The fog was thick like clotted cream as the group wandered through the tent laden mud.  

The hero alone had been requested for this meeting, yet somehow the troop leaders also decided to attend in order to see what this spy had to say for himself. I suppose it should be expected, who would agree to the requests of someone devious enough to spy for the demons.

Typically, a request like this from a prisoner would be instantly denied. It was strange enough to have a prisoner at all. But these circumstances were very odd to say the least.

As the porter described it, the human the guards had found wandering through forest was ‘well dressed’ with only a small letter opener covered in dry blood in his possession.

Eventually arriving at the tent, the hero and company ducked their heads to enter the low hanging doorway.

Filing in one by one, several generals and strategists all stood in shock as they stared at the caged figure before them.

Coated in a thin layer of ash, and dry blood was a gaunt teenager wearing a torn button up shirt and a loosely-knotted blood red tie.

His eyes were shut and his body was slumped against the bars of the small animal cage. I wouldn’t doubt anyone if they claimed he had already died before we arrived. If it weren’t for the trace amount of mana still pulsing in his body I’d have been sure he was dead. But that trace was little more than a whisper.

What must he have gone through already to get to this state?

And now we are holding him in chains like a slave? No. The hero refused to stomach it.

“Open that cage! Now. Get him out of there.” The prince commands with a seething look towards the soldiers standing nearby. “Someone call a healer right away. And the rest of y…”

“Y…” The boy in the cage mutters opening his eyes cautiously and glancing past the men wrenching open the cage. “It’s you, isn’t it?”

“Bag?” The hero asks with hollowing eyes.

“Noel...” The figure mutters with a small smile as what little energy he had finally pitters out.

▐◊▌▐◊▌

Prompted by the prince’s call, Filia arrived quickly and began casting an array of magics without even a second glances after arriving at the tent, it was almost as if she already knew what needed to be done without even a look.

With her off-hand she began to shoo away the curious generals and then promptly requested Bonze’s assistance in carrying Aryn towards a better equipped tent.

Once the silencing tool was in place in the new tent, she cast another flurry of spells on the tattered boy while sending an awkward glance towards the bawling hero leaned over the bed where the mystery boy lay.

“He’ll be ok, kinda.” Filia explains knowing full well that the hero was too shocked to hear her words. ‘I just hope the same can be said for you.’ Sighing to herself she settles into a nearby desk and begins penning down a long note. With reluctant expression she writes a few final words and folds the paper into an envelope. “Have him open it when he wakes up.”

Glancing to Bonze who seem to be looking at Aryn with a reluctant expression she grows a pitying grin. “Last chance.”

Huffing in response to her, Filia chuckles with a shrug.

“Come on then, we’re finally done here.”

“Mhm.” Bonze agrees, following after Filia and shutting the buttons of the tent behind him.

Watching the old man huff for a second time Filia similarly emits another pitying chuckle. “Must be how humans feel when giving away their daughters.”

“You don’t know what I’m feeling.” Bonze responds taking a step and vanishing from the camp with Filia closely in tow. “It would be as easy as flicking a candle wick.”

“Mhm, it would’ve been.” Filia mocks as she follows behind her senile old king.  

▐◊▌▐◊▌

“I killed Rhun.”

Those empty words echoing in the silent tent awoke the hero from her daydream. Lifting her face from the rough blanket a conflicted, pained, smile forms as she nods.

“Th…”

“And from the looks of it, I don’t think he’ll be the only friend I take from you.”

Dropping the letter he had discovered on the bedside Aryn extends a hand towards Noel’s while maintaining direct eye contact. “Unfortunately, I just can’t let this be your choice.”

Before the words could even fully register in the still groggy mind of the hero, she felt a cold lump in between her palm and ‘Bag’s’. The unmistakable sensation of flowing mana followed shortly after as her fist was clenched around the hilt by Aryn’s weak grip.

“Wh…” Noel begins to ask as she looks down at the familiar sword locked in her grasp, but before her word could finish the pulse had grown through the entire blade and light was now overflowing from within the small tent.

Eventually after a blinding moment, the light wanes and finally coalesces into the spine of the blade, a feeling of great relief drifted over Noel as the sword accepted her. But aside from the feeling was another she couldn’t grasp.

“Now it’s over.”

“What do you mean ‘it’s over’?” Noel refutes in disbelief, “It’s just getting started, now that I have the sword I can…”

“Like I’ve said, it’s over. I can feel it, his voice is already gone.” Aryn again counters with a shake of his head. “Someone ought to be reporting it fairly soon. I know this is probably a lot to take in. I’ll do my best to explain.”

“The tr…” Noel begins to ask while resting her eyes on the letter laying on the blanket beside ‘Bag’.

“It seems I wasn’t the only one who met the things of legends.”

“Is that Filia’s handwriting? What does she have to do wi…” The words seem to choke in Noel’s throat as she notices the tear dripping down her cheek. “Why am I crying?”

“This sword has only one purpose. You must understand what an ultimate weapon is, right?” Tapping the still pulsing blade with a finger Aryn returns a sympathetic look towards the hero. “Maybe you had some faint suspicions already? In any case, I’m sorry for making you a tool. A tool of, my revenge, La’s victory, and that senile king’s suicide.”

“La, Senile king?” An unknown voice asks, causing no shock to Aryn.

“She went by Filia here, I guess. I hadn’t even imagined she could still be alive, but it would explain a few things. Ah, I suppose its sacrilegious to speak about another royalty in your presence, huh? Fortunately, he’s dead now too, so your father can finally consider himself the only king. It’s a pretty rare opportunity. But not necessarily the blessing one might think. If you think about it, the three of us were the only winners in all this.
La proved that she and her brother’s creations were ultimately superior to the most powerful demon.
I was able to wreck my revenge.
And the demon king was able to get the peace he supposedly yearned for.”

“And what do you all get in return.
An unbalanced, unstable world.
And a genocide forced into your hands by an era long dead.”

“I wouldn’t call it a fair trade.” Aryn finish with a deep sigh as the sword once again vanish from the bed back into the recess of the armory.

 “You didn’t… I…”

“So, my coming to report was entirely pointless then…” The well-dressed man in the doorway nods with a serious expression. “The hero’s sword is truly a terrifying weapon as described. I really didn’t expect my sister’s prophecy to be so on the nose.”

Bowing his stiff body carefully Aryn breaths deeply before speaking in the tone hammered into him by the months of nobility lessons. “I apologize for my tardiness, I’m Aryn Hyde, Wolfbourne Court Adjunct, and Bearer of the Hero’s Armory. With this my duty is complete, I am prepared to accept the punishment for my actions.”