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located in Newhaven, a part of Shadows of The Forgotten, one of the many universes on RPG.

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Otium 15- Early Morning

Newhaven was a city that relished in its glory. The glory of the Sun and Moon living harmoniously in perfect bliss to bring light to Valcrest in its brightest and darkest of days. The light of Valcrest, its true King, had gone out years before and the shadow of that past had finally caught up to them. Newhaven was falling. The system was breaking and young revolutionaries wished to find the light again. But the young were foolish. Time hadn't allowed them the pleasure of learning the intricacies of Life. They didn't understand the struggles that the older, more experienced had been trudging through in the past several years to make things right. They all just saw an endless war, an unknown disease, and a continuous struggle for balance. These kids didn't see what was happening deep within the shadows. How could they ever understand? They tried to, but failed.
Evin understood. He understood more than he ever wanted to know. It wasn't by choice, but rather by nature. He could blame it on Dani or on the Wolf Pack for getting him involved in things that were beyond even his full comprehension. Rather, he had to blame himself for his continued search for the apex of the shadows. Maybe it had all started when he was still young and foolish. Maybe he still was young and foolish, yet here he was, wiping the blood off his sword while the young fools around him regarded him as a war hero.
What the kids called bravery, Evin called self defence. There was no bravery in killing a man. He'd learned that years ago. He wasn't sure what true bravery was, exactly, but he expected that even War would agree with Evin's analysis. No, Evin just managed to do more to protect himself than the other's in the room at the time of the fighting.
But the kids regarded him with too much respect now. A level of respect which deserved a party, or so they insisted. And before even the earliest of birds had started chirping, the celebrations in the Inn had begun.

“I hate parties.” Evin said in an annoyed tone to Piccolo, the one who had been in charge of the initial rebellion.

Piccolo stood tall, despite his short stature and jovially explained, “Its time to celebrate Life, good friend! Reports are coming in from all around the city. We've taken several strategic points. Destroyed many military supplies and have essentially annexed the city. It is ours now.”

“And what of the castle?”

“Who cares!”

“There are strategies to insure that Newhaven doesn't fall under rebel control. Newhaven Castle has never been taken by rebels in any other rebellion. Historically, during a rebellion, Newhaven armies fill the castle barracks to the brim and defend for long enough, until Blackpond comes to take advantage of the in-fighting. Then the castle pushes Blackpond out of the city and cuts their losses. What measures do you have in place to make sure this doesn't happen to you.”

“Blackpond is too busy fighting their own civil war to concern themselves with us.”

“Yes, but Blackpond is home of War. The people there don't see War in the same way that most people do. They see opportunity before personal conflict. If the opportunity arises to come out victorious in the great Valcrest war, it is quite possible that the civil war will be put on hold and Newhaven will be crushed. So again, I ask you what measures you have in place to make sure this doesn't happen?”

“We'll wait for word from the castle. But for now, enjoy the party. Life is short we don't know how much time we have left.”
“Exactly.” Silence. “Now quit wasting away on your drink and actually commit your life to something.”

Evin finally realized it. That was what made him different. He couldn't sit idle because otherwise his life would be wasted on the world. He didn't push himself into the world to sit back the moment things seemed to be going right. Evin would never find anything right. He didn't fight against anything but the fight itself.

A man burst into the room that Evin and Piccolo sat. A few of the men who'd volunteered to guard Piccolo stood up, ready to draw their weapons, but calmed down as soon as they realized that it was one of Piccolo's men at arms who'd burst in.

“Word from the castle.” The boy said under heavy breath. “Fighting continues, but we've managed to capture the Queen.”

Piccolo's eyes brightened. He averted his gaze to Evin, with a sharp grin as if to tell him, 'I told you so', before asking, “Where is she being taken?”

“She's been taken, under heavy guard to the Church of Sun. There is a clear path that is under our control in that section of the city and our fortifications in that area are at the strongest at this moment. It would take a sizable force to get to her.”

“Good. Now to celebrate. Evin, will you join us now?” Piccolo offered Evin the bottle. “Wait. Where are you going?”

Evin tensed as he reached for the door. He tilted his head to one side and softly let out a steady breath. Turning around, he didn't look over at Piccolo, but the soldier that had come to bring the news of Ella. “The castle, soldier. Tell me how the fight goes.”

The boy tightened up, planting his feet and erecting himself to become as stiff as a board. “Fighting is slow, sir. A Black Knight and small contingent of guards has been holding the Knight's Quarters for the past two hours.”

Evin didn't say anything more. He glanced at Piccolo for a moment. Trying to read his thoughts. His face remained stern and attentive. Despite what Evin thought of his complacency, he seemed to be a good leader. For a rebellion, he was exactly what the cause needed. Before Evin could get caught staring for too long, he walked out the door. After shutting it, he began his pace quickened as he pushed through the celebrating crowds to exit the building. These rebels were going to cause so much more trouble than they were worth. Something that to be done to prevent them from holding any true position of power.

------

Blades sang their horrific tune through the halls of Newhaven Castle leading to the Knight's corridors. Each song telling a talk of grief. Starting with the high pitched percussion of of first contact. The song's end would only come in the moments that the families were told the news of untimely death at which point the song would crescendo with the guttural cries of grief and finally, denouement into the last whimpers of the final time someone would cry over them.
What Dominic hated over all of that was the sound that a dying man made. Most hardened soldiers that he spoke to seemed to say that they didn't even notice the sounds anymore. Dominic couldn't help but hear it. The sounds of gurgling after opening a chest cavity. The wheezing. The dull thud of metal on bone. The grunts and moans. All of these sounds were things that Dominic would hear in his dreams and after every rough battle. The sounds of this battle would never leave him.
There must have been upwards of a hundred dying and dead bodies across the long hallway. Dominic was the only defender left. The rest of his friends were laying across the floor, dead or soon to be dead. Among the castle guards were the revolting citizens who were also strewn across the floor.
Only about a dozen attackers remained.
Dominic gave strength to the word “knight” in his fighting. His ferocity outpaced even the bravest of soldiers in history. Yet, there was only so far that he could push himself and he was close to breaking. He could no longer lift his claymore and instead, opted for a decorative sword that had been hung on the wall. The attackers had noticed this and saw it as a sign of weakness. This only added flames to the attackers and they fought with more strength.
Dominic eyed the attackers as they seemed to move into a formation. Only about three or four could attack at one given time, so they formed lines. When one man fell, the next could easily take their place. It was simple and it was smart. Of course it was. The only ones who survived a battle as horrific as this were the ones who were smart enough to understand how to survive. Even the lucky ones couldn't survive in a fight that had drawn itself out for so long.
The first four attacked in near unison. Dominic had expected it, but it wasn't until that moment that he realized how unfavourable his position was. A block would defend against maybe two at the most and a dodge would protect against three. Instinct kicked in at that moment. He stumbled backwards, protecting himself for another moment. It was enough to open the big wooden door behind him, swinging to block one of the oncoming attackers. Now he could dodge. He huffed and jumped his lumbering body back, just grazing his head off the high frame as he passed through the door. Now there was a real choke between the two of them. The first man barged through without a single thought. And was quickly mowed down. Dominic shuddered for a moment as he heard the man's face smack against the black marble floor.
Dominic made the next move. A feint backwards, welcoming his next attacker through the door. He followed with a lunge forward, perforating the man's stomach. He collapsed right in the doorway, shaking violently and slowly drifted off.
After that, no one moved on Dominic. One of the rebels stood just at the doorway, only meters away from Dominic. Dominic stared at the guy through the thin holes of his helmet. He looked around thirty years old. One of the older men who he'd encountered in his fights that night. He looked just as withered and tired as Dominic was feeling. Sweat was pouring down his beat red face and blood covered his clothes. Nothing in the man's face told Dominic that the man wanted to pass the precipice of the door frame, but another look spoke of wishing he could.
The man behind him couldn't contain himself. He pushed the other man out of the way and rushed through the door. In his excitement, however, he missed the fact that there was a body on the floor and tripped over it. It was almost too easy, but Dominic showed no mercy or remorse. Again, he couldn't help but cringe as the sound of the man's skull cracking under his boot attacked his ears. It was cruel, but it sent a message to anyone else who stepped through that door. Hopefully no one else would. Hopefully it was enough.
He looked back at the man who had been standing at the door frame. He wasn't looking at Dominic anymore. He couldn't look at Dominic. How could anyone look at him after doing such a monstrous act. It didn't bother him, though. Only the sounds really bothered him. If it meant that Dominic would live to fight another day, then so be it. Dominic slowly backed away from the fight, praying to War that he had seen victory in this battle.
When Dominic was a safe distance down the hall, he turned into his room. Instantly, he fell to his knees. He ripped off his helmet and let in one big breath, but quickly coughed it out. His body opted for smaller breaths. He tried to sigh, but coughed again as he looked at his helmet. Its once shiny ebony polish was now a dented and scratched mess. He always liked to keep his Black Knight armour clean and polished.
He lifted himself off the floor with an unreasonably loud grunt. His aching bones cracked as he stepped towards his bed.
Then he heard the footsteps. Nearly inaudible, but moving towards his room quickly. Dominic let in as deep a breath as he could muster before snapping the leg off a chair. When he turned around, arms fully cocked and ready to attack, he stopped. “Conrad.” Dominic said. “If I didn't recognize the crest on your shoulder pad, you would be dead right now.”
Conrad took his helmet off, showing an equally battered warrior underneath. “Sorry Dominic, but there's no time. The rebels have stolen Ella. My child is in danger.”

------

The parade was a morbid one. A possessed queen being touted about a street covered in bodies and blood. Revolutionaries, merely peasants, touting their stolen weapons and armour and harassing any poor villager that even dared to look out their window. Each step brought them closer to the stronghold. Lionel, the youngest of the revolutionaries could nearly see it.
Above the rest of the city's rooftops was a spire. Not too far in the distance. Only another three hundred meters or so away. It marked the centre of the district's square. It wasn't anything special or ornate. It was merely a beacon that allowed the city folk to know which direction the square was. Newhaveners took pride in those beacons, often saying that one could never get lost in Newhaven because of them. You could always tell where you were in the city based on the colour of the spire.
Lionel could remember the several times he would race to these landmarks with his friends as a child. A game that ever Newhaven child could relate to. The thing that was uniquely 'Newhaven'. He would often look for ways to cheat at the racing game, but never really found an effective method. The closest he ever came to it was by causing a tar spill down one of the streets where his friends would often run his race. Lionel had done it the night before, but by the time the race began, the city had managed to band together to clean up the spill. He ran down a different route, splitting off from his friends before he could see the spill had been cleaned up already. His friends for years would tease him for the look of shock he had on his face when he saw his friends had arrived at the finish a whole minute before Lionel did.
Now the spire meant so much more to him and his comrades. It meant a new beginning. A beginning that would end the war and fighting once an for all. A beginning of a new ruling class in Newhaven. One that was more competent than the one that had ruled for nearly five hundred years now. The era of Pages was nearly over. In a few days, the public execution in the square would solidify that truth for them.
Only two hundred meters were left to travel. The roads were so familiar to Lionel. He could walk down them blindfolded. He was sure of that.
“Hold!” The group stopped at the order. Lionel looked at the leader, who was looking down the road. He followed the gaze of his leader until he saw it. “Some old beggar on the streets. Lionel, Carry! Shew him off so we can pass safely.
Lionel rolled his eyes as he and carry jumped off the cart that they'd been protecting. It was only some old bard, out to survey the damage of the battle to inevitably write some poem about the Newhaven revolution. The man simply sat in the middle of the rode, tuning his viol. His ashen hair the colour of the soot from nearby fires that burned around him. As he got closer, however, he noticed that the man looked a lot younger than his hair would suggest. Still old, but not old enough or wrinkled enough to have the hair in such a colour. Stress must have taken its tole on the musician.
“Come on, buddy. Time to go. There's nothing to see here.” Lionel said as kindly as possible while still attempting to exert his authority, but the man ignored. He just continued to tune his viol. “I'm serious. Please don't make me force you out of here.”
This time the old bard looked up at Lionel, then back at the cart protected by the soldiers down the street. Then, just as before, he continued with his viol. Carry reacted this time, pointing his stolen sword towards the bard. He didn't say anything, but the action suggested the threat of the situation that the bard had placed himself in. Lionel gripped his sword a little tighter, readying himself to be more forceful too.
Again, the bard looked up, this time at Carry. He looked behind them again, but then looked back at Carry. The bard raised his hand slowly towards the sword in the least threatening way possible. Gently, he poked the tip of the sword with his finger and looked at it. He didn't draw blood. Then he looked at Lionel's sword hand. Could the bard notice that he was gripping it tighter? He looked down at his viol again, just twisting the top most nob slightly before looking back at the two of them again.
That's when Lionel noticed something wrong. The bard's hands were covered in soot. Everywhere else was clean, but as he gazed closely at the man's face, he noticed that there was soot where his hairline brushed against his forehead. The hair had been purposely rubbed with soot. At an even closer look, he noticed something wrong with the viol. The strings on the instrument weren't attached at the bottom like they were supposed to. In fact, they extended to the ground and slithered in every which way across the cobblestone.
Lionel reached out to the bard, attempting to take away his instrument, but the bard instinctively pulled the instrument back, causing the strings to go taught. The bard's eyes sparkled a deep black and in a motion faster than he'd ever seen a man move, he plucked each of the strings. Behind him, he heard screams as the men protecting the waggon fell, knives sticking out of their necks. When Lionel turned back around, the bard was no longer there. He shot his head in both directions and saw Carry, lying beside him with his throat slit open. He hadn't even heard a struggle!
Before Lionel could even react, he felt a cold steel blade cut cleanly through his neck. He didn't even feel the sharp blade's cut, but knew what had happened when he could no longer breath. He fell over, slowly fading out. Right in front of him, the viol crashed to the ground, splintering as it shattered. All he heard was the man's footsteps growing further away as Lionel slowly drifted off.

------

Dominic arrived at the odd scene. All of the bodies had fallen perfectly in formation, except for two which were down the road a little further. There was not a single sign that a fight even took place. The only markings were single penetrating wounds to various vital parts of the men and woman’s bodies. Even stranger was the fact that not a single one of the bodies were of any enemy. Whoever had killed the convoy was precise and deadly.
He walked closer to the carriage to see if the Queen was hidden under anything. A crow flew from out of the cart, but all that was there was the body of yet another soldier.
“These are the people that you saw taking the Queen away?” Dominic turned around to ask Conrad.
Dominic turned to see Conrad nod and then proceeded to look around the carriage to see if he could find anything.
They were too late. That was for certain. The Queen and the only surviving heir to the throne was gone, without a trace. The city was falling apart and while Blackpond had it own problems, a chance that everything that Newhaven ever had managed to accomplish seemed further away than ever. His life's work to protect the City and its interests would never be achieved. Dominic wouldn't see Peace in his lifetime. It was the nail in a coffin intended for the grave that Valcrest had been digging for its entire lifetime.
Dominic shook his head a few times and leaned against the waggon. His feet planted heavy in the ground and his shoulders hunched over as he placed a hand against his forehead. The steel plates of his gloves scraped against his helmet in contemplation. Nothing.
“We should probably get back to the castle and—”
“The woman you're looking for is with a man named Evin Bana.” The voice came from behind them.
Dominic didn't turn around to see who it was. He simply looked at Conrad, who frantically looked out into the night to see the figure. If Conrad couldn't see the man who was speaking, it was likely that he wouldn't be able to see him either. Instead, he displayed his sword, ringing out through the empty streets as he unsheathed it. Holding it in a passive position, he leaned against the carriage.
The voice continued. “He killed the entire convey in a single attack and then took off with the woman towards the west gate. I'd suspect he's headed for Blackpond.”
“Seems like a tall accusation. A single man killing an entire group of soldiers trusted to protect the ransomed Queen.” Conrad shouted out. Then his gazed focused on a single point to Dominic's left. The man had revealed himself.
Dominic shifted his weight over the carriage to look at the unremarkable man. He wore unremarkable clothes and seemed to just ooze mediocrity. Even his unusual trait of cherry-kissed blond hair seemed unremarkable. An average man with a far from average story.
“You sound like a man whose never actually become acquainted with Evin Bana. He's a man filled with tall tales. Tales just as tall as a woman being kept alive by a man who can bring back the dead.”
“Who are you?” Dominic interjected.
“I'm Wyatt. You could say that Evin and I have been aquaintences for a while. Not sure if I'd consider that a blessing or a curse.” He smirked, but looked away when he realized that no one else understood the joke.
“And why do you think he went to Blackpond. Leaving from the west gate isn't uncommon. Everything is west of Newhaven.”
“Because Crystal Rivers is in Newhaven and she is the only living person that Evin would trust to help him protect the girl, Ella.”
“Blackpond isn't the safest place to be bringing the unborn heir of Newhaven to.” Dominic said. He contemplated looking back at Conrad for a moment, but he figured it best to avoid making eye contact with him after making comments regarding his child in any way.
“If you haven't noticed, nowhere is safe anymore.” Dominic didn't reply to Wyatt's comment. He just sat in the silence until Wyatt decided to continue. “I can assure you that the safest place for Ella is where ever Evin takes her. His protective nature is almost unnatural at times. You probably still want to be close to her, though. That is understandable. Twins save the Queen and all that nonsense. I'll help you too, but there is one thing I need from you.”
“Here we go...” Conrad said.
“I need to find Jake Turner.”


Blackpond: Otium 17- Midday

Rita patiently waited at the gates of hell. She knew that her actions were likely leading her towards her death. But there she stood, with all the bravery of an army. She had no weapons and wasn't even wearing armor. None of that would have saved her anyway. All she wore was a simple shirt and pants representing all the worth of the person that she had come to meet.
Slowly the gate, but there was no one on the other side to greet her. She had waited nearly forty minutes at that gate, expecting at least some form of greeting. Then again, for Lamya, this was a greeting all its own. The whole emptiness of the castle courtyard made it all the more terrifying. No sentries, no porter, no stable boy. In fact, there weren't even any animals at the stables. Rita took a deep breath and slipped into the castle.
Lmaya's theme continued. Not a single person was seen within the castle either. If there was one thing that woman actually cared about, it was the aesthetics of her way of life. She made her way towards the throne room, only to find that there was nothing there. No art, no throne. Not even a spec of dust was left in the room. The paint had been stripped from the walls, leaving the light wood walls scratched. Only one of the walls had been sanded down. It was the path that Lamya clearly wanted her to take. With no other choice, she went through the door that had been sanded down for her.
The corridor that the door lead her too was the same as the throne room. Perfectly clean and bare with nothing of interest to keep her attention as she wandered down the path. This forced her to think about what would be at the end of the path. Rita already know where the path lead. That bitch. Her chest tightened and her breath went shallow.
Rita couldn't let this get to her. She had to stay composed. She had to find the reason to keep pushing forward. Her crusade had been an emotionally fueled trip of vengeance and pride for her city. What was it getting her? A drawn out war. There was enough of that in Valcrest.
She climbed the stairs up to the third floor. She was just above the castle's barracks now. Only one more left turn. Before she turned the corridor, she leaned against the wall. Rita slipped to the floor and hit the ground with a thud. The wall had been so perfectly polished. She'd expected more resistance. It shocked her and she let out a sheepish yelp. She braced her hands on the floor—also perfectly polished—and her arms tensed as she sucked in a deep breath. Her hands clenched, nails breaking on the stone underneath them. Her head dipped forward. Hair cascaded over her face. Her next breath came shuttering through her lungs. She quirked a momentary smirk; she really had to wash her hair. The next breath was even deeper, but had even less control. At this point, she lost control completely and exhaled. Everything.
Hell opened in its full fury a wayward shriek. It was a sound so sullied by its own creator that she didn't even hear it come from her. Rita's world voided out. From her head to her toe, she was unfeeling. It was only when the world came back to her in a stark white light that she realized what had just happened. She looked up through strands of hair to see that she hadn't moved. She felt warm and she was drenched in sweat. Or was it tears? She couldn't tell. Her hands hurt. Looking at them, she realized that she had clenched the stone floor so hard that her nails had broken. Some nearly completely off, and now her hands were bleeding.
It had been such a long time since she had let anything go. The entirety of the last three and a half years had been a lesson in self control for her.
Pushing herself up, she made the turn down the final corridor. She opened the final door at the end of the hall and was welcomed by what she'd expected.
The room was not much different than it was the last time she was in there. The only thing that had changed was the curtains. They were now a dark blue velvet that blotted out the sun. The room, as usual, was mostly lit by torch, leaving it uncomfortably hot during the summer months. Thankfully, it wasn't a hot day and the room was a comfortable temperature.
Lamya stood in the corner of Hastings' room. Her expression was far different than what Rita had ever seen on her before. The meticulous, heartless expression of content wasn't there. Rather, a far more human expression—A longing of sorts—filled the center of her eyes and across the lines of her face. Rita's rage towards the woman subsided, but the tears continued to flow.
“Come here, lovely.” Lamya said, reaching her arms out for an embrace.
Rita slowly stepped towards the woman. Lamya was standing there, stoic yet maternal, emotional yet sincere. Or was she? Rita stopped mid stride, just out of reach of the woman and took a step back. It was all a lie. It was always a lie. Lamya didn't have an ounce of honesty to give towards anyone. There was everything to gain from allowing Rita, in her vulnerable state, to get close enough to Lamya. It almost sickened her knowing how close it had come to working.
She took yet another step back and then reached for her belt, forgetting that she'd left her weapons behind. How foolish could she be? This was why Rita could never wear her heart on her sleeve. She was just too reckless when she did.
“You look upset.” Despite trying, there was no way Rita could convey in that sentence, the hatred she felt with her running nose.
“To be rejected is hurtful. I know you understand that feeling.”
“Shut up!” Rita shouted. “Stop trying to hurt me.”
“I'm just relating my—”
“You know exactly what you're doing. I don't need a weapon. I'll kill you right now. Haven't you broken me enough? All those years you've been torture… I'll do it! I'll fucking do it! I strangle you and watch as the panic sets in and the life in your eyes slowly fades out. I'll show you how much you actually care about Life!”
Lamya's brows furrowed and she slightly pursed her dark red lips. Then, she relaxed them for just long enough to bite down on her bottom lip. The calculated Lamya had completely disappeared and revealed humanity underneath the cloak she'd been hiding behind this whole time. Then, it all shifted, like she had been softly touched by a feather.
The tone Lamya spoke in was one Rita hadn't heard from her. It was soft and relaxed, but not intentional. It was silvery. “You can kill me if you really want, but I promise you that you won't see fear in my eyes. I don't fear escape from Life. I don't fear the embrace of Death. When you finally come to realize that the worth of the Twins. How meaningless even their existence was to our world. You realize then, that caring about anything that can be attributed to a god is pointless. Why spend my days pondering Death? Why spend them embracing life? Why even spend the day to begin with?
“So yes, kill me because you feel like I've in some way impeded on your life's journey and that it is me who you can blame for it. Say I broke you. The only thing that broke you is yourself. You broke yourself by choosing to care about the things that I decided to destroy.
“I'll tell you what broken really is. On an island south of Terra, there is a nation which believes in a single god. They believe all other gods of the world are false and only this one is real. They call this god, The Broken One. This god is who they all attribute magic to. It was created out of three parts. Beauty, thought and soul. The Broken One was perfect in all three of these aspects and so, she had perfect mastery of the divine, as any true god would. The Broken One could call upon the very fabric which made up the world and will it to do anything and everything.
“Despite this, the Broken One became terribly depressed with the world. This god went recluse until appearing again, in a display that even the most balanced of intellects have gone crazy trying to describe. This god became broken. The three pieces which made up the very fabric of existence, Beauty, thought and soulfulness, were split apart and broken. The entire balance of the world fractured that day. Painters who were there to witness the event spent the rest of their lives mixing colors, trying to recreate the colors which they saw. A futile attempt as the colors created by this event don't even exist. Many also said to have seen the very essence of humanity. These men attempted to connect to their fellow man once more, but failed because they couldn't find people who connect with them on a level as deep as they could connect with others. Finally, there were the mathematicians, who, in an instant, saw, for a moment, the entirety of existence in numbers. Only, whenever asked about what they saw, all they could say was 'nothing'.
“This was the Broken One's attempt at killing itself. Only gods don't exist in the same way people do and death doesn't come naturally to them. It is said that the three broken pieces of the Broken One still remain on the world, even to this day. A broken body, a broken mind and a broken spirit. These three broken pieces of divinity search for a release. And to me, that is what broken really sounds like.
“So kill me. See what good it does you. How your life becomes so much better than before. Or, we can talk. Either way, nothing will really change.”
Rita stood in silence. She had been so engaged in what Lamya had said to her that she'd barely even noticed when she was finished. She had gotten too caught up in her own head. Why did she even tell Rita this story? What purpose did it pose? Did it even pose any purpose? This was the conundrum that always seemed to come up when around Lamya.
“Why do you do all this?” Rita finally asked.
“Why not?”
“Let's not act like kids, now. You Know why you do this.” Rita said.
“Then maybe kids live closer to the truth than we will ever care to admit.”
Rita sighed, knowing she was wasting her time here. “Okay. What are we doing, now?”
In a stark, matter of fact, sort of way, Lamya said. “You can have it. Blackpond is yours.”
Rita was taken aback. There was no reason for Lamya to give up a position like this. She still had months before Rita's forces could even make a solid attack on the city. This was not a secret to either side. Rita was going to ask, but she was stopped before she could even lift her lip with the only answer that she should have expected from Lamya. “Why not?” She said.
“And just like that...wow.”
“I figured I'd keep this room the way it is. I might not care, but I know that you do.”
Lamya began to walk out the door.
“I'm not letting you go. You must understand that. Rita said. Lamya stopped at the door. “You've committed so many crimes that a regular execution doesn't seem like it is enough. Hell, I don't know if anything is enough for the number of things you've done to this city and its people.”
“I understand.” Lamya said. “However, I'm going to continue on my way. There are things that I've set out to do. I will be back, maybe, but in the meantime, there's a rumor going around about some fun little games to be played in the Blackpond underground and I'd be sore to miss out of the explosive fun.”
Rita knew it was futile to try to stop her. She was going to leave and Rita was going to let her. This was just how it would be She would have to trust that Lamya would be back to face her crimes. Only Time would tell.
Lamya walked right up to Rita. Rita didn't flinch despite every instinct telling her, begging her to react. Bowing forward, Lamya brought her face in close to Rita's and she kissed her on the cheek.
“Until next time.” Lamya said with a wink.
She spun herself around from the hips and quickly strode out the door and out of sight.
Rita was now alone in the only decorated room in the entire castle, yet it felt so empty. She looked around and took in a big breath. Her head dipped down and she went to sit on the bed. She had hoped that the familiar smell of Hastings' room would still be there. Instead, she smelt nothing.
She wasn't sure what to do now. Ruling an entire city had never been something she was interested in, but she knew that she wouldn't be able to trust anyone who sat on the throne. No one would oppose her rule. Blackpond had a lot of respect for those who overthrew the current rule and had a long history to prove it. Another favorable point was her extensive military background. Blackpond loved a military rule.
The bed shook as she heaved her entire body to lay on it. “I hope this was all worth it, Al.” She said as she closed her eyes and slept, alone in the lonesome castle.

------

The forest at night was always an uncomfortable place. Many of the more ferocious of things came out at night; and it wasn't only the animals that one had to worry about. An assassin knew it best. The night was the best time to strike. Even an expected attack could come as a surprise at night. With the crackling fire betraying their position and blinding him to the light, Evin kept a closer eye than usual.
The fire was something that Evin didn't particularly want to have, but it was necessary. Usually, he would suffer through the cold, the presence of Ella necessitated a proper fire. She was nearing her due date and her baby needed the warmth.
He looked over at Ella, who was sleeping so peacefully in the makeshift bed he'd made of pine tree and dead leaves. She was the only student Evin ever had during his time as an instructor. He'd failed to reel in her impulsive behavior and it got her killed. Dani probably should have never let him teach. Even he knew that having miniature Evin's running around the camp would have been disastrous. He couldn't have ever taught self control to Ella. The type of impulse that Evin possessed couldn't be taught. It worked for Evin because he knew, by instinct when an impulse would work. Ella, with just one year of experience followed by three years without practice, couldn't have known. In a dimly lit ballroom, filled with dangerous people who were all on edge, it wasn't a good idea to be doing anything impulsive.
Despite the morbid thoughts of Ella's death passing through his mind, Evin chuckled. He knew that he couldn't blame his training for that one. Rather, he had to blame an impulsive choice that he'd made several years back. There was no denying that leaving his friend Perry to die was a terrible idea, both in the moment and after reflecting on all that it caused. Perry had been the cause of almost all of the troubles that he and everyone he knew had faced over the years. Yet, it was only now that he was beginning to realize how drastically the one impulse decision he'd made had changed the entire melody of Time.
Evin jumped to his feet when he heard a small rustle in the bushes. A rather hefty racoon scurried towards him. In the glow of the fire, its eyes beaded a creamy green. He kept cautious as it approached in fear that it may be rabid. It didn't look it, but caution was always a good option with unknown animals. The raccoon got within five or six feet of him and stood on its hind legs. It reached its arms out and beckoned for food.
Evin reached into his pocket and grabbed a few crumbs, tossing it towards the raccoon. It caught the food with its hands in mid air and instantly began to eat its free food. Evin let it enjoy its mean while he continued to watch the shell of his former student in the glow of the fire.
He wondered if Ella was still in the body somewhere or if it was just the parasite, feeding off the life of the baby within the body to sustain his old on the mortal world. If Ella was there, how aware was she? What would happen to her when the baby was born? The questions were endless, and they just continued to become more disheartening. Evin decided to stop thinking about it.
He looked back at the raccoon, which was now finished its meal and lying by the fire for some warmth.
“How long will it be before you decide to show me your true form? Or do you just some hermit who tricks campers into feeding them by pretending to be a raccoon?” Evin asked.
In tha moment, the raccoon transformed from animal to human in the blink of an eye. The man was dressed in the markings of the Ravens; a former member of the Black Guard.
“You had me tricked,” Evin said, “up until you caught the food like a human would. Then I realized that your eyes weren't glowing from the fire, but from your enlightenment. Don't you find it useless to sneak up on me like that. Last I checked, I had no issue with the Ravens. What was your plan anyway?”
“I've never met you, but I've heard stories about you. You don't come across as the most approachable people, even to your friends.”
Evin chuckled. “I'm glad Mageria thinks so highly of me.
“I'd rather not have emerged from the bushes as a human in the presence of an assassin who is known to ask questions later.”
“Good point. Why are you here?”
“I didn't come looking for you, but I feel as though this is my lucky moment. I was sent out to recruit for a raid. I wont go into detail, but there is an extensive network in the Blackpond underground that the Ravens intend to dismantle.”
“So this meeting has nothing to do with her?” Evin gestured towards the sleeping Ella.
The Raven looked over Evin's shoulder to get a look at the sleeping girl. His eyes widened and he looked back at Evin inquisitively. A question formed at the tip of his tongue, but he swallowed it. Evin tensed a little as he saw a thought form in the man's eyes.
“Does this meeting have anything to do with her?” Evin repeated.
“Why is she with you?”
“It doesn't matter. All that matters is that the Page legacy is safe with her. I would help you, but I can't protect the Queen and fight at the same time.”
“She would be safe at the Nest while you were off with the raiding party.”
“Ella doesn't leave my sight.”
“At least come to the Nest. You'll be safe among friends.”
“I'm not so sure about that.” Evin stare at the Raven was now cold. He really mean to be as brash as he was. He'd never really been this way before.
The crow got the message. His voice seemed to disappear within himself. Very quietly, said, “You know where to find us.”, before his eyes glowed in the light green. He transformed himself back into a raccoon and jumped back into the shadows of the bushes.
Evin didn't sleep that night He spent the rest of the night setting up an ambush. The rest of his night was spent atop a tree, carefully watching his surroundings. No one, person or animal, disturbed his campsite for the rest of the night. The next night was spent doing much the same as the next.
On the next morning, an hour before dawn, he woke Ella and the two of them traveled to the Raven's Nest. No one questioned his arrival or the arrival of his unexpected companion. They just showed him to a camp site which Evin would claim as his own for the duration of his stay.

Raven's Nest: Otium 17- Evening
Ella felt something unfamiliar to her. It was something she had never really experienced in her life. Now in her quasi-state between life and death, she recognized something that no living being could recognize fully. Life. Sure, she understood the concept of it, but there was a difference here. She fully realized the presence of life. Not her's but of others. She experienced this other life that was present with her and she felt an unbelievable sense of connection with it. It was almost as if it were a part of her, yet it had freedom. It was completely autonomous of Ella, and even the sick man who had taken her body from her.
These two lives, her's and the unknown one, felt as though they were in an embrace that transcended the very fabric of reality itself. If she could express herself in any form, all she would be able to do is yell and wail in a way that wouldn't really reveal any sign of an emotion. In this moment, she felt realer than she'd ever felt before. Before she had gotten herself killed and after she'd been taken from the real world. This is what reality truly was.
Then a wave of clarity washed over her. This connection she was feeling with this other being was more real than she could have ever imagined. It was her child. But wait. There was another. Twins?
She'd been attempting to fight her host all alone this entire time. The will of one against the will of one other. Was it Lazurus' hold on the mortal realm that made his will stronger than that of Ella? What would happen if she fought back with the will of three? A mother and her two children. Was there a bond stronger than that?
Ella connected to her children again. It was a boy and a girl.
Stephen, that's his name. Ella thought. It didn't even take any consideration. The girl, however, she didn't know yet. My children.