It had been years since she felt such pain in her body. Such a long time since she had seen violence or battle. Ever since she had settled herself away from life on the battlefield, tending to her children and land with her husband, she had become at least a bit of contempt with her life. After so long, she no longer worries about the threats over the wall, whether human or inhuman. But now, she feels foolish in believing that this life could remain as it was. Even as she opened her eyes, staring at a blank wooden ceiling and beams, all she could think about were those events playing back in her head.

The first thing she remembered was sensing her son's presence leaving the town and move out towards the forest. Her first instinct then was immediately to run after him, the same motherly instinct that she had become accustomed to and had undoubtedly saved her children time and time again. Yet, she told herself that she should not need to worry about Lyse. He was a man now, no longer that boy who cut himself on kitchen knives playing with his friend or running out only to encounter a venomous snake she swiftly had to kill. He was a promising knight, as he always wanted to be. He won't need her, just like his father, who also dreamed beyond the very same field for the very same goal. And maybe that is why they allowed him to train. Who knows what he may turn into being only a farmer. He had given his life over for protecting them, much as that pained her to admit, and he carried the sword of the empire with pride.

She took a resigned sigh, watching him disappear into the forest from her window. Wilbur was already sleeping, although lightly. They wanted to get their rest for the banquet tomorrow, but hey were both understandably restless. She has never known the man to ever really relaxed. Even on some of the autumn days of the years before, he always had that stiffness in his eyes as if he foresaw something terrible and wished to prepare. He never even snored. She had heard complaints talking with the other wives of the village of their husbands snoring, although she had only wondered what it was like. She guessed that even the slightest pat would stir him immediately. He kept a sword under the bed. Not his sword, of which he became a knight, but a simple arming sword he had the blacksmith made. Simple home defense. But they did not realize how it would be used that very night, as she laid beside him, placing an arm under his own and her head on his shoulder. He stirred then, most likely awake but made no motion.

"Do you think he'll past the test?" She asked him.

"Depends," he said. "If James planning it, I wouldn't worry. But any of the Paladins . . ."

"He could die," she said quietly. "I hear it all the time how many fail the test or lose their lives. What if he does in there."

"Celia," he turned around in bed so that they were face to face. "You know Lyse is better than that. He's our son, and he's much better than I was at his age. I'm sure that he will do just fine. And whether he wins or fail, we will be there with him."

But then, she felt a significant presence suddenly swarm the house. It was so strong that it brought her awareness at that moment, Wilbur as well. They stayed motionless as they felt them rush towards the house. Twenty, thirty, forty. Forty-five men. Their eyes widened as Wilbur immediately grabbed his blade and unsheathed it silently. She turned to him with a wide-eyed look.

Lyse is in the forest, she mouthed, and he gave a stern look and a nod. He opened the door and crept immediately to their daughter's room, shaking her awake carefully. From their room, she heard Massua give a startling squeal that was immediately silenced. In the meantime, she tore open the small door beneath the rug leading into a chest built in between the floors. Within lay a pair of gauntlets embroidered in gold and silver, each finger tipped in long iron claws as sharp as razors. She froze, looking at them, and suddenly began to remember the heavy scent of blood after every battle, her heart thumping and sweating. She seemed unlike herself at that moment, almost afraid to put them all. And she was so tangled within herself that she faltered when a dark figure crashed into the very room. He must have leaped from outside straight here, coming to a roll with a curved sword in hand aimed at her throat. She started away, but there was no way that she could dodge it this close.

A soundless slash came from behind Celia. A blade dancing around her and into the jugular of the assassin, who collapsed like a ragdoll. Wilbur helped her onto her feet and placed her gauntlets into her arm. Celia was a bit annoyed, but in an instant, hardened as they immediately moved to the hall, placing her gauntlets on. Massua was there, staring incredulously at them, past them to the body that laid limp. Wilbur held a finger to his lips as several more shattering sounds came from below. Massua squeezed upon her eyes, holding both hands to her mouth as they moved to Lyse's room. There, it was still, leaving only Edlund slumped on his bed, a practice sword by his side. Wilbur stirred him awake, giving him a start that was quickly silenced by the scene.

"I will say this once, son," Wilbur breathed to him. "Run out to the Knight's quarters, and come back with reinforcements. We are being attacked."

Edlund was about to speak, but whatever words he was about to say was swallowed in that instant. He just gave them a slow nod as Wilbur pointed to the window. He looked fearfully at the three of them. Celia wished that Massua could go with him, but they doubted that he would get far towing her along, and they would become an easy target for these assassins. She was safer with them. Edlund opened his windows and then jumped out with an almost soundless thud. In the deep darkness, she could see the faint white light as he began to run, faster than any horse, to the northern end of the village, or perhaps the market center itself to warn everyone. Either way, they needed to get out of here, and the only way to do that was to fight. Celia held Massua close to herself, her claws extended out in defense as Wilbur slowly moved towards the stairs.

Abruptly, six figures jumped on the stairs after him, wielding blades out as they advanced. Four more seemed to come from each room except for Lyse's. One ran and tried to stab at Celia, backed by two more. She turned, and with simple motions, practiced yet smooth, all three were slumped against the wall clutching their throats and stomach. By the time she turned, Wilbur was surrounded by bodies, fighting intensely against another swirling longsword. This one seemed much more potent than the others. She could see the same glow that surrounded Wilbur surround that man, equal determination both.

She gasped as a knife knicked the back of her arm, and Massua gave a squeal in response as her eyes grew as wide as saucers. Celia gritted her teeth against the pain, feeling her blood seep down her gown. The assassin stabbed again at her chest, but she twirled, snapped his arm in a single motion, and threw him into one of the bedrooms. They seemed endless. Just as one crumpled, two spring in his place from any direction. And she noticed that they were just as keen on capturing Massua as to kill the two of them. She used every technique she was ever taught, every tactic and maneuver, keeping them all at bay with the gleaming blades of her gauntlet. Yet, she could feel herself weakening. She wished to turn into a Lion then and there, feel the surge of power that would come with it to tear apart all who encountered her. Feel her instincts take over in place of reason and thought. But she knew that doing such would not be possible. She would not fit inside this hall if she did, and she would be exposed from behind. So she had to keep fighting, fighting till she died, if that counted.

From the twirl of excitement, Celia thought she smelled smoke. It was unnoticeable at first but then alarming as she felt heat slowly rise from her feet.

They are setting the house ablaze, and she turns to Wilbur with a warning stare. They would have to force their way out if they wished to survive. She knew that these warriors had no qualm of dying, would gladly do so, even with a smile she had seen. She followed Wilbur as he clutched his blade, which began to glow with a fierce white light as he stared down the next to climbing the stairs with axes; then, they stopped as the light grew even brighter till she nearly had to avert her eyes.

"Allow the light to consume you," he shouted as he slammed his sword towards the two. They suddenly spring in a hurry, climbing either over the rail or down the stairs. But neither action saved them like a beam of light suddenly ejected from the blade, like a bolt of lightning. She felt the surge of energy that he had gathered and the strain his body took. The wall and part of the stairs had been decimated, leading to the kitchen open from a gaping hole. Flames licked out from the opening, but not enough to be wary enough. She saw more shadows move below as she looked around. The mangled bodies toppled down.

"The kitchen," Wilbur said in a hoarse whisper, clutching the side of his stomach. She saw blood slowly leak out with every breath. "I'll follow, hurry."

She had known the man long enough to know when he was lying. He wasn't planning on following. As soon as they exited through the back entrance through the kitchen, she suspected he would not be there. But the look in his eye was calm and reassuring. If there were any moment he would like to die, it would be like this. And he held that stare as he vaulted over the rail, his sword regaining another, weaker light. She took a sniffling sigh as she grabbed ahold of Massua's waist and pulled her along, hearing footsteps fall behind her. All the while, Massua held he hands against the sides of her head, her eyes sealed shut and babbling. She moved like a blur, through the hole that Wilbur had created and into the kitchen.

It seemed like this was where the fire started, the pots near the oven hot red and melting against the logs, and the scent of oil was potent. She tried to keep hers and Massua's head down, but the smoke was still so thick. She nearly made it to the door with weak knees and a throbbing head as a hand batted her across the chest. She dropped Massua as they both went Sperling into the dining table. One of the assassins turned into a large grizzly shadow, flames at his back as he lumbered towards them. She gave what was between a moan and a growl as she tried to help Massua to her feet. She was also in a daze, barely able to even stand, much less walk. AS soon as she took a step, she was on her hands and knees and coughing.

"Get up," Celia said weakly. "Get to the door."

"Massua stared at her mother for a moment, then slowly nodded as she went on hands and knees towards the door. Massua stood in a protective stance, but she could barely keep her eyes in focus or take in more than small gasps of air. She took the deepest breath possible before suddenly lunging at the bear, who was surprised at her quick movement. In mid-motion, her limbs extended. Her hair was growing to shorted fur as her gown melted into her figure, but not the blood. The gauntlets were slowly fitted into claws that could fit around large paws, as her snarling face turned feral and her eyes a vibrant orange. She lunged at the bear's throat with full intent to kill, feeling the flesh meet her teeth and claw, and the large roars not only from herself but from the other room.

That was the last she had remembered. She knew weakly of Lyse's face, streaked with blood and swelling pain in her chest. But those were just memories at this point. She looked down at herself, changes and sleek salves, and clenched her fists in anger. She tossed the sheet that covered her aside and attempted to move out of bed. But, almost immediately, she began to stumble out of bed with little control. Her legs felt like lead, barely any feelings tall as she tried to shuffle to her knees. She shook with fatigue as she stubbornly looked to the nearest wall for support.

The door to the small room suddenly opened, and a woman stepped in with a small start before dating across the room to Celia's side. With surprising ease, the woman lifted her from her reclined position to have her laying across her bed once more. Celia's eyes shown with the same fierce orange eyes as if she would transform then and there. The woman wore a thick leather cloak, hiding most of her figure, a small flat hat covering the top and sides of her head, and lined with black fur. A porcelain-looking mask covered her, faint scents of herbs following her arrival, as she began to study Celia with large black eyes that seemed to engulf the candlelight across the room.

"Let me go," she strained but knew that she was far too weak to really rally any sort of power. "They have her. They have her!"

"You cannot go in your condition," the soft voice flowed from the mask. "They already sent a few soldiers and a knight to hunt them, and stars help them. But you will not be ready even to walk, much less travel."

Tears began to fall down her cheek. "Oh why, why now. What of Lyse, is my boy okay?"

"Lyse is doing well," she told her as soothingly as she could muster. "When Edlund returned with Gabbes, Lyse was at your side. The house was already in shambles, and your daughter was gone. Wilbur-"

The doctor suddenly bit her tongue, as if tasting a sour lemon, but Celia knew what words were going to follow after. She took a deep breath to calm herself, letting her head fall to the pillow as she stared at the ceiling above her as if she could see the future through its dark planks.

"He's dead, isn't he?" The doctor's silence was enough of an answer. "He always said he would die like this. We both knew it. I curse myself that I didn't die beside him."

"Don't say such things," the doctor said. "You still have a son to look after, and Lyse would be torn to find both of you dead. It took Gabbes's words to make him leave to complete his initiation into knighthood. Speaking of which."

She clapped her leather gloves together in a sharp noise that echoed around. Soon after, Gabbes entered, a stern look on his face hiding remorse and sadness. He held his gloves in his hand, twisting them with a deep thought as he sat next to Celia's bed, next to the doctor. He no longer wore his plated armor, a loose Lenin vest and white shirt and pants half-tucked into black boots. His sword still laid at his side, and he kept his eyes downcast as he spoke.

"Forgive me, Celia," he said in a strained voice. "I sent knights out to track the fiends who had done such a thing. I have not heard word yet in the two weeks they have been gone. Is there anything you can tell me anything as to who these people are and why they would attack retired warriors at a farm?"

"You answered your own question Knight," she said flatly. "We had been away from the battle for some time. We were not at our best. They knew that we would kill a lot of them, but not enough. I am lucky to be even breathing."

The Knight went into deep thought. "They must have been very skilled and planned this through and through. I tracked Lyse's path into the forest some time ago. Found signs of a fight. Blood. They were aiming for all of you and seemed keen on capturing only Massua and Lyse. I hope the boy is safe within the capital, but we have yet gotten any word from him. The best we can do is wait."

"I do not worry," the doctor was gathering more bandages and ointments to place on the wounds Celia managed to reopen. "Didn't you claim that he is the best swordsmen you have ever trained? Even, given time, will surpass you in skill alone."

"But skill will not be enough," Celia told them. "These people are relentless and never give up until their prey is slaughtered. I should send word to James now too. . ."

"I know this is hard for you," the doctor patiently cut her off. "But he is no mere child. He is a knight, same as Sir Gabbes. So put faith in your boy, we all know that he will achieve great things. And if he is indeed in danger, we can trust him to have the wit of a fox, and find his own solution. And you will find yours."

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