Cedric stepped through the city gates, Thor walking a short distance beside him. The streets were surprisingly barren, though he guessed that most people would be inside at this time. It was dark and cold, the stars seemed especially dim that night.

“You go home and rest for the night. I will go report and you can fill them in tomorrow.”

Thor’s words passed through Cedric’s head hollowly, but he managed to nod in response. Hearing Thor’s footfalls as he walked away, Cedric had to force himself to move forward. His eyes kept drifting downwards. It felt like something was weighing down his chin, but he had the strength to resist it. Keeping his head up, he walked towards his house.

He remembered how to get there but wasn’t sure about what to expect. Before leaving for Thaktall, he had sent a letter to his family telling them that they could move in with him. However, he didn't know how his parents would respond to the letter. He wasn’t even sure how he would treat them if they did come. The final years he had spent with them had been difficult, and they had cut him out of most aspects of their lives. They cared for him a little when they were alone at home, but he wouldn’t call them close. Before they were the only ones he could talk to, and he had become dependent on them. Now, he wasn’t like that anymore, and he had even gained some friends.

Thinking about that, caused his mood to fall. There was one less friend now. The streets were empty, eerily so, and the only noise he heard was his sword sliding against the ground. He had been dragging it as the scabbard had gone missing. The sword was a little deformed now too, a dent had appeared along the back of the blade. It created a small line in the ground, as its edge scraped the sone. He didn’t care though, and just ignored the damage to the streets.

He saw his house in the distance and didn’t notice any lights or smoke. It didn’t give him much hope that his parents would be there, though there was still a chance. He walked up to his door. It was made of wood but had a metal handle. It felt cool against his fingers, as he pushed the door open. There was a lock on the door, but he hadn’t used it since he thought that his parents would move in. He used it now though, as he realized that no one was inside. The lock was a chain that he slid into place. It let the door open a little to see when visitors came, but it was sturdy enough to prevent people from entering freely. Although, he didn’t think that many people would risk stealing from him or any of the chosen.

The house was quiet and unchanged. It was too dark to see well, but he could make out vague details. He dropped his sword on the wooden floor, hearing it break as his sword cracked the wood. Turning on the lights seemed like a bad idea, so he just trudged through the darkness. It hung heavily on him, reminding him of the loneliness he had felt before. There was nothing, and no one to distract him. Thoughts flooded his mind, and he remembered the people who had died. One of the princes and hundreds of soldiers that he had never learned the names of. Eight Chosen had died, and countless innocent people.

Worst of all, he remembered Brigid’s corpse. Unable to shake the image of her half-destroyed head. The charred almost unidentifiable body, that had remained after the explosion. One of his few friends, and someone who had joined the army along with him. He had always thought that she was the strongest of them, and in terms of raw power, she was. Honestly, he had never considered any of his friends dying, but now the reality was settling in on him. They could die, and the chanters were far more dangerous than he could’ve imagined. Was the king’s leniency truly, right?

The question was wrong, and Cedric banged the side of his head roughly. He shouldn’t doubt the king. After all, he had come up with a method to remove the chanters' abilities without needing to kill him. It was Cedric’s job to help end the war, and he thought he had been doing a good job but that was obviously wrong. He was supposed to compete with the chanters, but he could never do what they had done. Nor did he want to. That was too much power for anybody.

His thoughts raced as he climbed to his bedroom. He didn’t bother eating or checking for his parents. There might have been a letter, but he didn’t care. The invitation had been made, and he didn’t want to bother with any excuses they might have come up with. Ultimately, he knew that they had grown tired of being around him. he didn’t want to ruin their lives any more than he already had. His parents deserved to live their lives in peace and quiet.

He fell into his bed but found it horribly uncomfortable. The luxurious sheets and pillows made him feel worse than he had moments ago. He did open the window though, and let cold air fill the room. It was beside his bed and was merely a wooden shutter that swung to the side. He tried to force himself to shut his eyes and fall asleep, but he knew that it wouldn’t work. The sheets felt worse than the snow had on the mountain top, and he pushed them aside. The comfy mattress underneath wasn’t much of an improvement. He gave up on trying to sleep on the bed and fell onto the floor instead.

The hard wood against his back and the cool air of the night were a reminder. It didn’t help him sleep, but it felt much more deserved than the disgustingly lavish bed. So, he settled on the floor, ruminating on his memories of the past. The way everything had gone wrong so quickly, and how he had been completely unable to change anything. Even with all his power, it wouldn’t let him change anything. What was the point of being near invincible if he didn’t have the ability to contend with the powerful chanters? Even if he managed to take another town, what if they destroyed it like the last one? How many lives would they be willing to sacrifice for some stupid power?

Those questions got him to the inevitable next conclusion. The same questions should be asked of Larkin. He understood why the king wanted to remove the chanter’s abilities, especially after seeing the damage they could cause. But he had to wonder what costs would be considered too great for such a cause. The king was certainly a better man than those chanters who had massacred a city, but he was uncertain if that alone could justify this war. He would fight though, that much was certain. After what he had witnessed, he could not step away without seeing this through to the end. Whatever end that was he didn’t know.

He continued to lay like that and was startled when sunlight illuminated the room. It had leaked in, pushing the darkness away as it fell over his face. Blinking and clearing his eyes, he pushed himself into a seated position. Apparently, several hours had gone by, though it had only felt like a few minutes to him. it was still a little cold, but he knew that it wouldn’t be able to do anything to him. His hands grabbed the side of the bed, and he pulled himself up, realizing that he was still wearing the clothes that Thor had given him. It didn’t fit, right, as the pants were a little to short, and the shirt was loose as Thor was bulkier than Cedric was.

Cedric grabbed some of his clothes from a chest by his bed and headed towards his bathroom. There was a mirror inside. However, he just wanted to take an actual bath. He tried to remember how to use the bath. Someone had told him when he received the house, but it was a distant memory. The bath was a ceramic tub of some kind, and he noticed a strange box at one end. Scanning the white box, he found a small handle on its side. He swung it open, revealing charcoal and wood. Seeing, it jogged his memory, and he managed to get a hot bath set up fairly quickly.

Once he noticed the water starting to bubble, he stepped into it slowly. It was hot and stung a little at first, but his body quickly adjusted to the heat. The bath helped him think and process some of his thoughts. His family wouldn’t join him, and one of his friends was gone. The war was growing more severe, and he was growing more uncertain about it. He sunk into the water, letting it cover his head. The water was bubbling more violently now, but it couldn’t drown out his thoughts.

He heard yelling and pushed his head out of the water. It was a distant sound, so it was probably someone outside of his house. Listening more carefully, he recognized Sir L’s voice.

“Cedric, I need to speak with you! Get out here!”

Sir L was shouting, though it sounded quiet behind so many doors and walls. Still, Cedric yelled back, his voice much louder than the old man.

“I will be right there!”

Cedric got out of the water, throwing on his clothes without drying himself. The only clothes he had were military uniforms. His shirt felt a little small, and so did his pants. It seemed like he had grown a finger or two taller. Stomping down the stairs, he saw where he had dropped his sword. The wood was completely broken, and his sword had sunk to the ground. Ignoring that for now, he pushed open the door. The lock, broke as he had forgotten about it. He stepped back; eyes wide as Sir L looked a little younger. His hair seemed thicker, and he stood straighter than he had before. The man started chuckling speaking between his laughter.

“Surprised to see me. No, you’re probably wondering why I look younger. The elixir! We perfected it while you were away. Here, let me tell you what you missed, and you can tell me about your own journey.”

Sounding pleased, Sir L walked into Cedric’s house without any prompting. Cedric closed the door, staring at Sir L as he strolled inside. He had a spring to his step that had been missing before. Overall, the man just looked more confident than he had before. Those words, did that mean that they could give the elixir to everyone? Wouldn’t that mean that chanters could get it too?

“Perfect elixir? What if Elpis gets it?”

Cedric asked the questions quickly, his mind racing with the possibility. Chanters were already dangerous; he couldn’t imagine what would happen if they had the power of the elixir too. Sir L's chuckle grew into bursting laughter.

“You don’t understand Cedric. The elixir doesn’t work on just anyone. Only people from Larkin can receive the elixir. According to your doctor crush, it has something to do with our special physical abilities. Though the knights have received it already. This is the breakthrough we have been waiting for, the path to ending the war.”

Cedric heard the words, but they felt empty. The elixir wouldn’t have saved the people at Thaktall. He could tell that Sir L hadn’t become that much stronger and knew that the elixir they were using was a lot weaker than the one he had taken. Even Brigid had died, and she was definitely a lot stronger than Sir L. Plus, he didn’t know what he thought about so many people getting the elixir. Unlike chanting, the elixir was designed to help them kill people. How much better than chanting could it really be?