[We do not feel comfortable with such a gaze over us.]

  The figure shifts slightly, embracing the darkened remains of a body.

  [We are aware of our position as disorienting.]

  [We assure it is not us who has stripped their lives. On the contrary, we are the cause of hope among the dying.]

  Ilmagh pats Alfred's shoulder, urging him forward.

  The boy complies, stepping closer.

  His eyes steal a glance at the figure.

  They fall, filled with a strange sensation of fulfillment upon seeing its features.

  Fulfilling enough to forget death.

  Fulfilling enough to forget...

  [Is it...?]

  Not yet.

  [... That, which plagues your mind upon seeing us?]

  [... No. It is uncertainty.]

  Issa approaches the figure, sitting at its side.

  [Don't worry. Even if it hurts, it's worth it.]

  [They'd have a worse fate if not for mom.]

  [It's better than burning forever, chained by the flares of Leuha?a.]

  [Better than being reduced to a mass of flesh by creation.]

  [Better than being erased from existence by destruction.]

  Her brother clicks his tongue, pressing a hand on his face.

  [That is easy for you to say, Issa. After all, this is what you're fated to do after Mother dies.]

  Issa scowls at Ilmagh. The boy sighs deeply, tapping his foot before turning on his heel.

  [I'm leaving.]

  [We accept that. Leave, and bring a damned soul to us. This truthfully might be the last time you see us.]

  [... I understand.]

  With a heavy, though tender expression, Ilmagh steps towards the opening, ultimately leaving.

  The entity's attention turns to Alfie.

  [Alfred.]

  [We are aware of you. We know you as if you were our own child.]

  [We are in horror by your path and fate.]

  Alfred shakes his head, confused.

  [I do not understand.]

  Delicate hands raise themselves, offering their grasp.

  [We are capable of showing you. We believe that, then, you will stray yourself from the path of the craven.]

  [I...]

  Curiosity plagues Alfred's mind, threatening insanity.

  His brain almost pulses, finding something to cling to.

  It clings, indeed.

  To the most true of lenses.

  To...

  [What is it that will happen if you show me?]

  [We assure it is up to you. If you believe yourself to be a soldier, however cowardly, take our hands.]

  A step forward.

  Issa distances herself from her mother, eyes closed in expectation.

  Alfred approaches. Slowly, though eagerly.

  There is but one sensation he abhors.

  The one that is soothed by the face his eyes fall on.

  By the eyes that so tenderly stare at his soul.

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  By the smile that so calmly listens to his wishes.

  Alfred takes her hands, placing his entire trust.

  Another, inexistent, pair of lashes close over his eyes.

  A veil places itself over his face.

  And a hand grips his shoulder.

  [You seem distracted, Alfred. What's the matter?]

  [Nothing at all. I was just... remembering something.]

  Alfred's eyes flutter open.

  A man stands before him.

  Staring with his vampire brown eyes.

  A hand of his moves to the dark-brown hair draping over his shoulders.

  [Shall we go, now?]

  [Yeah.]

  Sand seeps into his shoes.

  The sun burns bright, disorienting, dehydrating.

  The noble symbol of light turned an inconvenience.

  [Kanell.]

  The man glances backwards with a raised brow.

  [Hm?]

  [... Nothing.]

  Muffled cries fill the static dunes.

  Mingled with devastated pleas expressed in silence.

  [Time to move, come on!]

  Kanell shouts, hastening his steps.

  Over three dozen children sit in a circle in stillness.

  Their mouths are bound shut with thick, metallic needles.

  Their arms are nothing but bandaged stumps.

  Their eye sockets are hollow.

  The men's presence disturbs them.

  Alfred sighs in exhaustion, ushering the kids to stand.

  Kanell: [We're near enough.]

  Alfie: [Is this not a good spot?]

  Kanell shakes his head.

  [Too close.]

  And so, they walk.

  Cursing at the sand all around.

  Cursing at the wails all around.

  With each passing hour, the sun shies away from the sky, rushing to hide behind the horizon.

  Just as it touches the line between day and night, Kanell halts.

  [Tie their feet.]

  Alfie complies, taking a long rope.

  Each knot, he feels their shivering.

  Each knot, he feels their desperation.

  Each knot, he feels their...

  [What would be next?]

  He asks.

  Kanell breathes in.

  Then, he turns around and steps away.

  [We'll just leave them here. They'll die of starvation sooner or later.]

  [Nothing more for us to do.]

  Alfred approaches the man, trying to make sense of his words.

  Alfie: [These souls do not deserve such a fate, Sir Dathur.]

  Kanell: [It's the Order's work we do, not God's.]

  [If even he does exist.]

  [These kids aren't normal, Alfred. Understand that, once the time comes, they'll grow to pollute the lands.]

  The sun sets, disappearing behind the horizon.

  [It is that reason for which I admire you. You dare not let chaos get in your way.]

  [But I find myself uneasy this time.]

  Alfred's head lowers.

  Kanell places a hand on his shoulder, clenching tightly.

  [Don't be so weak.]

  [You know I always will.]

  Something courses through Kanell's face, fueled by Alfred's words.

  Disappointment.

  Anger.

  Indifference.

  [There's no point, then.]

  A blade is unsheathed.

  Feet approach the fateless ones.

  [It's not a big deal, Alfie.]

  Kanell raises his sword and slams the handle on a skull.

  [See?]

  Alfred's gaze diverts, strangely drawn back.

  To Kanell's strength.

  And his lack. Of...

  Metal slices through flesh.

  [There's nothing hard about this, Alfred. Look.]

  Blood spills on cold sand, now warm as red liquid pours down.

  [Stop!]

  A scream tears through, loud enough to strain vocal cords.

  [Stop, please!]

  Eyes snap open.

  Alfred stands still.

  With Kanell in front.

  A burning house.

  Roasting flesh.

  Another life taken.

  A narrow alley, its stone scraping his shoulders.

  Boiling oil poured over bubbling skin.

  Another life taken.

  A sterile room made of steel spikes.

  A bulging mass of flesh.

  Another life taken.

  Nobles, farmers, servants.

  Young, old.

  Men. Women. Children.

  Another life taken.

  And another.

  And another.

  And another.

  And another. And another. And another. And another. And another. And another. And another. And another. And another.

  Countless.

  Once, by the man to his side, one whom his eyes met with admiration.

  Once by the man to his side, now by his own damned, cowardly hands.

  All to preserve order.

  All to avoid...

  [Wake up.]

  Alfie gasps for air, opening his eyes before shutting them again.

  Then, slowly, he lets himself see.

  His back presses against the cold, hard ground.

  A thin cloth is placed over him, soaked with his sweat.

  With much difficulty, he tilts his head to see Issa standing next to him.

  [You've been asleep for a day.]

  [Get up. I believe Ilmagh will arrive soon.]

  Her voice drills into Alfred's head.

  The girl takes his hand, helping him stand.

  [What did you see?]

  Alfred looks around, dazed.

  His hands drive themselves to his mouth, being chewed on by teeth.

  The question remains unanswered, hanging in the air.

  ——

  [What's happened? You look like a dead man.]

  Ragged breaths mingle with clinking sounds.

  Leafy vines twist and spread above sandstone stairs, carrying a carriage along the air.

  [I have been searching for someone. It was a little kid, she... She fell somewhere.]

  [No luck, eh? You won't usually find people like that. You know, I've never seen the bottom of Asha. Anyways, better to hide that mortified face of yours with this.]

  Bony hands search through clutter, throwing goods aside with loud thuds.

  Then, a mask is handed out.

  Smooth, translucent, pure.

  [Made from quartz. It's a beauty, isn't it? This one will cost you seventeen Phills. I'm sure you thought it cost three, eh?]

  [Your only interest is to make a profit. I would never buy from someone like you.]

  [It's not that serious. I'm just a merchant, selling is what I do.]

  [You are a merchant, though an evil one.]

  Thin arms come out of brown cloth.

  Legs, just as lean, cross themselves.

  [Maybe. I mean, I haven't done anything that could be labelled as evil. Haven't killed, haven't robbed... All I do, is sell. And sell I will, so let me be.]

  The merchant snaps his fingers. An agitated expression plasters on his face.

  [See you around, blonde boy.]

  The vines pick up their speed, leaving Ilmagh to wander alone into the jagged structures of Asha.

  Shoulders bump against each other. Branches wrap around walls.

  Fingers lurk into eyeballs. Fruit trees hang foot-stamped bodies.

  Six coins turn two, two turn nine.

  Stones are thrown at thieves.

  Thrown by the ones who are stoned.

  [All it is... is madness.]

  The words ground Ilmagh's mind.

  His eyes dart to his right.

  A teen, with long black hair, stands beside him. His sharp eyes are set ahead, staring at all and nothing alike.

  [... Maybe. I can hardly grasp the state of this land.]

  The teen nods in agreement before stepping forward.

  A body hangs over his back, tied tightly with several ropes.

  A little girl crowning a calm, bluish face.

  Only ground bones remain on the lower half of her body.

  Ilmagh's eyes widen.

  [Hey. Hey!]

  The boy rushes, gripping the teen's shoulder.

  [What is it?]

  [Untie her.]

  [I can't.]

  [Untie her! It is an order... An order from the future king of Asha.]

  His words result in nothing but a mirthless chuckle. The teen slaps Ilmagh's hand away, stepping away from him.

  [And what makes you believe that?]

  [I am the prince of this land, Ilmagh.]

  The teen freezes.

  His hands run across his long, black hair.

  [Your name... say it again.]

  [I will not. Not until you untie the girl.]

  [Shit. Can't you see?!]

  The teen roars, grabbing the corpse by its shoulders to shove it in front of Ilmagh.

  [What would you even do, oh great prince?!]

  [Do something! Bring her back to life! Fix this country! Isn't that what you're supposed to do?!]

  The words make Ilmagh flinch. His eyes fall to the ground, filled with shame.

  [I do not carry her out of pity. Nor do I want her to be a symbol for pain, coursing around these aimless streets for all to see.]

  [All I want is for her to avoid a horrible fate. Even if I know it'll hurt. Forever.]

  [And, painfully so, I know that's more than you'll do, great prince.]

  Flowers bloom on the ground near the teen. He abruptly raises a foot, only to lower it, with clenched teeth, as the passersby glare at him.

  [Though, I'm glad you care about her de—]

  [You are wrong.]

  Ilmagh cuts the teen's words short, both hope and uncertainty coursing through his eyes.

  [It is not me who cared.]

  [Because I failed to see that girl as a corpse. Or rather, I ignored it.]

  [Just as kings ignore the throbs of pain in their kingdoms, boasting about their glory.]

  [Just as citizens ignore the rot spreading through their peers, carrying out their so-called duties with utter shamelessness.]

  The teen furrows his brows.

  [You are the only one who cared about her death. The only one who did not snap his gaze on attractive stalls, wrap your hand around punishing stones, nor step over a pitiful corpse.]

  Ilmagh places a hand on his chest, bowing slightly.

  [May I know your name?]

  [I'm Ilma- Ilma... gh... I mean, my name is Ilma.]

  The boy nods at the teen's words and straightens up. Crowds of people split around them, not one wearing the same color or precious stone.

  [Nice meeting you, great prince.]

  [This is not farewell, Ilma. I will accompany you with the girl to see the fate that awaits her. Only then can I fully trust your intentions.]

  [As you wish.]

  Ilma hangs the girl's body over his shoulder, turning on his heels.

  [It'll be far. A day on foot.]

  [I do not mind.]

  [Let's go, then.]

  Despite his words, Ilma does not move whatsoever.

  Ilmagh tilts his head, confused.

  [Does something bother you?]

  Ilma shakes his head.

  [Nothing. It's just that...]

  A face sinks to the ground, pressing itself on the teen's foot.

  Blood sprays out of the body's side.

  Until it doesn't.

  [I wish I could take a carriage.]

  [I'm tired.]