A Tale of Two Mercenaries

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Zaira is showered with gold coins as Vanexsum's sweeping tail crashes into the pile above her. It's covering her and if the dragon keeps up his indirect attack, she'll be buried and unable to escape. Then the gold begins to vibrate and shift on its own. The cave falls silent for a half second and she hears Arean... chanting? Magic, she suddenly realizes. He has to be doing something to harm or at least distract the dragon. Diving away from her hiding spot, her head nearly gets swiped off as the dragon's tail makes another round. He finally turns on her and takes two steps toward her, inhaling as he prepares to breathe fire at her again. She snaps an arrow back, watching it arc. It would have landed, but Vanexsum's green gaze, dark with violence and madness, falls upon her weapon. He grabs the arrow from the air and crushes it in his powerful claws, ignoring the rift that the Skinwaste opens on his scales.

The gold shifts again of its own volition and Vanexsum pulls his head up, his gaze flicking between the two humans. It's clear that Arean is the bigger threat, holding both a sword and magic. "Arcaniss... Si ocuir wux tepoha creol senar di irthir. shar coi ui shafaer vi wharac, ihk dout kurjh itov vucotic ti svabol wux jilg." Zaira takes advantage of his turned head to pull an arrow back. This time, she aims for his shoulder. Vanexsum roars as his scales burn away, but it's again in the wrong spot. Zaira's bold fear of the dragon mixes with her fear of the magic and it messes up her aim. Her muscles are too tense and she cannot find her state of calm in the chaos that is the fight.

The dragon roars and laughs because he can smell the fear spilling from the both of them. In the end, it's Zaira who is more afraid and Vanexsum twists to capitalize on that fact. He wants her head first. "Nomagqe yth jalla visp jacioniv. Coi ornla petranas ve ekess ocuir jacioniv denthanus ghoros jaciv loreatic esostek di wux." Zaira fires more arrows at the dragon, watching the poison-coated tips break holes into his scales. She's poking at him, doing no real harm. Why would Ranir give her such a poison if it was ineffective? She can't dwell on that as fire erupts from the dragon's mouth. Her boots nearly catch in the spray as she leaps away to relative safety. Height would be her advantage, and, without being able to communicate with Arean in any way, she begins to scramble back up to the entrance. She can only hope Arean sees her and acts accordingly, lest the dragon swipe her from her climb and eat her on the spot.
 
All Arean hears is the clatter of dishes, bowls, and fine cutlery as he keeps numbing his enchantments. The gold rattles but finally submits to his command. The beautiful array of coins and other jewels start to swirl up into the air, much like a tornado that has just touched down onto the ground. But Arean doesn't stop there. Everything glitters in the low light that fills the cave, his orbs long lost. His movements are fluid and natural as he moves forward, compelling the armored jeweled beast he has created to mimic his movements. He punches and am arm forms, the goblets and candlesticks crashing into the dragon's face.

"I might not be able to fight you with my sword, beast, but I can kill you with it." While the white fire dragon is distracted, Arean finds the highest spot of treasure and scoops up another lineup and readies his throw. From behind a jagged rock, runs the familiar form of Zaria and Arean knows exactly what to do. Quickly, he sends another chant through the air and starts to pulverize the beast in all directions, especially aiming for the eyes. "The eyes, the eyes! Zaria aim for the eyes!" he attempts to yell until his head starts to throb. But she cannot hear him, he knows, over the clatter of cutlery.

Now to act accordingly. He thinks, drawing up another trick from his memorized book of spells. He is not proficient in anything but the basics but, since the beast is attuned with white fire, Aarean figures it would be the best to attack him with ice. If only the ice were close enough to these volcanic areas but Arean knows its not true. It will never be found at their depth. The air, moist and tasting of minerals, fills his lungs one last time before he brings his hands back in front of him. "You'll be lucky to get out of this alive, dragon."

The massive tail swoops again at Arean, his footsteps moving briskly across the small pathway laid out by rock. What the young knight is looking for is an entry point or some factor that could assist hum in any way. He just hopes that Zaria can move as he does. Each spell that is cast has a rule of replenishment for the ripping cells of Aaron's body and repair them. "I won't let you die, Zaria, I won't let it happen." Aarian immediately thinks."You and I," the dragons wind legs get ready for what seems to be another blow towards Arean and he, trying his best, turns quickly out of the way, spinning and facing that wall once more. Arean only uses it to push off into the heap below. Its there he will start conjuring arcane energy and depositing it into a -soon to be- dragon.
 
Zaira dodges stray pieces of treasure as Arean beats the dragon. Blasts of fire erupt from Vanexsum's jaw, but he is not killing Arean. They are short bursts, as if Vanexsum cannot conjure the fire from his belly. Zaira finds a spot to crouch above the dragon, but with Arean keeping the dragon distracted, she cannot get a clear shot. She can't call to Arean to have him stop, for the din of battle rises above even themselves. The dragon roars in his ancient language, but she doesn't understand, and it seems so incoherent in between spouts of flame that even if she was a dragon, she would not understand.

She has to help Arean somehow, and that time soon comes when Arean pushes from the wall and winds down. "Arean!" she shouts, fearing the worst, and that is when the dragon turns on her. "You will taste delicious, female, and you will be fuel for my fire to burn your love alive... Slowly," the dragon growls and Zaira scrambles back, knocking her arm against the wall as she runs. The dragon jabs at her with his nose, trying to catch her between his teeth, but she moves with all the strength and grace of a huntress. A sense of calm settles over her. She is the hunter, not the hunted. The dragon is her prey and she will kill it. When the dragon stabs too hard, his nose bangs against the stone wall and he growls, whipping his snout to shake off the stunning blow. Zaira draws two arrow, firing one to strike his cheek. Grumbling to herself, she steadies her aim and fires again. The tip of the arrow sinks into the only weak spot on the dragon: his massive green eye.

An earth-shattering roar bounces off the walls and without warning, Vanexsum's tail slams above her, showering dust and chunks of volcanic rock on her head. She tries to run, but the dust obscures her sight. The billowing dirt clears as a claw shoots forward, grabbing her by the waist and pulling her out. Zaira cries out in pain as the sharp claws squeeze her, and she watches as the Skinwaste crawls over Vanexsum's eye. When the poison burns away and he pulls the arrow away, the only thing left is a gaping hole where his eye was. "You insolent child! You will die for that!" he screeches before he swings. Zaira slams into a wall, pinned by the dragon. She's alive, but anyone can see she's close to losing consciousness. One of her arms hangs free, and she pants with lack of breath and with effort. She reaches into her pack and pulls the last of the Skinwaste from her belt.

"No," she breathes as he blinks at her. "You are going to die." With the last of her strength, she hurls the bottle of Skinwaste straight at the dragon. His head whips away, but the bottle still shatters against his neck. The poison eats away his scales and he roars in pain. He drops Zaira from high up, and she falls onto the unforgiving ground. She pushes herself up with one arm, coughing violently, but she's still alive. Digging her fingers into the ground, she tries to pull herself away from the fight but her vision grows dark and she has no breath. Vanexsum thrashes with his neck now exposed, and when his good eye settles on Zaira struggling to find a safe place to recuperate, he growls deep in his throat. His claws click and his roar thunders as he advances on her, but she has stopped moving. Her eyes are closed and her entire body is limp. While Zaira might have exposed Vanexsum's weakness, her exhaustion has overtaken her.
 
Arean's arms come up above him, the magma from inside the caverns starting to rise and break up through the floor only around Vanexsum. Arean makes his way towards Zaria, seeing that he is the one with magic and his range, although his spells might be strong, have a distance barrier to them. Hot, liquid fire streams to Arean's hand, soaking up its energy, his fingers turning red and black underneath his armor. "No!" he cries out when the beast snaps his jaws at Zaria, each one a lick closer to catching her in the sharp fangs. "You will not harm her! I, Arean, knight of the world, am giving you one last chance to live before I destroy you and all that you are."

His other hand, quickly casting a barrier over Zaria's limp body, her form now glowing green, is too late. Zaria had already been pinned, then Arean doesn't see what happens next. All he can hear, from his angle, is Vanexsum's giant head thrashing left and right, the shrieks sending a signal to the knight that Zaria, sweet, smart, tactful Zaria, has done the unthinkable. Then time slows as Arean rounds the corner of the cave, just in time to see Vanexsum drop his half heart. Her form, clad in leather, falls to the dark ground, the magma long taken from the cracks and crevasses that litter the ground underneath the gold. "Savari keptol jes!" At the last moment, Arean's magic breaks the fall. But in his rush to save her, Arean has left himself open to Vanexsum's tail. Arean drops her, still from a high enough height, but perhaps leaving more bones intact than it would have been.

The next thing Arean feels is the dense weight of a long and wide muscle hit his side, the world spinning as he is thrown into the wall. Luckily, at least for him, his magic protects most of him, his focus on Zaria. He crashes up against the wall, head spinning with a strange adrenaline excitement. "So that's how you want to play, dragon?" he breathes, standing immediately, his power whirring around him. Looking down to his hand, the one that holds magma around its exterior, Arean leaps from the ledge onto the back haunch of the beast. Using his powers, he lifts that very same hand and strikes right at the joint. Immediately, the magma is transferred from Arean to the beast, melting and charring in its path.

Zaria cannot be dead. She can't. The knight cannot save a look in her direction to see if she is okay, the only thing in his focus is the wall of scales. If I am going to defeat it, I will have to crack open the skull. So he continues to make his way up from the leg of this beast, his hand assisting him in torturing the creature. Arean doesn't want to hear the screams but his anger, fury, blocks it out. All he can think about is not being able to save Zaria. He failed and therefore he must take revenge. It might not be honorable but if this new world has shown him anything then Arean should know that such things as honor come and go, phase in and out. Now that he has reached the backbone of the creature, he uses the spikes jutting from its back as support to climb up to the exposed neck region.

Steadying himself with his focus, Arean draws his sword, the skinwaste still fresh and practically dripping from its blade. "You have challenged me and you have failed, dragon. I asked you if you would consider defeat but leave with your life. Now you have hurt her and angered me. This is your last chance to end this madness. Recoil yourself," Arean moves with the beasts thrashing head, the lemon glow around him holding him as stable as it can with this beasts movements, "and save yourself and swear on the binds of my magic that you will never hurt another soul." All it will take is one word, a yes or no, for Arean to thrust his sword down into the flesh, ripping through bone and shattered scales.
 
Noises clash above Zaira, but she has no strength to even open her eyes. Her finger twitches as she tries to move forward, but she cannot. Arean's shouts mix with the dragon's snarls as they combat, and Zaira is aware of fire swirling around as Vanexsum tries to kill Arean in a single, flaming blast. Her senses are fading and she cannot watch the knight and dragon fight one another. She makes one last effort to pull herself forward and only succeeds in moving her arm and leg an inch forward. She can feel something warm sliding along her scalp and she finally realizes blood trickles from a wound on her head. She has several scratches on her side and arm where the dragon squeezed her, puncture-like wounds lining her body. Her head throbs before her body shuts down and she fades into darkness.

Vanexsum struggles against the magic-filled knight. Pain radiates from the areas where Arean has ripped singular scales away with his fire-coated hands. He tries to shake the man from his back but only succeeds in melting his spikes further. He growls as he thrashes around. The scales on his neck continue to fall away as the Skinwaste does what it is meant to do. Arean has reached his head now and, still filled with the true pride of his kind, Vanexsum raises his head and turns to glare at Arean with his good eye. "You and your love have bested me. You do so with ill-gotten poison and a promise of gold. Look around you. See what good gold will do you. I know what you are here for. If you leave this place with that infernal magic, you will die for it. It is not what you believe it to be. Succeeding at this endeavor will only bring pain for your love. I do not take your mercy, but I do you this one favor so she will not have to live to see the destruction."

Vanexsum's head twists suddenly and a ball of fire bursts from his jaws, but it isn't aimed at Arean. No, he aims for the limp huntress. His missing eye is a hindrance and he misses, but the impact of the flaming ball hitting the ground creates a shockwave. Gold shifts from the piles and Zaira's unconscious body twists and rolls, crashing straight into a mountain of gold. The force causes more coins to spill from their carefully stacked poses to rain down upon her. She cannot feel the gold pieces begin to bury her, nor can she feel the pressure of a small point digging into her hand. A clear cube the size of Zaira's palm rests in her limp fingers. Inexplicably, she has found the device, the Betwixt, they've been searching for, but her unmoving hand is the only thing visible underneath the fallen pile of gold.

Vanexsum dwells only on the pain of his choice, for he knows Arean will not spare him for trying to spare his love. He feels the poisoned sword bite into his muscles. The Skinwaste slides down his throat like a bad drink, burning everything it touches inside. He roars, but it only speeds the dying process. His scales burn down and he sucks in air through holes in his neck. He turns as white as the bones being exposed and he thrashes, feeling everything turn to nothing. He screeches and a pale light swirls from his mouth and out into the air. A dragon's soul is a powerful tool in magic, and the bubbling ball of light shoots down into the magic artifact next to Zaira's fingers. A few wisps of Vanexsum's soul slide into Arean's palm to help replenish his store of magic. All that is left of the vile dragon is his skeleton. The bone splinters and falls, leaving the frame of the mighty creature in a broken heap.

The two hunters have done the impossible, for they have killed a dragon.
 
If you leave this place with that infernal magic, you will die for it. It is not what you believe it to be. Succeeding at this endeavor will only bring pain for your love.

Those words, spoken in a tongue that Arean has understood since birth, cause Arean to pause. But before he can think and comprehend the dragon's charred words, he is throwing his head in Zaria's direction. Arean can feel the scales rattle underneath his feet as the beast takes in a final breath, fire boiling from the madness that lies inside Vanexsum. Arean immediately reacts, a final yell, his arms thrusting downwards so that the blade, covered in that black waste, may bury itself deep within the beast. But he doesn't stop there, unable to see if Zaria had been hit or not by the fire. He unlocks his sword again, repositions it and stabs it deep between the exposed scales. He doesn't stop until there is nothing left but the sound of his blade becoming stuck and unsticking itself from their assignment.

When the knight finally comes to, his arms, face, torso, and legs, all covered in dragon's blood, he staggers back. His chest rises and falls to the metronome of conquered fear. The monster is no more. Arean feels warm and strangely wet, his face dirty like it had been on the battlefields of Sham-nah. He remembers being scared, his shaking hands barely able to wield the cheap ten copper sword that was given to him when he enlisted. Now he stands on the neck of a giant beast the size of a small island, or so it seems from Arean's position. He won. He defeated the monster.

But it wasn't only him. The knight would be alone and dead if it weren't for her. "Zaria!" Arean calls out, the adrenaline coursing through his brain and making the ground feel like air beneath his feet. He doesn't know how he got down from the dragon. He suspects that he jumped before the mass of bones, not recognizing the warmth of the white lit whisps circling his body before finding and binding to him. He should feel the cold trickle up his arms and into his heart, the beasts soul intertwining with his own. But Arean is focusing on the heart. His heart. Her heart.

"Zaria!" he calls again, finding her with shaking hands and heavy breathing. He drops to his knees before her, his sword left to drop where it pleases. "Zaria," he commands again, not sure if she is alive or dead. There isn't a burnt corpse waiting for him here, that's good, but the blood, oh her blood, that's not good. Arean immediately turns Zaria over, uncaring about the device hidden underneath her fingers. "Zaria, Zaria, please, do something. Say something. Breathe. Please breathe." Arean cradles her in his arms, a strange warmth making his eyes blink as he holds in his breath. A bloody hand moves to her face then neck, trying to find some sort of life indicator. "I can't live without you," he whispers, hesitating at first but then bringing her as close to his chest as he can.
 
She breathes, but her chest hardly rises and falls with those shallow breaths, and she hardly hears his voice. He calls to her and his word are fuzzy in her brain. She wants to move, but her limbs are heavy and full of lethargy. Exhaustion has warped her system into nothing, not to mention the wounds she has sustained on various parts of her body. Bloody dust coats her hair and face while torn leather sits on her torso and arms. The crimson darkness that is her life blood oozes from the bruised scratches on her arm and side where Vanexsum tried to crush her. She's alive, but she certainly doesn't look the part. His hands may travel along her head and neck, but her muscles are limp in his grip. Her eyes shift under her eyelids as if she's trying to rouse herself, but nothing happens.

The more Arean calls her name, the clearer the realization becomes. She's not dead and she should show him. Her fingers twitch, closing around the cubed artifact in her hand. She feels a pinprick of pain as the sharp edge bites into her skin, and it's the pain radiating through her palm and fingers that makes her eyes flutter open. The first thing she sees is Arean's bloodied armor, redness soaking almost all of him. It cannot possibly be his blood, for he would be dead if he'd lost that much blood. It only means one thing. The dragon is defeated and therefore dead. Zaira shifts in Arean's arms, her legs curling slightly in her slow, waking moments.

"A-Arean...?" Her voice comes out in a whisper before a cough shakes her body. Her hand, the one not attached to the artifact, moves to grab his armor. She tries to pull herself up, arm trembling with the effort. Dust trickles off her body like water drops as she moves, but the stained spots of blood stay. "You... you killed the dr-dragon?" She takes in a deep breath, finally able to do so after being buried under dusty gold. "H-How?"
 
It makes Arean's chest tight to see Zaria in such a state of disarray. The blood covering her body does not smell like dragon fire and iron ore as it does his. The beast practically ripped her apart. At least that's how Arean sees her, body limp and bleeding where she lies. The knight still doesn't recognize the device gripped in her hand, his focus shifting from her eyes to the wounds he can spot. "Zaria, Zaria, the dragon is gone," Arean reassures her, a small warmth spreading across his chest as he states his triumph. But its not a slithering cockiness that parades around the knight. He is worried, sweating, and exhausted from the use of his magic. It may not have been a lot but the energy barrier he attempted to create around Zaria had hardly been strong enough.

All it would have done is save her from a few dust particles, hardly a fist full of claws. "I killed it, yes, you don't have to worry any longer." Bringing her close, Arean quickly embraces her, his chin resting up against the underside of her jawline. She closes her eyes again and starts to rest her head but Arean clears his throat and pulls back, wanting to see her wounds. "Stay still, I can manage to patch up the cuts you have but right now all you need to do is trust me and my-- Cer's magic. Can you do that for me, Zaria?"

But Arean feels an odd pulse in his fingers, each strong one trying to tell him something or perhaps even show him something. Lifting his hand up towards the roof of the cave, Arean closes his head and concentrates on the task at hand. Right now, the only thing that can make him happy is to know that Zaria is alive and well. "I need to take you out of here. Hold onto me." When she does what he orders, hopefully, Arean wraps his arms around the back and squeezes gently, applying pressure but not cutting off anything important. When his eyes close, his thoughts focus on saving Zaria from death itself, dark hands unable to reach what he wishes were his. "It won't make you feel better, Zaria, but at least it will stop the bleeding.

Although the cuts seem to have formed a dark brown dirt layer over the sides of her wounds, temporarily "You just have to do that crazy thing where you trust me again, Zaria." Without or with her consent, Arean shuts his lids and starts to mumble again. But this time, the milky green of his healing, Arean doesn't realize that his energy is not being derived from himself but from the cube that lies in Zaria's hand. Without his sight to guide him, Arean mouths the spell and holds onto her gently, unknowing of what lies ahead of them. His path has been chosen.
 
Zaira hears his voice again, but this time, his words aren't muddled. She blinks, feeling his arms hold her up from the blood and dust littering the ground. His chin brushes her jaw and she closes her eyes. All she wants is to fall back into darkness and stay there while her body recovers energy. It is not meant to be as Arean pulls back and looks her over. She finds the strength to open her eyes, really looking at him for the first time since she woke up. He's covered in Vanexsum's blood and there's something akin to a tear in his light brown eyes. Still, he's both concerned and happy for her, and she can see it in his gaze. But he asks something of her that she cannot think on. "I...." Her negative answer only comes out as a sigh. She wants to shake her head and let her wounds heal on their own, but they do not have the time to wait.

Zaira gives the knight a short nod and feels his arms tighten around her back. She winces, but his last goal is to harm her, so she keeps the pain to herself. He tells her that the magic won't solve all of her problems, and another lazy nod is his answer. Her eyes close, for she does trust him. He used the magic to fight the dragon, not her. She doesn't expect it to hurt, and as she wraps an arm around him, she feels a soft tingling spread through her. His voice, gentle and humming words she does not understand, lulls her. The spell flowing through her calms her and makes her feel like she's in the embrace of a loving entity. The cube resting in her palm feeds Arean's magic, but it does so from the hand of someone who cannot use magic. The dragon's soul, white and full of magic, shifts into a fire, blazing and releasing magic Zaira cannot control.

The pleasant tingling turns to fire on her skin. Zaira cries out, pushing herself away from Arean and releasing the cube. The artifact falls from her fingers and clinks onto the ground. The angry magic trapped in the cube turns a smoky white again, but Zaira wants nothing to do with it. She hadn't known she has held it since she had fallen unconscious, but now that she's aware of its presence, she shies away from it. "K-Keep that... that infernal thing away fr-from me," she snaps, but her voice is weak. "It... It burned me." The cube has burned small points into the palm of her hand where she was grasping it. She grabs her wrist and cradles her hand to her chest, breathing heavily. Arean has succeeded in closing some of her wounds and the rest have started to close themselves. Still, they both know she's still weak even though she's managed to untangle herself from Arean long enough to release the cube. "You... you should take it... You're used to... to magic." Though she knows little of magic, she isn't wrong about the cube. If Arean holds the cube, it will not burn him.

Zaira glances down at her hand before looking back at Arean. "I... I'm sorry," she says. Her dark brown eyes are full of pain and something similar to longing. "You are right... we should leave." She finally notices the skeleton of their massive draconic enemy and it makes her shudder. Arean somehow managed to kill the beast, and she doesn't want to know how.
 
His concentration shatters like porcelain hitting stone. Arean's eyes snap open when he hears Zaria's cry. It wasn't me! It couldn't have been. Are his first thoughts, his eyes shifting again to become wide and worried. "What happened?" His voice is loud and powerful, arms trying to hold onto her as she throws herself from his arms. "What happened?" Arean doesn't understand what is happening until his eyes remove themselves from Zaria. It takes a while though, his fingers not wanting to let her go for a very long time. She is wounded and he couldn't protect her. His magic should have been used to shield her from the dragon's attacks but the knight couldn't obtain a clear enough shot without healing the dragon instead. He is her protector.

But once his fingers touch the cube at Zaria's request, there is no flinching or jolts of pain shooting up his arms. Looking from her to the cube, Arean gently bites his lip as he tries to conjure up a reasoning for why he doesn't pull away like she does. "I…" he starts, "I must still have his power for a while longer. The cube, it seems, cannot hurt another magic pathway." Changing the subject quickly, Arean continues to talk, knowing its the best to get Zaria's mind off magic and those she loved. "Its no wonder that our … employer," the man can't help but grin with a hint of untapped anger in his eyes, "wanted this. I practically feel it pulsing in my hand as if it were alive." The cube is indeed warm, the soul of the dragon and its harnessed power comforting to a fellow magic user, not so much those outsiders.

Looking to a small pouch attached to his worn belt, Arean pockets the cube, its size shrinking in his hand to fit. That doesn't mean that Arean still can't feel it. The knight is drawn to the dragon's power that now lies inside of it. He blinks, trying to focus on something else besides what he felt when that cube was in his hands. It is, after all, raw, untapped, power. Well, as far as Arean knows its untapped. "Here, let's get out of here and make sure you're okay." Before she can stand up herself, Arean is slipping his longsword back against his side, its blade covered in blood and waste. "Where is my falchion?" Comes his next question, needing to obtain their gear before they may exit the caves.

When that time comes, Arean insists that he carry Zaria for her level of strength is a quarter of what it was when they entered. The knight insists. He enjoys the way Zaria's head rests up against his armor, her weight in his arms reminding him that they both survived. Barely. But she is alive and the knight must still tell her how he feels before this adventure is over. Right now is not the time, he concludes for he needs her to rest a while. He excuses himself from his feelings yet again.

"I want to get you to the nearest village as soon as possible. Do you think we can make it out of the swamp by nightfall? Then we can ride as fast as we can to the nearest town so that you can get a proper apothecary to treat your wounds."
 
Dark eyes watch him pick up the cube, and Zaira expects him to recoil as she did. When he doesn't, her eyes narrow but he quickly has a reason. She has no time to be wary of the magic, nor does she have the energy. She pushes herself into her knees, noticing the sword is no longer at her side. Thankfully, she finds it only a few feet away, buried in a stack of gold. She's lucky that it didn't disappear when she was thrown by the dragon's fire blast. Of course, she doesn't remember that part, but her injuries are proof that something else occurred after she fell from his claws.

She slides her hand to grab the falchion, finding her bow in the process. The frame has bent and cracked and the string has been frayed. She knows she will not be able to find her fallen arrows, for they're buried within the dragon's blood or the treasures surrounding them. With a pained sigh, she pushes the bow back into its spot on her back and gives Arean his falchion. She starts to stand and manages to get on her feet, though she wobbles when she straightens her back. She tries to protest but he is persistent. When she relents, he picks her up, relieving her of the pain in her wounded leg as well as her side. Her head curls to rest on his armored chest and her eyes close. His walk is slow and rhythmic and lulls her into a gentle state of half-sleep.

His voice, though equally gentle, causes her to open her eyes. She tries to recall the map in her mind and draws only blanks. "It... It's possible," she answers, "if it weren't for the... swamps. I don't think the horses can... can ride quickly through there." She rests her arms over her abdomen, one of her fingers brushing Arean's armor. The hard steel under her back and legs reminds her she's alive and that she assisted in killing the dragon. Arean saved her and now he's helping her again by carrying her away from the destruction.

"Are we... really going to let that... damned... mage," she snaps the word with as much vehemence as she can muster with a weakened voice, "have that thing? It... It seems powerful... And he does not seem like... like someone who should have that much... power." She opens her eyes and looks up at Arean. The dragon's blood lingers on his face and with one hand, she brushes his hair away and swipes blood from his cheek.
 
"I feared as much," Arean whispers to himself, looking back at Zaria before navigating around another corner as he attempts to find the way they came. His armor chimes to its own musical notes as they walk. "The swamps will slow us down, that's true." Shaking his head gently, Arean stomps up, over, and under all the obstacles that lie in their way. The tunnel opens up at the end, light pouring out into the world of the living. The temperature increases, the sweaty heat no longer sticking to their bodies as each step draws them closer to the faint speck of light ahead as they round another bend. "But I swear to you that I will do all in my power to get you to safety. You stayed awake and on task when I had fallen ill and now, Zaria, I will do the same to you. I don't care if I…"

Her fingers reach upwards, seen out of the corner of his eyes. For a quick moment he considers pulling back but ultimately ends up doing nothing about it as Zaria brings back up his topic of Ranir. "Its our duty…" is the only argument he can muster against Zaria's words. His eyes move to find hers behind the conglomerate of sweat, blood, and hair that blocks his vision. "And as much as it hates me to say that," his words are truthful, "we made a promise to him. This mission has nearly killed us both, Zaria. Its only right that we get a reward that is worth it." If only I could have you as my reward, then I would be content. The thought blossoms in the confines of Arean's mind and all he can do is blink rapidly as if trying to wipe the thoughts from his head.

"I understand your concern, Zaria, trust me, I do. But whatever Ranir wishes to do with that cube, well, that's his business. We're mercenaries, not freedom fighters. We don't protect people. I would have stayed where I belonged if I wanted to protect." Those words burn him, contradicting all that he stands for. But right now, they're true. The knight draws his eyes away from her, her weight long gone from his face but doubling in his armored arms. The weight comes barring down, causing Arean to stop and suck in a deep breath. "It's not easy to turn my back on whatever Ranir has planned but whatever this cube will provide him, let's only hope that we sign a contract to kill him and get the cube back."
 
Zaira is forced to rest in his arms, her dark hair leaving bloody streaks on his armor as she shifts her head near his shoulder. Her hand falls back against her abdomen, but she glances the burn marks all the same. Magic has done this to her, and while Arean still has magic from his brother, it will fade and leave her with the knight that she knows. The one she... loves. She finds the word suitable in her mind, for if he had not a mind for her or cared for her in any way, he would have left her to walk on her own even after the dragon's attacks. So she simply closes her eyes, willing her thoughts to dwell on other things not related to magic and dragons. She listens to him even when she does not want to. Giving Ranir the cube is wrong in her eyes, but the promised gold is always a tempting prospect. She cannot pass up that amount of riches, for she could retire and live a simple life in a place no one would bother her. She would be carefree and people free, making no deals with mages or knights.

But an adventurous life without Arean seems dull as she thinks about it. The faint lights from the end of the cave flicker with dwindling daylight. They have been in the cave for longer than they expected, but they were fighting a dragon. Delays were to be expected. She can only hope Ranir will not deduct gold from their final prize simply due to the amount of time it has taken them to reach and kill the dragon. She begins to shift in Arean's arms when she feels him halt. Reaching up, she holds onto his armor and pulls herself from his grasp. "Release me... I can walk for a while." She's trying to act strong in the clear face of weakness, and it takes her a moment to steady her feet once they hit the ground. The last time she had been standing, she had been firing poisoned arrow after poised arrow at the dragon. Now, she can hardly keep herself upright.

"Thank you... for saving me," she says, rubbing her bruised arm. The mottled areas are black and blue, visible through her torn sleeves. The dragon truly did a number on her, but she survived his claws, the fall, and the fire blast. A simple breeze can knock her prone now, but she's determined to carry some of her own weight until they reach the horses. "I don't like... how this must end... I cannot trust that man for anything."
 
"Release me?" Arean repeats her request, chuckling delightfully at the words she has to say. It's only a quick moment of humor though, her choice of words pinning a memory that he finds particularly funny. But he doesn't apologize for his sudden, awkward outburst. He doesn't have to explain himself to her if he doesn't want to. So he talks, moving on from his chuckled laughter that only lasted a spray in the air. "You have a very interesting word choice, Zaria. You make me sound like your servant. Which, well, I don't know," side-glancing to her, he tries to lighten the mood and get her mind off of the pain rattling her injuries, "I don't know if that would be such a bad thing. Being your servant that is. Once I get past your hardened exterior, I find that a beautiful woman lies inside whether she believes it or not. You're more--"

His compliments were cut short, his voice coming to a screeching halt. "You're welcome." Arean realizes that its too late to take his words back, those kind words already reaching her ears and making her cheeks blush. Remind me again why I can't tell her I love her now? Arean's heart questions, his brain nudging back into his thoughts. You can't just do it now. Wait. Make sure she is okay first. Tell her you love her with your actions before your words. Imbecile! Arean sucks in another deep breath before he smiles gently again. "It's my…" he almost said duty. If he brings up that word again, he will only be ripping a bigger rift between them. It gives her another reason to think that he doesn't love her. Oh but how he pines when he cannot find the right words to say.

"Zaria, I…"

But another opportunity for him to expel this beast of love inside of him washes away with a new tide. A new voice ringing in their ears. Zaria is no longer in his arms, although they still feel heavy as if she could have been curled right up in them. Outside the cave is an unwelcoming sight. Twenty robed men stand behind Ranir, his waistline as large as always. He is dawned in his jewels from head to toe, ribbons coming off his body in a celebratory style jerkin pulled over his expanded chest. There is a bright curve of his lips, looking like a child who is about to receive his birthday present after months and months of waiting.

"Arean," he calls when they step out, the light blinding them with its intense rays, "you have defeated a dragon and have saved the world from many more deaths. Amazing!" The mage almost seems surprised that they made it out alive, his eyes wondering from wound to wound when he looks at Zaria. "But my dear, you are hurt, aren't you? Of course," he waves his hand to one of the robed men as if he already knew that the woman of the group wouldn't survive while the male walked out practically unscathed. "But of course. Please, come, and I shall take you, your gear and horses back to my palace so that you can be fitted for your reward. But first," his ringed fingers curl outward towards Arean, "I need something from you as payment for all that you've done."

"Bring Zaria to safety first, she must heal, be fed, and taken care of immediately by the best in the field," Arean negotiates, his voice stern and quick right after Ranir takes a breath, "or else you can forget about your precious cube."
 
Zaira turns her gaze down as she's put down, using the wall to steady herself. When he speaks, she finds herself smiling ever so slightly. Her face flushes a soft pink under the dirt and scratches along her cheek, and she glances up long enough for Arean to see it. For the first time since she acquired her wounds, she's not thinking about how painful each step becomes or how much she needs rest. Her dark brown eyes turn up to listen to his hardly spoken words, but he trails off. Confused, Zaira looks to the bright end of the cave. What she sees almost floors her. The fat mage had more men with him. All of them mages. She only knows that because of their robes and the fact that her hand now burns. It has a small sense of magic in a mass quantity, and these men bear the weight of magic in their blood.

Zaira's knees buckle, but she forces herself to stay upright. If she shows any more weakness in front of Ranir, he will think her a helpless woman. Perhaps he already does. At his words, her eyes narrow and she shakes her head. "He... wouldn't be alive if... if it wasn't for me," she says, but the men behind Ranir only scoff. How could one woman with a bow assist the knight? "And don't call me that," she snaps, but Ranir has already switched subjects. He wants the cube so quickly, but even as she begins to protest, Arean fights back. Zaira has to hold onto Arean's vambrace as a wave of nauseating pain washes over her head.

"A-Arean... I don't want... want to go anywhere with him." She would much rather heal at her own pace in a place not full of magic than go with Ranir anywhere. "Please... Don't... don't make me go...." Her voice fades and she suddenly falls to her knees. Her hand still grips Arean's wrist, fingers cold. Her other hand has drifted to her head where she tries to rub the growing pain in her temples. What she doesn't know is that a few of Ranir's mages have laid a silent spell of sickness on her. It's easy to do with Zaira in such a state, and it's only temporary, but long enough to distract Arean. It would seem that Ranir knows of Arean's weakness for Zaira, but of course, Ranir would never let that slip.

"Oh, my," the mage spoke up. "Well, it certainly seems like she needs the best care. I, of course, have that care." He glances down at Zaira. Her head presses against Arean's armored leg, her breath coming in short gasps, as if she's struggling for air. "Perhaps you should allow some of my men to take her?" That coy smile still rests on his lips, but there is no telling what the mage is thinking. A few of the men step forward, fully prepared to remove Zaira from Arean's presence. The huntress has hardly noticed them at all, far more focused on the pain radiating from her wounds and now her head.
 
Arean's decision is not an easy one, Zaria's hunches about Ranir mimicking his own. But he is a knight and man of honor, shouldn't he keep to his word? They promised that they would slay this dragon and return the treasure to Ranir for a handsome price. Closing his eyes quickly, Arean tries to think, feeling the weight of Zaria resting against his leg, pushing the plate against his leg even more, her hands gripping his bracer. Arean moves to kneel down next to Zaria but freezes, a cold trickling across his chest. A new voice whispers in his head, one that he feels he can trust without any evidence against or for its presence. Give her up but never let that cube slip through your fingers. Its far too powerful to be in anyone's hand but yours. Keep it for yourself and forget the girl. Forget the gold.

Shaking his head, Arean can't believe he let this calm, melodic, tone drill through his head and bare down upon his conscious. He is still Arean and he must protect his partner. So he kneels despite the warm voice singing to him in his brain. Ranir keeps his knowing smile plastered on his lips, Arean's face turning to Zaria. "What's wrong? You were fine just a moment ago. Please Zaria. What is the matter?" But his words come to no use, Zaria's voice gone from her throat, only whimpers of pain replacing any logical words she could have spoken. Arean looks up and without meaning to, right to Ranir with pleading eyes. He cares more for Zaria than he could an entire empire. His healing powers are still not strong, only able to sew a few minor gashes. He will not be able to keep her alive unless he seeks a higher authority and its help.

"Zaria, listen to me, I know you don't trust Ranir but I would rather take the consequences and have you live than see you die right here in front of me. I cannot bare those thoughts." Her head lulls this way and that, unable to gage a proper answer. "Zaria, please. It's for the best. I would take you to see my brother but--"

"You're running out of time," Ranir bellows, his men still inching forward. "I can save her, you just have to let her go." Arean hardly noticed that as soon as he knelt down, his arms went around Zaria, a love burning in his eyes for her and her wellbeing. Luckily, some might say, Zaria did not see nor feel any of Arean's signs. At least, that's what Arean thinks. She is wounded and therefore must be taken care of. Looking down to the cracked earth, a thick later of dust sprinkled beneath him, he nods. But they'll have to pry her from his embrace whether he means to be so protective or not. If he loses Zaria, there will be more bloodshed than he ever thought possible.

"You just have to swear that she will be healed and safe from harm. From ALL harm, do you understand?"
 
She doesn't know what's wrong, but she wants to shy away from the people surrounding her. She's so cold that she shivers in the warm evening air. Arean's heat doesn't penetrate her as it used to, as if her body refuses to take anything warm, yet her own body heat feels as though it's being sucked away. She notes the shifting steel under her head, but it's only Arean moving to her level. She finally notices that she's fallen to the ground, much to her silent dismay. It's a display of weakness in front of the fat mage and his group of mages. His arms surround her in a protective circle of armor and flesh, and then his voice reaches her ears. She wants to smile, for he's concerned. She wants to say how horrible she feels and how much she doesn't want to be parted from him.

But nothing spills from her lips. Only pained gasps and whimpers pass through her mouth. Her cold fingers try to grasp his armor, but she cannot move her arms. He speaks to her again, and she attempts to shake her head. Her muscles don't respond and she is limp against him. The instinct to flinch at Ranir's voice passes over her still body. She cannot lift her head to look into Arean's eyes, but she would have responded to the love. Alas, it's not meant to be. Ranir's first man tugs Zaira's shoulders, but she cannot muster the strength to shrug him off. The only man she trusts within miles of the dragon's cave is Arean, and to be away from him after such an event... She cannot bear the thought.

But what she thinks doesn't matter to Ranir's men. A second one wrenches her arm away from Arean and they lift her up long enough for the first man to carry her as Arean did. They aren't as gentle as Arean is, and Zaira's head falls over the man's arm. Her hair hangs in tangled lines and her left hand, the one burned by the cube, swings with each step. She's completely unconscious by the time the man takes two steps, her face peaceful for once. Ranir notices the burns, but says nothing until Zaira's carrier is back behind him. Another man has gone to collect the horses, and when everything is in its place, ten of the mages step forward and raise their arms. "She will be safe. Now, prepare yourself, Master Ibanell. We are going to move a great distance in a matter of seconds. You may feel strange." Ranir gives no chance for Arean to react before purple light streams from their raised fingers. It surrounds them and swirls into one great, fiery line. And then, they vanish.

Ten seconds later, they reappear in front of the gloomiest castle anyone could imagine. The walls are made of a gray granite while the spires are a tall, pointed roof of black. No flags wave on the top, no signs to indicate that this is the home of a mage. The castle is large, too large for just one person. The surrounding area is covered by a wall, but the grass poking along the bottom of the marble wall is dead and dry. Despite that, the castle is buried in a copse of stripped trees with few leaves. Something has happened to suck the life of whatever forest they're in.

"Welcome to my humble abode." Nothing is humble about it, but the strange smile on Ranir's face suggests that it's a joke. "Now then, to business." He waves his hand at his mages and they file away. The man carrying Zaira is hardly gentle with her, but nothing can be said about it once they walk through the massive door and out of sight. "You allowed her to touch the artifact? This can cause complications for her. She was harmed by the dragon. Those wounds are not so easily closed. She will need several days to recover. I expect you to stay, of course." There is no room for arguing in Ranir's voice, but he seems to know that Arean is unwilling to leave Zaira behind, or anywhere in the vicinity of mages without him.
 
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Arean, all of a sudden, feels sick. Dizzy. Out of tune with the world around him. Ranir had, as he stated previously, teleported them from the swamps practically half way across the world to his own home. The knight immediately forgets that he has legs, his weight barreling once more to one knee. His body feels hot, like each cell is its own little spark of flame. Arean gasps for more air, hoping that it would calm his nerves but the burns just grow more intense the more breaths he takes. Cursing underneath his breath, the knight stands up, knowing that he must retain his air of confidence and authority. His mind, however, feels as though someone stuck a needle in it and played with his insides. The world around him is blurry for a moment, growing worse with each blink.

This was his first time being teleported. Ranir, grinning his usual smile, holds back a chuckle and starts to give Arean a grand tour. But the knights attention is not on his host but rather on the surroundings. All he sees is the gray granite of smooth, impenetrable stone. Or at least it seems that way to the soldier. There are hardly any cracks, a smooths surface that forbids the ability to climb seeming to spiral all the way up to the sky. But as soon as he lets his mouth open, a question burning on his tongue as much as his cells had been previously, Ranir has moved on. He does not appreciate the arches as Arean does, the soldier in him eyeing the exits and fortification incase they are attacked. It's a grand masterpiece, something that smells of magic and gunpowder.

Its his words about business that peek his interest. He, being a soldier, let his supervisors do all the talking but now its up to him to assure that Zaria is safe and they have the money that they were promised. "It's a fine fortification, I am sure that you've spent a lot of time and money in building it or at least a lot of money buying it or time spent killing the previous owners. Whatever occurred." Arean's voice doesn't care much for what he is saying. At least talking keeps his mind from gripping the fear of his stomach. Zaria is always in his head these days. She might not have made a very good first impression but she is a fungus that has grown on him in a symbiotic relationship. They give each other food and protection. Not to mention love, if the day ever will come for him to admit his feelings.

"What?" Arean asks, forgetting that it was Zaria who handed him the cube. He had been focused on her safety, not what precious artifacts she had in her hand. "We were separated in the cave, Master Ranir." He bows his head as he addresses his superior, his hands locked behind his back as a sign of respect. "She happened upon the cube by means that I do not know of. I was on the upper levels, scaling the sides with her until she was swiped by those massive claws and sent into a tight grab then tumble downwards." There is a short pause while the knight thinks of the mage's words. "Master Ranir, what do you mean by complications? Will you be able to heal her? Will she live? Will she be okay? I will stay by her until she is better, I assure you. It's my honorable duty as a knight to see a quest through until its end."
 
"Dragon claws are meant to kill other dragons. They are sharp and slice skin in a way that is difficult to heal. Dear Miss Hale has sustained more than a few of these slashes. It will take more time than anticipated to heal her." His tone suggests that he didn't believe her to be alive at all, but he implies nothing. He turns, still grinning ever so slightly, to face Arean as they pause for a moment. "I'm so pleased you can stay. It is under some unfortunate circumstances, but you have done what no one has in centuries. You killed a dragon." He doesn't seem to care about Zaira's participation in the matter. "You have free reign of my home, outside of my own space, of course." They pick up their step again, meandering down a hall with only a few doors on one side and imposing statues of frightening creatures on the other. A dragon's decapitated head is carved out of obsidian while a griffin with a broken wing is fashioned from a white crystal. The doors are made of heavy oak wood with intricate steel patterns on the outside. The entire hall holds a dismal note in the air. Certainly not a place to wake up to and feel happy.

A pair of young girls in matching appear out of seemingly nowhere beside Ranir, but he only smiles at them. "Raisa, Niah, prepare one of these rooms for Master Ibanell. He'll be staying for some time, and we want him to be as comfortable as possible." Both girls dip their heads and stare up at Arean with blue eyes. They are empty, as if there are few thoughts floating around in their head. Ranir glances back at Arean. "One more thing... I'm afraid you won't be able to see our dear Zaira while she's healing. My mages need all the concentration possible, and, well... Love tends to get in the way of things and cause issues." Ranir doesn't bother to deign Arean with an answer or even another word as he simply walks away, leaving the knight with Raisa and Niah to care for him. They push open one of the nearby doors, ushering Arean in without a single peep out of their mouths. The room is covered in dark colored tapestries depicting wars. Magic is threaded as gold and white, positive and bright colors. Deep red, satin curtains cover the window looking over the wall. Still, the view is poor, for it only spies the sparse trees with few leaves. The bed is soft to the touch and has several downy blankets folded on the mattress. It's clear that Ranir wasted no effort in putting the most into the rooms. And yet, for all the posh decorations and lavish space, the very air feels dead and the open areas gape like they could swallow a person whole. The entire castle feels like a trap.

And the trapped feeling continues for eight days.

Zaira awakes with a start, flinging herself upright with a gasp. Morning sunlight makes her bed glow golden, but she only looks around with a wild, wide-eyed stare. She doesn't know how she got into the bed. In fact, she realizes she cannot remember anything from the point of her collapse outside of the dragon's cave. The second thing she notices is that her wounds are healed and that she's been stripped of her clothes. Her side and arm, where the dragon slashed her, now have long, horizontal scars of black. Light brown bruises still dot her other arm as well as one cheek. Her hair isn't matted with blood but is put into a light braid. She tears the leather strip from her locks and ties the brown mass into a ponytail. The last thing she notices is that Arean is nowhere to be found.

The doorknob shifts and Zaira gathers the blanket up to obscure her nakedness, but only a strange girl enters the room. She jumps as she notices the very awake and very unhappy huntress. "Where are my clothes?" Zaira demands. The girl cows under her glare and sets aside her tray of water and soup.

"I... I don't know, madam." She unfolds a black mass of fabric to reveal a dress, and as she hands it to Zaira, the huntress slams it down onto the bed with an audible thump.

"Don't madam me. I don't want to wear a dress. You will find me my old clothes." The girl becomes fearful, but she stays where she is. "Where is Arean?"

"I-I don't know who you're talking about... If you dress yourself and stand, I can look for you." Zaira scoffs, but she stands. The girl helps her into the dress while managing to keep her eyes away from Zaira's naked frame. As she pulls the laces tight, Zaira finds the dress without sleeves. The skirt of the dress has a terribly immodest slit that shows off one leg each time she steps. The cut in the neck is ill-fit for doing anything other than making men's jaws drop. A dress fit for a whore, she thinks, grumbling at the entire thing. As she feels the last lace fall away, she whips around to stare the girl in the face.

"The knight that brought me here. Arean Ibanell. Tall man, blonde hair." Zaira crosses her arms, watching as the girl stammers for an answer.

"I don't know anyone by that name!" she manages to spit out. "I haven't seen anyone like that, I swear! Please don't hurt me...." She cowers and Zaira turns away. She stalks with bare feet to the door, grabs the cup of water, drains it in a single gulp, and slams it back down before she storms out of the door, hell-bent on finding Arean on her own. However, she soon realizes that she has no idea where she is and has yet to find out how she got there. Her quick pace slows and she forces herself to come to a stop, taking a deep breath. She looks down at her left hand, finding the four points burned into her palm still. She knows now that her wounds haven't been cured by natural means. And that only means one thing to her.

"...Stupid mages."
 
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Each day that Arean sits around and waits for Zaria to be healed and well, the more depressed he becomes. A knight is used to siting around and waiting for orders, or for a war if they're very lucky. But here, in this place, there is no comfort like the old memories he knows. A castle should be welcoming, clean, and full of bustling life. This one, however, is simply a shell for Ranir to live in. His servants, Arean finds out the first day, are all quite dull, if they speak at all. Their answers are but strings of Ranir's doing. He feels each magical touch, stare, and voice. These servants, if he can call them that, are as good as dead in the knight's eyes. There is no point in speaking to them, so he wonders around the castle trying to find some sort of enjoyment that he can hold onto.

But it's hard to do so when his mind constantly flickers back to Zaria in her weak stage. The last time he saw her, she fell to her knees by his side, grasping at his armor in order to keep herself stable. She is such a strong woman, enduring the fate of her family her whole life, as he has done. But mages did not kill his family, flames did, the very same ones that haunt Zaria's dreams. Or at least did the last time she spoke of them that one night in the comfortable tavern room. There were people to talk to there and stories to listen to. Here, however, Arean hardly smiles, his worry and suspicion of this place and its tall walls keeping him on his toes.

Or at least he thought so until he started to hear a whisper in his dreams. The day he held the cube in his hand, he heard it too. A soothing, trusting voice that only speaks the truth. Arean lets it settle into his dreams and make up the fabric of them after the third day. The woman's voice, talking in monotone, happens to be quite soothing as the nights grow longer in his dreams. She shows him what she believes to be the future. He would be respected by every woman, man, and child because he would assure their safety under his newfound kingdom. Arean never wanted to be a King but when he sees the adorned walls of his own castle, the memory seems so sweet in comparison to where he is now. Soon, he is longing to unite the scattered villages and make peace among rivals.

But he can't do this without someone's help, the cube tells him on the night of the seventh day. In his minds eye, he is sitting on a throne that had been carved by one of the finest of his trade. The entire structure tells the story of how Arean Ibanell, knight of the world, single handedly defeated a dragon and uncovered the greatest power that this world had ever seen. He would never have to fight for money in a pit of uncovered earth. If anything, people would do it for his enjoyment. Then a figure starts to walk towards him as he sits and sharpens his sword. There is a woman's voice but her build is stronger, her voice having a purpose that only Arean can understand. It's Zaria who has come back from her time away healing and she sits next to him on a throne of her own, her fingers lacing through his as she sits.

Do you want this future? The voice of the cube asks, because all you need to do is follow the sounds of the night and they will lead you to her. Go to her and find your destinies intertwined forever. Arean's eyes open and, without even thinking, he pushes the bed sheets off his body and makes his way towards the door with only some cloth pants on his body. No sword, no armor, just flesh and cloth. "I will follow," he whispers. The voice has not wronged him for he hears a small, faint, whisper as the wind picks up outside the castle walls. It howls and Arean pursues it, his mind only thinking of reuniting with Zaria after this long, painful, week. Being away from her has never been so hard, his word to Ranir causing him to resist the urges to find her, hug her, and kiss her. She needed to mend and he had to let her do just that. Love, as Ranir told him before, would only make things more complicated.
 
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