Finn places five cups on the small table we're sitting around. Water crashes around inside the clay cup, swirling up to the rim. It smells somewhat sweet, like honey mixed with vanilla… Doesn' taste bad.

  "Sorry, but this is all I have,” Finn says, apologetically bobbing his head up and down.

  "We should be the ones apologizing," Richard responds, rubbing the back of his head.

  "Oh, no it's fine. I, ah, never had guests up here before. It's a good thing I have so many cups."

  "You made these yourself?”

  "Yeah. Lucious tends to break them, so I keep spares around."

  That dude's strength must be unreal if he has a hard time controlling it. Sort of glad we didn’t fight him, not that I’d back down from a fight.

  Richard takes a sip from his cup. "Lucious, that's quite a name."

  "That's what he said it was, but we're not sure that's his real name. Right?"

  "Name…unclear…Lucious all remember… So, Lucious is name… Pleasure meet you…"

  Sounds like he’s straining himself to find the words and stringing them together probably isn’t any less taxing on him. I'm not gonna ask why he's speaking like that since I'm not that much of an asshole.

  "Lucious has a hard time speaking, but he's really smart."

  "I see… And he isn't a villager, is he?" Richard assesses.

  "No. I just found him up here one day. I don't know where he came from and neither does he."

  "Memory…hazy. Can't remember…where from."

  I scoot over to Richard, leaning closer to whisper. "Pick anything up?"

  "Nothing so far, but his words, they all feel - and this is going to sound weird - foggy. But I doubt he's a bandit."

  Okay, so that gets rid of the bandit accusation, that's a good thing. That foggy comment on the other hand doesn't sound so positive.

  "So, what were you doing out there?"

  "Me, me?"

  "Yes, you, you."

  "Umm…nothing. I…it's nothing."

  There he goes again, clamming up. Saying "nothing" never helps convince someone something isn't going on.

  "...You don't have to be scared around us," Richard says, lightening his tone. "And we also won't tell anyone what we saw here. We're sorry for intruding on your private space." He and Nunnalé stand up. "It's getting late, we should be going. Thank you for the water."

  Hmm, he has a point. Now I just feel like a nosy asshole. I just wanted to see if this guy was just eating bugs or not. Alright, even then I'd still be nosy, but at least it would be worth it.

  "Wait," Finn raises his voice, shooting up to his feet. "...I'm not scared of anything! I just…" He gulps hard, putting on a confident smile, a pale imitation of his grandpa's. "You wanna see something, then I'll show you the greatest thing ever!" He stumbles over to a brown curtain covering the entrance to the other half of the hut, moving it over with gusto. "Fe-feast your eyes!"

  Metal scraps and doodads all over the place, with papers sprawled everywhere—on the floor and on a workbench. Clay jars are neatly stacked next to the other, each labeled with a different name that I’m not familiar with. The roof of this wonder lab is wide open, letting in some moonlight and fresh air.

  "What is this place?" Richard asks.

  Finn fidgeting his fingers. "This…is my…workshop."

  "A workshop, as in crafting weapons?"

  "No! I don't make weapons here! I do all this for fun! For example." He rummages around his bench, throwing stuff nilly-willy before picking up a small metal ball with slits around it. "Torches are no good since they can start a fire with trees, but you can get lost in the dark! That's where this little guy comes into play! It illuminates dark areas without the need for a fire-based light source."

  "Like a flashlight?" I reply without a second thought.

  "Flashlight?"

  "Uh, it's a metal rod that lights up in a cone-shaped way," Richard answers.

  "Really!?" He grabs Richard's shoulders, excitedly shaking him. "Who made it, where can I meet them, and can look at this 'flashlight'!?"

  "I don't have one with me."

  "Seriously!? Aw, man! Now I want to see it even more!" This guy perked up real quick. Nunnalé separates the two of them, placing herself between them. "Sorry, I don't know what came over me… Anyhow, that flashlight and my light ball probably share the same concept, however, mine differs. Come out with me for a moment." Back outside, Finn carefully caresses the shell from both ends. "Everyone, please close your eyes. This will get bright. You too, Lucious."

  I flip on my goggles as he chucks the ball to the ground. A loud click followed by a high pitch buzzing scratching at my ear drum. A ludicrous flash of light hits the area. If I didn't have my goggles my eyes would be toasted. This feels more like a flashbang than a flashlight! The light begins to dim just as the screeching dies down.

  "As you can tell, it's a failure. The light is blinding, and the screeching doesn't help."

  "What was that anyway?"

  Finn unclasps the ball, opening it wide. The bottom and the top have these flat surfaces that seem to press into one another when it closes. Something's been squished between them. A small bug carcass, its limbs smashed into bits and blood staining both ends.

  "What the hell?"

  "It's a bug that emits a bright light right before it dies, but I can't control its output, and the screeching isn't easy on the nerves."

  "There's more of them?"

  "There are. Luckily, they make their homes in trees to keep away from animals and people. However, I have noticed that a few of them travel on the ground despite the danger. And they only live far up here, from what I know…"

  "Oh, so that's why you were face-planted on the ground."

  "I was collecting them, but I crushed one with my hand. I tried to protect my eyes, but I lost my balance and…well, you know the rest. But this isn't the only thing! I have a bunch of other stuff in the works! I've been working on an animal lure. It smells awful, but those things sure love it. When we first tried, I thought I was going to get eaten alive, but Lucious saved me."

  "Protect…Finn…even if…he acts…fool."

  "So, you guys just sit up here making stuff?" I ask.

  "Yep! He and I are Borghulda's only craftsmen! We make whatever we think will help the village…that's if any of it worked."

  "So just junk?"

  Finn slumps his shoulders, kicking up some dirt. "Yeah, I guess it is junk…"

  "Proxy!"

  "Sorry, it just slipped out of my mouth!"

  "No, it's fine… You're right, it is junk, all of it. If my grandpa ever found out about this, he'd have a fit."

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  "Is a chief's son not supposed to have hobbies or something? Lame."

  "Not when he's going to be the next head of the village," he responds, downtrodden. "...Things are expected of me. Expectations and hopes of taking over when he can't lead anymore. That could be any day."

  "That sounds like a lot of pressure for a kid, man."

  "Yeah, but what can I do? Say no and just leave? This is my home. Like or not, I am the only one who can."

  "But what about your parents? Can't they–"

  Richard covers my mouth before I can finish. "Proxy, don't finish that."

  I was going to ask why he's acting so serious, but his expression had darkened. It didn't take me a second to figure out what's wrong. "...Oh, um, sorry."

  "It's alright. My mother and my father were killed during the invasion. Grandpa is the one taking care of me, and everyone else in the village looks after me too… I don’t hate that I’ll be chief. When it’s my time, I’ll gladly take the reins because I have to repay everyone, somehow.”

  But he’ll have to give up on what he loves. Tough choice, and something I'd hate for myself. Maybe he's just tinkering around as much as he can before the end. That's just downright depressing. Then again, it's no different than most guys who graduate from High School. College, jobs, adult responsibilities… Ugh, I don't want to end this on a downer.

  "Can you show us more stuff?" I ask him, resting my hands behind my head.

  "You want to see more!?"

  "Duh. Who wouldn't want to? Right, buddy?"

  "Yeah, I want to see more."

  Finn takes my hand, beaming from head to toe. "I'd be honored to show you more stuff…! But can we do it tomorrow? My grandpa doesn't like me being out so late."

  "Makes sense. We should be getting back, too. What about the big guy?"

  "He sleeps up here. People usually don't come out here."

  "Does he not like being near people?" Richard raises.

  "People…not bad…I…cannot be near… Big guy…not name."

  "Ah, sorry. I meant Lucious. We'll see you later."

  "Good…night…"

  "I'll be here first thing in the morning, Lucious."

  "Good…night…Finn."

  Anti-bandit army bus - night - Proxy

  The chief is letting us use whatever empty space there is as a campsite. I won't have to sleep in the bus tonight but sleeping on hard dirt ain't any better. Most of the army went to sleep, but Marie, Alex and the others who went scouting are up yapping away about what to do next. That includes me

  "Hmm…if I'm being honest, there isn't much we can do right now," Marie states, crossing her arms. "We don't know how far the archer's range is. Also, we don't even know if there aren't more than one."

  "Nunnalé got pushed back by one arrow, another archer like that would make things worse," Chip adds.

  "If I were to engage them on ideal ground, it would prove less difficult. However, the idea of more than one Source-user capable of long-range attacks is plausible. In which case, the number would be an important factor, as well as terrain."

  "For now, we know they have two Source-users, maybe more. I doubt the leader isn't capable of using it."

  "He may be," Zell supports the idea. "Scar keeps everyone in line, and the leader only shows himself to the Flame Wraiths. He's never had a reason to show off his strength."

  I see, I see…

  "Our big bad probably ain't shit, and he sounds like a puss–"

  Marie clasps my mouth shut. "Nah, I don't believe it. He must have something up his sleeve."

  I get her hand off my mouth. "Maybe…maybe he has laser eyes! Fire shooting eyes! No, he can turn into a giant dragon, breathing fire everywhere!"

  "A dragon is a giant monster with wings on its back," Richard aptly says before anyone could raise an eyebrow. "...They're not real."

  "Y-you never know!"

  Marie sighs. "Sometimes, I can't tell if you're acting dumb or what."

  "Nothing dumb about it! A dragon as a final fight; a-typical hero stuff in fantasy games and stories. Especially for knights."

  "For knights?"

  "Yeah! A brave warrior fights a giant monster, slaying it with his sword; and-or other weapons of death dealing choice," I hastily end.

  A child-like sparkle shines about Alex, pumping his arms in the air "I…I find myself conflicted, but if he were, then it would truly be knightly!"

  "Hell yeah, man!"

  "Overall: we don't know anything yet. Tomorrow, we'll try to find another way to spy on the bandits," Marie concludes without us.

  Chip groans. "Do we gotta do more work?"

  "Geez, you really like whining nowadays," Marie responds, tapping her foot against the ground.

  "Hey, after all the stuff we've been through, I can whine about a lot more."

  "Wow, how benevolent." Marie sarcastically praises.

  "Yep, that's me: Chip the benevolent."

  Borghulda - Finn's Workshop - morning - Alexander

  Chief Horgmon steps out of his home. They're still hard at work repairing the damages made by the knights, seven years ago. The Fire Wraiths must make it difficult to gather the supplies needed for a timely reconstruction.

  "So, where to next, sir?" I ask, voicing my enthusiasm.

  "Nowhere, just gotta pay a visit."

  "To whom?"

  "Just shut ya trap and ya'll see."

  "Sorry, but if it's to speak with that elderly man with the…unique way of speaking, then I must ask you to speak with him."

  "We'll bother him later. Dis is more important."

  There is a pathway leading behind chief Horgmon's home, lined with rocks and flowers on the side. They appear to be freshly picked too, meticulously placed next to the other. Up a small hill, two stone slabs are embedded into the ground overlooking the village. Names carved into them. A peaceful whistle from the wind signifies the somber essence of this place.

  "What are those?"

  "Graves. One for my son, and his wife." He brushes the stones as if to soothe the souls of the dead. "I come here every now and den, makin' sure these things stand tall. Dat old coot talks like a mad man, but he knows how to make good graves."

  "Did they pass during the war?"

  "Pass? Fancy way of sayin' killed," he says, speaking with lament rather than anger.

  "Oh, I, did not mean to–"

  "Forget it, ya did nothin' wrong. Part of me wishes they could've just 'passed'. Ya get what I mean?"

  "I can scarcely understand."

  The gentle breeze rustles the chief's gray hair. Not a whisper or a murmur, just the silence of a man watching over his deceased family.

  "Ya ever lost someone?" he asks, focused on the graves.

  "My father."

  "...Sorry for ya loss. I remember my boy's face, his first words, da way he always looked at me, all smiles with those big ol' eyes. Always spoke with his heart, and never took anyone's crap. Lil' upstart grew up and got a woman to fall for him. She was a great lass, strong backbone, always set my son straight whenever he needed a talkin'. Even me, on occasion. But she always had a great smile, even during wartime."

  "They sounded like wonderful people."

  "I know, but both dem were still killed in da end."

  "By the knights, correct?"

  "By a knight…someone he considered a brother, and a boy I saw as a son."

  There's a hard lump in my throat, and my heart feels distant from my body.

  "What…was his name?"

  "...Sigurd."

  I wish to say something, anything, to the chief, to myself. But what could I utter that would make anyone feel better? Father's actions are becoming less and less clear to me. I was ready to accept whatever truth there was about him.

  "Chief Horgmon…I am sorry. I did not wish to deceive you, and I shall not make excuses."

  "Save ya breath. Ya think I didn't notice da similarities when I first saw ya? Ya have to blind and stupid not to. Ya eyes, da hair, even dat dumb face ya make when speakin' to me. Too damn noticeable. Been wonderin' yesterday what dat bastard's son wants with us."

  It's only sensible that he would notice the similarities between me and father.

  "We had come here to ask for your assistance."

  "Dat's it, huh? Comin' here, askin' us to fight another war? Ya came to da wrong place… We were warriors, proud of it. But I'm not about to risk my people for a battle against those shitheads. Too damn risky. Plus, I ain't interested in helpin' people outside my village. Sorry, but ya wasted a trip here."

  "...That is unfortunate, albeit, understandable. But, if you knew of my identity, then why allow us into your village?"

  He takes out the object he puts in his mouth, sparking it aflame with a flint and stone. "I just wanted to see whether ya were like him or not."

  He takes inhales, then puffs out a cloud of smoke. It dances in the wind, becoming one with it shortly after.

  "Who was he to you?" He remains silent. "...My father was a man I held dear to myself. A man of absolute virtue and nobility. He taught me what it means to be a knight… However, I've learned that may not have been the whole truth. I did not come here only to request your aid, but to learn more of my father."

  "Sounds like ya learned about da bastard dat he is. Ain't dat 'nough?"

  "No, I need to know more! You have known him since he was a child. Please, I must know who he was, why he committed himself to the kingdom, and why he would ever entertain the idea of burning his home down!?"

  "...Sure ya ain't tryin' to run from da truth?"

  "What?"

  "Ya came here, thinkin' we would tell ya dat yer father was some kinda hero, or whatever. Dat there's more to dis than what anyone could know. Ya might as well leave, cause ya won't find anyone willing to tell ya otherwise." He walks away from the grave. "I won't be tellin' anyone 'bout your father. I'll let ya stay for another day. After dat, I want ya gone, and never show ya face again."

  What he said of my desire to learn of my father; I wish to have argued against him, proving him wrong, telling him off, but how could I? What he said was the truth. I have been telling myself there must be more to what si– I mean, Garrick spoke of. It was a naive bid at rejecting the truth of the matter. This should conclude what I have already know… And yet

  "Sir Horgmon!" He stops, turning his head back. :"I still wish to know who my father was; the person you saw him as, who he truly is! I will not give up on learning more about him! Not to blind myself to the truth, because I must know! I have to know! So I will make you tell me everything!"

  He keeps moving, unwilling to give his attention. I won't waver, not in the face of the truth, or of the enemy. Whoever father may have been, I shall know!