The resonant blare of trumpets pierced the solemn silence of the court, announcing the imminent arrival of the King. It was a grand spectacle, made even more anticipated given his recent conspicuous absence. Buren found himself tucked away at the back of the gathering, leaning casually against the cold stone wall. His gaze was focused, his mind awash with curiosity. Rumors of Duriel's death had rippled through the court, whispered tales of the inner circle of the court trying to rule in his absence. Having a complete stranger ascend the throne was sure to confound the assembly, and convincing them should prove difficult.

  A pair of sturdy servants pushed open the colossal double doors, their effort met with the creaking groan of the heavy wood. The King entered, garbed in Flynn's body and donning a set of flamboyantly ostentatious regalia. Buren figured they must have been specifically tailored to fit Flynn's more slender frame. The nobility gathered gasped and whispered among themselves, their eyes wide with surprise and doubt. Unperturbed by the palpable confusion, Duriel calmly ascended the steps to his throne.

  A snap of his fingers sent three courtesans scurrying towards him, their faces painted with feigned excitement. They quickly found their places at his feet, looking up at him with adoration. His attention shifted from the courtesans to the crowd, his lascivious smile morphing into a mask of calculated fury.

  "Imbeciles! Fools!" he spat, his voice echoing through the vast chamber. "I turn my back for a brief moment, and you let my city descend into chaos. Rebels run rampant and unchecked. How do you justify such negligence?"

  As his tirade echoed in the grand chamber, a group of men were ushered forward by his attendants. They were easily identifiable as district guards by their attire. One of them, a burly, seasoned man stepped forward.

  "Many of our resources were appropriated by the Inquisition for their covert activities," he asserted, "We did our best with the limited manpower we had."

  "From where I stand, it appears you did very little," Duriel retorted, his voice oozing with contempt. A man from the lineup, his face redder than the rest, openly challenged Duriel. "And just who are you supposed to be? A mummer? You have managed to imitate his majesty's mannerisms perfectly, but do you seriously expect us to believe you are the same man?"

  Duriel merely smiled, an unsettling picture of patience. He signaled his guards with an almost imperceptible nod. Before the man even noticed their approach, an axe was buried into the back of his skull. The gasps of horror were stifled by the thick tension in the room as the guard leader collapsed, his nose audibly cracking against the hard stone floor. He was dead before he hit the ground, and the guard wrenched his axe free with a sickening squelch. His limp body was promptly dragged out of the now deathly silent chamber, leaving a grisly trail of blood in its wake.

  After the gruesome spectacle, Duriel's voice boomed throughout the room. "I want to clarify something. My previous physical state was due to the sinister magic of traitors. The fact that you have allowed the city to deteriorate further, only proves that these cowardly schemers still teem amongst you. They will stop at nothing to hinder my efforts to aid my people. Any opposition will be met with swift and ruthless force, as you have just witnessed."

  He leaned back into his throne, an unsettling air of satisfaction washing over him. "Now, does anyone else wish to question my legitimacy?" The question hung in the chilling silence, met only with fearful silence.

  Buren watched the unfolding drama with grim resolve. It was just like Duriel, using every opportunity to eliminate any opposition. It hurt him to see Flynn used like this, a mere puppet for Duriel's tyranny. He vowed to himself that he would find a way to free Flynn from Duriel's clutches and make him pay for his monstrous acts.

  "No?" Duriel challenged, his voice echoing in the deathly silent room. He let the question hang heavy in the air for a moment longer, relishing in the fear that gripped the room. "Very well. Our first task will be to purge the streets of these dissidents. I've been assured time and again that these so-called Sons have been quashed, but it appears those reports were fabricated. The authors of such lies will soon taste the bitter brew of their deceit."

  He paused to sweep his gaze over the room. "I trust that you will fully support this necessary action against those who wish to see our city reduced to ruins. You will provide not only your wealth but also your personal security to bolster the ranks of the guards."

  Buren leaned against the stone wall, listening to the demands with quiet disdain. "And expose yourself even more to capture by Duriel's men under the false pretext of conspiracy," he mused silently.

  "I have shown leniency," Duriel continued, his tone adopting the paternal chiding of an aggrieved parent. Buren had to suppress a smirk at the audacious lie. He wondered how Duriel could truly believe his own manipulative words.

  "Regrettably, my patience has run its course. The situation has deteriorated beyond acceptable limits, and direct intervention is now inevitable. I have faith that all of you, with your loyalties correctly placed, will back my course of action. Those who don't will be unequivocally revealing themselves as traitors and will be dealt with accordingly."

  Buren scanned the room, but the faces of the nobles were devoid of any sign of defiance. The courageous ones who dared to voice their opposition to Duriel had been ruthlessly eliminated. The ones who remained were simply doing their best to survive, even if it meant turning a blind eye to the tyrant bleeding the city and its surrounding lands dry. Had he not been preoccupied with more pressing matters, Buren would have taken care of Duriel long ago. Now, he was forced to wait, hoping that the precarious balance would hold until he was in a position to act.

  "No further questions today," Duriel announced, his hands beginning to wander over the girls at his feet. "I must admit that I've been feeling quite...pent up after spending some time in a confinement of sorts. Now that I've regained my natural vigor, I find myself brimming with energy."

  His gaze locked onto Buren, a clear challenge gleaming in his eyes. Buren remained impassive, a rock amidst a tumultuous sea. He had faced far worse provocations and it would take more than this to provoke a reaction from him.

  "Dismissed," Duriel called out, and the nobles scrambled for the exit, their relief evident. The entrance soon became a bottleneck, as everyone was eager to escape the oppressive atmosphere as swiftly as possible.

  Buren held his ground as the flurry of departing nobles created a temporary whirlwind of rustling fabric and murmurs. Duriel threw a fleeting glance his way, a grimace momentarily distorting his stolen features before refocusing his attention on the women by his side. Buren's unspoken defiance hung in the air, as clear as a war cry: "I do not tremble before you like the rest."

  Once the doorway had cleared, Buren exited the chamber with calculated, unhurried strides. His mind was already leaping ahead to the next crucial rendezvous on his agenda.

  Buren plummeted through a brittle shingle roof, landing in a dust-choked attic amidst a shower of splinters. The men in the room recoiled in surprise, but quickly rallied, brandishing an assortment of blades and cudgels.

  But their threats were insignificant distractions. Buren was here for a singular purpose: to confront their leader. A cudgel descended towards his head. Buren seized it with his Gauntlet, and with a single crushing grip, the metal head of the weapon shattered.

  Another assailant swung a sword at him, only to have it deflected by the armored wrist of the Gauntlet. Buren responded with a powerful backhand that sent the man sprawling across a table.

  Dodging a low swipe meant to hamstring him, Buren vaulted upwards, seizing a wooden rafter. He twisted his body, his booted foot connecting with the next attacker's temple with a powerful kick, effectively flooring him.

  The last defender lunged at him with a dagger. But Buren was ready. He deflected the attack with a swift kick, released his grip on the rafter and descended, his metallic fist slamming down onto the man's head. The blow sent the man's head crashing through the floorboards, leaving him stuck there, the rest of his body grotesquely sprawled on the surface, as if he were a bizarre plant sprouting from the ground.

  "A genuine Son of the Forest," Buren thought to himself, stepping over the unconscious body. "Maybe the proximity to the roots will help him think like a tree."

  With a dismissive brush, Buren dusted his cloak and moved towards his true target, a man watching him with wary eyes from the corner of the room.

  "How did you find me?" the leader of the Sons of the Forest demanded, his voice barely concealing his trepidation. Buren's display of power and his casually easy manner seemed to have served their purpose, and the man seemed to understand the futility of going against him.

  Buren's mind drifted back to the frenzied hours prior, a whirlwind of stakeouts and interrogations. He had cornered Son's allies in grimy alleyways, dangled them over precipitous rooftops, and exerted a vice-like pressure on their skulls. Each scream, each morsel of information had been a breadcrumb on the trail. "Tracking is what I do," he replied curtly.

  The Son tilted his head, scrutinizing Buren. "Did Duriel send you to fetch me? To return me to him like a loyal hound?" he asked, his voice a caustic mix of mockery and resignation.

  Buren met his gaze evenly. "I have a place for you, a role you must play. You may resume your role as the Wasp. I'm even willing to overlook your recent... indiscretions, if you comply."

  The Wasp raised an eyebrow. "So, back to the arena, back to being a spectacle for the masses? And if I refuse?"

  Buren's expression didn't waver. "I can't afford to leave loose threads," he replied evenly.

  The Wasp sighed, a look of defeat crossing his eyes. "I assumed as much."

  Buren pressed on, "Believe me, if you just fall back into step for a while longer, you will be a pivotal part in liberating this city, and beyond."

  The Wasp snorted. "As if I have much of a choice." He stood up, shrugging off his green garb symbolic of the Sons of the Forest. In its place, he donned a nondescript brown jacket and pants, clothing that would allow him to blend in with the crowd.

  As he moved towards the exit, Buren stopped him. "I want you to pass the message to your men. The King is not to be touched, for now." The attic was dense with shadows and the smell of decayed wood, the only light came from the hole Buren had made in the roof, and it danced over the dirty, packed-dirt floor as the men moved around.

  The Wasp snorted again, dust motes swirling around him in the dim light. "I am not their king. They merely follow me when it suits them."

  "I didn't ask," Buren retorted, his gaze never leaving the Wasp.

  "Fine," the Wasp grumbled. "I'll spread the word."

  Buren handed him a sealed letter which bore instructions on the envelope to only open it in certain conditions. The Wasp raised an eyebrow at him, but pocketed the letter and muttered that he would do as instructed.

  With that, he descended the creaky stairs, his form swallowed by the dimness below. Buren watched him go, then returned to the rooftop, leaving the hushed, dust-filled attic behind him. He sped to his castle, as he would have to change into a fresh set of attire for his next meeting.

  With the familiarity that only comes with habit, Buren navigated across the rooftops, his every bound aided by the power of the Gauntlet. His horse waited in the stable below, but he preferred this route. His white cloak billowed out behind him like a spectral presence, the winter sun glinting off the silver sheen of his armor's pauldrons. He leaped across the chasm of the courtyard, separating the huddled houses from the towering edifice of the Grand Cathedral. Using an upper gallery window as an entry point, he infiltrated the sanctum of prayer.

  Once inside the quiet, sacred space, he slipped on his helmet, the metal face forever locked in an expression of sorrow. Swiftly, he descended from the upper balconies, his fall cushioned by the Gauntlet. He landed on the cold marble floor of the nave, before the imposing central dais and the raised-fist monument. Waiting for him were the formidable figures of the High Reverend, Grand Commander Valcor, and Grand Inquisitor Ruelle.

  "An entrance worthy of a tale," remarked the High Reverend, his mouth curling into a grin that showcased an overabundance of teeth. Buren's eyes briefly flicked to the cloth wrapped around the Reverend's eyes. "He sees more than he lets on," Buren thought to himself.

  The High Reverend's voice echoed within the cathedral's cavernous interior, reverberating off the stained-glass windows and lofty arches. "Ordinarily, a grand occasion such as this would warrant hours of ceremony and tradition. Sadly, however, Duriel seems to have learned no patience or decorum from his recent ordeal, I deemed it best to expedite the proceedings and keep them out of public eye. Kneel."

  Buren complied, lowering himself onto one knee on the cool stone. The Reverend began the lengthy litany customary for the induction of a new Grand Commander of the Knights of Penance. A whirlpool of emotions raged within Buren; the thrill of his rise to power, the relief of finally making tangible progress towards his ultimate goal, were tempered by a growing dread. The bitter reality of what he must do next was unavoidable now, his carefully laid plans transformed from abstract ideas to imminent actions. The freedom his newly acquired power brought also bore a heavy burden; he would have to finally bring the creations of the darkest parts of his mind to light.

  The High Reverend turned to the assembled heads of the Faith's two major branches, seeking their approval. Unsurprisingly, both lent their support. As the Reverend officially bestowed upon him the rank of Field Commander and instructed him to rise, his voice seemed distant, as if carried on a far-off breeze. The High Reverend's smile bore a promise of pride and expectation, Valcor gave a solemn nod, and Seraphine observed him with unblinking scrutiny. Buren remained silent, his face concealed beneath the sorrowful mask. If they could see his true face, they would see that it wept just like the metal fa?ade before it.

  That evening, the hollow sounds of solitary dining filled Buren's grand hall. Flynn's customary seat, hauntingly vacant, served as a stark reminder of his isolation, and not a single servant dared to shatter the bubble of solitude he'd built around himself. He picked at his meal—provisions that were growing progressively scarce—with mechanical indifference, the flavor completely lost to him. The refrain that kept him chewing was a grim reminder of his duties, "Need to eat. Need strength. Must keep moving."

  With the melancholy act of dining over, Buren rose from his seat with the stiffness of a well-worn soldier and retreated to the sanctuary of his private chambers. As he stepped inside, he noted the disturbance to his orderly sanctuary; the window, normally sealed tight against the chill, was slightly ajar and the curtains fluttered eerily in the breeze. His heart lurched when Azure emerged from the shadows, the moonlight catching the spark in her eyes.

  "Hey," she greeted him, her cheerfulness incongruous with his somber mood. She closed the distance between them and enfolded him in a comforting embrace. "You look like you've seen a ghost. Bad timing?" she jested.

  Buren shook his head, struggling to align his racing thoughts. "You shouldn't have come," he managed to choke out.

  "Well, the elder mothers wouldn't let me go gallivanting about unless it was absolutely necessary," she countered, her voice light despite the seriousness of her words. "I would love to say this was purely a friendly visit, but I'm afraid I have a mission, too."

  His brows furrowed in concern, but Azure brushed it off. "That can wait for a moment. So, how have you been? Word on the wind is that you've been quite the busy bee."

  Buren responded with a non-committal shrug, but Azure wasn't letting him off the hook. Her laugh rang out, bright and pure, and she punched him playfully on the shoulder. "Oh, no. You're not escaping that easily."

  She prodded him further, teasing him about his recent escapades, and Buren, despite his reservations, found himself spilling the tale of his recent quest. Azure's infectious enthusiasm drew him in, and what was initially a brief overview of their journey to the lands of the Rupture in search of the lost village morphed into an expansive narration, accompanied by his own animated gestures.

  It dawned on him that Azure had successfully distracted him from his burdens, but he found no resentment towards her cunning. Instead, he relished the momentary respite. "These travel partners of yours seem like decent folks, considering they're from the Faith," Azure mused once his tale concluded.

  "Yeah," he conceded, his tone sobering.

  "How nice of them to look after you. I'm sure we would all agree that you're no good on your own. You make things so complicated when there's no one to set you straight," she said, tousling his hair. Her lighthearted jab elicited a dismissive scoff from him, and he signaled for her to share her own tales.

  Her eyes twinkled with excitement. "Things have been spectacular. With so many Dryads congregated in the Ancient Forest, and the unique properties it possesses, our yield is unlike anything we've seen before. Even in the winter months, it's lush and plentiful. We're even in negotiations with the Antediluvians—they're willing to pay us handsomely for year-round cultivation of their rare flowers and exotic delicacies. The Elders believe that establishing such a trade partnership could pave the way for more alliances and increase our influence abroad."

  Buren nodded, but his gaze fell to the floor. He yearned for the future Azure spoke of so passionately, one where diplomacy and understanding ruled over force. He longed for a miracle that would change the minds of the Elders of her kind and render his forced entry into their sacred grounds unnecessary.

  Azure, oblivious to his internal turmoil, continued. "And the Grove, it's truly magical," she said, her voice taking on a dreamy quality. "Some of us, after years of abuse, could barely sleep, some couldn't even speak, but the serenity of communal life has been transformative. Last week, a girl, believed to be mute since her arrival, surprised everyone by leading a dithyramb with her beautiful voice. And the art! The friendly competition among my sisters is yielding astonishing floral arrangements and gardens."

  "Sounds great," Buren offered, the words hollow against his tight throat.

  "It is," she echoed, her gaze seemingly focused on the idyllic homeland she painted with her words. Then, as if snapping out of a trance, her gaze hardened, her thoughts shifting back to the present. "I've come here to protect what we've built, to shield our haven from those who would see it harmed."

  Buren's heart pounded against his ribcage, but he strived to maintain an external calm. Had they somehow learned of his intentions?

  "There are individuals here in the city who claim to champion our cause, but we have had no contact with them. They call themselves the Sons of the Forest, and I assume you've heard of them."

  Buren nodded, and chose instead to let Azure continue, revealing as little of his own knowledge as possible.

  "From what we've gathered, they wield equipment and brew potions only a Dryad could create. We suspect there is a rogue Dryad or group of Dryads feeding them these resources, seeking vengeance against humanity."

  Buren stroked his chin thoughtfully, acting as though he was mulling over Azure's words. All the while, his eyes remained fixed on the window, intentionally diverting attention from the locked chest in the corner of the room. The chest held the precious seeds she had once given him, seeds imbued with Dryad magic to grow in even the most unfavorable conditions. With these seeds, he had given the Sons their special edge.

  "I am here to find out where the Sons are obtaining their Dryad magic and bring these rogue sisters home," she declared. Her resolute tone sent a shiver down Buren's spine.

  "You believe you can find these answers here?" Buren probed, aiming to keep his tone light to hide the heavy secrets behind his smile.

  "No, I don't," she admitted with a smirk. "But I'm hoping you can help me, considering you're more familiar with this neck of the woods."

  "Give me a few days, and I'll scrounge up some leads for you," Buren responded. His mind raced to find the most believable group of the Sons to use as a sacrificial lamb to divert her suspicions. Yet, he knew he would still need to conjure up a convincing smokescreen to quell her speculations of Dryad accomplices.

  "A few days?" Azure responded, an arch of disbelief rising above her sparkling eyes. "Has the ease of city life lulled you into leisure, my old friend? Fear not, I've already stitched together the beginnings of a trail."

  Buren blinked in surprise. "You have?"

  "Indeed," she said, a playful smile pulling at the corners of her lips. "I shadowed some of their members post-mayhem. It takes more than a wardrobe change to pull the wool over these," she said, pointing a slender finger at her keen, twinkling eyes.

  "I'm planning to unravel this thread right away, in case they decide to pack up their bags and vanish. I thought birds of a feather should stick together, meaning that you would come as my wingman, before they fly." She unfurled a map of the city, her finger landing on a building sketched in the Northern District.

  A grimace flickered across Buren's face, unnoticed by Azure. She had pinpointed one of the lairs of the Sons. He weighed his options, a heavy realization dawning that he would have to accompany her. Left unchecked, she might unearth information potent enough to cripple his carefully laid plans.

  "Unless I'm interrupting your nightly rendezvous with the checkerboard, or whatever it is you city gentry engage in," she teased, as Buren's reply hung in the air, a silent note amid his frantic mental orchestration of options.

  Without a word, Buren moved to his wardrobe, donning his cloak and boots and buckling his sword at his side. "Just what I had hoped you'd leave unsaid," she quipped, a grin spreading across her face. "I'll await you atop the roofs, where the walls whisper not."

  They traversed the city's rooftops in a ballet of motion; Buren, bounding from eave to eave with calculated precision, while Azure flowed like a brook, her graceful movements unhindered by the urban maze. She had pulled an oversized coat made of the wool of cottongrass over her black bodysuit made of natural rubber, and appeared like a snowflake dancing in the wind as she made her way above the streets.

  "This city paints a grimmer picture with each passing visit," she observed, as they passed rows of deserted houses and hollow streets. "Your district is the lone splash of color on a somber canvas."

  "And how do I get rewarded for that? With accusations," Buren thought bitterly to himself.

  "Waiting for your king to exit stage left, perhaps his understudy might be more willing to trade more than insults with the Dryads. That would get rid of your famine woes."

  "Do you think the Dryads would be open to such discourse, despite the wounds of the past?" Buren queried.

  "Some might hold their tongues," Azure admitted, "but the majority comprehend that a tree won't sprout if the seed isn't sown, and if there's one thing that irks my kind, it's fertile land lying barren."

  They arrived at their destination, an old wooden tower that once bustled with the city's watchmen, now standing mute against the passage of years. They hunkered down behind a chimney, its frost-covered surface indicating that either the building below had been abandoned, or the inhabitants had nothing left to burn - both theories equally plausible in Buren's mind.

  "Look!" Azure whispered, pointing towards a window. A green-clad figure momentarily peered from between the shutters before vanishing into the tower's shadows. "They have eyes on the outside, but seem to have turned a blind eye to the sky above."

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  "Indeed, quite the spectacle of oversight," Buren mused, his thoughts tainted with regret for recruiting from the city's down-and-outs.

  Their climb up the tower's exterior was a blend of agility and silent precision, using window ledges, loosened boards, and forgotten railings as their path to the top. A locked hatch met their arrival. Buren moved his Gauntlet to break through.

  "Hold," Azure hissed, her voice a soft whisper on the wind. "The symphony of shattered locks might attract an audience we don't want."

  "That's what I was hoping for," Buren reflected inwardly.

  "A gentler touch shall be our guide," she suggested. Reaching into her cottongrass woolen coat, she drew out a solitary red seed. With a gentle puff of breath, a green stem sprouted, growing with each passing heartbeat. Placing the burgeoning life form near the gap between the hatch and the floor, she waited, eyes closed.

  "Soon, our plan shall take root," she said with a serene smile. The vine snaked into the gap and soon, the sound of a latch shifting could be heard. At her nod, Buren pulled open the hatch to see the vine entwined around the lock, having successfully opened the path forward.

  She turned and placed a palm on his chest, looking up to his face and saying: "I understand it runs completely contrary to your nature, but try and keep quiet, will you?"

  He gave her a look of disbelief, and she flashed him a teasing smile and lithely descended the ladder into the building.

  They found themselves on a skybridge above a larger atrium. Half a dozen men and women in green attire moved about, carrying bags and rolling around barrels.

  "What could be in those containers?" she whispered. Buren shrugged.

  "Let's go ask them!" Before he could stop her, she had jumped down and landed softly on the floor. The Sons that noticed her immediately alerted the others with shouts.

  "Greetings from the Forest whose descendants you claim to be," she said. "Our mother wants to know what's that you're hauling around with such hurry."

  The Sons changed a perplexed, glance. Then, one of them raised his cudgel and charged her, shouting a war-cry.

  She dodged the swing of the weapon, and the attack had left the man off-balance, as he had obviously never had formal training. Azure immediately used this against him, and kicked him in the knee, which bore most of the large man's weight as he tried to stay on his feet. The joint bent in an unnatural direction with a loud crack, and the man dropped, holding the mangled limb.

  "He won't be dancing in the meadows anytime soon," she said.

  The room was alive with hostility as a man and woman lunged towards Azure. With a swift motion, she shrugged off her overcoat, her form-fitting black attire shimmering subtly under the dim light. The vines ensnared around her forearms untwisted, reshaping into circular chakrams. Their leaves fanned outward, reminiscent of a child's sketch of the sun, before hardening into jagged edges under the guidance of her magic. The transformation forced the attackers into a momentary pause.

  "Ah, aren't we supposed to be kindred spirits?" Azure mocked, the light catching the edges of her newfound weapons. "Perhaps we could discuss our differences over a nice pot of tea?"

  Their response was an enraged charge, weapons raised high. "Tea's not to their taste, it seems," Azure quipped. With a graceful spin, she twirled her chakrams, their hardened edges whistling as they cut through the air. Despite their seemingly delicate structure, they parried the crude slashes of the Sons' swords, allowing Azure to dance around her adversaries with lethal grace.

  Buren vaulted over the railing, crashing down onto the male attacker with decisive force. The woman lunged towards Azure, who nimbly sidestepped, her chakram grazing her shoulder and forcing her to drop her weapon, which fell point-first and embedded into the floorboards.

  "Live by the sword..." Azure mused, nudging the woman who stumbled backward, tripping over her fallen blade and collapsing onto her comrade. As the woman reached for the fallen sword, Buren dispatched her with a quick punch.

  Meanwhile, one of the remaining rebels hurled a dagger at Azure, who deflected it with a swift rotation of her weapon. The blade spiraled towards the barrels, forcing Buren to lunge across the room, narrowly intercepting it before it hit the barrels. A sigh of relief slipped from his lips as he straightened up, noting that Azure, fully engaged with the rebels, hadn't noticed his save, which was for the better as he would have hard time explaining why he protected the containers, supposedly not knowing what they held. As she disarmed and pushed back her attackers, Buren swept in, delivering a swift, consecutive trio of punches that sent them sprawling.

  Instinctively, Buren and Azure sidled close, backs touching in a choreographed dance born of familiarity and trust. They scanned the room for further threats, then simultaneously gave the all-clear signal.

  Azure crouched beside the unconscious rebels, attempting to rouse them with a shake and a slap. "Did you have to hit them that hard?" she chided. "I was hoping for a wakeful audience for our questioning session."

  "I know," Buren thought to himself. "That's why I had to make sure they would stay silent for a moment longer." Instead of voicing his intent, he merely shrugged in response.

  "Hmm, guess we'll have to wait," Azure sighed. "Let's turn this place inside out in the meantime. There must be some breadcrumbs to follow."

  "I'll search their bodies, you scour the surroundings," Buren suggested briskly.

  "Ever so eager to get handsy," Azure jested, her steps meandering as she began to survey the room. Buren proceeded to inspect the fallen Sons, discovering one of them had scribbled instructions onto a scrap of paper. The handwriting was far from polished, riddled with mistakes despite its brevity. Still, it would have led her closer to the truth he wanted to obscure, so Buren subtly pocketed the note. The rest held no items of significant concern.

  Meanwhile, Azure, armed with one of the surrendered swords, was prying the lid off a barrel.

  "Careful with that," Buren cautioned.

  "And when have I ever been anything but?" she shot back, a playful grin lighting up her face. With a sudden heave, she applied her full weight to the blade, causing the barrel's boards to creak and split. The lid came loose and she flung it over her shoulder with nonchalant ease.

  "The word 'careful' must mean something different in her language," Buren considered, watching her actions.

  Azure plunged her hand into the barrel, withdrawing it to reveal a fine, dark purple dust coating her palm. She rubbed the powder between her fingers, her nose crinkling as she sniffed it.

  "Fire powder!" she declared, her gaze darting to the legion of barrels standing sentinel around them. "I can't recall ever seeing such a trove of the stuff. One could practically torch a city out of the landscape with this magnitude. From whence could they have unearthed so much?"

  Buren kept his thoughts to himself. It had been a fortuitous discovery, stumbling upon that forsaken storehouse, once considered a casualty of the Malignant One. There had been grand designs of luring the beast into a city, cremating it entirely with the compound bought from the Scytheans, who kept its makeup a secret. Yet, their stockpile had been commandeered before the plan could be executed.

  "They must be concocting something of monumental scale," Azure observed, her voice ringing with ominous certainty.

  "An upheaval to rattle this world," Buren mused in the secrecy of his mind.

  "Feast your eyes on this," Azure sang out, grasping a paper affixed to a barrel. Buren's internal monologue swelled with curses.

  "So, this is how all those crime lords and war chieftains felt when the ineptitude of their underlings allowed me to undo all their plans and take them in custody," he thought.

  "It's a map of the metropolis," she revealed with a trace of excitement. "Notice these structures marked with crosses? Can you decipher their significance?"

  Buren bestowed a perfunctory glance on the map to maintain his fa?ade, but he knew what the symbols signified without looking. "They represent granaries and food repositories," he imparted, his voice hushed.

  "Oh," she blinked, "Are they planning a grand heist then? Harvest goods fetch a hefty price on the black market."

  "I doubt that's their intent," he said, feeling tired again.

  "Then, what in the world could it be?" she queried, her brows knitting in confusion.

  In response, Buren swept his arm across the room in a slow arc. Azure's gaze followed, sweeping over the barrels of doom, her eyes widening as realization dawned.

  "They plan to demolish them? But why?" she breathed.

  Buren shifted his gaze aside, withholding his speculations.

  Frantically, Azure began shaking the map. "We need to rally the guards. If we act swiftly, we might yet forestall this disaster."

  "No," Buren declined, sounding disheartened.

  "No?" she echoed, taken aback.

  "It is too dangerous for you to show your face to the guards. I doubt they would believe you, anyway. I'll order them to mobilize. You go hide, somewhere outside the city where it is safe."

  Nodding in agreement, she responded, "Sensible advice. If they'd spotted me, they likely would've squandered their manpower trying to imprison me for agricultural labor." She scoffed at the thought. "However, the populace is on the brink of starvation. We must safeguard the scant food supplies, despite the power it affords the King and the Faith."

  Smacking her forehead, she exclaimed, "That explains the targeting! They want to remove the produce as it upholds the status quo." Buren merely shrugged in response.

  Playfully, she jabbed his shoulder. "I suppose neither of us would excel as a criminal mastermind, given the time it took to unravel their motives."

  Buren indicated the exit by pointing over his shoulder with his thumb. "Right," she agreed, "Time to set wheels in motion. Fortune favor you! I'll seek you out on the morrow."

  "One more thing," he said. "If we lose the food stockpiles, I'm sure even our ruler would be willing to strike up a trade agreement, as soon as possible."

  "I'm sure it won't come to that," she said. "But in that case, I could sent message and the reply should come by noon tomorrow, as they would waste no time."

  They swiftly climbed back to the building's apex, bidding hasty farewells with fleeting waves. Azure set a course for the city outskirts, while Buren navigated towards the closest Guard Headquarters. But, once certain she could no longer spy on him, he halted his progress.

  Drawing out the map from his pocket, he then, with a heavy heart, ripped it to shreds, the pieces falling like a defeated sigh.

  "Felt good to play the hero for a while, again," he mused melancholically, "But heroism alone cannot save this realm this time around."

  Buren retreated to his stronghold, silently infiltrating his personal quarters through the window, unseen by any observer. Having donned a fresh set of garments, he ascended the winding stairs to the uppermost tower of his fortress. From this vantage point, he overlooked the cityscape. A hush had descended, interrupted only by sparse lights and the sporadic puffs of smoke emanating from dwindling chimneys. A distant bell solemnly chimed midnight.

  Suddenly, at the city's edge, adjacent to the outer fortification, a grain silo ignited in a fiery bloom, the thunderous echoes of the detonation reaching him moments later. Another explosion erupted on the city's opposing side. Then, like a string of explosive pearls, silos, warehouses, and granaries were consumed by fire one after another.

  Warning bells pealed a frantic alarm, horns blared their dirge across the cityscape, and signal fires flared on the outer battlements and guard outposts. But the response was belated: the malevolent act was accomplished, the villains already vanished into the gloaming, leaving only carnage and the lifeless forms of the hapless watchmen in their wake.

  The door creaked behind him and, casting a glance over his shoulder, he saw Inanna sashaying toward him. A look of exhilaration animated her face as she absorbed the spectacle of destruction, leaving Buren to ponder whether the demonic entity or its human host was reveling more in the chaos.

  "I perceive I'm not alone in appreciating this explosive display," she remarked. Buren remained silent. "I suspect you had a hand in this," she declared with a wicked grin. "Delightful! The despair that will engulf the populace... a veritable feast for my kind. I fail to see Inanna's objections; from my perspective, you're excelling."

  Buren considered hurling her from the tower in a brief, wrathful thought. She would survive the fall, but he held back, refusing to grant her the satisfaction of witnessing his irritation. "You can discern one's character by the company they entertain," he mused internally. His duplicity toward Azure and the ensuing praises from a literal daemon certainly did not cast a favorable light.

  "I observed your unusually hefty expenditure to replenish our personal stockpiles," she purred, her tone laden with insinuations. "Are you scheming to utilize it for bargaining power?"

  "No," Buren declared flatly.

  "Then what's the plan?" she asked, her eyes twinkling with anticipation. "Something worse?"

  Buren's countenance hardened, the glow from the inferno reflecting in his eyes.

  "Something worse."

  The tense ambience of the emergency council held in the lofty heights of the cathedral hung heavily in the air as Buren entered. Even at this altitude, they couldn't escape the vociferous cries of disgruntled citizens, their hunger and desperation threatening to morph into violent revolt. The fortified walls of the city's castles and noble homes, along with the crown's residences and the bastions of the Faith - the last reservoirs where substantial stores of food remained - wouldn't hold out for long under such pressure.

  Seated around the table were the city's elite: the High Reverend, Grand Commander Valcor, Grand Inquisitor Ruelle, and Flynn--no, Buren corrected himself swiftly--King Duriel, their advisors, and the Head of the City Guard. Buren assumed his designated seat.

  "How could you cretins let this happen?" Duriel roared, flecks of saliva spraying onto the table. "Didn't I explicitly order you to eradicate these rebels?"

  The Head of the City Guard, acutely aware his neck was next in line to the king's chopping block, replied with an answer he'd likely mulled over repeatedly, "These rebels are backed by an external source; someone with immense resources and influence. That's the only way to rationalize their success."

  Buren silently mused, "I might need to behead him myself if he continues probing along this path," as he kept his eyes trained on the table before him.

  "Conspirators," Duriel sneered, "I won't gift them the pleasure of my downfall."

  "We need to focus on the future and devise a way out of this predicament," interjected the High Reverend, poised with straight back and folded hands. "It's clear we underestimated the rebels by presuming their defeat after eliminating their leader. Has the leader divulged anything of substance?" he inquired, turning towards Ruelle.

  "He has revealed everything," Ruelle stated with chilling indifference, "although nothing immediately beneficial. However, his confessions lend credence to the Guard Head's assumption; it's implausible he was the orchestrating mind."

  "But who is, then?" Duriel interrupted.

  "Buren," Seraphine interjected. Buren's gaze jolted up and he felt like his heart was immersed in ice water. Had he been found out, so tantalizingly close to his objective?

  To his relief, she had merely sought his insight, "Any theories?"

  "Likely an outsider," he responded, regaining his composure, "It's hard to believe that anyone within the city could have remained clandestine this long."

  "That raises even more questions," pointed out Aldric Valcor.

  "We've been unable to locate him thus far, and it is unlikely we'll fare any better with this catastrophe on our hands," Seraphine rationalized. "We'll need to get a handle on the situation first.

  "The harsh reality is, if we fail to feed the masses, we'll be their next meal," the High Reverend declared. "Likely, this is precisely what the Rebels anticipate, planning to emerge from hiding to occupy the resulting power vacuum."

  "Food is a problem we've ignored for far too long," Valcor echoed. "It was apparent from the outset that our supplies wouldn't last through winter. This issue has manifested itself prematurely. We couldn't identify a food source before, and we certainly can't conjure one now."

  Buren lifted his chin. This was the moment he had been meticulously awaiting, preferring others to articulate the inevitable so as to not seem too controlling.

  "Yes, we can," he stated. His soft declaration captured everyone's attention.

  "Well, don't keep us in suspense," Duriel urged, his voice tinged with annoyance. "Share your grand proposal."

  Maintaining a neutral expression, Buren swallowed the bitter taste of the words he was about to utter. "The blame for all this lies with the Dryads. They must have directly supported the Sons, besides beguiling them into servitude initially, as they've done to many others."

  His gaze met those of each council member in turn. "They're the most plausible 'external force' behind these attacks. They possess the means of production, so they stand to gain the most from our people's hunger."

  He reclined in his chair. "If I were them, I'd send an envoy to the city offering to sell their produce at discounted rates, positioning themselves as heroes and saviors."

  "I am aware of your Path of Penance to annihilate the Dryads," Valcor interjected, "a noble objective indeed. But could your commitment possibly bias you?"

  "Possibly," Buren conceded honestly. Duriel's advisor murmured something in his ear, and the king added, "Moreover, unless your allegations can be irrefutably substantiated, the Treaty forbids my forces from mobilizing against the Ancient Forest."

  "But not the Faith," Seraphine highlighted, turning towards the High Reverend. "The Forest remains our only option for procuring sustenance at this juncture."

  The High Reverend buried his face behind his folded hands, deep in contemplation. At that moment, a knock on the door interrupted their deliberations. A messenger from the Faith stepped in.

  "My apologies for the disruption," he began. "I bear a letter from the Elder Mothers of the Dryads. They offer their support in our time of need, in spite of our troubled history, proposing to trade their harvest. They agree to deferred payment, provided we promise compensation in writing."

  Buren focused on the High Reverend, conscious of the others' wide-eyed stares, as his prediction had materialized with uncanny accuracy.

  "Sorry, Azure, for having used you and the goodwill of your people like this," he thought desolately.

  The High Reverend lifted his head, his eyes hidden behind the veil. Nevertheless, Buren felt he was being scrutinized intensely. "I trust, Field Commander Coldwood, that you'd be willing to spearhead this campaign?" The Reverend's voice, quieter than usual, echoed throughout the chamber. Buren nodded.

  "When can we mobilize?" the Reverend inquired, inclining his head at Valcor.

  "Soon," the stern man responded with conviction. "We have no time to squander."

  "We ought to announce this to the public posthaste," Seraphine proposed. "We need to redirect their ire, offer them a solution. This should work impeccably, as we can assure them of not only sustenance but also a restoration of the natural order— the Dryads under human dominion where they belong."

  "Nothing about that is natural," Buren contemplated silently, restraining himself from voicing his thoughts. "Are they genuinely so blind in their contempt and self-importance, or are they all just like me, playing their part because they have no other options? Speaking bold-faced lies, because there is no room for truth?"

  The Reverend had made his resolution. "Aldric, I entrust you with preparing our forces. I'll direct the Clergy to sway public sentiment and incite righteous fervor, encouraging as many commoners as possible to join the campaign. Seraphine, continue your pursuit of the Sons. Surely, someone must have valuable information."

  Duriel interjected, wearing a cunning grin, "While I can't officially dispatch my forces, if your sermons ignite a fervor for justice and purging the land of these sinister forces, who am I to intervene?" He snorted dismissively. "However, it certainly won't be Coldfinger leading my men, rest assured."

  The Reverend rose from his seat, leaning on the table's edge. "I hereby declare a Total Purge, to cleanse a wound we've let fester for too long." Straightening to his full height, he towered over them all. "I always knew something of this sort was inevitable once those abominations had their way in the Treaty. I just hoped our people wouldn't have to endure such suffering before they came to their senses."

  He moved towards the door, pausing to lay a large hand on Buren's shoulder. "I believe the masses should hear this from you. Go and address the crowd outside the Cathedral. Assure them that help is forthcoming."

  Buren stepped through the cathedral's imposing double doors. The harsh winter sun, biting wind, and the crowd's furious cries assaulted his senses simultaneously. He paused, allowing his eyes to acclimate to the scene. Before him lay a sea of haggard faces, barely restrained by the line of Knights preventing them from breaching the cathedral grounds. He understood it would take only a single spark to ignite the realization in the mob that the armed and armored men could not halt their advance.

  Buren ascended the steps, raising the Gauntlet high in the frigid daylight. Its shimmer drew a collective gasp from the crowd. As he admired the limb, a thought struck him. "They truly are a curse. Power. Knowledge. If I were oblivious to what was forthcoming, I could live in peace. If I were aware but powerless, I could spend my remaining days indulging in my passions, surrounded by those I cherish. But as I can change things, I have no right to rest, no claim for happiness."

  The crowd quietened, pointing and whispering, their restless movement dwindling in anticipation of his address. "Too late to turn back no," Buren considered. "All that remains is to let events unfold, however chilling and distasteful the course may be."

  "I know you're hungry," he called out, amplifying his voice to reach the farthest corners of the crowd. "I know you're angry and fearful, and rightfully so. You have been wronged. The Dryads have long plagued humankind, exploiting the baser desires they've instilled within us to exert their control. They have left our fields barren, exacerbating our hunger. And now, they've confiscated the remaining morsels of our harvest, expecting us to capitulate if we wish to survive."

  With a sharp sweep of the Gauntlet through the air, he continued, "But we refuse to bow! We will retaliate, reclaiming what is ours by right! I will spearhead this conflict and seek retribution for our city."

  At his words, Seraphine's strategically placed provocateurs erupted into cheers. Their fervor spread contagiously, engulfing the more susceptible members of the crowd until a majority joined the chant, shouting their approval or bellowing cries of vengeance.

  Buren reached within his cloak, deliberately drawing forth the tear-streaked mask of Penance and adorning his face with it. "Who stands with me?" he roared.

  The crowd responded with a tumultuous roar, their collective voice echoing across the cathedral grounds.

  In the seclusion of his castle, Buren perched on the edge of his bed, elbows propped upon knees and forehead cradled in palms. He had lingered there for some time, trapped in a tense anticipation. A fluttering drape betrayed the presence he had been awaiting, dreading.

  "Are your people really declaring war against the Dryads?" Azure's voice, usually singing with mirth, was unnaturally somber, her question stripped of any poetic playfulness.

  Buren lifted his gaze and offered a single, silent nod. Azure muttered something in her native tongue, the pitch and tension suggesting a curse. "Inconceivable!" she exclaimed, arms thrown up in dismay. "And after we'd outstretched hands in aid, no less. Can you not intercede?"

  Buren responded with a helpless shrug.

  "And I heard a rumor that you, of all souls, championed this campaign, appeared before the masses, inciting them to raise arms against us." Her tone implied the ludicrous nature of the claim, and her bright eyes were full of expectation, ready for Buren's amused dismissal.

  But instead of joining her in laughter, he met her smile with an expression of profound guilt. The jovial curve of her lips faded into a shocked line. "It's... it's true?" she stammered, aghast. "I knew your Faith compelled you to publicly denounce us, but this...this transgresses all bounds. The people are desperate enough to trust your words."

  "Poor Azure," Buren thought. "She still insists on seeing the best in me, believing I couldn't possibly do this."

  Azure blinked rapidly, pacing in agitated circles, attempting to unravel the knot of disbelief in her stomach. "But if you spearhead this assault, you can quell it too," she reasoned, her right fist striking her left palm in emphasis. "We can act quickly, I'm certain--"

  "No," Buren interrupted softly.

  "No?" she echoed, confusion lining her voice. "No to what?"

  "I am bound by necessity to follow through with this attack."

  Her staring silence pained him more than any physical blow he'd ever endured. "This is about gaining access to our Sacred Grounds, to unsealing the mountain? Is that it?" The disbelief was unmistakable in her tone, in her wide, incredulous eyes.

  "I cautioned your leaders. I warned them they would rue their decision if they denied me--"

  "And this justifies it?" she interjected.

  He lowered his gaze. "No. But it remains necessary."

  "What has that arm wrought upon you?" she whispered, her vibrant eyes glistening with unshed tears. "You've changed," she murmured, convincing herself. "You would never have sanctioned such actions before."

  "Hedwig might contest that," Buren replied. "I'm sorry if I am not the man you wished me to be. The arm has done nothing but grant me the means to accomplish my objectives."

  With a shattering crack, something pierced through the window. Buren might have met his end then and there, if not for the lightning-fast reflexes bestowed by the Gauntlet. It shot upwards, faster than the human eye could track, seizing the incoming projectile mid-flight. Buren examined the caught object, identifying it as a slender sapling shoot, unnaturally hardened. Its tip glowed with a luminescent green liquid - a poison-tipped arrow favored by the Dryads.

  "Sisters, hold!" Azure called out towards the window. "A solution we can still mould."

  Three slim figures slipped into view through the broken window - more Dryads. Among them, Buren recognized Leva, and the other two seemed like formidable fighters as well.

  "He's the one you said," Leva snarled, her words stripped of their usual rhyme, "leads the attack, the snake's head. Cut him down, and the serpent drops dead."

  Buren sat motionless on the bed, the captured arrow dropping from his grasp to clatter on the floor. Azure positioned herself between Buren and the Dryads, arms spread wide in a defensive stance.

  "Still, we need to--"

  "We need you to yield," Leva cut her off. "Your feelings for him blind you to what is best. He left you wounded in the Forest, and since then, his voice has only wielded hatred, turning people against us in stronger yield. I believe him when he says you've been deceived."

  Leva held her bow before her - Buren suspected it was she who had taken the shot - and under her influence, the wooden weapon transformed. The bending stalks twisted and morphed into a long staff. Dipping one end into Buren's wash basin, the wood absorbed the water, growing denser and deadlier, with venomous spikes sprouting from both ends.

  The other Dryads readied their own weapons - one with skin as purple as lavender held punch daggers in both hands and feet, spikes jutting from the tips and the soles. The third, her skin as red as autumn leaves, cracked a thin vine in the air like a whip.

  Azure instinctively gripped her chakrams tighter.

  "You'll need to choose your side, sister," Leva declared, "Stand with your kin in this grievous plight, or fall with the man who provokes our fight."

  Azure's gaze flickered between them. After a moment of hesitation, she steeled herself, taking a deep breath, and raised her weapons slightly towards her kin. The Dryads stared, realizing she would defy them. But before she could utter a word and seal her fate, Buren rose, lightly tapping her head with his iron knuckles. She collapsed, and he caught her gently, setting her down on his bed.

  "Thank you," Buren thought sadly. "But I won't be the one who makes you into a pariah to your kind, an outcast. Not even when that means it would be the two of us, together against the world."

  "The traitor shows his real colors, does he?" Leva snarled, baring her teeth.

  "Once we are done here, take her with you," Buren said quietly, turning to face them. "You can't afford to leave a strong fighter like her behind. Not with what's coming."

  The Dryads advanced, their weapons poised for attack. Leva, armed with her water-laden staff, was the first to make a move. Her staff twisted mid-air, dripping with lethal toxin. Buren raised the Gauntlet, ready to defend against whatever onslaught was about to come his way.

  The Dryad with the purple skin lunged, her punch daggers aimed straight at his heart. Buren stepped aside, narrowly evading the attack, and responded with a swift jab from the Gauntlet. She crumpled to the floor, momentarily disoriented, but quickly regained her footing, her eyes blazing with fierce determination.

  The red-skinned Dryad cracked her vine-whip in the air, the sound echoing menacingly in the quiet room. She swung it towards Buren, but he dodged, the Gauntlet deflecting the whip with a metallic clang.

  The battle was intense, the air charged with the tension of the life-and-death struggle. Buren held his ground, defending himself against the relentless attacks. Through it all, he never lost sight of his main goal - to keep Azure out of harm's way.

  The sound of conflict echoing through the castle had drawn the attention of Buren's guards. His heart pounded in rhythm with their pounding on the door, his mind racing as he considered his options. He didn't wish to harm the Dryads, despite their intent to kill him. The situation was spiraling out of control. He had to end this before his guards broke down the door and the Dryads were put in more danger.

  Buren's eyes flickered between the whip and the purple Dryad, a split-second decision formed in his mind. He let the whip wrap around the Gauntlet, a firm grip establishing on the vine. The purple Dryad jumped from the other side of the room, her leg extended, sharp spikes ready to pierce his flesh.

  With a swift pull, Buren jerked the whip, the Dryad holding it was flung across the room. The purple Dryad collided with her sister mid-flight, both being thrown across the room. Leva, quick to react, ducked under the flailing sisters. But she wasn't quick enough. Buren had already closed the gap between them.

  In one swift move, he shattered Leva's staff and hit her temple. She crumpled to the floor. The three Dryads were sprawled across the room, dazed and disoriented.

  A thunderous pounding echoed through the room, jarring him out of the silence that had followed the clash. "Open up!" the guards yelled, their muffled voices seeping through the heavy door.

  Buren looked at the fallen Dryads and the unconscious Azure. "Go," he commanded once again. "And take Azure. She doesn't deserve to be tangled in this mess."

  "Why care you for our fate?" Leva spat, venom dripping in her words. "Should your kind claim victory, we face death or a slavery." She brandished her spear, hovering it threateningly over Azure's prone form. "Would not mercy dictate to end her life now, knowing the strife that'll come anyhow? You two on different sides, her image of you turning to be all lies? Her kind trampled thanks to a man he thought friend? Besides, stop us here, and no early warning will our sisters hear."

  Buren lowered his gaze. "It might," he thought. "In fact, killing them would certainly be the most logical course. But why can't I?"

  He considered for a moment. "I think I want to leave them a chance. They might choose to run, find another forest. I'm hoping they will find some other solution." He raised his eyes. "Go," he said.

  The sound of splintering wood filled the room as the guards started to break down the door. Leva shot one last venomous glance at Buren before complying, escaping with her sisters and Azure through the broken window, just as the door gave in, and his guards burst in, weapons ready, only to find their lord standing alone amidst the wreckage.

  "Everything all right, sir?" one of them asked.

  He waved them off, and they filed out, giving each other perplexed looks.

  "I got off easy this time," Buren thought, sitting back on the bed. "There won't be room for mercy in the future."