The silence in the upper districts was soon flooded by the cries and pleas of the population crowded at the foot of the Lithal's cathedral. The guard arrived earlier, and after climbing up to the belfries of the towers, they rang the bells to give the population a sign of tranquility and refuge.

The structure was impressively massive and well preserved with a polished white stone, making it stand out even more in that chaotic moment. Moreover, the symbols in honor of the deity and its ostentatious stained glass windows were something worthy of attention, pity that people had other problems at that time.

The main enclosure was crowded with wounded on the floors, and very few had gotten little more than hay from the pens, and even fewer had had the opportunity to have a bed to lie on. People of greater wealth were cared for in another room in the cathedral, far from the peasantry. However, deaths were pouring in, and the resting places were quickly vacated to bring in new people to be cared for.

Urian entered the place with Ronan, staggering and walking awkwardly. His senses were better, but his body soon experienced severe fatigue.

"Over here!" exclaimed Ronan, alerting a pair of priestesses, who saw the man's condition as his armor and clothes burned. His skin was slightly scorched, so they rushed to him to carry him to one of the empty beds.

"Wait, we have another one here!" shouted one of the local girls.

Soon, Ronan caused an argument among the priestesses, as they had to fight several among themselves to choose whether it was he who should take the bed or another man they carried.

"He shall have the bed," exclaimed Urian, looking at the girls holding a man with one leg that looked like it would soon come off. The piercing black eyes and his weathered gaze made the priestesses, however reticent, give up the bed to the man who was struck by lightning.

The hardest part came when they had to remove his armor. Ronan clung with his arms to the bed's timbers and gritted his teeth as the women tugged at the tattered and burned breastplate to remove it. Then, with one tug, part of it came off, and the marked man uttered an agonized cry of pain.

Urian watched as the man's pale chest now bore several red marks that looked almost like the branches of a tree.

"Looks like you'll have another new mark," the mocking warrior commented.

Ronan wanted to hurl a couple of insults at him, but by the time they turned him over and peeled the remainder of his armor and the shirt he wore beneath it from his skin, he couldn't do much more than scream.

The priestesses tried to remove the rest of his clothing, such as his pants or gloves, but Ronan quickly pushed them away.

"I can take it from here!" the man exclaimed loudly, pushing away both girls, dressed in a long white robe with the symbol of Lithal embroidered on the chest. Quickly, Ronan regained his composure, "Sorry, you can go now, thank you very much..."

The girls, though hesitantly, retreated to tend to other wounded.

Ronan held out his hand to Urian, "My pack."

The warrior handed him his travel pack, and quickly, the scarred man set about finding several things in his bag.

First, something for the pain, and as horrible as that was, it was his turn to drink the salyr roots.

"This is going to be horrible," Ronan said, trying to mentally prepare himself for what would happen. "You know, a week ago, the kid traveling with me had to drink this. I forced him to drink it to heal the wounds, and I thought he would throw me up in the air with one punch. He was brave..."

"You want me to shut you up and force you to drink that?" the warrior asked wryly.

Ronan smiled at that memory but soon lost his smile at the man's sour words. The man took a shaky breath for a few moments until, like an adult, he drank the potion. The man with long blond hair writhed on the bed as he gritted his teeth, avoiding letting out any screams from that situation at all costs. Finally, after a few minutes, he managed to serenade himself and lay lax and panting on the bed.

"Ready, good as new," exclaimed the trickster ironically.

"My pay," commanded Urian, eyeing the trickster decisively. "Do your part."

"You'll even let me rest," Ronan retorted in annoyance.

After a heavy sigh, the marked man extended his hand back into his pack, losing part of his arm inside that small portable portal he wore strapped to that mundane object.

Urian looked at him quizzically, "What kind of...?"

"The backpack is tied to a room," Ronan exclaimed with gasps of pain. Then, he took what he wished for and quickly pulled on these.

The trickster extracted a pair of silver rings ornamented in purple jewels from his traveling bag, with a larger one floating in the center unperturbed.

Urian could not hide his amazement.

"Tassars jewels," Urian pointed out.

"These are worth a fortune," exclaimed Ronan. "Adhaz gave them to me to finance my travels. So here, here's half my funding."

Ronan extended the jewels to Urian, quickly taking them and stowing them in a pouch next to his sword sheath.

"I was planning to sell them to the Safiths of Thornstone College," Ronan explained, "But I guess you'll have to do it yourself."

"I have other buyers for these," Urian pointed out, "Further north..."

"Ah, the Basarts," exclaimed Ronan. "Good luck with that."

"This will be simple," said the warrior alluding to the jewels, "Now, I must give them a decoy to the White Flame and get the hell out of here..."

Ronan looked at him and suggested an idea, "Give them the heads of your colleagues and also those of the marked children in the square."

Urian turned his gaze to Ronan at that suggestion.

"Hey, I also recognize that it's an idea worthy of a bastard. I'm just giving you an idea."

Urian soon knew he had to do this, "I guess I will, thanks for the idea..."

"One bastard helping another," Ronan expressed with a smile.

"Only you're the worst" Urian sentenced.

Ronan soon averted his gaze, thus hiding his embarrassment at that.

Then, Urian asked the trickster, "What you told me on the way here, is it true?"

"What part of everything I said do you think is a lie?" asked Ronan.

"I don't think it's a lie," Urian soon replied, "I just think it's... strange."

"Everything I said is true," confirmed Ronan. "Everything I did, too."

"It's curious that a thief like you would set out to do such things," the warrior said.

"I'm an archaeologist, not a thief," Ronan corrected the man.

"What's the difference?"

The trickster saw Urian with a scowl after those words.

Then, Ronan asked the warrior, "Haven't you ever been itching to know why we are here? Haven't you ever thought about how we entered this world?"

"The only question that usually pops into my head is 'how much will I get paid for this?"

"There are more important things than riches," Ronan said.

"My background matters as little to me as your well-being," Urian spat, glaring disdainfully at the man.

"I'll bet you're a ladies' man," the trickster commented sarcastically.

Urian soon donned his rounded helmet again and proceeded to leave the scene.

"Hey! wait!" called Ronan to Urian's attention.

The warrior turned to look at him.

"Even if you had gotten rid of me, I thank you for not killing any of the children."

Urian remained silent and soon lined his way toward the cathedral doors, leaving the man alone in that chamber filled with weeping and pleading.

Ronan could not afford to rest, not in such conditions, so as soon as he lost sight of the warrior, he tried to get up.

"Excuse me, sir," exclaimed one of the priestesses, "Your wounds don't look good; you should rest."

"I'll be fine; I just need to..."

Ronan felt a hand on his shoulder, it was delicate but firm, and with that gesture, he was pushed back against the bed. He could have restrained her, but his body felt so heavy with exhaustion that he wasn't able to move against her.

From there, he saw the priestess. Untainted and almost divine, Ronan recognized the nurse as one of those who carried the man whose bed he stole. Her small, gray eyes looked at him decisively, the girl had pronounced cheekbones and thin lips, and she had long black hair tied in a ponytail.

"I will not repeat myself," exclaimed the priestess, "you must rest, and you will be cared for by us. By Lithal, you look as if something fell on you."

Ronan stared wide-eyed at the woman, stunned at her appearance, and soon came to his senses with a few stammers, "Yes, I suppose something fell on me..."

The girl soon looked at him with a smile. She took the man's belongings and torn clothes to throw away, " Now rest, and let our mother's mercy be your cure..."

"I hope Lithal will have mercy on me," Ronan said mockingly.

"She can have mercy on even the cruelest man if she finds kindness and genuine remorse within," replied the girl.

Ronan laughed lightly at her words, "girl, I hope you're not trying to perform some conversion on me..."

"It's always good to let people see that Lithal is watching over them," the girl said, giving Ronan another smile. "I'll be back soon to apply your treatment."

Ronan watched the girl leave and soon lay on his right side. His chest and back burned, and he felt a stinging in his wounds that made him lose himself in his pain. Ronan then looked at his belongings and decided to write an entry in his journal.

5/6/861

I really don't know how to describe everything that happened.

Too many people just died in Lastrel, too many.

Too many ghosts from my past have returned. I'm sure he survived.

The kids got on board, and I already feel comforted by that. However, now I must go find my answers.

On Lastrel, perhaps a thousand people or more have died because of me.

What have I done?