Gase trudged along the winding path through the forest. He shifted the boy he carried on his back, to relieve some of the strain. The boy had tried to keep up at first, albeit with a bit of prodding, but it didn’t last long. They had soon drifted to near the back of the long line of people.

When the kid had fallen down for the second time, Gase was forced to pick him up. He had barely reacted, seeming exhausted and drained of life.

Carrying him and holding onto the sword in an awkward grip was hard. It didn’t help that the low visibility often caused him to stumble over the uneven ground. The feeling in Gase’s arms and back had long since been reduced to a burning ache.

Around him, at the back, others were in a similar state. Fathers and mothers carrying their young, along with backpacks of whatever they could save of their lives back in Riversedge. Few spoke, if one did, it was mostly in grunts and gestures.

His mind drifted as he walked, bringing back scenes from the horde. Of the frantic defence on the wall and the flight through the city. Of the corpses covering the street or the scream of the archer who had saved him, before her head was torn from her shoulders. But most of all, of the creatures that had caused all of this.

Even just thinking of that immense monster’s roars, or those horrid screeches of the flying beasts, left him having to suppress a shudder. Then that familiar sense of helplessness would threaten to rise, and his hand would tighten on the sword’s grip. It helped him calm down.

The beasts were things of nightmare, to be sure, but he had seen them fall. He had even managed to wound one of the flyers himself. He anchored that memory in his mind, using it to drive away the fear. For a time at least, then his mind would drift again.

The sun had begun to rise when they finally stopped. He looked up to see the throng of people gathering on the road. Sighs of relief could be heard around him, one coming from himself, as they joined the ones already resting.

People moved about; indistinct words being spoken mixed with muted crying. Some were sitting, others laid down. A few looked as if they had directly collapsed when they had stopped.

The boy woke up as he lifted him off his back, he had fallen asleep sometime during the walk. Gase glanced at him as he sat down next to him. The boy sat silently and stared at the ground, his eyes unfocused.

Gase didn’t know what to say to the boy. What could he say? Any comfort he could offer would seem hollow coming from a stranger like him. Thus, he only sat down next to him and observed the other people around them.

A few stragglers were still coming in. From what he could tell, there were perhaps a few hundred people here. An abysmally small number when one considered the tens of thousands that once lived in the city. A constant reminder of all those that didn’t make it.

It was unlikely that they were the only ones to escape. The citylord along with his retinue and the blackguard almost certainly made it. Many others that lived near the western gate probably did as well, along with those that were quick enough to act when the wall fell. But even so, most would have perished.

A man in ragged clothing drew his eyes. The familiar figure wandered through the sitting crowd with a blank expression. Gase felt his heart lift a little.

“En-“he began, before stopping and cleared his throat. If felt dry as sand.

“Enmon!” A raspy voice escaped his lungs.

The man turned. His eyes widened as they landed on Gase. “Y’rid!”

He hurried over. “You made it!”

“Barely,” Gase said with a small smile. “Glad to see you did too.”

It surprised him how true that statement really was.

Enmon returned the smile. “Yeah, I’m quite happy about that myself. You were at the gate, right? How did you get away?”

“Yes,” Gase said with a sigh. “It all went to shit when the gate was broken through. I was on the wall. Managed to move along it until I could get back into the city. Still a bit surprised that I did.”

His thoughts again went to the flight through the city. It really was just luck that he managed to get away. His hand strayed to the sword lying next to him.

Enmon eyed the blade, seeming more subdued than a moment ago. “Come on. There is a stream a bit further down. You sound like you need it.”

“Yes. That would be good.”

He stood up slowly, his legs protesting with every movement. He turned to the boy who hadn’t moved at all. Reaching down, he held out a hand in front of him. The boy looked up at him with a blank expression before getting onto his feet by himself.

Enmon watched the exchange with a raised eyebrow, the unasked question clear in his eyes. Gase shook his head slightly. The man nodded and led the way through the crowd. It seemed word of the stream had spread as more people also began making their way towards the front.

After passing a few families and other groups, Gase could hear the running water. When the stream came into view, cutting across the path, he had to stop himself from running towards it. Some of the others had less restraint.

The streambank was crowded as people drank their fill, some even stripping and washing the blood and dirt from themselves. It wasn’t very deep, from what he could tell, maybe two or three feet at its deepest and three strides across.

Eyeing the crowd, he made his way off the road in the direction the stream came from. Here there were fewer people, and the water hopefully cleaner. He cupped his hands in the water before, pausing and looking up at Enmon.

“We sure this is safe to drink?”

The man shrugged.

At his side, the boy was already drinking. Waiting no longer, he did as well. The cool liquid running down his throat was bliss.

“Still,” he heard Enmon say, “it’d be a shame if we got through all that shit only to die of tainted water.”

Gase looked at him. Enmon gave a small chuckle and sat down. Gase shook his head and sated his thirst. He splashed some water onto his face and hair and wiped off what dirt and sweat he could.

A while later, he sat with his boots removed and his feet in the stream. The water flowed over the feet and toes, cooling the overheated flesh. For a few moments, he simply enjoyed the sensation.

“So where did you get that?” Enmon asked.

Gase turned and saw Enmon looking at the bastard sword next to him. He didn’t answer right away, instead picking up the blade to examine it.

It had a straight, double-edged blade perhaps a stride long. The bloodstained blade had a slight taper to it, one that grew more pronounced near the tip before ending in a sharp point. The hilt was simple, one that sacrificed superfluous aesthetics for practicality. Yet, even so, he felt a strange appreciation of the work.

From the simple crossguard to the oval-shaped pommel, every part was carefully made. The black leather-wrapped grip was shaped perfectly for one hand before narrowing and extending further. It allowed the blade to be wielded one-handed or two-handed by grabbing onto the pommel.

Idly, he wondered why he knew this. He couldn’t pinpoint any of Y’rid’s memories dealing with swords. Perhaps the boy’s father had once told him about it and it faded to the back of his mind. Or perhaps some of the knowledge of his life was still locked in his mind somewhere. All of the memories he had regained, few as they may be, pointed to him having been some kind of warrior or soldier.

He thought back to the creature he had struck, back in the city. The blackish blood on the blade had to be that of the beast. Just how much of it was put there by the knight, and how much by him?

“We saw the blackguard as we fled from the city…” Gase began and dipped the blade into the water, slowly wiping it clean. He told him of the knights’ actions against the people.

“Are you surprised?” Enmon asked, his voice dripping with contempt. “The cityguard is bad enough, but those bastards make them look like saints.”

“How did you get out?” Gase asked him, redirecting the conversation. He remembered how the cityguard kept the creatures from reaching the people when they could just as easily have run. Some of them probably did, but not all. “You were south of the gate, right?”

“Yeah…” Enmon said. “Me and the others on the wall ran further on it. Like you did. We made managed to put some distance between us and the beasts at first. But they caught up after the wall turned east. I guess they must have cut through the city.”

His eyes gained a far-off look as he spoke. “The fighting got worse as we neared the southern gate. Then those hunters showed up. The beastblighted. Night! You should have seen the one with the spear. Never seen anyone move like that.”

“I know what you mean,” Gase said, thinking back to the hunter that had saved him.

The man was fast. With the glowing sword he wielded, he had killed three of the flying creatures in moments. Even the knight had failed to slay one. And that was just from what Gase had seen.

Perhaps the thing that impacted him the most was that the hunter had seemed unaffected by the screeches of those beasts. The very same shrieks that had robbed Gase of his senses and left him helpless.

Helpless. He was getting all too familiar with that feeling for his liking. Not being able to fight back. It pulled at his mind, like an itch that he couldn’t scratch.

“You saw them too?” Enmon asked.

“Two of them helped a lot of us get out of the eastern gate, after the beasts caught up and ordeal with the blackguard.”

They talked a bit more of their escape after that. Enmon confirmed that he was in the group that had joined those on the hill. With the help of the beastblighted, the remaining hunters and cityguard were able to fight their way to the southern gate. From there, getting out was relatively simple.

Apparently, the swarm of flying beasts seemed to have been mostly concentrated along the road to the eastern gate. Conversely, most of the things Enmon described weren’t things he had seen during his own escape.

Gase remembered catching a glimpse of the horde from the top of the gate tower. The sheer number of forms that had run under the night sky. He doubted that, between the two of them, they had seen more than a fraction of what was there.

“It still doesn’t feel real…” Enmon said after a bit. His voice was soft, barely above a whisper. “I was looking through the people. Looking for… I don’t know… others we knew, I guess.”

Gase didn’t reply immediately. It didn’t seem right to. He had specifically tried keeping his mind focused on the broad scope of things instead of on individuals he remembered from Y’rid’s life. He was afraid that, if he didn’t, he would increase the influence the foreign memories had on him.

He looked at the small boy, who had been quiet during the entire exchange. He was sitting next to the stream, staring into the water.

He heard Enmon take a deep breath. When he spoke again, his voice was steady. “I heard some of the hunters talking. Apparently, there was a large group that came through here before us. We even caught up with a few straggling groups already. Scouts were sent ahead, we’re probably going to start moving again soon.”

Gase’s felt his eyebrows raise at the news. “Makes sense. We were on the wall when the beasts broke through, and we still got out. Many others would have as well. We’re probably just the last.”

Enmon gave a rueful laugh. “No doubt all of the nobles made it, living in the eastern part of the city as they did. I’d wager the citylord and his blackguard did as well.”

Gase was about to answer when, over Enmon’s shoulder, he spotted someone. The beastblighted hunter that saved him the previous night. The armour on his chest was gone; instead he wore a leather coat that hung open at the front. Underneath it, Gase could see that one of his arms was bound tightly to his chest.

Gase tracked the man with his eyes as he made his way through the spread-out crowd and off the road to where another man was sitting. The crowd seemed to be keeping some distance from them, a few casting wary glances in their direction.

“I’ll be right back,” Gase said to Enmon and stood up, making his way towards the two.

The sitting man was next to a wooden case and a bundle of clothes and armour with his back turned to Gase, focusing on something he couldn’t see. Gase guessed him to be the spearman Enmon had talked about, given the weapon lying next to him, within easy reach.

As he got closer, the injured hunter looked up and watched his approach, his gaze pausing for a moment on Gase’s hand. It was only then that he realised he was still holding onto the sword.

Gase stopped before he reached them and stabbed the sword into the hard ground before opening his hands in what he hoped would be recognised as a peaceful gesture. He stepped forward and nodded at the man who held his gaze.

The man wasn’t wearing his helmet and, with the morning light, Gase could clearly see his face. He was surprised at how young the man looked with his pale skin and golden hair. In fact, he doubted the man was older than Enmon.

“Thanks for your help back in the city,” Gase began. “I would not be here if not for you.”

The man lifted an eyebrow and looked at the sword again, a look of recognition passing over his face before nodding back at him.

“Don’t mention it,” He said, turning back to the spearman who Gase could now see was feeding a small fire built in a circle of stones.

The other man gave a dry chuckle and turned to look at Gase from his seated position. He was older, perhaps forty terms. His hair was cut close to the scalp and his short beard peppered with grey. At the side of his face, old two scars ran to a mangled ear, the top half torn off and healed over a long ago.

The armour he wore looked strange. Leather gambeson and chausses with several bands of steel on his arms, legs and chest. Every one of the bands had those magic symbols etched into them. Were all the beastblighted partial-mages?

“Don’t mind Adler,” the man said in a friendly voice. “He’s just surprised, that’s all. People around here tend to keep their distance.”

Gase nodded. He could feel the many eyes on his back as the man spoke. “Well, thanks. Those… flying beasts-“

“Khatri,” the first man, Adler, interrupted.

“…Sorry?” Gase focused on him, not expecting the reply.

“Khatri, that is what they are called. Or Shriekers if you prefer Common.”

“Khatri, then. Those screeches of theirs… I could barely think, let alone stand. You though? How were you still fighting after that?”

“I am a hunter of the Order of Thal,” Adler said as if that explained everything.

The older man sighed before feeding the small fire with a few larger sticks.

“The khatri are a common sight far up north, where we’re from,” He said while working. “They like the dark there. They might be fast and strong, but at their core, they are ambush predators. They use their voice to stun their prey and attack their senses before finishing them off.

Contrarily, the sharper your sense are, the greater the effect their voice has on you. If you want a way to defend against them, alchemical mixtures and potions that dull the senses such as Severed Mind or Tranquillity helps. You also build up a tolerance to it after a while. Though if one catches you off-guard…”

The last part was muttered under his breath, seemingly not meant for him. Gase didn’t recognise either of the names of the potions, but he made sure to etch them into his mind.

“Who is this?” A voice came from his left.

Gase spun and took a step back, staring into a pair of red eyes framed with black hair.

When did he…?

The man’s unblinking eyes seemed to cut into him. In his one hand, he held two large and bloody hares by their ears while his other was resting on the hilt of the sword at his side.

“He’s one of the people you and Adler led out of the city,” the older man sitting next to the fire said.

“Oh?” The new arrival said and threw the rabbits on the ground without breaking eye contact.

Gase had to keep himself from reaching for his own stabbed into the ground next to him. Even though the man’s posture looked relaxed with a slight smile upon his lips, he somehow gave off the impression of a predator waiting to pounce.

Suppose no one can call him out for not being vigilant, but-

His thought was cut off as the man suddenly drew his sword and swung it towards him in one motion. Gase had no time to think in the face of the assault. Reflexes kicked in as he leapt back, narrowly avoiding the blade that flashed past his chest.

He reached out, his hand closing onto his sword and pulling it out of the ground in a backhanded grip as the man stabbed forward. Gase swung the sword, just in time to strike the blade off course and it passed to his left, leaving him open. He instinctively stepped to the side as he tried to gain a proper stance but his body couldn’t right itself in time as the man closed in and lashed out with his fist, striking Gase in the chest.

He stumbled backwards as the air was expelled from his lungs. Through force of will, he kept moving as his eyes teared up and his breath came in quick gasps. He franticly reversed his backhanded grip on the sword and swung with it with both hands in an arc to fend off the man’s advance.

The man leaned back, the tip of the sword passing in front of him. Gase tried to back away, but the man was faster. He closed the distance and kicked out, sweeping Gase’s legs out from under him.

With a heavy thud, he landed on the ground, the back of his head striking the dirt. He was just about to try and roll away when he felt a mild sting come from his cheek. He looked up to see the man’s sword pressed against his face. He froze, knowing any sudden moves would do more harm than good now.

“What the fuck, Holin?” Adler exclaimed in surprise.

The older man was still in front of the fire, looking at the black-haired hunter with a frown. Though in the back of his mind, Gase noticed his posture had changed to a crouch, and the spear had appeared in his hands, pointing to where he lay on the ground.

The attacker, Holin, didn’t answer as he slowly withdrew the sword while keeping his gaze focused on Gase. He held the blade up to his face, his eyes flicking to the bloodstain. Then he suddenly relaxed, an easy-going smile spreading over his face.

“Well, don’t keep lying there,” He said cheerily and held out a hand to Gase.

Gase stared at it uncomprehendingly for a moment, stunned by the man’s sudden change in demeanour. His heart was still pounding in his chest, his hands shaking slightly with the adrenaline coursing through his body. One moment the man was trying to kill him, the next he wanted to help him back up?

He considered it being a trick, but if the man wanted to kill him, he would have already done so. As the pain in his chest slowly subsided and his breath deepened, Gase noticed they had attracted quite a crowd of onlookers.

After a few seconds of silence, with different thoughts racing through his mind, Gase reached out and took the man’s hand. He kept his other hand clenched around the sword grip, as he was promptly pulled to his feet.

“Everything alright here?” A voice asked behind him. Gase turned around to see a couple of men approaching, all three of them wearing the tabard of the Riversedge guard over their chainmail coats. The speaker wore the crested helmet of an officer. He had a stern expression on his face, which the other two tried to match, though the nervous darting of their eyes between the beastblighted and the evidence of hastily donned armour marred the image somewhat.

A few steps to their side was Enmon. He glanced at Gase before eyeing the hunters cautiously.

“Just a giving some pointers,” Holin said, waving his hand in a lazy gesture before focusing back on Gase. “You have good instincts. Movements are a bit dull, but that’s nothing that can’t be fixed. A bit of training and you could shape into a passible swordsman.”

Gase gave the man an incredulous look, one that was mirrored by Adler. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the guardsman give him a small, barely perceptible, shake of his head.

“… I’ll keep that in mind,” Gase said and nodded at Adler and the older man before turning away with the guards, who seemed just as eager to leave the matter where it was.

The ranking guard muttered something under his breath once they were out of earshot. He turned to look at Gase as they walked. “Take my advice and stay away from that lot, lad. No good will come from associating with them.”

Gase gave the man a nod as they left and Enmon stepped up to him.

“Bloody hell!” He said. “What did you say to them?”

Gase could only shrug, feeling more tired than before.

“You want to tell me what that was about?” Rhone asked Holin as the young man and the guards joined the rest of the crowd. He saw Holin frown as he looked in the direction they had walked.

“You know, I’m not too sure myself. I felt… something.”

Well, that was interesting. He had more trust in Holin’s intuition that he had in most people’s certainty. That was only enhanced by his Aspect. Drow’rin beasts were known for being more perceptive than they had any right to be, after all.

“And that’s reason enough for you to attack someone?” Adler asked, with a note of derision.

Holin shrugged. “Thought he might be a supplanter.”

Rhone suspected as much when Holin didn’t outright go for the kill and pulled his blows.

“The sword,” Rhone said when he saw the confusion on Adler’s face. “A supplanter wouldn’t have gone for the weapon if it felt its life was in danger. It would have fallen back to teeth and claws.”

Holin sat down and started skinning the treedancer hares. Rhone placed a few larger pieces of dried wood onto the growing flames before pulling out the figurine he had been working on.

“I’ll get some more firewood,” Adler said and moved off into the trees.

Rhone didn’t stop him, even if he only had use of one arm at the moment. It was safe enough at the moment with all the beasts in the vicinity having answered the pull of the horde. Besides, a person had the right to deal with loss their own way.

He pulled out his small carving knife and bit into the wood, shaping the figurine further. He had started the carving during the walk and, while he wasn’t exceptionally skilled in the craft, it was coming along.

The silence stretched as Rhone and Holin worked. Rhone was just finishing the carving when Red came up to the fire. He only wore leggings and a shirt, having left his armour, boots and axe here before he left. The clothes clung to his wet skin as he moved across from Rhone and slowly lowered himself down next to the fire, careful not to bend his back.

“How’s the ribs,” Rhone asked.

“Healing,” Red replied. Even with his will having been forged over many terms through the use of inscriptions, he’d still take a couple of days to heal the broken ribs. The fact he had managed to keep up during their flight from the behemoth with minimal support was a testament to his endurance.

“Where's Kali?” Rhone asked as Holin came over and sat down as well.

Red sighed. “Out hunting. She is young, and the sun burns in her heart. Blames herself for what happened to Jerrick.”

Rhone nodded. None of them was under any illusions. Hunters died. That didn’t make it any easier though. He used the tip of his knife to put the final touches on the carving. A small figure stared back at him with a spear in hand.

He pressed his thumb against the tip of the blade, drawing blood, before wiping it across the carving. It left a dark red streak that was sucked up into the wood. He tossed the figure into the fire in front of him.

The flames licked around the figurine, darkening the wood before setting it ablaze.

“Ud embrass Uldra ni,” Red spoke, the old words mixing with the crackling flames. “He’s balancing Uldar’s scales now.”

For a long time, the three of them stared into the fire, each lost in their own thoughts and memories.