A sudden chill passed through my spine at the sight that I just witnessed. Dumbfounded and held still, I still processed the information in front of me. The wounded Merrick rushing in to save Celerim’s life, scuttling away to safety, while dragging the still unconscious Celerim and then failing.

Why do such situations, promise hope and fail to deliver?

The Immanence summoned fared very little against the Knight of Ash and Smoke. Their desperate struggle did not measure well against the cold cunningness of the eldritch knight. Eight were in the beginning and only seven remained. No body or ash or even dust was left. Just an absence in their number. An indication that the Knight of Ash and Smoke has succeeded in demolishing them.

Savvas was a step ahead of me in reaching Merowyn and Ottomar. I trailed behind my nephew.

The hellhound that they engaged was on its last leg, barely holding against the combined attacks.

“You two with me now,” I shouted.

Merowyn’s face made a sharp cut as he turned away from me, refusing to engage.

“Look fancy Lady, We do our own things,” uttered Ottomar.

“In case you didn’t realise, the Baron declared emergency,” I said, “Captain Hilam now takes orders from me.”

“But we ain't the Baron’s men,” answered Ottomar.

“Don’t you want to rescue Merrick?” I cast a glance at the two motionless bodies.

A small silence passed between the two of them. When it broke, it was Ottomar who spoke finally.

“Cant be leavin’ these young ones, too green. They still have their milk teeth,” he said with hesitation hinting at the Paladin initiates.

“For every single one you kill, more will come to take their place, trust me,” I cast another glance on the grounds, “Saving those two is the only way to resolve this, permanently.”

At the distance, only five of the reflections remained, attempting to halt the progress of the Knight of Ash and Smoke. The eldritch knight, now closer to Celerim.

The two warriors sensed the sudden change in urgency and without any arguments, disengaged and fell behind us.

One more reflection of the angelic warrior disappeared and the knight continued, unhindered.

We are too late. We are not going to make it.

Zelaphiel slid fast and stood with raised weapon between the eldritch knight and the senseless Celerim.

---

Zelaphiel’s song filled the festival grounds. His voice sang sweet, renewed those around with vigour and courage. Not a song. The Paladin Champion hummed a chant. Wordless or perhaps words that were ancient. Too ancient to be lost in time. Yet, it unmistakably urged those who heard to rise with fervour.

The Knight of Ash and Smoke engaged Zelaphiel.

The Paladin Champion went on the offensive first. The first strike, the knight blocked. The second, he parried again. The third strike, the eldritch knight parried, followed with a riposte. Caught off guard, the Aasimar gasped for breath as he fell with a thud. His, once shining armour, now lay tattered on the ground. His otherwise charismatic eyes, now bulged in their socket and his breathing became sporadic and still, he stood up and faced his monstrous opponent.

One more reflection of the Immanence summoned disappeared and the eldritch knight moved towards Celerim, ignoring the Paladin Champion.

“Not yet,” uttered Zelaphiel between his struggling breath.

He stood up and raised his weapon against the knight again.

The knight halted.

“What kind of demon or devil are you?” asked the Paladin Champion.

The knight refused to engage the question.

“I have an oath to keep,” said Zelaphiel to no one in particular and then he attacked.

With a swift cleave, the eldritch knight countered. Zelaphiel reeled back. The wide tenebrous arc left by the ebony blade mocked. The Paladin Champion rushed again, with an overhead swing. The Knight sidestepped. Frustration twisted the Paladin’s face. The Knight of Ash and Smoke grabbed the Paladin’s left arm as it passed. Zelaphiel screamed in excruciating pain. The knight pinned the paladin’s arm. The latter struggled, desperately. The former wrapped his arms and constricted the forearm of the paladin. The latter writhed in pain. The knight still held as if his arms were cords of pliable steel. In a desperate measure, the Zelaphiel kicked. With his free arm, the knight crashed the pommel on the pinned arm of the Paladin. A moment of still silence reigned. The sound of crunching bone followed. A wail of agony issued from the Paladin champion.

Zelaphiel crumbled on the ground. His strength mysteriously drained and his legs gave out. The left hand hung limp, twisted in an unnatural way.

The lone remaining reflection fought unperturbed against the eldritch knight. Guided by arcane determination, the knight single-mindedly advanced towards Celerim.

Zelaphiel stood a third time. His face contorted with despair, his spirit still unyielding, he faced the Knight of Ash and Smoke again. With only one functioning arm and without his sturdy armour, the Aasimar looked like a hollow shell of the proud person that he was before. Zelaphiel spat out blood. An action otherwise and usually too vulgar for the well-groomed Zelaphiel.

The last of the immanence summoned left without a trace. The eldritch knight considered the Paladin. Behind the veil of smoke, the helmet twisted and fixated on the Aasimar.

In an act that surprised all those who witnessed, Zelaphiel walked and stood between the knight and Celerim. Weaponless and beaten, he still held his zeal.

The Paladin rushed. Born of a desperate moment, a straightforward kick aimed at the knight, was all he could do. The eldritch knight staggered. But only for a moment. The knight threw his ebony blade and caught Zelaphiel with bare hands. Gauntlets of dark amalgamated alloy twisted around the Paladin’s neck. Agony marred the serene paladin champion’s face as he struggled. Then came the first blow. Then the second and soon a flurry of blows followed from the eldritch knight.

Zelaphiel countered. With blows of his own. Both the fighters abandoned guile. Just an exchange of primal rage-induced blows. A war of attribution ensued. Weapons tossed aside. All pretext of finesse abandoned. Pure blows propelled by feral fury spoke. For all the ferociousness, in the end, Zelaphiel went limp.

The Paladin Champion’s face, an unrecognisable pulp of blood and torn tissues. The white of a bone pierced through his skin and poked upwards, where his collarbone should have been. His mouth torn at one side revealed a mismatched pattern of missing and maligned teeth. Where he should have had eyes, bloody sworn pulp of flesh stared back. His once long lustrous hair, now matted with dried blood, mostly his own.

The Knight of Ash and Smoke, with a flick of his wrist, tossed the limp form of Zelaphiel aside as if he were filth. Satisfied with his handwork, the Knight resumed walking towards Celerim.

---

Twin loud noises issued from Savvas. He held both his twin pistols ignoring the smoke arising from their muzzles.

“A clear shot,” exclaimed Savvas, “but will not hold the being’s attention for long.”

True to Savvas’s words, the knight turned in our direction. The shroud of smoke, dispersed in wake of the trajectory of the bullet, revealed a cracked helmet. A single deep crimson red eye with slitted feline iris surrounded by a deep purple-hued skin stared. Our gaze held for a fleeting moment. The gaze sought deep inside, prodding, seeking validation for something.

With an off-handed wave, the eldritch knight beckoned a bloodtracker to engage us and walked unhindered towards Celerim.

---

The sturdy scale-covered tail lashed out, knocking Savvas to the side. Knocked out of his breath, the latter gasped for fresh air and coughed. The rapier he held moments ago, a poor choice of weapon for parrying, flew from his hands and lay shattered.

Ottomar, with feline agility, inconceivable for his bearish body, roll dodged and positioned himself between the bloodtracker and the panting Savvas. Merowyn who shadowed the hulking warrior, deftly dodged another tail lash and stuck with the ferocity of a mountain lion.

The amalgamated beast aimed another kick. One meant to knock any other soldier. But the veteran warrior only staggered for a fleeting moment, before he yoked his failing balance.

Taking hold of the opportunity for attack, while the bloodtracker kicked, my blade snaked around its alien face. The hope that it would gain a lucky hit died as the latter reared its head. My blade bounced back harmlessly from its scaled neck.

---

At the distance the eldritch knight had his progress checked by Zaehran.

The ascetic monk hopped over a few barricades as if were a wide set of steps. At the final barricade, he heaved himself up in the air and landed. Landed, was the wrong word. He stepped down in the air, on invisible feathered steps. The last few paces, the monk almost glided slowly down.

“Friend, you are far from home,” the calm voice of Zaehran rang, “Your presence here, caused discord.”

Discord. That is the most underwhelming definition of an obvious situation.

The Knight of Ash and Smoke shook and then shrugged.

“Would you mind withdrawing?” asked Zaehran.

Negotiation. Great skill and a virtue. But not this time.

The eldritch knight summoned his ebony blade. His hips lowered and hilt clasped tightly in both hands, raised above his head, he challenged.

A silent word of acknowledgement passed between them.

With a speed rivalling the famed instant teleportation, Zaehran closed the gap. He stopped the swing of the sword, at the hilt with an open palm. The knight attempted a powerful kick. Zaehran countered with his own. Shin covered with heavily armoured greaves impacted on leg covered in tattered fabric. Zaehran did not wince at the pain.

Upon Zaehran’s proximity, the shroud of ash and smoke surrounding the eldritch knight dissipated like morning dew under sunlight. Bereft of the mysterious aura, the knight stood exposing this crude armour. An armour devoid of any intelligent design with a thin crack like spiderwebs covering the entire surface. Without the element of obscurity, the knight resembled more an impoverished noble than a malignant invader.

Zaehran took a few cuts which he ignored and continued fighting. Long grunts of frustration issued from the knight. His opponent, lithe and dexterous, proved a challenge. The monk hit hard and fierce. The knight ignored the agony. His ebony blade carved deadly arcs. Unarmed, the monk formed his left arm into a lethal plane, slashing away, eroding the knight's defences.

Zaehran’s right arm glowed unnaturally as it made an impact with the armoured rib. The eldritch knight halted midstep, on one foot and with weapons raised.

The ascetic stopped the knight's progress. Celerim would be saved now. I gave a sigh of relief. We just need to reach the motionless Celerim.

“Kind delver, would you consider my offer?” pleaded Zaehran.

Only silence answered.

“Spare the lives of these people?” Again Zaehran pleaded.

The Knight struggled. A long-drawn breath came from the knight.

“You, do not belong here. We do not belong here,” added Zaehran.

“Leave,” Words echoed and reverberated inside the hollow helmet and came out deformed of its original form from the knight, “not the same”

The yapping maw of hellhound closed on the empty space where Zaehran stood a moment ago. Zaehran did his characteristic leap and with hands folded behind, stepped down the invisible winding stairs. His eyes were still keen on the immobilised knight.

“Would you follow, if I offer to lead you back?” asked Zaehran.

The knight shuddered and attempted to break free. Zaehran’s eyes widened in surprise, the only expression that showed on his otherwise veiled face.

“Save lives,” the knight spoke.

The eldritch knight broke the spell over him with sheer willpower. At his command, two hellhounds leapt for the ascetic. Zaehran leapt in the air. The second hellhound jumped higher to where Zaehran would be and would have been successful, except the monk anticipated. Zaehran twisted mid-air and in a feat considered impossible leapt higher. Straight into the claws of the Erinyes Matriarch.

---

Savvas let a frustrated scream at the fall of events.

“Go, we will hold,” said Merowy as he slashed at the Bloodtracker.

I gave the sword two small tugs, trying to free it. But it lodged firmly between the scales and refused to budge. I cast a glance at Ottomar who shared Merowyn’s views.

“Savvas, give me cover. We are going ahead,” I rushed without waiting for my nephew’s response. I know Savvas would follow me, blindly.

Meanwhile, the eldritch knight reached closer to the unconscious Celerim.

---

Ryleval scooped from above and knocked the Knight of Ash and Smoke. The eldritch Knight attempted to block, underestimating the ferocity of the gryphon and staggered a few steps backwards from the swipe. Ryleval shouted a bone-chilling cry and declared a threat to anyone who attempted to harm her rider. Her lensed eyes sharply focussed on the knight, following every movement.

“Good girl, she has come to protect him,” I exclaimed in relief.

The Knight of Ash and Smoke stood facing Ryleval. The gryphon stiffened and ruffled her feathers. Her thews bulged to prominence as she dug her hind legs in the ground. The eldritch knight dropped to drooping posture, posed ready to strike.

Ryleval swiped with her dagger-like talons. The knight stood still and blocked in vain. The ferocity of the gryphon overwhelmed the knight’s defences and the latter was thrown aside like a ragdoll. More cracks widened on the knight's tenebrous armour. Ryleval issued another shrill stone ravaging cry announcing her presence. Challenging anyone who dared to harm Celerim.

The knight stood and resumed his attack on Ryleval with renewed vigour. The gryphon’s sturdy talon took chunks of the Knight’s armour with every swipe. With feline celerity, she thrust her head and pecked her opponent. Against her long hardened beak, the cuirass of the knight served no better than a thin seashell.

The knight sensing that the tide of the battle turn switched tactics. He rolled, halted, waited for the talon swipe to pass, and grabbed, used the momentum to hurl himself up over the gryphon’s head. Ryleval, befuddled by the sudden turn of events, shook her head violently. The knight climbed nimbly despite his armour and raised his ebony blade, the sharp tip poised to drive through the gryphon’s neck.

Savvas fired a shot followed by another. Each one found its mark and offsetted the knight’s balance.

Ryleval, in a surprising moment of clarity, took to the skies and looped mid-air. Three loops, she did in the air and the knight held fast. His luck abandoned him at the fourth loop and he dropped to the ground.

The knight of Ash and Smoke landed on his feet. His weapon, lost during the aerial struggle, lay at a distance beyond his grasp. Ryleval swooped down swiftly. The knight rolled, narrowly avoiding the deadly grasp of the gryphon. Ryleval made a narrow arc and attempted again to grab him. At his beckoning, a swarm of hellhounds and bloodtrackers assembled, protecting him.

A bloodtracker crashed into Ryleval, grounding the aerial predator. Ryleval pinned the bloodtracker with her forelimbs. The crushing sound of cracking bone reverberated as the gryphon crushed the bloodtrackers neck with her razor-sharp beak. Crimson red blood spilt and pooled beneath. Ryleval ferociously tore into the bloodtracker’s viscera. The smell of vitriol, from the otherworldly blood, carried by a sudden breeze, wafted through. Only the howling of the hellhounds interrupted. Four more hellhounds surrounded Ryleval. Seeking aerial advantage, Ryleval took to the skies.

The knight advanced towards Celerim. Every swoop that Ryleval attempted, a hellhound or a bloodtracker interrupted the gryphon’s flight path. With a formidable leap, the hellhounds and bloodtracker made jumps high enough to reach the airborne gryphon as she swooped low.

With Ryleval otherwise occupied, the eldritch knight reached the unconscious form of Celerim, bent low, lifted the senseless high-elf and laid him over his shoulders.

Satisfied with the result, he strode with determination towards the nearby portal.

---

The blade of The Sentinel gleamed, laying the dust, tantalizing my attention, urging me to wield. Seeing no other weapon at hand, I grabbed The Sentinel.

As my fingers curled around the hilt, the feeling of comfort and soothing spread slowly, enveloping my very turmoiled soul. This was the closest to Lyria that I had felt in centuries.

The Sentinel, itself, felt light and yet its reach longer compared to my own Reminiscence. The warm, spilled blood of Celerim still lingered on the soaked hilt.

“This ends now,” I screamed attracting the eldritch knight’s attention.

Only a few strides separated us.

The knight turned. Lips snarled through the cracked helmet, revealing large canine teeth.

“Consort Mother,” the Knight of Ash and Smoke, finally addressed.

A strange title.

“You, “ he spat every word as if they were poison, “gift bestowed. A feast and the worms festered. Not wielded.”

“Leave Celerim,” I threatened.

“Not yours to command. A gift bestowed and ignored,” repeated the eldritch knight.

I closed the distance between us.

“Carried incorrectly. A mistake, a common mistake,” uttered the knight.

I brandished The Sentinel and gave it a few swings, accentuating my threat. It felt natural.

A few hellhounds and bloodtrackers surrounded. None dared to approach any closer. Their face darted away as I pointed The Sentinel at them.

“You will leave empty-handed,” I growled.

“Consort Mother, ephemeral life,” the knight responded emotionlessly, “Do you wish to save?”

The Knight of Ash and Smoke’s gauntleted hand slowly rose.

I felt the cold steel muzzle of a pistol on my temples.

“Savvas,” I sneered, “explain?”

“Aunt Rillie, please drop the sword,” said Savvas with a voice filled with cold determination.

Silently, I watched the limp form of Celerim disappear into the portal carried by the Knight of Ash and Smoke.