Forest of Borghulda - morning

  In the mountains surrounding Borghulda, trees are larger, thicker, and denser than any other around the lands. These trees are used to test the might of a warrior's punches and train their bodies. Many would spend days out here to leave a knick in these towering pillars of nature, considering it an achievement and a sign of maturity. However, these trees are simply nothing more than punching dummies for Zeal, who's meticulously bashing the large trees. Each strike rattles the crown, shedding several leaves at a time. The skin of his knuckles had been toughened through rigorous training to control his reaction to pain and his endurance to withstand and sustain damage. He trained so his brother wouldn't worry, but now, he does it to grow stronger for himself. Zeal's ability is a personal skill. Personal skills are a one-in-a-million ability. However, those who have them gain them before finding the trigger to their Source. The reason for this requirement is unknown, and there are no records of anyone obtaining one after finding the Trigger to their Source.

  Zeal is incapable of utilizing his Source. Unlike Proxy, who emits none, Zeal does have Source. Compared to Richard's or his brother's, it's barely a flicker. Cumulative damage strengthens the effect of his ability; however, the rebound damage is greater after five minutes have passed. He should be considered the ace of the Anti-Bandit army, but he's been relegated to a background member by circumstances. He's being shown up by members less experienced and powerful than him. Especially Proxy. A brat - in his own words - who has next to no special abilities besides his uncanny senses. A piss brained brat that came out of nowhere, acting all tough - again, his words. Their personalities are nearly similar, making for conflict based on their need to never show weakness to anyone sizing them up…

  Zeal understands he's more powerful; he should be, since he has his Personal Skill. Yet, he's unable to shake off the festering doubt inside his stomach, gnawing at him. "What if I'm not anymore?" A poison that plagues his thoughts. "Weakness is death, strength is survival," a mantra Zeal lives by. Although everyone has their way of surviving out here, strength is the dominant force in this world. If he grows weak, he can't protect his brother...but his fear runs deeper than this.

  His voice explodes with a battle cry as he smashes his fist into the tree. He was close to activating his ability, but relented at the last second. A sizable hole in the trunk was left from his last punch. Zeal wipes the sweat rolling down his forehead.

  "Not enough!"

  He moves further through the forest of busted-up trees. The marks left by others didn't impress Zeal, who was looking for another unmarked testing dummy… Then, he froze, his jaw dropped at the sight of something terrifying yet amazing. Rows upon rows of trees with holes in them, their crowns cleaved clean off, and chunks of their trunks torn out. There isn't an animal out there capable of all this. This is the work of a monster.

  Borghulda - Village entrance - morning - Alexander

  The chaos that had taken hold of the village ceases for Scar and Sir Albert. Armed, they stand at a distance from each other. A legendary knight of the kingdom, a man my father would speak of with great respect, adorning him with the moniker of the gentleman knight: Sir Albert!

  "It's been far too long since we last spoke to one another. I would be elated, even ecstatic, to see an old comrade again, if they hadn't fallen so low," Sir Albert says, coating his barbs in a gentle voice.

  "I regret that you do, Albert. Really, my heart aches that you feel that way," Scar responds, his apology lacking sincerity.

  "My, when did you become so well-mannered? How unsightly, and quite off-putting to this old man's heart."

  "Believe me, this manner of speaking makes my skin crawl, yet this is necessary. Besides, having ill manners in speech and action would give my men the wrong example. They can act like a pack of mindless thugs, but I am their superior, and I shall act like it."

  "Ah, how sensible. At least your arrogance remains."

  "But of course, my arrogance is deserved, as it always has been. You old fart in the wind."

  Scar's uncharacteristic remarks, paired with the conversation between the two, leave me at a loss for their relationship. Old allies are a given; however, they do not sound fond of one another, nor do they resent the other. It is similar to Zell and Scar's jaded interaction.

  "...And still with the foul names… Would you like for me to beat proper manners into that dull mouth of yours?"

  "No, that is okay. We were on our way." Scar gives me his undivided attention. "Albert, I hope I do not have to state the obvious."

  "I can tell, I am not decrepit enough to not notice the similarities."

  Sir Albert spares me a distinguishing glance, then turns to Marie. However, his eyes softened when he laid them on her. Marie was taught to use a lance by Sir Albert when she was younger. A mere glance at her is all it would take for him to know who she is, and it helps that Marie is staring at him, her eyes welling up with tears. Sir Albert returns his attention to Scar, who is withdrawing from the village alongside his men.

  "Hopefully, you conduct whatever business in a timely fashion, Albert, for your sake. And as for you anti-bandit fools, your time will come, but not now. Enjoy the scraps of mercy I have bestowed."

  Marie wipes away the tears trailing down her face, raising her voice. "Why are you acting so…passive?"

  "What a strange question. Do you yearn for battle?"

  "Answer the question!"

  "...Why would I fight a cesspit filled with losers?" Would it be anger that is teeming in his words? No, but I could not blame one for mistaking the edge in his voice for that. Horgmon's body trembles; he is simmering, warring within himself to stay his hand. The pride of a warrior has not died with him; however, that same pride is outweighed by his responsibilities to his people. Blood trickles from his lips. "Men: we take our leave…"

  The battalion of violent thugs follows their leader, taunting, guffawing, and yelling obscenities towards us and Horgmon. The wooden gates close behind them, marking the end of this horrible visitation. The flames engulfing whatever is left of the building are gone, albeit serving as a grim reminder of their presence here.

  "Alexander, now you understand, correct?" Zell's expression darkens, and his voice reflects the gravity of the situation we find ourselves in. "...There will be no reasoning with that man, or the Phantom Flame. It will be a fight to the death."

  "A fight to the death…"

  Those words are a lump in my throat. I do not doubt that Scar is the strongest Flame Wraith we have encountered, and that is without seeing his full strength. And then, there is the man who holds the reins over him and all the bandits… Anxiety roots itself into the foundation of my heart, and blooms into a sickly flower that spells an ill omen.

  "Tsk, tsk… 'A battle is not decided by strategy, wit, strength, nor talent alone, but mentality.' However, everything said beforehand is nice to have," he ends his quote with a peculiar chortle. "Do you know who made that quote?"

  "You!"

  Marie dashes towards him, throwing herself into his arms.

  "Old age has gotten the best of me. I could lift you into the air with ease back in the day, Marianne."

  "You're alive! I'm so…so glad you're alive!"

  "I am happy for your survival as well, my young star."

  A beautiful moment between pupil and master, holding the other as tight as they could. Their bond is akin to that of a father and daughter. A part of me is happy that Marie is smiling, relieved of her worries, but I am hesitant to admit that I feel a tinge of apprehension knowing he is a knight of the Kingdom. Walter then Si– Garrick, and not to exclude father, the trust of the knights has more than dwindled in my heart.

  "GET OUT," Horgmon screams, his chest heaving hard as he stomps towards Albert. He grabs him by his collar, thrashing him about in a blind rage. "Ya ain't welcomed here! Leave my village, ya damn bastard! I oughta…ya…all of ya are…!" Horgmon lets out a hard cough, clutching at his chest. I place a hand on the chief's back, patting his back. "Get off me! He's a damn knight!"

  "Please, do not strain yourself. If you wish to release your frustrations on someone, then hit me!"

  Horgmon growls before swiping my hand off him. He stumbles away, still clenching his chest. "I WANT ALL OF YOU OUT, TONIGHT!"

  He continues onward, never sparing us a glance, but we can feel the hatred burning in his body. There's an insurmountable amount of pain under that anger, sorrow that he could only cover up so much to the world before all that is bottled up froths to the forefront. I feel responsible for that sadness in my father's stead, carrying his blood means I carry his burdens and guilt, if he ever felt such a thing. All these things he left for me to sort out, and I have little to no clue how to resolve the grudges and burdens he left behind. However, I will not lose hope, not again! Before tonight, I will get him to tell me about my father, about Sigurd of Borghulda!

  …/Proxy

  The campsite is jam-packed with hungry bellies and a bunch of happy people in it. And who the hell can blame them? They're eating my food, scarfing down the juicy, fried meat. All nice and crispy, yeah, they are definitely loving it right now. I was worried that there'd be too much left over, but with all the people we have, plus the black holes that are Gil and Elizabeth's stomachs, there'll be nothing left.

  "Hey, this ain't half-bad, man. After what happened last night, I deserve this."

  "You act like you did something last night, and what the hell do you mean 'not half-bad!' Praise my great cooking!"

  "Hey, big guy, do it for me."

  Gil is feasting on a large portion, stuffing his face like a squirrel ready to hibrinate. I don't really need someone to praise or thank me when I see that big ol' smile on their face while eating my food; that's more than enough of a compliment to me. Anyone would be pressed to find a cook who doesn't love it when people smile because of their cooking.

  "Damn! Proxy, ya outdid yourself this time!" Elizabeth, slamming her fist against the table as she swings her arms around some of our guys. "You guys eatin' that?"

  "Ah, we're fu–"

  She didn't even wait for them to finish, just eating it like some she-beast, devouring its unsuspecting prey with a gleeful sneer. Not just her, but Alex is also acting weird, too. The poor guy is actually crying while eating my food… Maybe they weren't ready for the power of fried cooking. It's best to eat this stuff every once in a while, as a treat.

  We would've eaten in the dining hall, but the people here are all cagey with us. Been like that since yesterday, hell, since we came here. And from what I heard happened earlier, I can't blame them for thinking we're nothing but trouble. Still, we had more than enough for the people of Borghulda. Also, Marie and that old dude are away from camp, catching up. Nothing wrong with that, but it reminds me way too much of Garrick and Alex.

  "Proxy…uwaaah! This meat… Verily have I ever tasted as–"

  "Yeah, yeah, cool. Who's the geezer?"

  "Geezer? Ah, that would be Sir Albert."

  "Let me guess, he was one of your dad's war buddies, right?" Chip says, unnerved seeing how the last few of these "war buddies" turned out to be either batshit crazy or a psychopathic jerk

  If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  "Indeed, they served side-by-side with one another. Sir Albert trained the royal family's children, such as Marie and…well…"

  "Her other brother, right?" Elizabeth, taking a break from gorging, guesses.

  Gil gulps heavily before opening his mouth. "Sorry if this is sudden, but if you all share the same mom, right? Then that makes you and him–"

  "Siblings…indeed…"

  The camp goes quiet, huddled around Alex to hear what's being said and how he'll respond next. There's no way we all didn't come to that conclusion, but the idea that Alex, someone who was largely removed from the royal family, was himself blood-related made everyone contemplate the gravity of the matter.

  "You always knew?" Zell asks, keeping the conversation going.

  "I…was aware. And yet, I am unsure of my relation to him."

  "What does that mean? You're either related or not. Can't get simpler than that," Chip says.

  "My first time meeting him was back at the anniversary festival for the king and Marie's - fake - death. A part of me knew we were related. But I just…could not view him as that. Keeping it as such was preferred to distance myself from such a man."

  I want to chime in and tell him something to cheer him up, but this is out of my depth. However, would Alex really just let it be the way it is? He barely knew Marie, but when he heard she was his sister, he went out of his way to get to know her. I don't know how else to put it, but that's how I feel.

  "Yeah, makes sense. You two were nothing more than strangers at that point. Never had any reason to be brotherly to one another. Even if you're related to someone, if you barely know them, then it doesn't matter. If you don't have a shred of history with that person, then they might as well be a stranger, blood related or not." Chip faces the sky, gazing with nostalgic eyes. "...Honestly though...I never thought much of seeing people like that. 'I don't know them, so why should I care?' 'Their problems are theirs, not mine…' Made life pretty simple, but I always had this nagging feeling that it wasn't right… Are you really okay with that? A guy like you could stand a chance at changing things on the outside and in the kingdom with your link to the king."

  Alex's look turns contemplative, absorbing the meaning of Chip's words. Everybody goes quiet again. Ugh, these heavy topics always do this, but I've gotten used to it at this point. Time to get everyone out of this funk by–

  "Proxy, you ever kissed a girl?"

  "...Huh?"

  Elizabeth, out of nowhere, asked by nobody at all, seriously, nobody, just throws that curveball at me.

  "It's gettin' awkward, so I just thought 'why not?' Besides, ya act so darn cool, I just thought ya were a ladies' man… But ya know, I've seen ya hit on anyone."

  "Come to think of it, you always scoff whenever we talk about girls," Chip chimes in, acting like he made the observation of the century. "Richard, have you ever seen him interested in any girls?"

  "I…well… It's not as if he doesn't talk to them. There's Lauren, for one."

  "Oh ho… Yo, Proxy, is she…ya know…?"

  "Hell no. I mean, I've been friends with her since I was in Elementary School, there's no way I'd date her. It'd be so weird…"

  I see her as a sister, a know-it-all sister at that. Plus, she gets on my nerves too damn much to make that happen, and then there's how Birch would react to me suddenly wanting to go out with his daughter. Too weird, man.

  "There was also Vella from the underground city," Richard continues.

  "Oh, yeah! Come on, you two looked kinda close." Chip spurs me on, grinning like a skeezy old man. "...She was cute, wasn't she?"

  "Shut up! It ain't like that…"

  I can't see Vella in that light. She's cute, and I don't mind that she tried to kill me, considering the circumstances. More than that, I don't see her like that. I just want her to be happy with herself. Besides, I don't know if I'm the right person to understand her pain…

  "Oh, wait, wait, wait! Maybe you're into…me?" Elizabeth points to herself.

  "Are you drunk?" I ask, already tired of her taking the piss out of me.

  "A little… Hang on, don't tell me, you're into Marie?"

  Me, interested in Marie like that? I mean, it's not like she's unattractive or anything. Even I'm willing to say that she's cute in a certain light, but that's under certain circumstances, VERY different circumstances!

  Alex clasps my hand with both his. "If you are infatuated with my sister, then I shall give you all my support when you are older!"

  The camp is thrown into an upheaval of laughter, stomping, rolling around, holding their stomachs, and everything. I hate that I can't be mad at Alex for just not getting it, I really, really do! He's even tearing with pride, damnit!

  "Whatever! I wouldn't go out with Marie anyway! She's too naggy, ill-tempered, and she keeps hitting me with those damn gorilla punches! Plus, she acts too much like a boy!"

  "Oh, is that right?" Every muscle in my body goes stiff as a mountain. She's behind me… That pissed off voice and this impending doom hanging over me. I close my eyes, smiling, knowing my ass is gonna get rocked in a few seconds. Yep, I'm so cooked, bro.

  Marie puts me in a headlock on the ground. "Naggy, huh? Ill-tempered!? Sure, you don't mean, 'scares the shit out of me,' huh!?"

  "Th– That's even worse! Uncle, uncle!"

  …

  Inside the village chief's home, there's a room for the village elders and the chief. It's used to discuss the state of the village, or to make decisions regarding the residents and their next set of moves. A meeting can only be called by the village chief, and all elders involved must attend. The meeting centers around the anti-bandit army and its continued presence. Horgmon listens for the consensus of his fellows, waiting for them to say their piece before saying a word.

  "Those people are nothing but trouble. They've incurred the wrath of those bastards, and we'll only suffer even more because of them!" An old, whimpering old man urges Horgmon to a quick verdict.

  "They will spell the end of our village if they stay." An elder lady affirms. "We must drive them out!"

  More and more of them agree to exile the anti-bandit army, seeing them as a danger to their meager way of life, cowering from the bandits' overwhelming forces. The fight has been snuffed out of their bodies, whether it was via scars, physical or emotional from the war, they could not endure another war.

  "We cannot exile them!" Finn, standing next to his grandfather, was as straight as an ironing board. Yet, he stands with his chest puffed out. "I…I think we cannot exile them!

  The elders eye the young man, dismissing his words as naively kind. None could say that without insulting him and the chief. They consider their wording before debunking him.

  "Young Finn… This decision–"

  "The food our people are eating now was made by one of our guests. He didn't need to, but he did anyway!"

  "And we are grateful; however, this does not change the fact that they attract the bandits to our home."

  "Yes. As the future head, you must think of the village's safety, just as your grandfather does now."

  "But…"

  "And who is to say we can trust these people? What if their aim is not to simply eliminate the bandits, but to replace them?"

  "Even if that is not the case, if we house them and they attack the bandits, they will surely all be killed. If they do so at their own risk, somewhere else, we could not be associated with the attack."

  It was a meaningless meeting. Their minds were made up yesterday. Today's unexpected arrival of the bandits only bolstered their reasoning. Horgmon keeps his mouth shut, somewhat agitated with the state of the village. Their warrior spirit dwindled to almost nothing. Even the men who defend their village from villagers who joined the bandits are too scared to fight with them. Yet, he can't blame them. A battle with them would be suicide, and Scar would burn their home down without a second thought. Their spirits had been thoroughly extinguished… Save for one.

  "You old coots still ramblin' on about this crap?" A tall, well-built man, wearing a red coat over his shoulders and no shirt. It's adorned with the flames of the Fire Wraiths, tattered and cut up. He swaggers into the room with his thumb in between the rope tied around his waist. "A bunch of sissies, if ya ask me. Seriously."

  Disdain is one emotion he feels for these people, save for Horgmon. He speaks to them, knowing they can't do anything to force him to show respect. They gnash their teeth and bite their tongues, hoping he gets bored and leaves.

  "You're late, Sid."

  Horgmon's voice is dry, unwilling to work up the energy to deal with Sid. Everyone in the room sees him as a pain that pops his head up now and then. He still treats him as a villager, but their relationship is tenuous at best and strained at worst.

  "I was thinkin' about whether comin' or not was worth it. And I'm gonna say that it still ain't worth the time. Listenin' to these old morons go on and on about the village's safety makes me wanna puke. Speakin' of, why's the brat here? I thought this was a big boy meetin'."

  "I'm here because–"

  "Ahh, shut up! Ya makin' my damn head hurt with that whiny ass voice… Whatever, anyway, we're talkin' 'bout those guys that came into the village, yeah? What are they called…err…"

  "The anti-bandit army," Finn answers.

  "...Ah…yeah. They should stay."

  An immediate uproar booms inside the closed room. The elders object vigorously, unwilling to let this come to pass, and yet Sid doesn't lose his arrogant grin. Horgmon slams his fist on the ground, calling for silence. The room goes dead, and the riled-up elders find their seats, averting their eyes in shame.

  "Why do ya want them to stay?"

  "...They gotta be strong ta mess with the bandits, right? Not just that, but gutsy. So, I wanna see what they got."

  "You want to fight them?" Finn voices his disapproval.

  "Got a problem with it, brat?"

  "They did nothing to you! Please, re–"

  "Is this what a chief does? Beg for someone to stop doing things they don't like. If ya weren't such a little shitter, then ya could force me ta listen. Heh, yer father is turning in his grave, man."

  Horgmon's blood heats up at the absolute disrespect towards Finn and his dearly departed son. He gets up, snapping the wooden pipe like a twig. He bears down on him with murderous intent that swallows up the room in its incredible current. "Ya wanna die, ya lil shit!?"

  Sid laughs, surprised by the amount of pressure he's putting out. Old age and submission did not wither his warrior's will, instead honing it to a razor's edge. Two men wear the title of "strongest" in the village, even to this very day. Horgmon is considered the strongest, both from his feats in the war and because of his status as chief.

  "Yaah! Ya ain't nothin' but impressive as always, old man. But I ain't apologizing for nothin'. Your son was the finest warrior I knew, damn well scared the piss out of me when I was little. But lookin' at his boy… Well, I'll leave it at that. But I'm gonna fight some of 'em one way or the other. Been a while since I had anyone worth a damn to fight… Been gettin' bored of ripping trees apart."

  And Sid is Borghulda's second strongest, a warrior who will soon reach his breaking point if he doesn't get a worthy fight. Horgmon knows his patience is running extremely thin, and soon, he won't be able to control him anymore. His troubled features don't slip past Finn's notice, but the boy is preoccupied with how the man spoke over him, berating him like that. It's nothing new, but it always bothers him when it does. Because he knows he's right about him; he's nothing but a boy who's not even able to leave a dent in a tree.

  "We cannot allow that man to become the next head of the village," a female elder finds her voice after Sid took his leave.

  "He would be the death of all of us… Horgmon, we believe it is time to make Finn the next head, before it is too late…"

  "Yes, it's time you bring the boy up to speed."

  "But I'm not– I'm not ready! I need–"

  "We do not have the luxury of time."

  The room falls silent, and the elders wait for their chief to have the final say on their suggestion. To ensure the future of the village, if the chief were to die before they could pass on the right of chief to their blood relative, then it would fall to the second strongest to take charge in such an event. However, Finn lacks the qualifications to lead as chief.

  "Finn…I let ya have some freedom, but now, we're gonna amp up ya trainin'."

  "But–"

  "No more outside excursions, no disappearing up da mountain, I'm gonna work you to da bone to make up for the lost time."

  "Wait, I'm– But I–"

  "Ya got responsibilities as the next chief, time to get with it."

  "Grandfather, I'm…"

  Horgmon taps his pipe against the small table, sighing to himself. "Everyone out." It's a clear order for the elders. They clear the room in an orderly fashion, leaving both Horgmon and Finn. "I'm not gonna be around forever. If I were to die today or tomorrow–"

  "That won't happen!"

  "But if it were, I need ya to take control… 'Cause of all the people in this place, even if ya ain't the strongest, I trust ya with da village and people. Ya got a good heart, Finn, I trust dat. When Dat time comes and I bite the dust, can ya do it?"

  "I…"

  A moment of hesitation, he wants to say no, to not give his grandfather unrealistic expectations of his capabilities, and yet, when he stares into his eyes, he can't muster the courage to speak against this decision, or rather, a good enough reason to. What would he say, and even if he said he's not good enough, he'll be trained to reach a competent enough point to run the village. The only reason he would argue back is because he doesn't want to be chief, not yet. He wants more time to have his freedom, to indulge in making things, and to just be himself. A selfish wish that he can't put over the village, one that he knew he would eventually have to do away with.

  "...I understand, sir."

  Too many sacrifices were made to keep the village going, and he will have to add to the pyre.