Though the scope of the land was vast, when compared to the mental image Keldon had in mind, the capital was somewhat lacking. He’d expected lush greenery and prim gleaming white walls. Streets lined with stores selling savory goods and riches as far as the eye could see. Not dirt hills and broken swords.

  “This is the capital?” asked Keldon, somewhat disappointed. “It’s kind of barren don’t you think?”

  “How so?” asked Sims.

  “Well, I imagined it being… bigger.”

  “Well, we’ve only just arrived at the Scar, though for someone who’s never been to the capital then it’s no surprise that the area comes off as rather barren. Fear not, this is merely but the tail of a greater beast. We’ve only arrived at the edge.”

  “I see, so why’s it called “The Scar”?” asked Keldon.

  “Quite a suiting name isn’t it? Fields of once-fertile farmland now desecrated for the rest of eternity. Truly a scar indeed,” said Sims.

  “All this?” asked Keldon, gaping at the sheer vastness of the field. “What happened?”

   “A century ago, at a time before the empire had truly been united, a rebel force had pushed past the warfront and caused the retreat of the divine. They marched by the millions, cheering in their victory step-by-step to the beat of booming drums, cracking the sky like thunder. But little did they know, the stamping of their hooves had awoken a monster. The poor souls were still singing war songs before they even knew what hit them. It was both a massacre and simply all in a day’s work for the fist of the Archon,” said Sims. “One of the pillars of the empire. A being so powerful that even the divine fear it’s unrestrained might.”

  A melancholic tone weighed Sim’s voice as he let out a heavy sigh. Even if Keldon had known only known Sims for a short while, he assumed it was probably quite rare to see him expressing this level of emotion. Human or not, if anyone could tell a smile from a frown then they’d be able to see the deep sadness poking through Sims’ expression. Keldon’s curiosity nudged him to learn more, but there was a time and a place to ask questions.

  Now was not that time.

  Keldon sat quietly, making no further attempts to press the conversation. Instead, he chose to soak in the atmosphere, reflecting on the gravity of each sword that held steadfast in the earth.

  As Keldon turned away to the fields, Darian hummed a gentle tune. He fidgeted with the leather reins, steering the tortulga with a carefree expression on his face.

  Sims glanced over to Keldon who was lost in thought, leaning into the ear of his friend as Darian bent down to listen, and listen well.

  “Right again it seems, he’s a good lad after all.”

  A smile crept across Darian’s face.

  “And I knew he would be,” said Darian.

#

  A murder of crows flew around the hilt of the giant stone blade. The raspy caws filled the atmosphere with an air of mystery and mounting dread, casting shadows on the fields below.

  Some would see the towering stone claymore as a symbol of the might of the divine. Some would see it as a monument of justice. Others, a warning. But those weren’t the symbols that Keldon felt strongly about of. It was the shadows of broken blades that resonated with him the most. The final chapters from the memoirs of the forgotten.

  A bitter fury nipped at his chest, looking out over the field of tombs. Millions of dead, all at the hand of the divine. The very thought made Keldon grind his teeth. Bitter memories of Stringston bubbled up from his unconscious. From the little bits of information that he’d gathered at the Hissings, the few people that had heard of what happened assumed that it was all an act of war. A necessary evil they had said. Keldon disagreed.

  But this time, he couldn’t ignore reason. In fact, the Divine were the ones that had been invaded. However, logic did nothing to calm the seed of swirling emotions that started to bud in his heart. The name of fire pulsed in response.

  Keldon took a deep breath, settling down the rising tide of guilt and hate. He pulled out Salem’s pocket watch, rubbing his thumb over the tactile sensations of worn grooves. It was comforting. Though he missed his friend dearly, it felt good to be moving towards his goal again. Hopefully, he would make it there in time.

  Keldon opened up the pocket watch, feeling the soft ticks of intricate clockwork in his palm. The face of the pocket watch was a glossy beige, coated with a light covering of glass. He glanced over to his backpack, thinking about the notebook of raveled secrets. He had so many questions. Why was the prison cart empty? Why didn’t Salem mention it to him again? He hadn’t thought about those things at the moment but now that he had moments of clarity, the web of mystery tangled in his brain.

  “I could really use Salem’s guidance right now,” thought Keldon.

  Keldon closed his eyes, letting the beams of sunlight warm his face.

  He could only trust that he’d figure things out in time.

  There was an awkward silence for a short while as the caravan pulled through the rolling fields of stone and blade. But much to Keldon’s relief, Darian chimed in with his bouts of nothing. His voice boomed as the volume of his voice stunned Keldon, chasing away the air of emotion around his head.

   It was honestly kind of funny how much emotional catharsis Keldon was able to feel from the topic of whether or not wind chimes had buttholes. As much relief as Darian had provided, it was difficult to follow. Most of the time, when Darian prompted a response from a zoned-out Keldon, Clara had to jab him in the side with a stick to snap him back to reality. Luckily, Sims came to the rescue. He ended up carrying the conversation in Keldon’s stead, engaging Darian in debate.

  After a long winding talk that led to a conclusive “maybe”, the sun had begun to set. The field was covered in long sleeping shadows as the moon pulled into the dimming night sky. As the sun fell into the dark horizon, Darian pulled the caravan off onto the side of the road to stop for the night. Pulling over the tortulga, Darian parked underneath the canopy of a tree that stood by its lonesome.

  “Hoo boy! Dibs on my sleeping bag tonight!” said Darian, ignored by Sims and Clara as they began unloading cookware from the caravan.

  “I don’t think anyone’s going to take your sleeping bag, Darian,” said Keldon.

  “Well of course they’re not, I’ve called dibs.”

  “I-… yeah okay,” said Keldon. He was starting to understand why Sims and Clara just let Darian do his own thing. However, it didn’t sit right with him to just ignore Darian. Guilt was starting to knot up in his chest.

  “Hey, Darian. Sorry for earlier by the way,” said Keldon.

  “Whatever for?” asked Darian.

  “Well, honestly… it gets really hard to pay attention when you ramble, and I sometimes end up zoning out. Not on purpose but still. I wanted to apologize.”

  Keldon winced, waiting for an awkward response.

  But rather than lash out with anger, Darian simply Keldon a pat on the head with a beaming smile.

   “Hah! Don’t be stupid, you’re the most attentive audience member I’ve had in ages!” said Darian.

   Keldon opened his mouth to protest, but it was probably true. Best not to lie.

  “Boy, you sure like keeping that flap of yours open don’t you. Now that these things are behind us, let’s have breakfast, now shall we? I’m just famished!” said Darian.

  Feeling a small weight lift off his chest, Keldon readily agreed.

  “Wait… breakfast?” thought Keldon, following Darian.

  And breakfast it was.

  Darian pulled out a basket of goodies from the caravan, bringing it over to Sims and Clara who were tending to a fire. Darian pulled out a loaf of bread and some butter, handing a slab of cured bacon to Clara to cut.

   Without saying a word, she combed through a disheveled basket of oddly shaped knives. She pulled out a zigzagged knife, slicing the bacon with such uniform accuracy it’d put even the best cooks Keldon had ever met to shame.

  Darian threw a cast iron pan over the bed of red-hot coals as it erupted in dancing sparks. He laid down the bacon onto the hot pan, letting the warm smells and sizzles of bacon fat waft around the campsite.

  As the bacon finished cooking, Sims helped set up for breakfast. He piled plates high with buttered bread and bacon, handing Keldon a plate of his own.

   “So why the weird cuts?” asked Keldon,

   “It’s a mother’s recipe. Allows for optimal crisp-to-chew bacon surface area,” said Sims. “The crispiest bits of the bacon can render while still maintaining the tactile chew of the pork fat. Simply marvelous.”

  “To each their own I guess,” thought Keldon. But as he bit into the bacon, it was like Sims had said.

Simply marvelous.

The warm juices of the savory bacon exploded in his mouth. The fat of the pork coated his tongue, enveloping him in flavors of brown sugar and smoky applewood. The nooks and craggles of the jagged edges from each strip of bacon snapped pleasantly to the tongue, creating a sensational mix of chew and crunch.

Sims gave a knowing nod, satisfied with Keldon’s response.

  Darian let out a noise of satisfaction as he loaded his plate with five slices of buttered bread and a mountain of bacon, savoring each bite.

  “-Mmf- You know, they say breakfast is the most important meal of the day,” said Darian, his mouth stuffed with food.

  “Is that why we’re having breakfast for dinner?” asked Keldon.

  “Not just dinner, Darian believes in an eternal breakfast,” said Sims, cutting into the bacon with a fork and knife.

  Keldon looked down at his plate. No doubt about it, the food was amazing. But for every meal?

  “One time we got stuck in a swamp and I only had enough food for brunch. Food was so bad I was blind for a day?”

  Keldon raised an eyebrow. But neither Sims nor Clara raised an objection. Well, it wasn’t like it was his place to judge anyone for liking any one particular meal over the other, so he just let it slide. But as Keldon nibbled away at a slice of toast, Sims spoke up.

  “So Keldon, what happened to you?” asked Sims.

  A glob of bread plopped out of Keldon’s mouth.

  “Um… what do you mean?” said Keldon.

  “Your circumstance. Whatever led you to stumble out of the woods like a bear,” said Sims.

  “If you’re going to tell us about your life story, please censor any graphic details,” said Darian chiming in. “I’d hate to yack up my breakfast because you decided to ponder your life’s calling.”

  Keldon’s hands got clammy as the jitters claimed his foot. Dammit. He should have thought about it some more beforehand!

  “Well… I um. I got separated from my entourage. I was on the way to the capital when we were attacked, and I got separated from the group,” said Keldon.

  “Ah yes. I do recall seeing some singed wreckage on our way. It didn’t seem like the handiwork of the common bandit though. Perhaps your caravan was attacked by the Da’alhorvrick. Insufferably tedious those Unhallowed.” said Sims.

  “Da’alhorvrick?” asked Keldon.

  “The Da’alhorvrick are a rather unsavory group of Unhallowed, another name for illegal magic users. We’d assumed you were one when you approached us earlier today. Though those notions were quickly dispelled,” said Sims. “Your eyes are much too full of life.”

  “I see…” said Keldon, unsure what to make of that response.

  “In any case, we’re glad to have you aboard. Seems fate would have it that we’ve come to your rescue. Rest assured, you’ll be safe in the capital by tomorrow afternoon,” said Sims.

  “Absolutely! In fact, we’ll- “said Darian.

  “*Ahem* Darian, isn’t it about time that you start getting ready for bed now?” said Sims.

  “Well not quite yet, I still need to tell Keldon about- “said Darian.

  A loud cooing rang out from the back of the caravan, interrupting Darian in the middle of his sentence. Darian shot up, racing to the sound. He rummaged through the dozens of crates of clothing, hurling piles of green dresses over his shoulder. Eventually, he pulled out the source of the noise. It was a strange chicken-shaped alarm clock carved out of wood with squiggly clock hands. He tapped the top of the chicken’s head and silenced the clock, wiping his brow with the back of his hand.

   “Whew! Almost lost track of time there. My bedtime is in fact, now. Goodnight Sims. Goodnight Clara. Goodnight Keldon,” said Darian, pulling out his sleeping roll. He laid out the bedroll underneath the caravan and within seconds, fell asleep.

  At this point, Keldon wasn’t even surprised anymore. But something seemed a bit off.

  “What did Darian want to tell me?” asked Keldon.

  Sims gave Keldon a long glance with his dark eyes.

  “Are you sure you want to know? If I wake him up to tell you, I can promise you there won’t be any sleep in your foreseeable future,” said Sims.

  “Okay yeah. Never mind,” said Keldon.

  “Good lad. It seems like that was a fitting way to end the evening. Feel free to mull around until you’re tired, but I’m feeling rather fatigued. Goodnight Keldon. Goodnight Clara,” said Sims.

  As naturally as he breathed, Sims clambered up the tree. He leaped from branch to branch, using his dexterous finger-like feet. Finding a suitable resting spot, Sims nestled into a thick branch, settling himself in the nook of a thick branch. He stretched his arms and legs with a gaping yawn and laid his book on his chest, closing his eyes.

  “Well alright. Goodnight Clara-“said Keldon.

  Clara had already gotten up to leave, striding over to the caravan as she made herself comfortable in a pile of silk scarfs.

  “Totally ignoring me huh?” thought Keldon. It didn’t feel particularly great but it was unrealistic to expect everyone to like him. He shrugged his shoulders and warmed himself by the bed of hot coals, basking in the heat on breezy summer’s night. The fire pulsed with light as the wind fanned the flames. Sparks flickered off the ashen logs, spiraling into the night sky.

  Keldon poked at the base of the fire, lighting the end of a stick before dousing it in the soil to alleviate his boredom.

  Something tickled his nose.

  Keldon jerked his head back, swinging his hand in front of his face.

  “Some kind of mosquito?” thought Keldon, looking around him.

  However, his eyes landed on something much more puzzling than a mosquito. Just past the edge of the fire’s light fluttered a small black butterfly on the hilt of a broken sword. He stared for a second. Then, a memory flashed in his mind.

  “You…You’re from the hissings. What are you doing here little guy?” said Keldon, getting up for a closer look. But as he approached the creature, it flew off the handle of the broken blade, out into the darkness.

  Strange, although it was almost completely dark, he could still see the creature as clear as day. Keldon looked back to the fire. The others were peacefully asleep as a light snore blanketed the campsite. The black butterfly hovered in place as if it were waiting for Keldon to follow.

  Steeling his resolve, Keldon followed the butterfly. The light of the moon illuminated the field of blades as Keldon trailed the tiny creature. The glow of the campfire grew dimmer as doubts pricked at the back of his neck. He scrambled over and around dirt hills under the twinkle of the night sky until eventually, the creature led him to a crater of stone.

  The ground was solid under Keldon’s feet and the pit was stacked high with a mountain of broken blades. He felt a shiver crawl up his spine, this place…it seemed…chilling. He just couldn’t quite put his finger on why.

  “What is-“

  “Hello old friend,” said a voice from above.

  Keldon froze. The sound of the voice made his blood curdle.

  It couldn’t be…

  Keldon slowly brought his eyes to the top of the pile of rusted weapons. A long flowing skirt fluttered in the wind as the yellow light of the moon outlined a familiar silhouette. A young woman sat atop the mountain of broken blades like a throne, her shepherd's crook resting on her lap. She sat up straight, poised with grace as she looked down on him with the enormity of her glimmering eyes. They were as deep as the ocean as wide and equally as terrifying.

  She wasn’t supposed to be here.

  “Death…” whispered Keldon.