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When the angels first descended into the known world, the civilizations of Man and Kin prospered like never before, beneath the certainty of their guidance.

Those radiant beings took up positions of grandeur as our beloved masters; the masters of civilization, culture, and even the first world itself. As the heralds of the soul of Ithir, it seemed as if there was nothing the angels could not do.

We flourished, entering a golden age only seen once more in history, as our culture and wisdom expanded outward like the endless seas. Magic, technology, the arts and civilization itself seemed to be infinite basins in which we pumped for more water, underneath the directions of our glorious overlords.

But some of us humans, along with all the races of ostracized Kin, could not stand living in subservience for all our lives. It was not in our nature. As the angels guided us, protected us from the monsters of the world, and brought us great gifts of knowledge, it was inevitable that the number of rebels continued to grow in the shadows.

And only when we murdered our so-called guardians did we truly taste the freedom of life.

Although there are still various heretic shrines in their image, we know that as mortals, this was the only path we could have taken. As mortals, we made the only decision that would be right.

The future is certain. The way forward is clear, and through this new age of wonders -this new age of freedom- we will continue to prosper.

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"There’s nothing we can do. These things are failing.”

The voice cut through the mostly silent campsite, past the low crackling of the fire and the undertone of wind cutting through jagged tree branches.

The two travelers had selected a similar campsite to the previous nights- with a small, open area cleared of any dead underbrush, surrounded by the ring of torches and isolated from the shadows of the forest. This time, though, they had camped below an overhanging rock face, at the foot of a cliff, the top of which hung dozens of feet above them.

While the waning afternoon light was already near gone, they hadn’t turned in to the tent, still sitting around the small fire. The two didn’t speak much, with quiet voices even when they did, but the heat of the wavering flame was more than enough comfort to be welcome.

The boy slowly paged through his leatherbound book with the silver willow on its cover, eyes absentmindedly passing over the words.

If one could ignore the shadows that seemed to grasp through the torchlight, the quaint scene around the fire was almost peaceful.

But the words of the man, gravelly from underuse, quickly cut through any relaxation in the boy’s posture, the melancholic look on his face replaced with a sudden focus.

“What do you mean? The torches?”

“Yeah.”

“Can’t you just make more?”

“We ran outta paint.”

The boy blinked, his brow furrowed. Although his face was pale, some emotion began to rise in his previous blank expression.

“This is really bad, right?”

“No. We just need to get more.”

The boy nodded, although still seemed uneasy. There was a hesitation present in his eyes that hadn’t been there for a long time.

“Do we have everything we need?”

“Cliffside should have the right stuff, if we’re lucky. Big enough settlements always have priests…”

The boy stared at his companion.

“Okay. How many more days will they last, d’you think?”

“We’ll make it to the coast, kid. Don’t worry.”

An awkward gap grew in the conversation, as both travelers stared into the small fire between them, sputtering quietly in the rain-soaked sticks that acted as its fuel.

“Well, couldn’t you just, you know, ask… um, I still can’t say her name right-”

The man’s eyes widened, before shaking his head sharply, an accusatory look directed towards the boy.

“Don’t be stupid, kid. You need to learn to calm down and look at your options- just because you’re a bit scared doesn’t mean it’s the right time to blow things up, understand?”

His hand drifted down to his waist while speaking, towards a small bulge that was covered by his cloak. Just within the boy’s view, he could make out some kind of steel cage beneath the cloak.

The man soon whirled away, busying himself by rummaging through the small pile of firewood lying beside the pit.

“And didn’t I tell you not to talk about her, kid?”

“...Right, sorry.”

Silence once again returned to the small clearing, although there was a new uneasiness filling the air. While the sky only darkened further, the wind sped onwards along the muddy ground, slicing through the black pines like blades, growing into the sound of a thousand low whistles.

The two travelers soon put out the fire and entered the tent. There was nothing else to be said that night, only a quiet vigil beneath cover.

Even while laying down inside their bedrolls, they didn’t close their eyes.

After all, though they always stayed up through the night just in case something went wrong, the knowledge that such a disaster was all the more likely to occur, and the fact that those torches might fail in just another handful of nights…

The boy shivered, even while bundled inside the tent, tightly curled within the bedroll.

If he could speak at that time, he might try to explain the sudden grip of terror that seized him whenever night truly fell, although that would require more energy than what he still had.

There was never enough energy to complain, and even if he managed to release the fear-filled words that hid behind sealed lips, he knew he would find no solace in his companion. The night was simply too short for him to speak the full breadth of his thoughts, and there was not nearly enough compassion in either of them to truly form the kind of conversation he wanted, if he even wanted it at all.

It was, after all, just the stupid wish of a child.

So the boy merely stared upwards at the ceiling of the small tent and listened to the steady, measured breathing of his companion, attempting to at least sooth his weary body. He could only distract himself with thoughts of the next few days.

Once they made it to the coast, maybe he would find a place to truly rest. They would be safe there- but in the current moment, there was nothing else he could do.

The boy was short for his age, younger than he looked. With his slim frame, and the surprisingly colorful braids wound through his should-length hair, he was almost girlish. A soft face, with wide eyes and a high brow gave him a curious air- the vivid questions always held within his gaze only supporting that impression.

But even with the lightness in his eyes, the boy’s arms were thin. A life too strenuous built wiry muscle along his limbs, but a lack of nourishment made sure his profile was a small one.

He was almost a mirror of the man, who had a similar kind of body, one that was larger but also worn down by age and the elements, various small scars cut into his skin. Countless pockmarks and burns made sure that although he could once have been called handsome, such a face had been wiped away long ago- though he did manage to hold himself with an almost noble air, an understated confidence in movement.

They were both dressed in simple, grayish brown cloth underneath dusty traveling cloaks. A few designs, mostly archaic patterns and small symbols, were painted onto their possessions with maroon or olive paints. Numerous small weapons, mostly daggers, were hidden beneath folds of cloth on each of their bodies, although the boy also had a hand crossbow hanging from his waist by a strap, and the man’s belt was strung with numerous small leather pouches.

Though both travelers carried supplies that would make any normal person collapse, they kept their pace light. Each one moved with a purpose that seemed almost desperate after the passing days, and the man did not let them slow, even while the boy gasped for breath.

As the light began to disappear from the sky above, the trail leading forever forwards, the man’s eyes narrowed. A small brook cut through the dead trees.

The larger traveler came to a stop, kneeling down to collect the gray water in various skins. The boy beside him nearly collapsed to his knees, shoulders heaving silently.

The forest had begun to thin over the past days. The knife-like branches of the black pines that used to be reaching out like so many fingers now were more widely dispersed. Light could easily filter from the higher levels; it was bright even through the thickly clouded sky.

The water from the brook still seemed almost gray in color, heavy and thick in an unnatural way, but it was clearer than the other various ponds they had come across. Even the wind seemed to have died down in the recent days, though it was still impossible to know if it was simply biding its time, waiting for a moment to catch them unawares.

“Kid, come here.”

The boy turned his gaze, lidded with black circles, over to the man and walked over besides him, already grabbing his pack off the ground.

“No, put that down. We’re gonna need to use some Laeia.”

The boy’s eyes widened, and with a whine in his voice he responded.

“Listen, Alvo, I’m fine! I… I just need to work harder, that’s all. Let’s keep going!”

“Be quiet.”

The boy, who had been opening his mouth, ready to retort with whatever kind of argument came to his mind, blinked at the surprisingly firm words of his companion, and nodded.

“This place has you on edge. It’s fine- this is a bad place to be. But you’re better than this, kid. You should be used to this sort of thing; so when I say you need to do something, you need to do it. No arguments, alright?”

“...Alright.”

“I’m still the one in charge here, Rush. You know what we need to do to get through spirit territory. Go sit down.”

The boy complied, leaning his back against one of the nearby boulders.

As he did so, the man grabbed one of the draw-string pouches hanging from his waist and unwrapped it slightly. Inside of the pouch was a teal powder, almost light blue in color. It was a dull shade, and the consistency was more similar to sand than anything else. There seemed to only be a couple ounces of the powder in total.

“Gimme your waterskin.”

“Right.”

The boy grabbed one of the small skins holding his water from his pack, holding it out to the man.

Alvo slowly walked over to him, holding the pouch of blue powder carefully, before taking a small pinch of it and sprinkling the powder into the waterskin. Afterwards, pulling the drawstring and hanging the pouch back on his belt, he took the waterskin from the boy’s hands and shook it rythmically, holding it close to himself as he hunched over.

The man exhaled before opening his eyes, holding out the waterskin to his companion.

“...That’ll have to do, since we don’t have time for much else. Drink quick, now.”

The boy nodded before taking the waterskin in both hands and drinking from it deeply. Almost immediately, his expression turned into a grimace, but he didn’t stop. Some color returned to his pale skin as the boy continued drinking, eventually finishing off the entirety of the mixture and jerking the empty skin away from his face with a gasp.

“Gah! Alright, that’s all. Man, that stuff is nasty!”

The man allowed himself a shadow of a smile, shaking his head and walking away from the boy, already grabbing his large pack off the ground.

However, the levity soon disappeared from his face, the dark, familiar lines of a scowl taking their usual place as the man stared into the forest, looking forwards into something only he could truly see.

He turned back towards the boy.

“We’re moving now. That should be enough to last you until we get out of this pit-born place. I want to make good progress now that you’re healthy again.”

“Right!”

The shadows left in their wake over the small, burbling stream did not follow them just yet, even while the traveler’s necks crawled with the attention of so many hidden eyes.

The clouded sky hovered overhead, and the wind swirled through the empty forest, never wavering, never resting, and never stopping.

Within the black pines, the shadows grew longer as the figures hiding inside the dark continued to follow.

That day passed quickly after their break at the stream, traveling at an increased pace, striding through the forest with long steps and constant urgency, but even that was not able to let them truly escape the chill in the air. The spikes of ice driven down their spines, the feeling that they were being watched, never let up. The air only grew colder in that place.

The two travelers, however, did not complain. Unease might have filled their bodies, their bones chilled by thoughts of the unknown, but their steps did not waver. They would not be fazed by something so commonplace as fear.

That night they worked just as normal, eating quietly, speaking quietly, setting up the torches in a routine cemented after years of practice. The boy read the leather-bound book with the symbol of a willow tree, and the man sorted through the various pouches on his waist, most more than half-empty. The boy complained about the hard green bars, and the man sighed wearily. The travelers went through such motions as always.

As they lay in the tent, listening to the alien movements beyond the ring of torches, they did not speak. The boy clutched his leather-bound book to his chest, and the man breathed steadily, keeping his mind carefully blank of any thoughts that would strengthen his fears.

Those actions, as well, were routine.

But the torches still wavered in the night.

When the early morning came and the two travelers closed their eyes, finally sinking into troubled sleep, the mist receded and the torches winked out, a long vigil passed.

Hours later, as camp packed up and the man nodded towards the trail, the two began the hike once more.

The boy thought to himself, in a moment of strange weakness, what the point of it all was. He shook himself away from that dark place quickly; things such as that were not meant to be pondered so deeply.

Although a heavy weight settled deeper over their shoulders, a single thought fueled those upward steps.

There was only a small bit more. Just a few more days, perhaps less, before they would leave the forest. Then there was only the mountain valley, the coast, and eventually, Cliffside.

The two travelers left their empty campsite far behind, leaving only a shallow depression and a small area cleared of any bramble in their wake.

The wind followed closely behind.