were only for the fire, both of his hands held gently in front of him as he stared quietly. His expression was blank, but that was only on the surface; in his eyes, glimpses of anger and confusion flashed every so often, only to be suffocated once again.

The fire in the dark stillness of the night was the only indication that Stark was going in the right direction. She could have used her senses or simply paid attention when she had left in the flurry of quiet throaty anger after her short back and forth with Sir Drosil.  Each step she took was a step closer to some semblance in her life-more specifically one of warmth.

As much as she hated to admit it, she was freezing. After leaving the initial campsite Stark moved until her knees and feet couldn’t carry her further and simply sat in the quiet of the day into evening and evening into night until the cold was shaking her to her core. Her pale skin looked clean enough in what little light Stark had but her hair was disheveled and her clothing just a few tones darker with stains that Drosil hadn’t frozen away and didn’t care to identify- not that she cared in the slightest what it was.

She’d just cleared the tree line and was only a few steps away from the fire before realizing there was a body there. She stopped dead in her tracks as her brain was working at a bit of a sluggish pace. She kept still as she spoke-almost like a startled animal trying to decide if they should run or not.

[b]”Chris?”[/b]

The voice startled him slightly. He very briefly bristled, shoulders hunching before he looked over to realize it was her. His eyebrows furrowed slightly as he squinted some to properly see her, and eventually he began to relax, even if it was only slightly.

[b]”Stark? Where the hell have you been?”[/b]

She flinched ever so slightly at Chris’ reaction but her feet wouldn’t move. Yet when he questioned where she had gone she screamed in her head for them to move...they wouldn’t listen. 

[b]”I…”[/b] What the Divines was she going to say? 

[b]”I left camp after we came back….I didn’t think anybody needed me around when I wanted to take a horse and go back and kill more of those bastards.”[/b] Her words faded out, still loud enough for Chris to hear clearly, showing her own disappointment in her actions. 

[b]”Ah… I see.”[/b] After a moment, his gaze went back to the fire, hands not moving from where they were in front of him. [b]”Everyone’s gone to sleep. You should probably do the same, too. It’s been… a shitty day.”[/b]

She felt a bit of tension ease as he looked away from her only to have the tightness in her chest return as the day’s ‘activities’ were mentioned. [b]”I don’t think I’m going to be sleeping for a while.”[/b] She took the few steps further before carefully sitting across the fire from him.

There was a moment of pause as she just watched him for a moment, [b]”You should sleep too, you know.”[/b]

[b]”Not going to happen.”[/b] The reply was immediate, and brief.

[b]”Looks like we are in the same boat then…”[/b] She wasn’t quite sure what prompted her to speak the next few words.

[b]”Want to talk about it?”[/b]

[b]”Not really.”[/b] It was another quick reply, stated plainly.

Stark chewed on her bottom lip for a moment-staring down at the fire. [b]”I don't….I don't think it would have changed anything.”[/b]

[b]”You’re wrong.”[/b] Though he spoke while still looking at the fire slightly, his voice had raised some. [b]”I could feel it. This damn thing-”[/b] Here, Christopher brought the blade up and around, nearly shoving it into the fire as he brought it up onto his lap, [b]”-could have taken down that cobbled together piece of shit before anyone could have sneezed. I could actually feel that, but when I tried to draw the thing it… it fucking bit me, and now Kori’s dead.”[/b]

[b]”Even if you had taken that thing down how would we have saved Her from that bastard? None of us were anywhere near close enough to protect her from his own hands.”[/b]

[b]”He was on the Divinesdamned second floor, in that fucking temple. We could have grabbed her and gotten out no problem. I just couldn’t draw the piece of shit!”[/b]

[b]”Maybe...maybe it wasn’t time to draw it.”[/b]

[b]”What kind of horseshit is that?”[/b]

[b]”You said it yourself- it bit you. That’s not a natural sword and we both know it. It’s probably got a mind of it’s own.”[/b]

[b]”That doesn’t matter. It’s a fucking sword. I don’t give a shit if it didn’t think it was time or it wanted some fucking tea, we needed it then and there.”[/b]

[b]”And we didn’t get what we needed. It happens. Shit happens. Death happens.”[/b] She had to pause a moment to compose herself. [b]”What would be we doing right now if we had saved Her? Be honest because I can tell you what we’d be doing. We’d be fighting-still. At least the ones of us still alive would be fighting. Yes, She was the Queen. Yes, we needed Her but she said it herself. She didn’t want more people shedding their blood for her.”[/b]

Christopher went silent then. Through the entire exchange, his gaze hadn’t left the fire; he directed all of his anger and doubt onto it, rather than her.

[b]”You don’t think I wanted to save Her too?  I’d have gladly given my life if it meant we could have saved Her and maybe She would still be alive if I’d done things differently. If I had just kept to my water magic not whatever this-”[/b] she shook her wrists with disdain as the shiny silver bracelets shown in the firelight, [b]”was. Maybe that could have help clear a better path. Maybe if we had fought earlier. Maybe this. Maybe that. Maybe. There are too many variables and too many different outcomes to say that one change would have affected everything.”[/b]

[b]”Okay, I fucking get it.”[/b]

[b]”I’m sorry Chris...it’s not your fault. You do know that right?”[/b] 

[b]”No, I don’t know that.”[/b]

[b]”Well then you need to know that. I know you feel like you failed-that you feel like you could have done so many different things to change the outcome. Please believe me I know but you can’t let  yourself believe that this is your doing. You heard her yourself-she made up her mind all on her own with no one else to sway that decision.”[/b]

[b]”If I had been able to actually do something, she wouldn’t have had to make the decision.”[/b]

[b]”You don’t think that’s going through all of our heads? That if we had convinced her to come with our party to the Mansion she would still be with us? That if we had gotten more intel when the H’kelean’s were fighting against the borders we could have acted faster? Just to humor you, maybe and I mean maybe you pulling out that sword would have taken out the monster-what would have stopped them from summoning more and more and more that would have killed more people? She made her decision a long time ago knowing this very well may be a result.”[/b]

[b]”You saw what Cyril did to that thing, too late. No summons straight away after that. Imagine if I had been able to fucking do that before she decided to-”[/b] Finally, his hands moved up, briefly covering his face before he dropped his hands once again. [b]”I don’t want to talk about it anymore, Stark. I just don’t.”[/b]

[b]”Look at me.”[/b]

Giving a slight hiss to exhale, he did so.

[b]”Look, right here.”[/b] Stark pointed to her eyes and a clearly determined if not slightly angry look on her face, [b]”Christopher Nocte-it is not your fault.”[/b] She dropped her hand. [b]”Say it.”[/b]

For a moment he was quiet, hands clenching slightly. [b]”No.”[/b]

[b]”Damn you, say it! It’s not your fucking fault Chris.”[/b] 

[b]”Leave me alone, Stark.”[/b]

[b]”Not until you say it.”[/b]

[b]”I’m not going to fucking say it, so leave me alone. You’ll just get pissed off more.”[/b]

[b]”I can’t feel all of about anything right now so no I’m not going to get more pissed off. Fucking say it you stubborn asshole or you’re just going to eat yourself up inside about this until you explode and then that damn toothpick isn’t going to work with you when you want it to.”[/b]

[b]”May as well keep it par for the course then. Just leave me alone, I want to think.”[/b]

She just stared him down before shaking her head. [b]”Fine.”[/b] She simply stood and moved back towards the woods-knowing she wasn’t going to sleep anyways while respecting his wishes.

He, meanwhile, simply went back to staring at the fire, once again becoming silent.

[hr]
[i][h3]The Next Day - Travelling to the Kirun[/h3][/i]
The mass of men and women were ready to move when the appointed time came, and once more they both marched and rode out. With the Prince and Chieftains at the lead, the army followed the roads and paths where it could, and carved through the sands when it couldn't. It was slow going, and they only reached the Kirun well after midday, and yet before the sun was able to set.

The sand gave way to gray tundra as the army marched up the winding Sapphire Road to the Kirun, snow-covered mountain tops raising high above them in an almost claustrophobic nature. The army passed through undefended checkpoints after undefended checkpoints. It was odd, because normally a squad of soldiers would've been manning their stations—the army would not have gotten through without coming up against a locked gate, a volley of arrows, and an avalanche of boulders. Yet they trudged on through without seeing a single soul, the air getting cooler as they progressed up the mountain road, the falling sun reflecting blinding light off of the mountain peaks and casting long shadows on the soldiers. An unnatural silence carried through the entire mountain pass as they continued forth, a feeling of unseen eyes watching them from the mountain ridges creeping over some of the more nervous or cautious members of the army. Through Vesta, word spread throughout the army: "Best prepare for an ambush."

But no ambush came, and the army continued unchallenged and, apparently, unnoticed, until finally they crested the highest point on the Sapphire Road and found themselves on a flat piece of land between the mountains, the Kirun sandwiched in between. Large granite walls that came right out of the mountains blocked the view of the small city itself, leaving only one obvious entrance into the Kirun: the main gate. Normally, one would be able to see right through to the fountains and the bazaar that welcomed travelers into the city, assuming the usual sea of people were not out and about that day. However, the large, metallic gate were sealed shut, and once again the only ambiance came from the shuffling of soldiers’ boots and the braying of tired horses. It seemed apparent then that Ennis had, indeed, failed to hold up his end of the bargain. 

But then the gates opened ever so slightly, only large enough for people to slip through, and one lone figure stepped out. The figure stepped closer to the army, apparently unafraid of seeing such a large force, and its features were revealed to be that of a woman with pale skin and dark clothes. Her eyes, black like coal, burned holes into the leaders of the Barcean-Guratan forces as she stopped with fifty paces from them, her arms spreading out to show that she was unarmed. If one had been in an apartment above a certain flower shop some time ago they might have recognized the woman as a friend of the ambassador, although the look on her face was anything but friendly.

Finally, she spoke "I'm guessing you're Cyril, right?"  She took on an amused tone, the corner of her lips twitching upwards. "Surely, one of those among you by now must know that you're surrounded, so I don't recommend trying anything cute—although, really, I wouldn't mind it if you did." She waited for some order to attack, a look of slight disappointment crossing her face when none came. "You've made a mistake by coming here; we're at war with a broken nation, you see, and have currently closed our gates until hostilities have ended. It's for the safety of our people; I'm sure you understand us making such sacrifices to protect our own," she said, smiling with malice. 

"But Lord Cade is willing to make an exception for you and a handful of guards, if just to keep you at ease. I can assure you that you'll have nothing to worry about when inside of these walls, assuming you can behave yourself. As for your army, I think it'd be best if they made camp back at the base. It's hard to see the rock slides at night." 

The amused tone and almost smirk would have driven anyone to anger. Those up front, who could see it, bristled. The Prince, on the other hand, didn't react in the slightest. His expression remained a sort of deadpan as he looked to her, and while others looked around at the mention of being surrounded, he didn't seem to care. He was quiet for a moment, unblinking...

And then he slowly looked to the side and behind him, gesturing a few times. It was with these movements he summoned a few to act as guards; Alsius and Vesta upon their horses, and Joachim as he walked along the ground. With those three he began to make his way forwards, approaching the woman slowly.

[b]"We'll see Cade, but those with me will not move from this spot. It'll be a waste of time to send them back, only to have to bring them back once again through the gates."[/b]

She turned, seemingly unconcerned that anyone would try to make a move on her, lazily beckoning for Cyril and his entourage to follow her. The gates closed after they filed through, separating them from their army with a loud clang. Even inside of the city it was dreadfully quiet, the only sound coming from the footfalls and the clopping of horses as they continued down the wide road. Barricades and guard checkpoints could be spotted lining the southern side of the street where once tents and mercantile stands stood, each one lined with a handful of soldiers dressed in black, blue, and gold, the colors of the Kirun. A few soldiers cast a glance their way, but except for the three that had fallen in behind them as the gates closed none made a move their way.

The woman turned them left at the crossroads, and it wasn't much longer until they had reached the Cade's manor, carved right into the side of the mountain. The gates opened as they approached and they found themselves inside of a large courtyard, delicately cared for and immaculately clean. In fact, they couldn't recall seeing any sign of wear or tear or, really, life, outside of the hastily made barricades back at the entrance. It was as if the city was a model inside of a glass bottle, unblemished by human hands or dirt; somehow, that made the whole place seem more eerie than hospitable. 

"You cannot enter the palace armed," the woman said as they reached the front door. "You can leave them here with my men," she motioned towards the guards that had joined them at the gate. "They'll be fine. There are no thieves in the Kirun. Not for long, anyway."

"Cyril..." muttered Joy underneath her breath, her hand inching towards her blade. 

Having quietly taken in the details of the city as they walked through, Cyril remained silent at first at the woman's statement about their weapons. For a moment he was quiet, closing his eyes, and then he opened them slowly.

[b]"You may take our weapons; but only you. You say there may be no thieves in the Kirun, but these are much too precious to be let out of our sight."[/b]

"I am not your pack mu—" 

The black haired woman was cut off by the door opening and the bark of a deep, although somewhat faked, voice coming out, "Nia, enough. Let them through."

The woman's shoulders slumped as if in defeat and she walked through the front door, holding it open for Cyril and his crew before completely stepping through and slamming the door shut, leaving the other soldiers outside. The entrance hall was large and ornate, full of old weaponry and tapestries. The owner of the faux voice was nowhere to be seen, nor was anyone else. A sigh of relief escaped from Nia as the door latched, and she turned to the others with a nod and an utterance of, "Follow me, quickly." She led them not to Lord Cade's office but down a series of hallways, each lit by artificial lights to make up for the absolute lack of windows in the palace. She pulled a key out of her pocket and unlocked one of the rooms, ushering the others inside. The room was a small dining area for the palace servants, although there were no servants to be seen. Instead, sitting at a small round table, was Ennis Cade, the light from a fireplace casting shadows over his tired face. His eyes brightened as the others walked in and he almost knocked over his chair as he stood up quickly, grinning.

"Welcome, welcome. It's good to see you all again," said Ennis. "See, Nia? I told you it'd be fine."

"Ennis, I still think this is a terrible idea. The men know we brought them into the city, it's only a matter of time before your father returns from the temple and—"

"Ah-bah-bah, let's worry about that when the time comes," he said, turning his attention back towards the guests. "You must forgive her, she's a bit overcautious. Kind of like you, Vesta." Joy rolled her eyes and grumbled underneath her voice. He took a few steps towards Cyril and cleared his throat. "I, uh, I'm sorry to hear about Kori. She didn't deserve, ah, I mean, we'll make it, um, she was a great person. I truly admired her. Sorry." He paused for a moment and then clapped his hands together, "So, uh, I suppose I should fill you all in, right? Ha ha, er, so, you could say that things are a bit more complicated than I thought they would be..."

When the one they now knew as Nia had the sudden demeanor shift once they were alone, Cyril's eyebrow raised some, but that was the only emotion he betrayed before they were rapidly led through hallways, to the one that they had been expecting to see in the first place; Ennis. As Ennis stammered along, Cyril remained quiet, before he finally brought up one hand to stop Ennis as he spoke.

[b]"It seems your father is having trouble with his people. I know checkpoints and a curfew when I see them. It seems like, whatever he's doing, he won't be keeping power for much longer if he keeps it up."[/b]

"And I've seen enough people play armchair ruler that I know when what they say is completely wrong," said Nia.

"What Nia is saying is that things are a bit different in the Kirun than elsewhere, Cyril," added Ennis. Nia made a loud, scoffing noise and turned to the fireplace, tossing in another log. Ennis motioned towards the table. "Please, let's have a seat." 

Once everyone was seated, he continued, "Although, in this case, I think Nia is correct in saying that your thoughts are wrong. There's a reason the Cades have held the Kirun for centuries, and it goes beyond simply having smart policies and a safe place to live. Our citizens are bounded by oath to our family, they won't simply turn against us due to some discomforts. The real problem comes with foreigners, merchants and the kind who live here but aren't from here. They've been affected by your sister's untimely death, it seems, and have taken a rather negative stance on Gartian that I say has come a few years too late. Still, my father will stay in power despite this hiccup, I'm sure of it, although he might have a few less subjects before it is all resolved."

"Figures. He'd kill his own men to stay in power," said Joy, shaking her head.

"Unlike the Serios, we don't welcome in incompetent traitors," said Nia, not glancing from the fire.

"Too much of that already in the homestead, I take it?" muttered Joy.

"Ahem," said Ennis, clearing his throat, "While it's fantastic that you're becoming great friends, I wasn't finished." He turned back to Cyril. "I've been looking for something that would convince my father to give you his men. While he will stay in power regardless of what happens, I know he does not want to deal with a minor, um, incident regarding foreigners in our city. If we were to join forces like I had originally promised then he would be able to appease this slight outrage and, like I already mentioned, his actual citizens will be honor bound to follow his command. We'll be able to defeat Gartian, and life will be better for all in the Kirun, H'kela, and Barcea. Just...there's one thing. He, uh—"

"He won't listen to Ennis," said Nia, chipping in.

"—Yeah," said Ennis, his shoulder sinking. "But, Cyril, if you speak with him I think you might be able to convince him."

Like always Cyril listened, but his expression was more deadpan than it normally was, eyes not bright and alert like Ennis would have remembered. He simply stared for a few moments, before he slowly brought up his hand to rub at the bridge of his nose, pinching ever slightly as his eyes shut. After a moment of this (where both Joachim and Alsius watched carefully, the Direwolf with an air of indifference and Joachim with a sense of concern), Cyril once more opened his eyes, sighing gently.

[b]"It's simply what will have to happen. You say he's at the temple?"[/b]

"Y-yes," said Ennis, lowering his eyes. "Nia can take you, if you'd like to go now. I, um, I have to..."

"Afraid of your own father?" said Joy with a sneer.

"He'd be a little upset to see me out of the estate due to the troubles right now," said Ennis, casting a nervous glance at Cyril. "It'd be best if you made it seem as if this had been your idea."

"Cyril," whispered Joy, leaning in so that none but her King could hear what she had to say. "Something feels off about all of this; too much smoke and mirrors for my tastes. It feels like we're just willingly putting a noose around our neck since we first set foot in here, and now we're about to jump off the stand." 

"Let's get this over with," sighed Nia, already approaching the door as she turned to the quartet. "Are you coming or not?"

Cyril didn't even blink when Joy whispered to him, his gaze remaining on Ennis and Nia. As they were pushed towards a departure he briefly glanced as Nia went to the door, before looking back to Ennis. There, his eyes slowly narrowed, before his gaze once again relaxed as he stood, turning.

When he did so, he placed his hand on Joy's shoulder, and then murmured back, [b]"That's why I brought you, Joachim, and Alsius."[/b]

He pulled his hand away, stepping after Nia. [b]"Lead on, then. Let's get this over with."[/b]

Back through the door they went, back down the winding halls, back into the entrance hall, and then through the front door. They did not need to go much further, however, because the man they were going to see had, as Nia predicted, heard about their surprise visitors. Dedrick Cade stood tall and confident with a noble, if somewhat weathered, face, flanked by a handful of immaculate, almost mechanical guards in heavy, ornamental armor. Nia somehow managed to pale even more as she spotted her lord, his brow knitted with displeasure, as his eyes bore holes into the Barceans. Joy returned his unrelenting stare despite knowing by the spark in his eyes that he was trying to connect where he had seen her before. A heavy, unpleasant air hung over the two groups as they were held in some kind of standoff, all waiting to see how Lord Cade reacted to seeing the enemy leader in his front lawn, fingers inching towards hilts.

"You bring an army to my doorstep and then you willingly separate yourself from your men only so you can surround yourself with mine," said Dedrick, finally, cutting Cyril with a piercing stare. "I can't tell if you're completely mad or just irrationally overconfident." He folded his arms over his chest, not relenting in his stare down to get a read on the younger man standing before him. "So, which one is it?" 

[b]"Neither."[/b] There was no pause from Cyril, him speaking immediately and quite calmly when he did so. His expression didn't show the slightest amount of fear or concern, and even seemed... quite bored, if that were possible. [b]"I'm simply informed and prepared. It seems you do not recognize those in my escort, so allow me the honor of introducing them to you."[/b]

His hand went up slightly to the side, gesturing towards Joy, who the Lord of the Kirun seemed so intent on trying to remember. [b]"Joy, one of the greatest Kingsguard Barcea has known. Indeed, if my father had listened to her he would still be alive today, and undoubtedly things would be very, very... different."[/b] Cyril didn't need to explain what different meant; they all knew what kind of bloodshed there would already be.

His next slight gesture directed towards Alsius, who, despite the number of those in front of them, had already started to light up a cigarette and was taking the first drag from it. [b]"This is the Direwolf, Alsius Argentum. Barcea's greatest knight, for those of you who don't know."[/b]

Before Cyril had even begun to direct towards Joachim, the small man seemed to briefly shrink into himself slightly before slowly inhaling, standing taller than he normally did, more like when he had prepared to fight the Direwolf back in Gurata so many days ago. [b]"And this man, Joachim Raizen, is also known by a title; the Fearsome Phantasm."[/b]

Cyril did not wait for the effect of the Gifted's title to pass before he continued speaking, simply saying, [b]"As you see, I made sure to be quite well protected before entering to parley with you. You, on the other hand, haven't quite done the same, so I appreciate your trust and am ashamed I didn't have nearly as much. Do accept my apologies."[/b]

Dedrick shook his head, a wry smile on his face. "So confident. Perhaps you're prepared, but I wouldn't say you're informed, or at least not about your traveling companions. Or do you willingly associate yourself with a treacherous bandit, an utter sadist, and ruthless killer? Because if it's the latter, than I fear we both already know the results of this parley. Of course, instead of trying to make idle threats, you could just tell me what it is that you think you're doing here."

[b]"Isn't it obvious, Lord Cade? Regrouping before we bring an end to the Rabid King once and for all. His reign has gone on long enough, wouldn't you agree?"[/b]

"Longer than some, certainly," he said with a knowing smile. "But from where I stand, I don't know why it is that you're so certain that you're going to beat him. From the war I've been following, things haven't really been going your way. What makes you so confident that you have a chance of winning? More importantly, what makes you think that I would care?"

[b]"I'm confident because, on a large scale, the Guratans and remaining Barceans have been easily manipulating the H'kelan forces to what we've needed. We were able to break through into H'kelan, and we were able to break them again when we needed to escape, even... if the rescue plan failed. When the time comes to simply set our side upon his, which is soon, they'll break again."[/b] Slowly, Cyril shrugged. [b]"And you're asking me the questions, aren't you?"[/b]

"Only because you're too proud to ask the one you have," said Dedrick, clasping his arms behind his back. "And I don't believe you when you say you'll be able to break Gartian's forces again. At least, not in your army's current state. If you were, you wouldn't be regrouping here. My son may have spent time with your family, but the Kirun is still in H'kela, no matter how different it may seem, and we are still sworn to Gartian. So, why don't you drop the act and speak to me straight: you need my help, because without me you'll lose in the end." He smirked at Cyril, waiting for a reaction. "I guess it was obvious after all."

[b]"Wrong."[/b] Cyril said, shaking his head slightly. [b]"I don't need you. I simply need a place with some quiet for a while. That's all. Don't mistake why I'm here, Lord Cade. I'm not asking anyone to fight. I simply want to get the Mad Dog from nipping at my heels for a night."[/b]

"Yeah. Until Gartian's men show up at my doorstep, asking why Barcean's are under my roof." Nia visibly shifted uncomfortably. "We're just trying to mind our own business here in the Kirun and, contrary to what people like you and Gartian believe, war's not good for business. And the way I see it, you're the one who's brought it to my—"

"Father, please!" 

The front door of the palace had opened and Ennis had stepped out, his hands holding his hat against his chest and nervously fussing with it. Dedrick's eyes narrowed, his mouth etching into a thin line. Nia could be heard muttering a swear underneath her breath, her hand reaching up to grip the bridge of her nose.

"You know that I was the one who convinced Cyril to come here. I know it'd be for the best if our two families unite. If he did manage to beat them, Gartian would've turned his eyes on us next demanding in blood an explanation for why our armies hadn't joined with his. You know as well as I do that our men are no longer the fighting force they once were. If we don't work together, the whole Kirun will be—"

"Damn it, boy, shut your mouth," shouted Dedrick. 

"Well," said Joy, crossing her arms over her chest, "sounds like the Cades are the ones that need our help, not the other way around."

"The boy doesn't know what he's talking about," spat Dedrick.

"Oh, I agree with you there," she said, one hand resting on her hip as the other toyed with her hilt, You know, at first I thought we were walking into an ambush, but now I'm certain: you lack the fighting force you need, and are trying to make up for it through show. No wonder it was so quiet. The last time I was in the Kirun this place was littered with soldiers. Now, you can't even manage to staff the gates, let alone even make your checkpoints inside the city seem well protected. Hell, an army was practically knocked on your front door, and the only resistance was this jackass." She jerked her thumb towards Nia. "I'm guessing they're deserting, and I should know: I've done my fair share of it back in my day."

"Cyril, I'm tired of this shit," she continued, drawing her sword, followed by the sound of Dedrick's guards drawing theirs, "We can easily take the city. Just give me the word." 

Suddenly, Cyril's hand snapped out. For a moment he simply continued to look towards Lord Cade, his expression remaining calm if somewhat distant and cold... And then, slowly, he looked to Vesta, Joy, shaking his head. [b]"No, not today. We do not do things simply because we can. Kori did not do things simply because she could... And she didn't die to have us kill more people. The fewer we harm before we get to Gartian, the better."[/b]

"Well, looks like you lot just got spared," said Joy, sheathing her sword; the Kirun soldiers waited for Dedrick's nod before they lowered their weapons.

"Truly, we are blessed to have such benevolent guests force their way into our home," said Dedrick, his teeth clenched tight. He turned his attention towards Cyril, his look softening as he sighed. "Your men can stay the night inside of the walls if they want, but they will have to adhere to our laws. The punishments here are swift as they are fair, and I will not have my city torn apart by a band of barbaric soldiers like the ones you are so keen on keeping company with. I suggest you keep the rowdier ones outside."

[b]"We'll do what needs to be done."[/b] With that, Cyril gave a bow of his head, a deep and sincere one. [b]"Thank you for your hospitality. We'll be certain not to disturb the peace here."[/b]

With a grunt, Dedrick brushed past Cyril and proceeded into his house, Ennis in tow, as Nia left to inform the men at the gates of their lord's decision. Shortly thereafter, the front gates opened to the Barcean-Guratan coalition and the men and women funneled inside, consuming much of the main road with their banners and their armaments. Cyril and the others had returned to their comrades, and Joy had almost instantly taken command of setting up camp. The final dying light of the sun disappeared behind the mountains as the gates to the Kirun shut for the night, a light snow falling from the dark, voluminous clouds that hung over head and blocked the moon, limiting light only to that cast by oil lamps and light posts. It would be a wet, cold night, but it would give them the much needed time to recuperate for the challenges yet to come. 

Some were not able to have as much sleep as the others, but it was necessary; the four leaders of the two allied nations came together to plan one last time. Together they examined the map, analyzing the areas around the Oasis where they could force Gartian into combat, and then what they would do when combat began. With a field of mostly stone and sand north of the Oasis pointed to, coming up with the plan was fairly straightforward. The two forces would clash upon each other, but with the Advisor it couldn't be so simple. To deal with her, the Paladin would be taking the far right flank, the Direwolf the left, and Joachim would cut to the back of the H'kelan forces to box her in. With them set to keep the Advisor from escaping, those who were not average soldiers could work together to strike her down; their one advantage, after all, was that there were many of them and only one of the Advisor.

There was one last aspect of the plan that was settled: Cyril would face Gartian alone, which was another reason why they needed so many on the Advisor.

[hr]
[i][h3]Day of Battle - North of the Oasis[/h3][/i]
Morning arrived, and with that the allied forces of Barcea and Gurata left the Kirun behind as they travelled south. They moved as quickly as they could while conserving their energy, knowing that a fight was rapidly approaching. They also knew that they would probably encounter resistance on the way, things that would waste time and make their trip to the Capitol take more than one day...

And yet it took only one. Every time they approached one of these forts or towns, flags of surrender were flown immediately. H'kelan soldiers threw down their weapons and made no attempt at fighting. They too, were sick of the fighting, and it took the sacrifice of the Queen of Barcea for them to realize it.

So the Barceans and Guratans continued on, straight to the Oasis. It was only at the last stretch of desert did the combined army come to a stop, stretching out in a gathered line. In front of them, waiting, was a large host; those who remained loyal to the Mad King Gartian, gathered together for one last stand.

In the front of that horde, which was surprisingly large and chaotically grouped, stood Gartian, who held his blade and a pike... and at the end of that pike was the Queen of Barcea's head, half of her face torn open.

Slowly, Cyril pushed his way to the front of the army, taking a few steps past the line they made. He held the Gift in his hand, the new sword gleaming beautifully. His eyes scanned the H'kelan army as he came to a stop, looking down the horde. Within, he felt like he saw the Advisor somewhere... but his gaze came focused on Gartian, and what the Mad King had with him. Across the way, Gartian threw his arms out to the side, nearly dropping both of his weapons with the force of the movement.

[b]"Good day, little Prince! Or should I say little King, now?! After all, your good sister is dead as the dirt, as we can all see!"

"Enough is enough, Gartian. My sister was a good woman, and she undoubtedly would have continued to try and solve this without violence... but not me. No, now, peace cannot exist so long as you're alive, and I'll make sure you die today."

"Oh ho ho, big words for a self-righteous brat! Why don't you just come out and say it, hm?! You HATE me! You want me DEAD for revenge! It's okay! All men and women are creatures of instinct, of violence! It's perfectly natural!"

"That may be true, Gartian. Maybe I do just hate you. But, at the same time, this will be a way to fix the problem. You are a disgusting cancer upon the East, a blight in itself."

"Is that what you think, then?! HAH! Fine then! Shall we, little King!?"

"Advance!"[/b] Cyril shouted, as he rushed forwards-

[b]"KILL THEM ALL!"[/b] Gartian screamed, even as he rushed forwards as well.

The two armies fell upon each other with a mighty crash, metal clashing against metal as battle truly started. With that first moment dozens died, carved down by swords or stuck with spears, a heap of bodies briefly halting the collision before they were swarmed over. Cyril, meanwhile, didn't stop, cutting down those that had rushed past Gartian to him, before bringing his blade down towards the Mad King's head; the pike was used as a shield, his own sister's head next to his own.

[b]"OOOOH, I LOVE IT! PUSHING YOUR DEATH WISH ON OTHERS, EH, BOY?!"[/b]

[hr]
[center][url=https://youtu.be/XXn9F90ZTBg]Versus Minor Manu Propria Theme: Shadows - AudioActive[/url][/center]
[hr]
Meanwhile, the Sentinels were moving, smashing into and then through the initial H'kelans they faced. They were on the search for the Advisor, and she wasn't exactly hard to find. After all, in the thick of it Barcean and Guratan soldiers were being sent flying, falling to the ground wounded with terrible lashes, if not already dead. The woman was making no attempt to hide, as when the chaotic mix of both armies began she suddenly appeared towards the left, clearly trying to carve her way towards Gartian. Her whip lashed out, terrible and quick, striking several men and woman at once before it was drawn back in for yet another strike. Deep black, segmented blades were along the length of the whip, making each blow more damaging than they already were.

Christopher was the first to reach her, moving with a vengeance. Even as she struck out, he suddenly leapt at her from the side, yelling as he brought up both fists to smash down onto her. The Advisor curved her arm and brought her up, using the handle of the whip to block, and as gauntlets struck creation a massive burst of electricity crackled in all direction, before the Advisor sent Christopher flying backwards and immediately following up with a swing. The whip struck Christopher across the face, curling around his head, and he briefly tumbled before he came to a stop, quickly standing again; the wound, which curled from his left cheek around his head, was already beginning to stitch itself together as he spat to the side slightly, clearly irritated more with himself than anything else.

[b]"Should've broken your skull in half."

"Arrogant boy."[/b] The whip was sent out to the side, cracking against the ground, leaving a long, deep slice behind. [b]"You will die here."[/b]