As the sun began its descent in the west, settling into its slumber once again, the citizens of Dragonheart City lined up in front of the capitol building. Emergency services had been dispatched, as horses wheeled in injured civilians, most in one piece, some in a few.

  A woman knelt over a white cloth with a small mound under it, with a teddy bear in her hand. Her eyes were vacant, not a tear to be seen in them, as though she had already cried until her ducts could produce no more tears. Her husband, a soldier, found her and the cloth and crumpled to his knees, his wails horribly loud. This was one of many sights, and although most of the fires had been put out, the flames of rage would never dissipate.

  Blood stained the sidewalks, broken bodies, twisted corpses, skinned limbs; the state of the city was a horrendous one. The people were outraged, not just at Kamakarut but also at the leadership that had essentially, albeit indirectly, allowed this to happen.

  Steven was still helping the soldiers sift through the rubble and debris, searching for any survivors, when a man that had a bloody gash on his forehead approached him.

  “General Choase!” He shouted as he stumbled on the rocks.

  “Are you alrig-” Choase turned to the man, but was cut off as he lunged forward with a kitchen knife.

  The assailant was subdued by a soldier rather quickly due to his sluggish speed, not even being tackled, but rather having his arm pulled behind his back. The knife clattered to the ground as the man struggled to free himself for the soldier’s grasp.

  “THIS IS YOUR FAULT!” He shouted, his voice almost feral, “YOU, ZHOU, MARTINEZ, AND THE KING!”

  Steven could do nothing but look away in denial, knowing he wasn’t wrong. Another soldier approached the group, addressing Choase. It seemed that someone had leaked that the king and his generals had known this could happen, yet chose to ignore it.

  “The king has called for you, my general,”

  “NO DOUBT TO DISCUSS A WAY TO LET THOSE FILTHY KAMPERS ERADICATE THE REST OF US!” The man spat as he slowly began to lose consciousness.

  “Get him medical assistance,” He turned to the messenger, “If you can, please help take my place.”

  The soldier nodded as Steven walked to the Capitol. All around him, horse carriages carried the deceased, as tents housed the injured. The once-colorful and bright city was dark and dreary, as most of the population was either in the town square or in front of the Capitol, receiving food and medical supplies. The ones that were in their homes didn’t dare light their candles, perhaps out of paranoia that if Kamakarut were to launch a second attack in succession to the first, then their lit abodes would be targeted.

  As he walked down the main street, survivors looked at him with sadness, but also with hatred.

  “CHOASE, YOU BASTARD!” A woman yelled as she attempted to run at him, but was stopped by nearby soldiers.

  This prompted others to voice out their anger, as the streets erupted in cries for justice.

  Thock!

  A small stone can hit the street behind Steven as the infuriated crowd jeered at him, throwing a random assortment of items at him. The soldiers attempted to hold them back, but Choase made no attempt at speeding up, believing that he deserved this.

  Clunk!

  A tin can made contact with his arm, and although it didn’t hurt him due to his armor, it still wounded his pride. Trash kept hitting their target as Steven finally made it to the front entrance of the Capitol, his armor stained with residue from the projectiles launched at him.

  He entered to find the jarring sight of a knight in rusty armor putting their hand on a crying maid’s shoulder. He had never seen Morgan Crosper in person before, but he had heard the rumors. Their gender was unknown, but apparently, both men and women alike fawned over their appearance when the helmet was off. However, the helmet rarely came off, so the claims of those who saw Crosper’s face could never be confirmed.

  The Nightslayer was the title they had been given by the general public, due to the Blood Moon of nine-fifty-seven, when the village Morgan was staying at for the night was besieged by a wave of monsters. The rumors claimed that Crosper slayed hundreds of monsters that night, sparing not a single one. Although their armor was pierced multiple times, and Morgan’s own blood drenched the chainmail, they never stopped, not until the sun rose.

  The maid was holding a picture, which Choase could barely make out. From what he could tell, it seemed to be of her in a white dress standing beside a man in a tuxedo. Steven couldn’t comprehend the fact that one of the most feared individuals in Everstar was capable of comforting an ordinary individual. But then again, this whole day had been full of surprises.

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  “General Choase, Knight Crosper, the king has called for you both,” Zhou’s squire approached the pair.

  The two looked at each other, assessing the other, before following the squire. Walking into the main hall, they found a crowd of aristocrats and knights, with Alaric slumped on his throne, his eyes downcast. Zhou and Reziltov exchanged a few choice words, blaming each other for the attack, and the only non-Dragonspearian was Nienna, who was looking out at the swamp behind the city.

  Acknowledging that everyone had gathered, Alaric began his address.

  “Today marks the largest attack ever attempted upon Dragonheart City, not just by the Wings of Fatality Alliance, but by any of Dragonspear’s enemies.” He stood up, leaving his throne empty of its king, “This cannot go without a response.”

  “My liege, are you suggesting going back to war?” Anya, the head of House Nersum, spoke out, as others around her turned to the king for an answer.

  “Unfortunately, that is precisely what I mean,”

  “NO!” Elor, the third son of House Loks, spoke out in anger, “I lost two brothers before the peacetime, I refuse to fight under a king who doesn’t even serve alongside his own army!”

  The other nobility began to shout in agreement, whilst Alaric’s generals and Nienna could only watch on. Morgan made no movement, not showing any emotion as usual. Eventually, the crowd stopped jeering as they waited for Alaric to finish his address, no doubt to condemn him even more.

  “I understand, that is why I will personally be taking a party with me to slay Cassian Wanless,”

  At that, the whole hall fell silent, as the weight of what he had just said washed over everyone in the chamber. What he was suggesting was essentially a suicide mission, no matter how stealthy the members of said party were.

  “We will be departing using the Waytower in Odin’s Swamp within four days; until then, we’ll be taking any volunteers.”

  The room remained silent, but slowly, the aristocrats filtered out of the hall. None raised their hands, save for Elor, but that was out of hatred for both Cassian and Alaric more than anything. Nienna glanced over to Alaric, who didn’t look all that surprised, but he didn’t seem disappointed either. Perhaps that was because he knew the only reason he even had to recruit volunteers was because of his own ignorance. He was never critical of the report on the village, and he ignored the Horsemen’s warning.

  “Knight Crosper,” Alaric turned to Morgan, who once again showed no emotion through their rusted helmet, “I heard that you’re looking for a way into the Grimdeep.”

  That was what made Morgan perk their head up in interest, giving Alaric the cue to continue, “As you know, there is an entrance to the Grimdeep, located on the Southeastern island of the Whitelands. However, it is inaccessible due to the barricade of ships erected by Kamakarut.”

  He walked to stand right before Morgan, only slightly shorter in stature, “I have heard of your feats, and I have also heard whispers of your past.” Alaric stared right into Morgan’s eyes through the visor, “I understand that you have been looking for someone, a girl who was taken into the Grimdeep. If you assist us, I will get you into that entrance, but only after Cassian Wanless has been executed,”

  Morgan took a moment before nodding their head and extending an arm out, which Alaric shook, sealing their deal.

  * * *

  Four days later, twenty-three other soldiers had enlisted, resulting in a final group count of thirty. They left the city at first light, circling from the Northern gateway around to the back of the city, where the Waytower resided in the swamp.

  “So, Morgan,” Zhou turned to the Nightslayer, “I’ve heard many tales about you. Did you really tear apart a wyvern with your bare hands?”

  Morgan did not seem interested in small talk, focusing on their slow trudge through the mud. The sound of frogs croaking and insects buzzing around them was the only ambience that accompanied the group as they made their way to the tower. The denser part of Odin’s Swamp was much safer compared to the more water-filled area. This was mostly due to the alligators, along with the overgrown mosquitoes and leeches.

  At last, the party stood before the vine-covered Waytower, its caretaker nowhere to be found. Walking in, the first thing that the group noticed was the pungent odor emanating from some unknown corner of the building. It wasn’t quite the smell of a corpse, but it was identical, setting the group on high alert.

  Ascending the spiraling stairs, the smell didn’t fade as they expected, but as the Waystone came into view, their nerves eased just a bit. Walking onto the top platform, they prepped the Waystone for transport. Martinez also couldn’t help but notice the sound of something rustling around in the surrounding trees, but heeded it no attention. As the stone began to glow, the group placed their palms against it, awaiting the nausea that would hit them at any second. Unfortunately, some of them didn’t get the opportunity to be transported.

  ZWIP!

  A volley of arrows flew through the air, striking down multiple soldiers. Those who weren’t killed in the initial burst fell to the ground, hands still on the stone.

  “AARGH!” Alexander was hit in the left shoulder, toppling down the stairs.

  THRINK!

  An arrow was embedded in the Waystone, cracking it mid-transport. As the others still holding onto the stone became translucent, the Kamakarutians emerged from the foliage, drawing their swords as they leapt onto the tower.

  By then, the group was already floating, surrounded by a brilliant blue light as they were painlessly pulled apart at a molecular level. Unfortunately, that arrow that cracked the Waystone slightly offset the coordinates that they had input as their destination. But they wouldn’t learn this until they arrived.

  WHORSH!