"Mother? Who is that?" I tugged at her sleeve, pointing at a stranger, a boy standing across the garden.
"That is..." My mother paused, her face tightening at the sight of him. "That is Lucas, he is your brother, Bairon."
I blinked. "My brother..."
She nodded once, curtly. "Yes. Your half-brother, to be precise. So if you don't have to, don't speak to him. Ignore him. Do you understand? He is none of our business."
"...Yes, mother..."
***
"AH! G-good morning, brother?" His voice wavered after he bumped into me.
I turned, appraising him. "Lucas, correct?"
"Y-yes, brother..."
"Then, Lucas... do you want to train with me?"
***
Bairon Wykes
"Yes, sir?"
"How many dead?"
My voice came out low. Before me lay rows upon rows of corpses neatly arranged on the ground, each one shrouded in dirty cloth that was soaked with mud and blood. The fabric clung to the shapes beneath, too small to hide what had once been living.
"Sir, please... you're exhausted. You need to re—"
"Don't tell me what I need," I snapped, turning sharply to face the elf. My eyes burned. "I asked you how many."
He swallowed hard, gaze falling to the ground. "Almost a thousand, sir," He said quietly. "Men, women and... children. And we're still searching. There may be more buried in the rubble."
I stood still. "...Where is Varay? And Mica?"
"General Aurae went to survey the far side of the city with General Earthborn, sir. She wanted to make sure there weren't any of those animals left."
My eyes went shut. I sighed. My jaw clenched tight until I felt an ache.
Those corrupted Vritras...
Did they come here for that girl?
It all happened so fast. It was too sudden. There were too many of them. They spread out almost everywhere. We tried to kill as many as we could. Save as many as we could.
But nearly a thousand lives...?
"..."
"General Wykes!!" A barked call snapped me back. A dwarf in spiked armor came charging down the slope, his boots thudding through the churned soil. "Alacryans! We—"
"WHAT!?" I snapped, more harshly than I meant.
"Alacryans, sir! We found some of them sneaking through one of our broken portals in—"
"Take me there. Now!" I cut him off. "Show me."
He hesitated. "Are... are you going to kill them, sir?"
"Move!"
"But sir—"
"WHAT is there to hesitate about?! Huh?!" The words ripped out of me impatiently.
He slowed. "The Alacryans we found—they aren't mages, sir. They aren't soldiers either. They're just... women. Kids. And old folks."
***
Clay Stoutbrook
"..."
He fell silent.
The great war general—Lance Thunderlord, the feared and respected Bairon Wykes—stood almost motionless. His shoulders, once squared in command a moment ago, now seemed to sag down. His face, once hard as steel a second ago, now slowly became soft and somewhat uncertain.
"Sir...?" I called out carefully.
His jaw worked. No answer.
Then, at last—
"...Lead me to them."
"Yes, sir..." I moved without hurry, guiding him toward the crowd of soldiers gathered in the very far distance, where another problem awaits like a debt.
"Kneel down! Kneel the f*ck down!!"
Already the voices of men, screams and cries of women rose before we could reach them—raw, cruel, and hurtful, breaking against each other like a storm.
"Please we meant no harm—!"
"Oh, for f*ck's sake!! Just kill them already!!! Can't you see how many of our people have died?!"
"It is not our decision to kill them or not! The general will arrive soon, he wi—"
"We're in a f*cking giant underground city!! Kill them before they blow the whole place up!!!"
"These f*cker caused me a f*cking arm!!!"
"They destroyed half of our food storage!!"
"Kill them!!"
"Kill them!!!" Someone screamed. Another voice simply repeated it, then another—until the air itself seemed to chant for blood.
"Kil—"
"SILENT!!!" General Wykes' command cracked across the crowd like thunder, having every insult die cold all at once. The mob fell still. Even the wind seemed to hush.
And in the ringing silence that followed, the terrified eyes of those we considered enemies stared wide at the very presence of Bairon Wykes.
"..."
Among the fearful Alacryans stepped out a man—a warrior protected in a fitting, damaged armor that was just as dark as his messy hair. His red ruby gaze boldly looked toward the war general.
General Wykes tightened his grip on his spear. "Retainer..." He realized as he spoke, loud enough to be heard clearly.
"RETAINER!!!" One of the soldiers alerted, and without any delay, augmenters leveled their weapons while conjurers prepared their spells.
And so did mine. My axe felt heavy, itching to be swung.
"Hold!" General Wykes commanded as all of the mages obeyed.
I held down my axe as I kept on watching.
The retainer didn't falter as he stood his ground. "We meant no harm!" he quickly declared. "We are not your enemy! We are not one of Agrona's. We stand with Seris Vritra—to escape Argona's tyrannical rule."
"...Hm..." General Wykes kept himself silent as he listened, probably thinking of what he should do.
"..."
The retainer's composure cracked. Desperately, he dropped to his knees, bowing low until his forehead nearly touched the dirt. "Please... If anything, you can lock me up. I'll tell you all I know. Don't harm them, please. Please... help them. They need food. Water. Please..."
"..."
The soldiers murmured, anger stirring again.
"Oh my bloody days! Sir, please, don't let them fool you."
"Yes, they're bombs in disguise—kids, women, elders, all of them."
"Yeah!"
"Sir, please kill them before they kil—"
"Enough!!" General Wykes cut the voices down.
"..."
"...Sir...?" Someone muttered.
"...Prepare a shackle and a cell for him." The general ordered at last. "And a larger one... for the rest. To ensure safety, move our own people far away from the detention area."
"But sir—"
"Make sure they're given food and water." He cut in sharply. His gaze lingered on the Alacryans behind the retainer. "I will discuss this further with Commander Virion, and Arthur once he comes back."
"Thank you...!" the Alacryans cried out gratefully, one after another. Women clutched their children tightly, whispering soothing words through their sobs. Elders broke down, their trembling hands covering faces lined with grief.
"...Yes sir." Some of us said out loud. The voices of assent were subdued, reluctant.
"Good."
"Thank you... thank you..." The retainer's voice broke. He did not resist as shackles closed around his wrists as he allowed himself to be taken away alongside his people.