Fahlnem scowled at his opponents as they moved into formation. The fireteam of Rites, consisting of five Lilac Rites, gathered into a sort of crescent-shaped group that resembled a firing squad, despite only one of them wielding a ranged weapon. Scanning from left to right, Fahlnem analyzed the types of weapons they held: a spear and shield, a falchion, a crossbowman in the middle of the group with a sheathed shortsword, and an individual with a halberd. The fifth Rite standing at the end of the crescent formation held a man-catcher aimed at the pyromancer with both hands on the haft, as well as a holstered warhammer on his back.

Conversely, the two Pale Spears assembled behind the group of Rites. They watched with crossed arms after donning their helmets, and the room reached silence. Only a few civilians locked in the stopped train banged on the glass and asked to be let out before any conflict ensues. They understood the danger behind a single wanted pyromancer facing off against two Spears and their Lilac Rites. He did too.

Let's think about this logically. I still have a broken hand from that fight with the last Pale Spear on the train, and the rest of my body hasn't healed yet either. He tapped his left side and hid a wince as he stared down the passageway of the train station platform. We got two Pale Spears and the first Rites I've come in contact with that are actually reinforced by their assigned Spear. He paused for a moment. The market in Railsource doesn't count because they caught me by surprise. To the best of his ability, he re-evaluated his options in the train station without moving his eyes so as to hide his intentions. Through his peripheral vision, he could still see the entrance to the barracks to his left, which would surely also lead to the holding cells and his staff. If I have my staff, I can beat these fuckers to death. Figuratively. I'd still be burning them, not beating them. But they'd die.

The Rites finished assembling in that five-second period of thought and consideration, and the Spear with seventeen violet stamps on his armor spoke with a tone of arrogance and a sense of victory. Premature victory.

"Surely you understand that you have no chance of survival unless you surrender, warlock. You search for your lost equipment, do you not? Heretical constructions of violent conflagration meant to be used on our people." He jammed his thumb onto his chest, gesturing. "Our people, warlock. You are still an Elf, but a terrorist first and foremost."

"It's 'mage,' actually, and yes. I'm here for my staff and a prisoner that's being held here, actually. But you won't be stopping me. Sorry. I'd like to see Forgo."

"You speak of the Forgotten of Vows. He-"

"I refuse to call him that."

The Seventeenth paused, and the Eighteenth picked up where he left off. "What makes you think that you'll survive long enough for the Forgotten to arrive?"

"Well, that's the thing, see," Fahlnem chuckled awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck with his good hand. He began wandering toward the formation of Rites in what seemed to be an aimless meander. "I'd much rather fight him than you two clowns. Anything less than a real Pale Spear won't do."

"You aim to provoke us through immature jests?"

"Well, no. I'm being serious." He laughed again while he spoke. "Look, I can obviously tell you two are paid actors. Actual Spears get their own fireteam. You only have one between the two of you." He thrust his arm out, pointing at the fireteam of Rites in a condemning fashion. "Those guys are probably actors too, for fuck's sake. Is the Magisterium really that hard-pressed for bastards that can give me a REAL challenge?"

He inched closer to the barracks entrance. He was ashamed to consider the possibility that his act was failing. Not being able to see their expressions really ruins the fun. He maintained his judgemental finger-point at the Rites, impressed that they haven't all already assaulted him. This wouldn't have worked where he was from.

"I bet that goofy-lookin' pike is fake, too." He pointed to the Rite with a halberd. They all stared at him blankly while he stood directly in front of the barracks entrance with his back to the doorway. A few moments passed.

"I wanted to do something that would look incredible, but fuck you guys." He jumped, lifting both legs into the air before producing a blast from the outstretched palm of his good hand, sending him backward into the barracks. Once he hit the ground, he aimed his arm upward and sent another explosion into the ceiling, followed by a few extra explosions just to be safe. It caved in, blocking the Rites and Spears out.

He laid there for a minute, resting the back of his head on the cold concrete with a sigh.

"I didn't expect that to work. Is anyone in here with me? I really feel like what I did just now benefited them greatly," he said aloud. No answer. "Are those chimpanzees just really bad at their job?" He began to chuckle as he sat up to look around. "And why was the entrance to the barracks just completely open?"

He scanned the small room. It had a few chairs and a concrete counter protected by iron bars lacing the space atop it. Next to the counter stood a menacing steel door blocking the way into the rest of the barracks and presumably the jail, as well. The harsh, colorless environment reminded him of the guardhouses from where he originated. He rose to his feet, holding his wrapped, broken left hand to his chest. So they thought I was cornering myself, he thought as he inspected the iron door blocking his path. I mean, that's reasonable, I guess. They probably didn't expect me to have the power to blow away concrete either. He could hear them speaking from the other side of the rubble he created, but it was too muffled to discern any sort of conversation. He began work on the iron door, reminiscing on a similar experience from his more recent past. More recent than the dreams of Ilyenora that had been plaguing him.

Realm of Zephyros, continent of Quintaris. Approx. 30 years after the events of Ilyenora, the Elven Homeland of the realm Ibiriel.

"This is gonna be fun, Fairrin. You think Yurvik'll know it's us?" Fahlnem sat on the back of the stolen cart, with Fairrin pulling it. He had known Fairrin for a few months by that point; a tall, broad-shouldered Human with long, tied-back black hair and a lengthy beard. He wore a dark overcoat that extended down to his calves and leather armor underneath. An Elven-style glaive had been chained to his dominant arm, jingling with every step. Fahlnem hadn't asked about the source of attachment to the glaive.

"The plan is definitely for him not to. Actually," Fairrin continued, glancing back at Fahlnem with furrowed brows of judgment. "the plan is for us to do this without the midget even having a chance to come out and react."

"It'll be fine." Fahlnem rocked back and forth on the slow-moving cart. He sat with crisscrossed legs, holding his knees with his hands. "I haven't tried it before, but I have an idea as to how we'll get a piece of the tree."

"We're going through all this trouble and you fucked a llama to get this cart just to try a spell?"

"For one, I didn't actually have sex with a llama. I just told the guardsman that I did it on occasion so that he would believe that it was my cart to begin with. For two, it's not really as much of a spell as it is a technique. It'll work, I told you."

"Get off the cart anyway. You're a fatass and we're almost there."

Fahlnem pulled a wooden casque enchanted with fire resistance from his shoulder-slung bag and donned it upon his face underneath a leather hood. Fairrin likewise masked his identity with a bandana of some sort. They were traveling along the beach of Seaguard, making their way from Fairrin's cave hideout that Fahlnem had excavated with his newly-mastered explosion technique, not to be confused with the technique he had planned for Yurvik's tree. They reached the treeline separating Yurvik's estate from the coast, and Fahlnem hopped off the cart to let Fairrin trudge it through the heavy underbrush.

Fahlnem held out his hand for a fist bump, and Fairrin left him hanging as he left the cart under some disguising brush to distract the golem. Fahlnem stepped up to the rear of the tree. It was a large, divine tree blessed by the Goddess Ardisia, Yurvik's patron of choice. The tree, which sat on a silver pedestal right outside Yurvik's house, had been converted entirely to holy marble, making it valuable to Fairrin and Fahlnem. Fairrin planned to gift large amounts of it to his malevolent God, and Fahlnem wanted to incorporate bits of it into his staff to make it holy. The marble was more resilient than traditional types, but Yurvik still coveted it with a level of fanaticism that Fahlnem had to admire. His personal tree golem held watch, and it was Fairrin's job to distract it while Fahlnem rigged the tree to fall. He began tracing his fingers along the outer edge of the tree, depositing large amounts of a sticky, red substance that he secreted from his skin. Solidified fire mana; stronger than gunpowder when used in the right applications. Unfortunately, Fahlnem didn't know what those right applications were. He had never used it before that day. That is to say, the whole stunt was a spur-of-the-moment thrill built upon Fahlnem's hunch. All so he could get something pretty and put it on his staff so he could brag how it would burn the undead.

A man stepped out of Yurvik's home, which doubled as his blacksmithing shop. Fahlnem pressed himself against the tree, waiting to see how Fairrin reacted to the change of plans. The man spoke.

"Fairrin? Is that you? Why are you wearing a mask?"

Fahlnem understood the voice to belong to a man named Allister, a well-renowned guardsman in Seaguard. He regarded Allister as a powerful warrior and a genuinely good guy.

"Hey, Allister. Didn't know you were down here," Fairrin replied. That part of Seaguard was quiet and barely populated, so they assumed that they wouldn't even come in contact with any passersby.

"Yeah, I'm here to get some new gear. What are you doing with Yurvik's tree golem?"

"I'm looking at him."

Fahlnem hurried along the process. He could hear Yurvik step out into the street a few moments after Allister had. Being a Dwarf, Yurvik's stride was loud and bold.

"Ye ain' got'n any plans on stealin' now, do ya', Fairrin?"

The pyromancer stepped away from the tree to the edge of the hill it sat on and took a breath. With a clap of his hands, the mana lining the tree detonated, sending a shockwave out from the base of the tree and splitting it at the trunk. The tree creaked and groaned as it fell out onto the street next to the crowd of three people, plus a golem. Fairrin, Yurvik, and Allister all turned to stare at the masked and hooded individual looming at the other side of the tree.

"Fahlnem?!" Yurvik shouted out, donning a ring- a ring that Fahlnem enchanted- that held charges of a lightning spell. He aimed his fist at Fahlnem and looked down at the fallen tree with a despaired expression. "Teh feck're ye doin'?!"

"I wouldn't, Yurvik." Fahlnem wasn't surprised that his disguise was so easily seen through. He often wore this fireproof armor, and there weren't any other distinguished fire mages in Quintaris that he knew of. He gestured to Yurvik's ring with his right hand while he slowly drew his left out from a fist, extending the fingers and evoking a fireball into existence in his palm. "Don't try it. Just let Fairrin and I walk away with some marble."