Night fell onto the forest.

Marschal sat on the leaf cushioned ground, gazing into a campfire that shouldn't have been lit. He knew it wasn't safe; although Marschal was too tired to fully articulate why he knew that. They weren't moving anymore. That was all that mattered.

Pitch black shadows lurked at the border of the fire's light, dancing to the flame's flickering tongues. Like Marschal, Kollo and his remaining four men were also gazing deep into the bright beacon combating the darkness. Apart from the faint crackling of burning wood and the sounds of the forest night, the small group sat in utter silence around the radiating warmth of the central heat source. Marschal couldn't help but shift himself forward to ward off the chill attacking his back and sides.

When he was comfortable, Marschal glanced up at the bandits sharing the fire. Since their escape from the war elves, Kollo and his bandits only now numbered four now. Five including Walton and his stupid glaring face. His recently-attained black eye made Marschal smile internally. Walto's lip curled up into a snarling expression. Clearly, Marschal's smile wasn't as internal as he thought.

"You have to teach me how to fight!"

Marschal shut his eyes and sighed at his horrific mistake.

"Are you listening to me?" the boy demanded.

He should have dropped him down that cliff.

"I already told you why I can't," Marschal answered. He refused to tear his eyes away from the fire as the boy's standing form intruded his periphery vision.

"I don't believe you," the boy whined, "All Paravellans can fight."

Marschal continued gazing into the live flame.

"Are you ignoring me?"

"I should have dropped you," Marschal muttered under his breath.

"What was that?"

Marschal knew he should have been careful with his words. So he faced the boy directly.

"I said I should have dropped you off that cliff."

For Marschal, it was worth seeing the boy's mouth hang open in stunned silence.

Suddenly, a bout of uproarious laughter echoed through the forest darkness. Everyone at camp turned to the bandit leader to see his chest heaving from whatever he found humorous.

"Leave him alone, Centes," Kollo said when his laughter began to die down, "The man's entitled to his secrets."

"But he's our prisoner. He has to do what we say."

That was when Kollo's smile and jovial demeanour suddenly vanished. The silence that followed was so palpable Marschal could have sworn he saw the other bandits flinch when Kollo pulled himself up from his seating position. As he stood up, a loud and repulsive sound ruptured from Kollo's chest and throat followed by a sloppy stream of spit hitting the ground.

Then he took steps towards Marschal and the boy. As the bandit approached closer, Marschal noticed Kollo's slightly pale face sheening with sweat. Marschal tilted his head at the observation as he glanced down at the bandit's missing hand wrapped in dark red cloth. He kept staring at the severed stump until it hung uncomfortably close to his face with its owner looming over him and the boy.

When Marschal reluctantly looked up to meet Kollo's eyes, he was surprised when he saw the bandit gazing down at his son rather than him. He was even more surprised when Kollo's large hand struck the boy's face with a loud smack. Marschal could feel the strength of the hit from how the boy's whole body shifted to the side from the impact. To the boy's credit, he quickly recovered to look back up at his father with wide eyes and a hand on his cheek. Marschal could see both the tears building up in the boy's eyes and the strain in his facial muscles to keep them from escaping. Marschal braced himself as the intense silence emanated from the locked gazes between father and son.

Kollo's arms suddenly shot out to grab his son's face, cupping it between his hands. The boy remained unmoved as his father bent down to offer soft words that contradicted his earlier temper. "You should be grateful to be alive. Just as much as I am." Marschal sat there watching the child return his father's stare.

Then the boy dropped his gaze to the ground around his feet.

It was clear that that was the correct response as Kollo nodded, approvingly. When the bandit retracted his caressing hands, the boy turned to face Marschal with a hanging head, his eyes still averted. "Th-...Thank you...for saving me..."

Marschal sat there in lengthy silence as the boy remained standing with his eyes to the forest floor. His bowing head gave him an adorable appearance of subservience which put a small grin on Marschal's lips. When that silence continued, Marschal looked up to meet Kollo's eyes to see him staring back at him, almost expectantly.

Marschal slowly turned back to face the boy in front of him. "...It's...It's fine."

He could see Kollo nodding as if the words had relieved them all of a turbulent rising storm. With a light tap to his son's shoulder, the boy whipped around and sped off in a hurried walk that almost resembled running.

Did he not want to learn how to fight?

Marschal watched the boy walk around the fire and towards the other bandits.

"Don't worry about him," said Kollo as Marschal felt him plopping down beside him with a grunt. "He's just sulky because he knows he's in the wrong. He should know better."

Marschal slightly shifted away from him before glancing at the bandit's hand stump from the corner of his eye. "How's your hand?"

Kollo looked down at the stump. "What hand?"

The bandit's answer was followed by a brief silence. Marschal was about to offer him a lie of an apology when Kollo suddenly burst into booming laughter. Marschal raised an eyebrow as the bandit leader wheezed at his own joke. As his laughter began to die down, Marschal glimpsed Kollo removing the sheathed blade from his back and placing it beside him.

Warwielder. Calibur's Blade.

He must have been leering at the sword for too long because he could then feel, rather than see, Kollo's hard eyes staring down at him. In reaction, Marschal swiveled his head back to the campfire, as though it could burn away Kollo's hawk-like regard.

Time passed as Marschal gazed into the flames. Was Kollo still glaring at him? Did he suspect anything? Considering his lack of reaction, he probably didn't. Or more likely, he didn't consider Marschal a big enough threat to consider seriously. Which worked fine for him.

As they both sat in utter quiet, a loud clacking sound brought Marschal's attention across the fire. He squinted to see the young boy wielding a stick against a bandit who wielded one of his own. Marschal witnessed the boy gripping his faux blade tightly as he and the grown bandit circled each other warily. Marschal could feel the tension between the two as he saw the boy's face harden into an expression of concentration. Then the bandit attacked. Without missing a beat, the boy brought his stick up to the block the strike.

"Huh." The one syllable escaped Marschal's lips. It was a single inconsequential sound in his own ears.

However, it was enough to catch Kollo's attention. "What?"

"Hm?" Marschal shook his head. "Nothing."

He turned his focus back to the boy's training regime. At least he tried to. Marschal again felt Kollo's hard gaze from the corner of his eye, which prompted him to craft a response that he hoped would satisfy the bandit leader. He was intent on providing a compliment to his captor's son when his words altered as he spoke them. "It's just...I never imagined you...with a..." As if to avoid the risk of offending Kollo with more words, Marschal gestured to the boy parrying another strike from his opponent.

"Ah," Kollo replied with a shrug. "It just happened."

A nod was the only response Marschal could offer as Kollo fell silent. With the conversation clearly at an end, Marschal returned to his leisurely gaze into the warm fire. He would have enjoyed the quiet too if it wasn't polluted with grunts, yells of pain and smacking stick-swords.

"Where's his mother?" Marschal thought out loud. His eyes widened when he heard his own words. "Sorry. I didn't mean-"

"She's not here," Kollo answered. "Not anymore."

Marschal perked up at the unexpected reply. A part of him knew that continuing the dialogue might have been dangerous. It would have been safer to not pursue his curiosity into the most fearsome bandit of western Pios.

"So she died?" Marschal asked.

The bandit paused before responding with a shake of the head. "No...Just not here."

"What happened to her?"

Kollo slowly faced Marschal with cold eyes. "What's with all the questions?"

Too fast.

Marschal raised his hands in a lazy attempt to placate the bandit. "Just curious."

The bandit's eyes narrowed at Marschal, who visibly shriveled beneath the attention. Luckily for him, Kollo only turned away from Marschal to look into the campfire. Better that than violence, he supposed.

Following Kollo's lead, Marschal also faced the fire while observing the armed child fend off his current foe. He was growing comfortable with the silence that followed when Kollo continued their conversation and answered his query.

"His mother." Another shake of his head. "She never liked me. Can't blame her though. I didn't like her much either..." Kollo paused, reminding Marschal of someone contemplating their past. He could hear an intake of breath followed by a breathy sigh before Kollo spoke again. "One night, she just popped up on my front doorstep then..." The bandit gestured a shoving motion with his one hand. "She shoved this little boy in my face. Then poof. She disappeared. And I never saw her again."

Kollo fell back into his taciturn habit, looking into the campfire flames. Marschal studied the bandit for a brief moment before following suit and gazing back into the familiar beacon of light and warmth. For the next few minutes, the Paravellan and the bandit leader sat in shared silence, fixated on the flickering fire.

Marschal decided the break the silence. "Why did you raise him?"

"Huh?"

"Why did you bring the boy in and raise him?"

Kollo turned to Marschal with an expressionless face. "What kind of question is that?" The bandit's whole body shifted to offer Marschal an expressionless face. Did he overplay his hand?

Marschal shook his head while instinctively inching himself backwards. "You're..." Marschal gestured at Kollo's whole body and form. "You're Kollo Stormare. There have been many words used to describe you. Charity wasn't one of them." He shrugged. "You just struck me as someone who always did what he wanted."

"That's because I was. And still am." A hard tone was laced into his voice.

Marschal raised a brow. "So...you wanted to raise that boy?"

He forced himself to hold Kollo's powerful gaze as the bandit bunched his jawline muscles. Was he angry? Or was he struggling with what to say next?

Those thoughts were cut abruptly by a sharp sound of hocked up phlegm and spit that was expectorated into the crackling fire. Kollo was quiet for a bit but Marschal didn't have to wait long for his answer. "Do you know what's the most important thing you need if you want to survive in this world?"

Marschal paused before responding. "Love? Compassion? Friendship?...Fatherhood?"

"Money."

"That was my next guess."

"Not so much money but the power that comes with it." Marschal was suddenly jolted by Kollo's finger jabbing his chest. "Without money..." Another jab. "Without power..." Another final jab. "You're a dead man."

Marschal could only nod at his line of logic. "Interesting philosophy."

"It's the truth."

"That still doesn't answer why you took the boy in."

Kollo didn't answer straight away as he glanced at his son defending himself from another would-be fatal blow. The bandit took a deep breath and exhaled before he continued. "Centes deserves an opportunity to survive this world."

Marschal mentally shelved that response in his head. Maybe that was something he could use later? "How noble of you," said Marschal.

Kollo scoffed. "Noble? Is that one of the words used to describe me?"

"Not particularly."

Marschal suddenly flinched back when Kollo burst into a bellow of laughter. "That's good to know," Kollo said while pulling himself up into a standing position. "Wouldn't want that lie to spread around, would I?" When Kollo offered Marschal a smile, he felt compelled to return a sheepish one of his own. With that, the bandit headed off towards his son and the rest of his crew.

As Marschal watched him interact with his son, that was when he noticed Kollo's back lacking the sheathed sword he usually wore. He suddenly remembered the Warwielder lying beside him, without a wielder. Marschal found his hand moving on its own, slithering through the leaves towards its prey. Of course, he should have known it was too easy.

"Don't even think about it."

Marschal snapped his hand back to himself before facing Waltu, not too far from him.

"When Kollo is done with you," Walto said with a grin, "I'm gonna enjoy cutting you up like dog meat."

Marschal matched his manic grin with one of his own. "How's your eye?"

Marschal didn't bother to hide his smile as Waltey's face twitched into a snarl. He would have been more wary of Waltulu's fiery glare were it not for the black eye painting his face, a clear reminder of his offence. Marschal drove the blade in deeper, "Do you really think your master is going to kill the man who just saved his boy? Let alone be killed by a 'dog' who threw his son off a cliff in the first place?"

To Waltili's credit, Marschal could see the realization dawn on the bandit's face. Before Waltoor could articulate a response, Marschal suddenly stretched his arms up over his head while feigning an overly theatrical yawn. "Well. As much as I'd like to continue this conversation, I'm very tired. I'm going to sleep. Goodnight."

In that instant, Marschal slumped down to lay on the ground with his back to Waltura. He could feel the bandit's eyes boring into his back as Marschal pretended to sleep. But he didn't care.

Not with his brother's sword a few steps away from his reach.

***

Several hours later, the cold morning air bit into Marschal's skin while he stirred and shifted on the forest floor. He could tell it was morning from the sound of waking wildlife doming the canopy above him. Despite the audible sounds of a new day, Marschal still refused to break the darkness behind his closed eyelids. Eventually, he forced his eyes to open halfway.

Open enough to see a pile of dirt and wet leaves where his sword used to be.

His hand shot out to feel for his blade as though it were hidden beneath the low light of the rising morning. Alas, Marschal was forced to hang his head and sigh. When he thought about it, it now seemed obvious that Kollo would have taken the sword back. Knowing that wasn't the same as accepting it, though. He scanned the camp for the bandit leader only to see logs of silhouettes snoring loudly. All of them were indistinguishable to Marschal, so eventually he was forced to surrender his search for his sword. With nothing else for it, he reluctantly decided to fall back asleep.

Except now he wanted to pee.

Prodded by the call of nature, Marschal pulled himself up onto his staggering feet with an exerted groan. Now that he was standing, he decided to use the higher vantage point to continue his search for the blade. Unfortunately, it still refused to reveal itself.

After accepting another defeat, he resigned himself to stumbling across the camp towards the curtain of dark trees. When he felt comfortably distant from the sleeping bandits, Marschal selected a wide tree to position himself behind and began fumbling with his breeches. That was when he heard the sound of light snoring. Marschal followed the source of the sound until he glimpsed a shadowy figure lying on the ground amidst and beneath a body of leaves and shrubbery. Stifling the urge to relieve himself, Marschal readjusted his breeches and ventured forth towards the slumbering form with careful steps. When he was close enough, not only could he see Kollo, as he suspected, but he could also see the bandit's arms wrapped around his son.

More importantly, he could see his sword.

"Huh. There you are," he whispered to himself.

There it lay in its sheath, parallel to the sleeping bandit, almost taunting Marschal to seize what was his. Despite the temptation, he refrained from bending down and reaching for the sword. Instead, he opted to tear his eyes away from the family heirloom before inching himself back to the camp. There was no need to be impulsive. His blade would ultimately end up resting in his hands. It was only a matter of time.

Before he could turn around and take a step back to camp, Marschal suddenly felt a battering impact to his torso. The world around him toppled as he collapsed to the forest floor. Only when his brain was able to shake off the shock did he fully realize that he had been tackled by a large weight. It wasn't until he looked up when he noticed Walton's face looking down at him with a savage smile that reminded Marschal of a predator satisfied with his catch.

"I told you I'd kill you," Walton snarled.

No matter how much Marschal writhed and struggled beneath the iron weight, his muscles barely shifted from his pinned position. Like the caught prey he was, all he could do was lie there as Walton reached into his belt and pulled out a large knife. The bandit held the blade up over Marschal's head with the tip hanging like a fang readying to sink into his flesh.

"Not bad for a dog, huh."

Before Marschal could register the bandit's words, his eyes suddenly widened and flinched from the brief upward jerk from the knife preparing to fall into Marschal's face. He instinctively shut his eyes as if he would be safer if he removed himself from the visual world.

That was when he felt the knife slice his skin.