Ranvir watched the old warrior intently. After seeing what physical power Sabas had, he suspected the breastplate was largely ornamental. Even from their brief fight, Ranvir could see dings, scratches, and dents in it. Most of which came from him running through stone debris, rather than Ranvir’s actual attacks.

That was without mentioning any damage the serpent might’ve done. Ranvir could see a two finger long furrow near the hip. The steel had been ripped like tissue paper.

Tension rippled up and down Sabas’ arms, accentuating the musculature and scars. Especially the bite something had taken out of his upper arm, the little available light casting it into deep shadows.

The mercenary leaned back from the wall and turned his head away, looking into the sky. Ranvir heard the slight snap and crack as flakes of stone fell from around his fingers. Then, in a near blur of motion only Ranvir’s Perception allowed him to follow, Sabas took two steps back and drew his spear.

Sparks flew. Ranvir squinted and turned his head, just as a stone slid across his cheek. It carved through his flesh with ease, deflecting off his cheekbone. The wound burned as he opened his eyes to find the bladed tip of Sabas’ weapon in front of his nose.

Tension crawled into Ranvir’s neck, even as his emotional response was ruthlessly smothered by Latresekt. Reflexively, he swept his senses through the fold, trying to figure out a solution.

Mercy’s Redoubt was streaming out of the fold in droves. A few of the strongest remained behind. Except, as a section of mercenaries left, a stronger braced followed behind. Leaving with their squads, then, Ranvir corrected himself.

Amalia and Alexis probably left already because he didn't find them when he searched for them. He didn’t have the time or energy to actually find Amalia if she was hiding right at this moment. He might track her down given enough time, but such was not the case. Alexis should’ve been easier to detect, despite her mostly internal mana-typing.

He caught a brief glance at the overall structure of mana within the fold and quickly realized why all the mercenaries were leaving. They’d inadvertently created something of a sink of mana. His rituals had stirred it, agitating up a storm, then the seal had failed and removed the proverbial stopper.

The mana wasn’t rebalancing or reaching for a new equilibrium. It was being drawn out through the entrance in a vacuum-like sense. In fact, the mana was getting denser at the entrance and thinning out the further away from it you got. Already, he could feel the knotting point shifting upwards.

He turned his attention inward, briefly examining the spirits sharing his soul and body. Latresekt was fully absorbed with its efforts to restrain his reaction to his arm, though the spirit seemed to be holding up. Loce, on the other hand, wasn’t doing so well. Exhaustion was exuding from it steadily, its current efforts were far from its intended purposes.

Lifting his sand hand, Ranvir put two fingers on the spearhead and pushed it back. Sabas gave him less than two inches. Not much, but enough that Ranvir wouldn’t accidentally cut himself on the edge. Drifting motes of sand fell off the buzzing limb and occasionally parts of what would be his skin morphed into a grasshopper before regaining its supposed form.

“This is it then?” Ranvir asked, glaring up at the older man. “No more games, no more playing around?”

“This was never a game,” Sabas said through gritted teeth.

“My mistake,” Ranvir sneered. “I must’ve mistaken the effortless defeat I just suffered. Are you near death?”

The spear grew closer until it touched Ranvir’s wounded cheek. He didn’t realize it had slipped through the skin until he tasted blood.

“You shut your mouth,” Sabas voice was pitched low, a basso growl in the back of his throat. “I do not care for your childish understanding of reality. I don’t care to explain myself to you now or ever. That you cannot understand is not my concern.”

Lines of silver light started playing around his shoulder, slowly working their way down his marred upper arm and across the elbow. Ranvir’s entire being stuttered. Latresekt couldn’t possibly have stopped the sheer rush of anxious panic, blaring red and yellow intermittently as screamed into and out of being.

Ranvir’s arm fell apart, landing as a pile of sand. Loce’s true form crawled across Ranvir’s chest towards his intact left arm. And Ranvir’s mind could only turn on one subject as the prospect of his death appeared before him. He’d never gotten to speak with his daughter.

He’d paid a stupid amount of coin to have an extra bracelet made, one she could work without access to mana, and he’d never hardly seen its use. He hadn’t seen his daughter’s face in nearly two weeks, hadn’t kissed her goodnight or told her he loves her.

“At least let me have the bracelet,” Ranvir said, reaching out with an open palm. The light stopped, Sabas glaring across the spear’s length between them, motes of silver rose into the air above the previously ramping Ability. “I can sense it on you. I know you have it.”

Sabas’ jaw twitched repeatedly, the spearhead wavering before Ranvir. The blade nearly cut him twice before abruptly swinging away. Sabas lowered his arm, almost absentmindedly dropping the tip on the stone. Despite knowing better, Ranvir winced as the metal edged tip struck the stone.

Weaker materials would’ve glanced off or perhaps even chipped from such rough handling. But Sabas’ spear had clearly been treated with tane, striations of red intermixed into the steel. The blade sank two inches into the stone before wiggling to the side and slowly falling over.

Ranvir returned his attention to the mercenary as he reached up under his breastplate. Presumably he had a pocket there, as Ranvir could hear the clink of metal on metal as he retrieved Ranvir’s bracelet. All four symbols hung limply, the lock keeping it secured around the wrist still engaged.

Ranvir didn’t remember when exactly it was lost in the initial conflict, but could now see the mark where Sabas’ attack had sheared through the link and cut Ranvir’s wrist. He returned his attention to the captain as he deposited the jewelry into Ranvir’s hand.

The storm had abated, becoming a downpour. Just enough to confuse his senses, but Ranvir thought he saw wetness in the old man’s eyes and for that moment, he truly looked old as well. Face sagged, eyes baggy, hair wet and stuck to his scalp, his day-old scruff growing in as a pale gray rather than dark.

Ranvir pulled his hand back, and the energy left Sabas. He slumped to the ground, head bowed, and let out a long, shuddering breath. Rain dropped from his face into his lap. He watched the old man for a long time, clutching his armband closely.

Sabas suddenly looked up, his face puffy and eyes red. “I should’ve quit,” he sniffed once. “I should’ve quit a long time ago. After the war, probably. Before, actually.”

Ranvir decided that so long as Sabas was talking he wasn’t killing asked. “War?”

“Bacenor’s war,” his gaze grew hazy as he continued. “The Genocide War. The Red Raid.”

Ranvir’s eyes widened. Genocide? Before he could express his worry, Sabas continued.

“I figured it took a certain person to become Arkrotas. Cruel. Power hungry. Insane. There are stories about all of them. The things they’ve done. None of them are clean. Some stories might try to call them heroes, but they aren’t. Bacenor was originally from part of a much larger country, but when he took power, it splintered.

“He destroyed it. I don’t know if he actually attempted to erase its name from the histories, or people just became afraid of mentioning it. The effect’s the same.”

“Where-“

“Was it?” Sabas finished for him. “Let’s say there are people who make a business out of diving to the bottom of the sea and digging out old treasures. But as he would later learn, he didn’t get them all. A group of them gathered and fled up north, into what would become Stépeleio. For a long time, he left them alone. I’m not sure what changed, but one day he started recruiting to finish what he’d started so many centuries ago. I can’t imagine what could spark such rage in a man…”

They fell quiet as Sabas struggled with old memories. “I called him a monster for what happened during those days. The Genocide War, the Red Raid,” he shook his head, staring into nothing. “I turned him into a monster to excuse what was done during that time,” he visibly swallowed. “But… I’m starting to think it was not Bacenor’s power-grabbing that made him cruel. That perhaps it was not a trait inherent to him at all, but one he’s gained—that they’ve all gained—over the years. I certainly never thought I would be killing another man for the crime of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“You’ve done that before, then?” Ranvir asked.

Sabas looked at him and smiled morbidly. “I wasn’t called the Genocide War because of how many people died during the fighting. The genocide happened afterwards.”