Prologue

The Thirteenth Black Shield

Vampire.

What meaning does the word hold? A ferocious creature of the night, or a being trapped inside their own body? Something to be feared or pitied? Or envied, perhaps. Humans or animals?

What about a king?

There was once a king named Dreizehn Schwarzschild, and he was a vampire. It was not always this way, though: the man’s decision to transform was his own, born from the need to save the people of his kingdom, Marthiel, from the warring countries surrounding him. However, the choice brought him a lot of pain, and was one that he would come to regret.

Agonised by the changes in his body, as well as his reluctance to descend into the dark realms of vampirism, Dreizehn sought out the ones he trusted to join him: subordinates, friends and his own personal servant, Rüstung-Kranz. The years passed, and they were tested – in the end, it was only Kranz and four others who remained by the king’s side. The land was divided into regions, and each loyal follower given an area to govern: Rafaga of the Wind in the south-west, Kircheis of Water in the north-west, Carbuncle of Fire in the north-east and Wilderness of the Earth in the south-east. They were his knights, the ever-faithful Guardians. From here, the kingdom of Marthiel was a peaceful place, and time went on.

The peace was not enough to reach the king himself, however, and as the years, decades and centuries dragged on, he began to detest himself and his demonic nature. What had he become? Was the price for tranquillity so high that he was willing to continue living in the darkness? Not even the love of his bride, Rosalie, could prevent him from driving himself to commit the final act.

Consumed by hate and the need to purge the world of his existence, Dreizehn basked in the rays of the rising sun, an act which would’ve surely reduced him to ash. As he lay, however, an image of Rosalie and his unborn child flashed through his mind; it was at that moment that he took his sword and pierced his heart, trapping his soul inside whilst his body was destroyed.

The reign of kings had ended.

Schwarzschild was no more.

To this day, it is still unknown as to where the sword is located; some say it is contained inside the king’s former castle, whereas others claim it is buried in the Grey Marshes of the Earth Region. Attempts to find it have returned nothing. The story has become a century-old legend, twisted over the years by those wishing to protect the ears of their children from tales of such monsters. Because, after all, one thing is certain: vampires are hated creatures amongst the people of Marthiel, who aim to eradicate their existence. Even the Guardians, the figures formerly holding the most power, have been forced to lie about their nature in order to escape from the governing influences.

Oh, but they exist: they walk the night, feeding off the blood of those foolish enough to step outside after dusk, holding an unseen dominance over the moonlit hours. No doubt they will forever continue to do so, as long as there is a world and those to inhabit it.

There is one, however, who was born to preside over the vampires, as his father did before him.

The son of a king, the one foretold in his mother’s final prayer to mend the broken country of Marthiel and finally bring the monarchy back to its rightful throne.

Justice.

2: Chapter I: Mistake

Chapter I

Mistake

It was the beginning of a fresh night, and a single figure stood in the darkness to welcome it. One might even believe him to be part of the furniture, were it not for the person who suddenly approached him from across the hall. The footsteps were hurried against the stone floor, and interrupted the silence that had been accumulating for so long.

“Your Highness.” The second figure stopped a few feet short of the first and gave a small, respectful bow.

It was a few moments before the man was able to tear his eyes away from the scene in front of him and face the other.

“Kranz,” he said quietly, “What’s wrong?”

The second man, Rüstung-Kranz, tried hard to compose himself in front of his superior – it was obvious he’d been heavily concerned about something. “Your Highness, I’ve just heard from the servants that you were spotted outside this morning. They said… They said that you’d stepped into the sun…”

---

Three harsh knocks sounded against the door.

The man sitting at his table paused what he was doing and looked up. Within a few seconds, the house was shaken again by the noise of an impatient fist against wood. He sighed moodily, stood up and reluctantly walked across the room, opening the door to reveal a lone figure.
“Judas.”
“Justice.”
The simple exchange of names was enough for an introduction, though none was necessary; this wasn’t the first time the two had met, and despite the face that ‘acquaintances’ was probably too strong a word to describe their relationship, a shaking of hands, or any kind of formality at that, was out of the question.

Judas spoke. “May I come in?”

“If you wish.”

He smiled pleasantly and moved past the man in the doorway. Once inside, he swept his eyes over the furniture and, deciding that there was no obvious threat, took a seat at the table. He was dressed quite differently to the house’s owner, wearing a set of light armour and uniform that showed his roots outside of this land; his hair was brown and skin slightly darker, tanned by the sun.

The other, of a much fairer shade, lingered for a moment before closing the door and replacing himself in his chair opposite Judas.

“Look, I’m going to get straight down to the problem. You know why I’m here, don’t you?”

The reply was low, almost a mumble. “I have my ideas.”

“Hmm, yes.” Judas smirked and slid back in his chair so that he was slumping.

Justice simply stared at him, cold and unmoving. He was a tall man, though that wasn’t to say he was overly-built. His fingers were slim and his face long, with a shapely, set mouth and shoulder-length black hair streaked with white. Unarguably, this was his most striking feature, and something that he’d had from birth.

Judas, his opposite, eyed him from across the table, a grin lifting his features. “You see, I visited you today specifically so I could talk with you face-to-face about something – how do I put it – rather delicate… A legendary object, an artefact, as you may care to call it: the Schwarzschild Sword.”

Justice curled his fingers into a fist under the table, but then unclenched again. “What about it?”

Chuckling, the brown-haired man held up one hand in an open gesture. “What, indeed! I heard you have obtained a lead as to where it is hidden…”

“And you’ve come here to interrogate me.” His sentence was finished for him.

The space between the two men seemed almost electric with the intensity of the moment, only to be broken by the voice of the darker-skinned man.

“Quite the opposite, in fact – no, I’m here to propose a truce.”

Justice raised an eyebrow. “A truce?”

“Yes,” Judas continued. “Give up any information you hold about the Schwarzschild Sword and discontinue your search for it.”

The black-haired man paused before answering.

“Though I have no idea as to how you know that, Judas, I can tell you that you are correct: I have, indeed, managed to pick up a small piece of information regarding the whereabouts of the sword.” He frowned. “However, it is not at all in my interests to give it up to you. If you really want to know, I plan to raise a small army and recover it.” The final sentence was added to taunt the other.

“An army?” Judas mused. “Are you talking about the Guardians? Do they really think they’d listen to someone like you? That’s ridiculous – perhaps I’d laugh if my sense of humour hadn’t been dried by the rejection of my offer.”

Justice merely sat, glowering at the man in front of him. His left hand was resting still upon the table, the urge to reach out and swipe the face of the person in front of him almost too overpowering to bear.

“It just seems like such a shame… I was going to give you my daughter, Netta, as a peace offering.”

“I don’t want your daughter,” he scowled, disgusted.

“No? Well, it’s not as if I understand how your type lives its life, anyway.” A slight smirk pulled at Judas’ lips. “After all, you wouldn’t want that to get out, would you…?”

All of a sudden, Justice made a lunge towards the man in front of him, baring his teeth in fury. His hand flew from the table, but something slammed into it from above, pinning it to the wood again.

Justice froze and stared down at the dagger point wedged between the base of his thumb and second knuckle; his face twisted with silent pain, though no sound came out.

Slowly, obediently, he sat down, gasping at the agony that scalded his hand. Beneath it, a pool of warm, red liquid was beginning to expand across the table.

Judas’ face was a picture of triumph and satisfaction. “You’re slow, my friend. Tell me – have the years taken a toll on you, or are you just tired?”

The black-haired man was just as shocked – how had he not seen that coming? Normally, sensing someone’s movements was within his normal abilities, but now he felt at a loss. Perhaps he’d let himself be blinded by Judas’ threat long enough to leave himself open for an attack.

“If you tell anyone… I’ll find you and tear you open,” Justice managed to snarl amid the pain.

“Such a shallow threat, but no, I’m not going to betray your trust. After all, I’m your friend, aren’t I?”

The silence returned for a few minutes, only to be broken by the sound of wood scraping against stone as Judas pushed his chair out and stood up.

“Well, I suppose there’s no use trying to dissuade you, and I’m in no mood to try and force an answer, so I’ll just have to leave you here.”

Without paying a further regard towards the other, the man with brown hair walked across the small space of the room, opened the door and stepped outside. However, before closing it, he turned round and faced inwards from the doorway.

“Just to let you know, that sword is mine, and I will find it. If you try to hinder or oppose me in any way, I shall make you suffer in ways… Unimaginable.” Then he nodded his head in a mark of mock respect. “Until we meet again.”

The door closed with a click, yet Justice remained still through the sound of two or three horses rearing into motion; only when their footsteps had died away did he dare to breathe out again.

The visit had been abrupt, though it was one he’d been expecting for a while now. Of course Judas would be in pursuit of the Schwarzschild Sword; it was a legend told all over Marthiel, so the fact that it had spread to other lands was hardly a surprise. He’d always been power-hungry, trying to expand his territory for decades, but this was a step too far. The anger boiling inside Justice was making his head spin – how dare he! The sword was a part of his family, and though its location was unbeknownst to him, he was sworn to track it down and recover it.

Carefully, he wrapped his free hand around the handle of the dagger and pulled, but it was lodged too far between the knots of the wood. His fingers were shaking as he took a second approach, gently moving the knife back and forth in a sawing motion as he extracted it; the process was agonising, though finally, it came loose with a jerk.

Justice thrust the dagger to the side and, gritting his teeth, held up his bloodied hand. Already the flesh had begun to heal over, and the pain was fading with each passing second; within no time at all, it seemed, the wound was gone, as if his flesh were wax being melted with a flame. Only blood and a dull throb remained.

Judas had threatened to tell people what he was, but he wouldn’t let him. If anyone discovered his true nature, then his life here would be over: there would be an uproar, and he would surely be hunted down and killed.

That was why no-one could find out.

He was a creature of the night, a being that lived off the blood of others – a vampire, as the books labelled him. Forty-seven years into his life, he still held the appearance of a twenty-five year-old, and whilst those around him aged with the passing decades, he remained frozen in time, like a broken clock.

For the first time that day, Justice felt a smile pulling at his lips. Despite his anger, he was, in a way, glad for the man’s visit. He’d been loosely wandering for so long, trying to find that one object, but now a timer had been placed on his pursuit. He’d gained an opponent…

He smirked. So it was a race Judas wanted, was it? Well, in that case, Justice was all but obliged to accept.

3: Chapter II: Living in the Dark

Chapter II

Living in the Dark

That’s correct,” the man answered. Night had almost completely settled now; the warmth of the day had all but disappeared, leaving the room’s walls cold and icy as its denizens. Even in the low light, it wasn’t difficult to spot the dark, raw mark that stained the area below his right eye, as though he had been scalded with boiling water. A curtain of sleek black hair half-hid it, but Rüstung-Kranz was no fool.

“We are creatures of darkness,” came the collected voice of the first man. “Our existence is to hunger over what we cannot touch, yet we are constantly running from the light.” He sighed quietly. “It’s such a sorrowful, meaningless concept…”

Kranz was speechless, unable to form a reply to the words of his superior.

---

Rockwood was a small town, so named because of the pebbles that lined the edges of a river making up the boundary between the village and the forest on the other side. With a population of just under five hundred, it was far from being a renowned market place, although it did serve as a trading spot for local farmers and blacksmiths to sell their goods, whilst those from surrounding hamlets and settlements would come to buy any amenities they needed. It was a profitable cycle, and one that had worked for years. Upon entering the village, Justice was greeted by the familiar smell of crushed apples, something which defined Rockwood; lining the path were trees, though the season was ending, and the remaining fruit was beginning to ferment on the branches, making the odour particularly strong.

As he continued into the village, the man began to come across others, who silently regarded or just ignored him. The sun was warm against the skin of his face and hands, but it was failing as it set – in less than an hour, it would be dark. He sped up his pace a little in an attempt to reach the centre of town as fast as possible.

It wasn’t long after he passed the first house that Justice arrived at a square. In actuality, it was more of a rounded area around a fountain, a primitive structure in the shape of a tree that spouted a continuous stream of water, which was in turn caught in a pool at the bottom. The whole place was a depression in the ground, marking out an almost perfect circle, and lining the edge stood stalls selling various items: groceries, meat, fish, a single vendor supplying jewellery and, of course, Rockwood’s homemade apple juice – there were seven open in all. A lot of their owners were preparing to leave as the day ended, whereas others had departed altogether, leaving behind empty stands.

“Justice!” one of the sellers exclaimed as the man approached.

Justice nodded his head in greeting and peered over the goods spread out in front of him; there wasn’t a huge selection – the supply had obviously been depleted by customers throughout the day – though there was enough for what he needed.

“How much are the potatoes?” he asked.

The vendor replied, “Potatoes? Oh, it’s too late to be dealin’ with figures – why don’t you just gimme five for what I’ve got?”

Justice nodded again and forced a friendly smile as the man took the woven basket from his hands and began to fill it with vegetables.

“Say, you haven’t been around this area recently, have you?”

The black-haired man gave him a questioning look. “You know I come each week – why?”

“Well…” The vendor glanced to his left quickly and then returned his eyes to what he was doing. He was a small, unshaven man with hard hands and thick greying eyebrows, the kind of person that appeared to be on familiar terms with everyone he met. “I’m not really s’posed to tell you this, but we’ve been havin’ some trouble here in the village.”

“Trouble?”

“Yes.” He spoke in a hushed voice, evidently for the purpose of gathering as little attention as possible. “There’ve been some attacks this past week. Y’know the blacksmith’s son, Heckborn? They found him and his wife in their house the other morning, stone cold. Seems someone broke in an’ killed ‘em in their sleep.”

Justice raised an eyebrow. “That’s awful. Does anyone have an idea who the murderer might be?”

“Yes, awful…” the vendor muttered. “An’ what’s worse is that the wife was expectin’ in the spring.”

“How terrible.” He pulled a small money bag from his pocket, tipped the contents into his hand and began to count through the coins. Heckborn was a name he’d heard around the town, mainly due to his father’s position as the local blacksmith. It seemed like such a shame, given that Rockwood was one of the smallest, most friendly communities he’d come across.

Once he’d found the right amount, he reached over and dropped the coins into the seller’s outstretched hand. The man quickly scanned them and, happy with what he saw, passed over the basket of food.

“Say, you don’t happen to know anythin’ about the matter, do you, Justice? I mean, nothin’ like this’s happened near you, has it?”
The young man stared at him for a moment, his eye cutting an icy line to the point where it met with the others’. Then all of a sudden, he glanced away.

“Of course not, Sir – I’m sure it’s nothing to worry yourself about.”

*

The sound of hard-soled boots against the dirt was a constant rhythm breaking up the silence as Justice made his way along the path; his pace wasn’t hurried, yet it wasn’t slow either, as if he were anxious, but not desperate, to reach home as fast as possible. In his hands he clutched a full basket of food, and his eyes remained fixed to the trail in front of him.

The day was drawing to a close, and all around him the sun’s dying light filled the valley. Marthiel was a varied country in the way of relief, with large plains of near-derelict land filling up the space between ranges of mountains whipped up like peaks of cream. Only some farmers possessed the skill, not to mention luck, of growing crops and keeping animals on the dry, flat land – the most fertile soil lay at the base of the mountains, where the majority of the region’s administrative settlements were situated. Consequently, the plains of Marthiel were a lonely place, home to only a few select villages and hamlets, whose inhabitants were able to withstand the simmering summer heat that became trapped in the valley, as well as the sudden transition to relentless cold in the winter.

The journey was tedious, but Justice knew it was nearing its end – within ten minutes, he would be back in the comfort of his own home. Slowly, his eyes began to wander downwards, to the mud-stained vegetables in the basket and his hands, grasping the sides. However, something felt wrong about the sight in front of him. He paused in his steps for a moment, laid the food on the ground and raised his left hand into the air so he could carefully examine it. The skin was warm and looked as though it had come into contact with a hot iron.

It took no time at all for Justice to realise what was going on. A mixture of terror and alarm overtook the man whose nature was usually so calm, and almost immediately he leapt into a sprint along the path, leaving his basket behind. Surely the mixture was supposed to last longer than this? Already, he could feel his face heating up – if he didn’t find some kind of shelter soon, then… He turned his mind away from that and put every ounce of energy in his body into moving forward as fast as he possibly could.

At last, a small cluster of houses came into sight, though there was no slowing of pace – if anything, he sped up. His entire body was agony: not only did the backs of his hands and left cheek feel as if they had been splashed with boiling water, but the pain had spread to the other parts of him as well, and now his legs, arms and back were burning too. As soon as he neared his own home, he raced towards it and, giving no regard as to whether anyone was watching him, threw himself at the door. The lock, rusty and weak, gave way beneath his weight and he fell inside.

The moment he made contact with the wooden floor, Justice dragged himself backwards a few feet, hooked his boot round the edge of the door and slammed it shut, allowing darkness to flood the room.

A shallow, pained breathing was the only sound that could be heard; wincing, Justice tipped his head back and tried to move his body, but even the process of moving the air in and out of his lungs was torturous.

As a vampire, he was capable of healing almost any injury at an accelerated rate, from simple flesh wounds to breakages, yet there was one thing that harmed his kind more than anything, and that was raw sunlight. Whilst a minor laceration would take less than a minute to close up, it would be hours, maybe even days, before he came even close to recovering from this degree of burning.

The darkness was like cold water, soothing his scalded skin with smooth fingers. Still panting, he glanced over at the table, where a selection of small bottles held a colourless liquid. The substance was supposed to absorb the sunlight as it made contact with his skin, and the effects typically lasted between two and three hours, so why had they been cut short after a mere sixty minutes outside? Justice could only conclude that he’d miscalculated something… He was exhausted, and had barely slept over the past few days, so taking the wrong dosage by mistake wasn’t out of the question. Even so, it was frightening to think that he could make such a crucial mistake, one that would’ve most definitely cost him his life had he not been so close to home.

Holding that in mind, he closed his eyes and allowed himself to drift into the surrounding blackness.

*

Three hours later, a fire was fully blazing in the hearth, and Justice was crouched in front of it. He hadn’t moved for ten minutes, and easily resembled a stone figure more than a man. Upon waking, it had come as a relief for him to see that his burns had faded by a considerable amount, with only small traces of raw pink clinging to the backs of his hands and certain areas of his face – if he was lucky, it may just have completely reverted back to its original pale hue come morning.

His eyes were fixed upon the flames, watching as they ran their tongues over the logs and remains of kindling he’d placed for them; fire was always something that had fascinated him, mainly due to the fact that it was so unpredictable. Who knew what direction it would take, where it would spread to and when one of the pieces of wood would suddenly collapse in a burst of embers, having been devoured from the inside by the heat? He could spend wasted hours simply staring at it, and here in this house, where nothing moved apart from the shadow of the sundial outside his window, he certainly had the time to.

By his side sat a small selection of foodstuffs, namely a rabbit, carrots and a cabbage, whose leaves had wilted and retracted slightly after a week of sitting on a shelf. Slowly, he picked up the rabbits by its ears and looked it over. It seemed like such a waste of an animal, but what else was there for him to do in his position? Its body landed on the bed of wood, and the flames, eager to try out this new territory, took less than seconds to envelop it. Following it were leaves of cabbage, which Justice tore off one by one and threw carelessly into the fire. As he did this, he couldn’t help but remember the small conversation he’d had with the vendor earlier that day.

Heckborn… So he was finally able to put a name to the face. As much as he hated it, he had to make such journeys in order to survive. They were irregular, usually unplanned, and although the idea of stealing lives unsettled him, there was a certain thrill about the concept of taking blood that overrode any feelings of doubt. In the first moment, the only thing to do was allow oneself to be swallowed up in the unrivalled sensation that came with drinking; the guilt came later, yet there was no holding back after that first drop.

Justice frowned. He knew that there were those in the world who couldn’t keep control and would gorge themselves like ticks: they were usually the ones who were found out, hunted down and killed. As for him, he was more than capable of keeping his desires locked away, though that wasn’t to say he was never thirsting. The need for blood was a constant burn at the back of his throat, an ever-present and insatiable hunger that, as long as he lived, he understood he would never be able to escape from. People would continue to lose their lives for his sake.

Eyes once holding a rusty brown colour now flashed a vivid red that was intensified by the reflection of the flames: eyes that carried an eager lusting for blood.

There was no point in lying to himself – that time was nearing again.

4: Chapter III: Midnight Tea Party

Chapter III

Midnight Tea Party

There was a pause before the man with black hair spoke again. “I’m fed up with living this life of shadows – if it was not for the years spent amongst my people and watching them thrive, then it is possible that I would have already given up.”

“But, Your Highness!” Rüstung-Kranz cut in. “You are the reason this kingdom has thrived so much over the past two hundred years. To abandon those who call you their leader is—”

“I did not come here to be lectured by you, Kranz!” the man snapped back. He seldom raised his voice, so the sudden outburst was a surprise for both of them. However, he quickly apologised with a sigh and drew out a section of thick black with his hand.

“The people of my kingdom can manage without me.”

The line was final, a decision made. Kranz simply stood – he was in no position to argue. After all, his master’s choice was his own, and he was obliged to support him with each one he made, even if that decision were the one to end his life.

“I leave the future of this country to you, my subordinate, as well as the four Guardians,” he continued. It was evident that he had paid the matter a great deal of thought, yet it all seemed far too sudden for Kranz to comprehend. As for his decision to pass the authority onto the Guardians… It was ridiculous. Having said that, however, Kranz had been serving the man for countless years; he could understand his wish to pass responsibility onto him, even if it were to be shared amongst others. If one were not aware of the difference in status as servant and master, then it would’ve been all too easy to mistake them as friends, or even brothers, save for their contrasting appearances, of course.

All of a sudden, the man took a step back and looked down at Kranz, a melancholic expression dominating what could be seen of his face in the darkness.

“Where is Rosalie?”

The other drew himself reluctantly from his thoughts to answer the question. “She’s here in the castle, Your Majesty.”

“Thank you.” There was a moment of silence before he spoke again. “I think… I think I would like to spend one last evening with her.”

Rüstung-Kranz nodded and moved to the side to allow his master to pass by. Despite the negligible lighting in the room, he was able to sense a newfound determination amid the hopelessness, a last spark of purpose before the inevitable came to pass.

Gathering his shroud around his shoulders, Dreizehn Schwarzschild, the King of Marthiel, began to walk.

---

Rias Carter.

The man’s eyes drifted over the etching of his own name imprinted upon the rim of the wine glass in his hand. Despite its simplicity, he couldn’t help but feel a little pride at the sight: after all, having one’s name printed on their possessions was a privilege afforded only to those of considerable status, and as Lord of the Winrath state, he deemed himself more than deserving of such a thing.

Rias was not the type of person who, upon first sight, one would have thought to be a lord, or someone holding any kind of power at that: he was a small, middle-aged man with retreating cropped hair and worn fingers. By the door stood his butler, an almost permanent smirk dominating his features, as if he were still savouring the after-effects of a joke.

“When is our guest to be arriving?”

The butler glanced down at a pocket watch in his white gloved hand.

“Within the minute, Your Lordship.”

Rias drummed his fingers upon the table impatiently, but was promptly met with the sound of hushed mutterings as the man behind him welcomed someone into the room. Smiling silently to himself, he straightened in his chair and turned his eyes towards the new figure, who was being ushered into his seat by the butler.

He was small, almost woman-like in appearance, his clothes garnished with intricate designs and ornaments in a lush red colour. It was not difficult to tell that he regarded himself very highly from the manner in which he moved; the long blinks of his heavily-lashed eyes, which seemed almost too large to look natural in his small face; and the way he stared at everything around him with an air of disgust, as if the fine furnishings were but refuse in comparison to the standard he was accustomed to.

“Sir Carbuncle…” Rias paused and motioned with his right hand. “Is there not a surname or title that I can call you by?”

The other man, now sitting at the head of the table, as indicated by the butler, replied, “No, that is my only name.”

“Oh. Well in that case, Sir Carbuncle, may I welcome you to my manor. Of course, I’m sure you appreciate that I am very fond of those who are prompt.”

“Well, it would’ve been impolite to arrive late, so I always make a point to arrive exactly at the requested time.” The man, Carbuncle, turned his eyes away in a gesture that suggested he was already bored with the other, and his words were for the sole purpose of his entertainment.

Rias, a little taken aback by his lack of energy, said nothing for a moment and simply let the silence fester. It was quite astonishing to see the difference in appearance between the two of them, both of whom held such quantities of power. He eyed with intrigue the man who looked as though he had sprung from a book of myths and legends, ran his eyes over his red hair, topped with tight circlets of braids on one side that gave him a look resembling that of a little girl. In fact, Rias felt as though he were gazing upon a child – the realisation was almost enough to make him laugh out loud.

“Does something amuse you?” Carbuncle asked sceptically.

The man shook his head and leaned back in his chair. The butler, having resumed his position by the door, seemed highly entertained by all of this, and his permanent smirk appeared to grow deeper by the second.

“If there’s anything I can bring for you, please don’t hesitate to ask me,” Rias said.

“I was quite hoping we could move onto the issue at hand, actually.”

For a moment, Rias seemed a little disorientated, yet it only took him a moment or two to gather his thoughts. “Ah, yes… Of course. I am sure you are aware that the purpose of my summoning you is the small piece of overlapping land that lies just east to the state of Northtide.”

The red-headed man raised an eyebrow, but brought forth no words.

“The land of Marthiel is divided two ways: there are the four regions of Fire, Water, Earth and Wind, and then the nine political states. As leader of the Fire Region, I am sure you need no reminder as to how the power is divided.”
“The lords of each state run the country and set the laws,” Carbuncle said. “We Guardians are but obstacles – celebrities, as you may call us. Our power is meaningless in your eyes.”

Slowly, Rias nodded. “Winrath is one of only two states that lies in more than one region… You do understand my preposition, do you not?”

Carbuncle moved his hand and wrapped a strand of hair round one of his fingers, though his face remained hard and non-revealing. “Indeed I do, though one thing that I fail to see is why having a small portion of your state in my land is an issue. I, along with the three others, have been looking over this country for almost two centuries now, yet this is the first time someone has requested that I give up my land.” He narrowed his eyes a little. “May I ask why it is so important to you that I retract my territory, and how you plan to benefit from it if I do so?”

His eyes cut into Rias like two blades, so that he had to look elsewhere. “I have already contacted Kircheis, who agrees to take over the land as part of the Water Region. The deal has been set, and now it is only you who must give your consent.”

“You’re a bad liar – your pulse races when you aren’t telling the truth.”
For the first time, a smile passed over Carbuncle’s lips, though it was brief, and promptly faded into a blank expression once again.

The other man, shocked at this remark, became rigid in his seat. Unsure of how to reply, he turned to his butler. “W-would you mind pouring Sir Carbuncle a drink?”

The figure by the doorway bowed once and started towards a cabinet pushed against the edge of the room, where he removed a dark bottle from a collection of many; he then brought it to the red-haired man’s seat and displayed the label in his hands for approval. The Guardian regarded it with a slight nod and allowed himself to be poured a full glass.

“Lord Carter, unless you are able to discover a means of physically forcing me to accept your terms, or otherwise find a way of justifying yourself so that I am willing to do so of my own accord, then I am going to have to refuse them. The regions and their borderlines have stood in such a way for centuries, since the days of King Dreizehn Schwarzschild, and I am not prepared to alter the geographical divisions for your sake, or Kircheis' at that, particularly when I cannot see what benefit it would bring to either of you.”
Once Rias’ cup had been filled, he placed his fingers around the thin neck and ran the tips up and down it anxiously. “Of course, Sir. I apologise for my insolence in asking.” Defeated, he seized the base of the glass in his hand and lifted it from the table. “Can we drink to your decision?”

“If you wish.” Carbuncle mirrored his actions, tilting his goblet towards the other in a mark of respect before both men raised them to their lips; however, it was only one who drank.

Over the top of his glass, Rias watched as his guest downed the liquid, eyed the movement of his throat with each mouthful he took; within the space of a few seconds, the cup had been emptied.

The want to jump from his chair and laugh was almost overpowering, but there was a certain delicacy to the moment, a satisfaction that he would no doubt savour as long as he looked back upon this scene. It wouldn’t be long now: the poison was a fast-acting one that froze the muscles and caused extensive periods of paralysis – the man had seconds to move, if that.

Carbuncle blinked lethargically and stared into the glass with a somewhat disappointed look upon his face, then stood up and bowed towards the other.

“Thank you for having me here at your home, and I apologize for the short duration of my visit, but there are other matters that require my attention,” he said, and began his walk towards the door.

Each of his steps was closely observed by Rias, who was waiting with bated breath for the moment when they would falter and his body would come crashing down onto the ground, yet nothing happened. He was filled with confusion – had he selected the correct bottle? This wasn’t his first time using the poison, and from experience he knew that its effects were almost instantaneous.

So why was the man still moving?

All of a sudden, something took a hold of his hair and pulled him back with such vigorousness it almost knocked him from his seat. He was too shocked to struggle or otherwise fight back, so instead let himself be held against the back of his chair, his head tilted back to face the ceiling.

“You put something in my drink,” came the deep growl of a voice.

“How did you…” The angle crushed his windpipe, making each word a strain.

The answer was little more than a mutter. “Your proposition was weak and riddled with holes: it wasn’t difficult to deduce that it was a mere ploy to invite me here and attempt to kill me – your faults lie in your method as much as your shoddy execution.”

Rias was alarmed – what was going on? Was Carbuncle in some way immune to the poison? Yet how could such a thing be possible?

The man was so wrapped up in his own thoughts and deductions that he barely noticed when a warm stream of wine splashed against his face. He thrust his head from side to side, but it was no use: the liquid was already in his nose, mouth and trickling down his airways, making him cough and splutter violently.

“Swallow it,” came the order. He was in no position to disobey.

Finally, the bottle ran dry, and the grip on Rias’ hair loosened, allowing him to slide forward; dripping, wincing, he fell over the table and waited for the inevitable effects to set into place. Of course the result was immediate, and a lot more painful than he’d anticipated, a hot twisting sensation in his joints tightening his body all over, making breathing a task in itself. It was agony of the worst kind, where he was unable to open his mouth and call out for relief.

Carbuncle turned his eyes away in disgust at the motionless figure in front of him that could’ve just as easily been a corpse.

“Do you think that you are the first who has tried to take my life?” he asked slowly. “None of your petty knives or poisons can make a mark upon my body. I'm actually quite insulted that you thought me so gullible to fall for such an unoriginal trick – surely someone of your intelligence would be able to employ a more inventive method of killing off their enemies.”

No words of reply came from the man, though whether that was due to the effects of the poison or his reluctance to reply Carbuncle didn't know. Already bored, he turned to leave; just before taking a step, however, he raised his hand and gently traced a nail from the figure's neck, along his spine and lower back, lifting when he reached the tail of his coat. Tides of flames began to form from the point of contact and rip across his body, as if the other's fingers were burning splints – within three heartbeats, the entirety of his back was ablaze.

“Sadly, I highly doubt we will ever meet again, Lord Carter.”

As the fire enveloped Rias, the man with red hair left the room, leaving only the smirking butler behind to muse at the silence.

5: Chapter IV: Good Evening, Shall We Dance?

Chapter IV

Good Evening, Shall We Dance?

The night was dry, having been deprived of the rain that was so common for this time of year, yet that was how Justice liked it: wet ground was a liability that masked scents, making tracking an almost impossible task. The grass, drained of moisture by the season’s winds, crackled slightly beneath his feet as he made his way along the side of the path.

There were horse tracks imprinted in the dirt, and though it was difficult for him to tell exactly, they seemed fresh, perhaps half an hour old at the most. He knew from his own travels that this track lead on for several more miles, which meant that, providing they remained at the same pace and didn’t stray from the path, there was a high probability that the horse and its owner were still within reach. Holding this fact in mind, Justice lowered his head and broke into a sprint.

It was far sooner than he’d anticipated when the first spot of light came into view. At first, it was a mere glow that his eyes strained to pick up, but as he neared, two figures became visible. One was, indeed, what looked like a man on a horse, whilst the other accompanied him on foot, bearing a lantern as he walked. The sight was not a rare one in Marthiel, where it was common practice for those of higher class to empty bodyguards when moving between towns or regions. However, it seemed a little obscure for the transfer to take place at such an hour – Justice could only deduce that the journey was of a lot of importance.

Unfortunately, though, neither would make their destination.

With a silence that came all but naturally to him, Justice stepped onto the path. The hunger in his throat, a deep yearning for blood, urged him to sprint through the last hundred metres or so and end it in seconds, but he’d learned over the years that stealth was the most effective hunting method; not only that, but his skin still stung where his clothes brushed against it, and so he found himself timing his movements very carefully in order to cause as little discomfort as possible.

They were so near now that Justice could have reached out and touched the hind legs of the horse. The circle of light cast by the lantern fell short, allowing him to remain hidden in the darkness, although a simple backwards turn of either head would’ve been more than enough for the men to notice something out of place.

Carefully, he pulled a small dagger from somewhere within his clothing and held it poised in his right hand; his fingers were taut around the metal, as if already anticipating the moment when it would plunge into warm flesh. Feelings of guilt conflicted a racing excitement that never failed to arise at times like this, and for a moment, he allowed himself to forget that what he was committing was murder – that thought was a mere droplet pushed to the bottom of a sea of torrid, snarling waters.

And then, he sprang.

---

The woman all in white sighed and closed her eyes, letting her body find a position over the banister where it was balanced in absolute equilibrium. Beneath her, the stairway bent twice and ended in a floor which appeared to be empty as of present. The silence surprised her. Despite the late hour, one could usually find servants passing through the corridors on night shifts, though it seemed that she was the only one in the room. However, she preferred it that way – quiet was something that she still valued after almost two years of living in a castle where loud noises were as rare as snowfall in summer.

It was hardly surprising, though: the vampires she lived with were slow, peaceful creatures, quite unlike the images conjured up by books and tales. No, the vampires she’d met had treated her like any courteous individual would, and in the time she’d spent here, her fear of the beings had subsided to a level where it was now normal for her to converse with them on a daily basis. They were, in fact, not much different from humans, aside from the minor changes in their eye colours that came and went depending on their moods, but that no longer fazed her.

Nevertheless, that wasn’t to say she was unaware of their personal lives, their business behind the formalities that serving under the king involved. A small part of her remained cautious and painfully aware that the majority of the people around here were murderers who killed on a regular basis.

It was a frightening fact, yet one she was increasingly coming to terms to.

All of a sudden, she was detached from her thoughts as something encircled her waist and pulled her upright. Her back met something warm, but instead of making an attempt to break away, she allowed herself to relax. The familiarity of the arms holding her, the soft material against her skin, calmed her mind and pushed anything unpleasant she had been feeling to a place where they could not be heard.

“I didn’t hear you coming,” she whispered with a smile.

There was silence for a few minutes before the figure brought forth words. “Tell me about your day.”

A soft laugh escaped the woman’s lips. “Why the sudden interest, Your Highness?”

There came no reply.

“Well, I began by taking a walk around the garden with one of the servants,” she started, unsure of where this was leading, “Then I returned and helped prepare lunch, and spent the remainder of the afternoon reading. It wasn’t anything too—”

Her words trailed off as one of the hands on her waist slowly slid down and spread over her hip.

“And then what?”

The woman shook her head, unable to reply. She knew it was rude to refuse the king an answer, though she doubted very much he was actually expecting one. It was rare that he paid any concern towards her personal life beyond the odd question; it wasn’t that he didn’t care for it – he’d always been unobtrusive in character, preferring to make himself known through actions as opposed to words. However, today he seemed to hold an almost forced curiosity, as if he were asking simply to break an unknown tension. Could it be that he was hiding something from her?

No, what was she thinking? Of course, as king, there would be countless things he’d keep to himself, and it was in no way to stretch her curiosity into such matters. Perhaps she would find out in the near future, but until that moment, she would remain quiet and try not to worry herself about it.

Gently, as he taking care not to injure her, Dreizehn spun her around and caught her lips with his own. The two of them fell into place: the woman wrapped her arms round her partner’s neck, whilst the man in turn held her waist with two hands and pulled her into him. They remained locked in silent embrace for a minute, until one was forced to pull away.

The woman’s eyes passed over the face in front, and for a moment she wondered whether she would’ve been able to create something more perfect had she planned it out herself: sky-black hair framed smooth pale skin, a sculpted mouth and dark-rimmed eyes that appeared to glow a dull crimson in the low light. She could only wonder why she, a plain and unarguably very average girl had been chosen by the king of Marthiel to be his bride. Over the past two years, she had grown to love him, and though he was never one to conventionally show it, she knew Dreizehn felt the same towards her.

“Rosalie…” He brushed a strand of pale brown hair from the woman’s face as he said her name, his right hand remaining firmly on the small of her back.

She smiled. “Yes?”

For a moment, Dreizehn’s mouth opened, as if he were going to say something, but he swiftly decided against it; instead, he answered her with another small kiss.

“Are you tired?” His thumb rubbed her cheek gently.

Rosalie shook her head, and, to her surprise, found she was telling the truth: despite the late hour and the lethargy she’d felt before her encounter with the king, she was now awake, and doubted she could’ve fallen asleep if she’d tried.

All of a sudden, the woman felt herself being lifted into the air. It took her a moment to realise that the man was holding her suspended in the air, her knees bent over his right arm and the top of her back supported by his left. At once, her heart set into a fast motion that pulsed through her whole body. Was Dreizehn able to sense it too? Surely he was painfully aware of every drop of blood encircling her veins, yet not once had he ever made any attempt to attack her. Perhaps it was the many years of his existence that had allowed him to build up his self-control, yet it still remained one of the many aspects of the king she admired and feared at the same time.

With a final glance around him, Dreizehn turned with his bride and began to make his way across the corridor, towards the stairs that lay waiting at the other end.

6: Chapter VI: He Who Bears the Crown

Chapter VI

He Who Bears the Crown

To his surprise, Justice first detected the sound of hooves a lot sooner than he'd originally anticipated; and by the time the horse came into sight, he'd already planned his approach down to the smallest of movements.

It was a beautiful animal with a well-groomed, woody brown coat and mane to match. Its pace had slowed to a gentle trot, though it was easy to tell it was on edge from the way its eyes were darting back and forth in its head.
Justice trod softly, keeping his footsteps in unison with the horse's as best he was able; then, once he was level with it, he slowly edged in a diagonal direction towards the track, a path which allowed him to avoid its powerful back legs.

The horse first noticed him a moment or so before he reached the track, and with a terrified whinny, it reared onto its back legs. At once, the man snatched the flailing reins from the air and clamoured up onto the saddle. However, the battle wasn't over yet: as if clinging to the last piece of desperation it held, the animal flicked its head back and forth violently, leaving Justice no option but to latch his arms around its neck and dig his fingernails in as hard as he could for grip.

It was a full minute before the animal finally fell still, by which time the man was almost crippled from the tension in his body. At first, he was reluctant to unfurl himself, but it seemed that the worst was over at last, which was something of a reassurance. When he was sitting upright, his hands took hold of the reins and pulled sharply, and to his surprise, the horse started forward without resistance.

He blinked, a little shocked at the animal's sudden compliance, but pleased nevertheless; for someone who had never ridden before, he was pleasantly surprised at how simple such a thing could be, and once he had positioned himself comfortably on the saddle, Justice's mind began to roll to other matters.

One thing his thoughts kept returning to was the man's words just before he'd died. I have to relay a message to Lord Fairslough, that's all… Whilst there was nothing out of the ordinary for the Guardians to arrange a meeting, why leave it so late? Surely there was some reason for it, some emergency that had to be attended to… Otherwise the simpler option would be to propose it months in advance. The whole situation struck him as odd.

The Guardians, occasionally referred to as the Four Knights (although that title was slipping from general use), had always held an underlying hand in the way Marthiel was governed, no matter how much the lords cared to deny it; even in present times, when almost every drop of power had been placed upon the state leaders, the four were regarded with the same respect one may treat a monarch.

Ironically, though, only a select few were aware of their true natures.

Justice smiled to himself. The world was so ignorant… For almost one thousand years now, the Guardians had held their positions as rulers of the regions, unmoving, unchanging and ageing not a single day. It would not have taken much to work out that the men were vampires, particularly in a land where the creatures were hunted down each and every day, but no: for centuries, they had allowed their followers to feed off the tale that they had received the gift of eternal youth from lifelong dedication to the god of vitality, Tairos. It was a convincing lie; and like all convincing liars, the Knights had subtle methods of supporting it.

Are you talking about the Guardians? Do you really think they'd listen to someone like you? That's ridiculous… Without warning, Judas' words leaked into Justice's head, making him grimace. Indeed, he had been considering the possibility of contacting them for a while now, and the rise of an opponent made him all the more determined to; what's more, he had managed to latch onto a rare opportunity, the chance to gain an audience all four Guardians at once.

In the end, however, it all depended on how much they were willing to believe in fairytales.

It was a legend spanning across almost two centuries of eager ears, the sword said to have belonged to the thirteenth and final king, Dreizehn Schwarzschild. Whilst most dismissed it as a mere story, Justice was adamant that it existed.

After all, it was a part of his family.

A sudden indentation in the track caused the horse to lose its footing and stumble briefly, which broke the man abruptly from his thoughts. Sighing sharply, he brushed a strand of dislodged hair from his eye and took a firmer hold of the reins.

Since the earliest days of his childhood, Justice had been made aware of his royal lineage, of how his father, the king, had allowed himself to be burnt to ashes in the light of the sun. The sword, passed down through each generation of rulers, was thought to hold within it Schwarzschild's soul and contain the power to bring a new leader to the throne. Perhaps that was why Justice felt a deep, almost possessive need to retrieve it.

The task was proving more difficult than he'd anticipated, though. It was only recently that he'd managed to whittle its location down to a rough area of the country, and even that was after years of sifting through rumours and buying information from side-street dealers; and as if to make matters worse, he had yet another obstacle to cross. Judas was the kind of person who clung to any power he laid hands on – to him, the sword was probably just another item with which he could expand his influence. Overseas lands were run independently to Marthiel, and although he was unsure of his exact position, Justice knew that he held a significant standing, with his own army and followers that could be utilised with the snap of his fingers.

He scowled – people were so power-hungry… It sickened him to imagine how something that was clearly his could find its way into the hands of someone so utterly bent upon nothing but expanding his own reign.

That was why he had to visit the Guardians and ask for their help – there was no other way around it. The idea itself was near ridiculous, and the chances were that he would be refused, but if Judas decided to pull his troops into the equation, then he wouldn't be able to work his way around them on his own – even if they were mere humans.

Maybe the Guardians even knew something about the sword.

Justice felt his heartbeat race. To think that he was going to be meeting the ones closest to royalty in the land… The very shook him. Already, he could sense the nervousness and apprehension pulling at his chest. The journey itself was enough cause for discomfort: Harkshal lay in the far north-west of Marthiel, deep within the realms of the Water Region. On foot, it would take at least three days to cross the border, and a further two to reach the capital, where the meeting was to take place. However, he estimated that he would be able to manage the journey in under forty-eight hours on horseback, providing the rests were short and few. What's more, travelling during the daytime would be possible for short periods of time due to the supply of sun-resistant draughts stored away at home; of course, though, they would have to be used sparingly if they were to last more than a day.

The moon was a cropped oval shape, halfway through its transition from crescent to full. Its light barely illuminated the path, yet it appeared that the animal's sense of direction was proficient enough for it to navigate without full vision. In two hours, it would be morning, though this was more than enough time for Justice to reach his home; he'd be able to take any amenities he needed before heading straight to Harkshal. The idea repeated itself constantly in his mind, as if he were already planning out each leg of the journey individually.

Beneath him, the horse flicked its mane, grunted and sped up its pace a little in a notion that suggested it had understood everything he'd uttered inside his head.

7: Chapter V: Love Song of a Moonlit Night

Chapter V

Love Song of a Moonlit Night

Rosalie fell back against the sheets and was swiftly covered by a dark figure who hovered above her. Tresses of black hair lightly brushed her face as Dreizehn leaned over, the slightest hint of a smile passing his lips.

The window outside allowed blades of moonlight to fall upon the bed and the two who lay on it, illuminating the King's clothes so that shadows were cast in the folds.

During the day, the curtains would be drawn to prevent the scalding rays of sunlight from falling upon the room's sleeping denizen, but at night the light was encouraged: Dreizehn found the moon to have a calm, relaxing aura about it, perhaps because it indicated the hours when he was free to roam as a vampire.

Whatever the reason, tonight would be his last, and he was determined to spend it with the one he loved.

Gently, as if handling something that could shatter at any moment, he lowered his head and locked lips with the woman, pressed her into the bed and felt near intoxicated by the warmth that enveloped him. Her hand stroked his hair, pale fingers entangling amongst strands of spun ebony.

“Your Majesty,” she said slowly once she was free again, “Are you… Are you okay?”

She blushed, immediately hating herself for delving into business that wasn't hers, but the king remained silent for a few seconds. His lips dragged across the side of her neck and continued down to her collarbone, landing a small kiss every second or so.

“In what sense?” came the reply, little more than a mutter.

“I'm not sure… You just seem sad, that's all.”

“I do?” He sat up and rested back on the mattress, leaving his partner open to the cold of the room. A little shocked, she did the same, though made no attempt to close the gap between them. She'd gone too far… Nervously, she glanced at the man and tried to sense any feelings of agitation on his face, but there were none – his expression had faded into its usual blank setting.

“Rosalie, have you ever taken time to examine a rose?”

“A rose?” She stared at him enquiringly, trying to decipher the obscure question.
Dreizehn nodded slowly. “If you look carefully, you'll see that it's made up of several layers, each one coiled around another. You can see the edge of each petal, but in order to completely uncover the one underneath, the outer layer must first be peeled off.”

Confusion washed over Rosalie: whilst the metaphor was clear, she failed to see how it could possibly be relevant to the situation.

Sensing her uncertainty, the king presented another view. “Perhaps it would be clearer if you took it from the perspective of the thorns: if you hand someone a rose and tell them straight away that the stem is lined with thorns, then there is no doubt that they will turn away; no matter how beautiful the flower is, thought of the ugliness that lies underneath will repel them.

“However, if you say nothing, that person will look upon the flower and regard it in all its glory – that is, of course, until they reach out and try to pick it up… Even so, there is still that small period of ignorance where the beauty of the flower is allowed to shine through, unsoiled by the thorns. The thing to ask yourself is what kind of person you are: would you mention the thorns, or simply say nothing and allow the other to discover it for themselves?”

The woman had to take a moment to pause and consider his words properly. “If I were to take the situation literally, then I would probably remain silent,” she said, to which the king nodded.

“I wouldn't have thought you'd be the kind of person to keep secrets, yet I must admit that I, too, would most likely do the same.”

So this was about secrets, Rosalie thought – in that case, perhaps things made a little sense after all. From near enough the moment he'd approached her today, she'd sensed that something had been on the man's mind, and now he was all but admitting it. However, she could tell that she had reached a boundary: Dreizehn had never been one to make his thoughts obvious, and now she could tell from the hard set of his jaw that he was no longer willing to speak of it.

Was that really such a bad thing, though? Rosalie trusted the king more than anyone else, particularly in a castle where she could potentially fall victim to blood-draining creatures at any moment. If he wished to keep secrets from her, then she was all but obliged to accept that fact; not because she felt forced to, but because she trusted his decisions implicitly.

Perhaps in the future she would find out, but for now, she was content to live in ignorance.

“I suppose that makes us the same then, Your Majesty.”
Dreizehn nodded again, his facial expression dangerously close a smile. Any tension that had accumulated between the two was swiftly away, and Rosalie, sensing this, crawled across the small stretch of mattress to where her partner sat.

As the two of them melted together again, Dreizehn couldn't help but feel a little hesitant; deep down, he wanted to say more, yet doing so ran the risk of revealing everything, and he couldn't possibly be so cruel. Which option would cause her less pain, though? Was it kinder to tell her now that by the end of the night, he would be gone? Or maybe it would be better to wait and allow her to discover the thorns herself.

He grimaced – it was the coward's way out. He'd lost count of the amount of times the thought that he was abandoning his people had crossed his mind, and on each occasion he'd found reason to combat it. When he looked at it from Rosalie's point of view, however, what he was intending to do was an unfeeling, callous motion. What would become of her when he was gone, he wondered.

His right hand clenched into a fist and slammed down upon the sheets so hard that for a moment he was worried he'd snapped the frame, but to his relief it appeared to still be intact. Rosalie stared at him, shocked to find that his eyes had taken on a glassy appearance, as though he were holding back tears.

“Your Majesty…”

The king was speechless, unable to say anything for fear that doing so would cause the moisture in his eyes to come spilling out. He shook his head abruptly and placed a hand on the woman's shoulder, as if to steady himself. What was wrong with him? He'd never been one to let his emotions take a toll on his body like this… Perhaps it was the sudden reality of it all, the thought of everything he was going to have to leave behind. For just over nine hundred years, he'd lived in a world where death was a mere word, an entity that he'd regarded with ignorant eyes; yet the feeling of the sun of the skin, the way the rays had eaten away at all that he was… That had been real – there was no denying it.

To say that he was afraid wouldn't have been an exaggeration.

“I'm sorry, my darling.”

Slowly, Dreizehn's hand left the woman's shoulder, slid across the smooth skin of her back and began to ease away one of the threads holding her dress in place.

Outside, the moon continued to hang in the sky, though its position had already shifted, marking another wasted hour in a night where time was all but slipping away.

---

The guard hit the ground before he even had time to draw his sword. Coughing violently, he clawed at his throat, but found that only warm liquid met his fingers; seconds later, he collapsed in a bloody heap on the path.
Justice, clutching his newly-soiled dagger, spun around and turned his attention upon the horse. Its rider was still in shock from the sight in front of him, though the animal seemed to have sensed what was happening and was struggling in its reins. However, this barely proved an obstacle to Justice, who leapt at it from the side, took hold of the man's collar and dragged him clean off the saddle to the hard floor below.
He was overweight, thin-haired and short of breath, his chest shaking with each ragged breath; he turned his eyes upwards to the figure that stood over him.
Now relieved of its rider, the horse began to trot along the path in a far less frantic pace, leaving only the two men and the third's lifeless corpse behind. Justice bent down, took a firm hold of his collar with both hands and pushed him back into the grass.

“Where are you headed to?”

The man shook his head with wide terrified eyes, at which his shoulders were lifted into the air and slammed back down again with such it force it caused his whole body to shudder. Slowly, as if deliberately trying to force fear upon him, the vampire removed one hand and pushed the edge of his dagger against his neck.

“H-Harkshal,” the man finally stammered. Each movement seemed laboured.
“Harkshal? The state?” Justice raised an eyebrow and considered that for a moment. The smell of blood from the guard's body was thick in the air, making it difficult to think. It wouldn't be long now, though – he only had to hold himself for a few minutes more…

“Why Harkshal? What business do you have there?”

This time the answer was almost immediate. “I have to relay a message to Lord Fairslough, that's all. The Guardians… They wish to hold their annual meeting in his home.”

“The Guardians? I see… Did they send you?”

“It was Sir Wilderness, of the Earth,” he continued. “I don't serve him personally, but my village lies close to his castle, and I was offered a price to deliver the message. I've got until tomorrow to do so, which gives Lord Fairslough two days to prepare. That's why I chose to travel through the night. It was nothing else, I promise.” When the knife pushed further into his throat, he flinched and added, “I promise that's the truth!”

Justice nodded slowly – past affairs had taught him that people seldom lied at knife point, yet something still appeared out of place in his explanation. Wasn't the fact that the Guardians would send a messenger mere days before meeting a little strange? Why the sudden need to convene? He longed to ask the man more, but doubted there was any more information he could give; and what's more, he had reached his limit at last.

His throat burned, clouding his thoughts with red; it was as if his mind had been wiped and replaced with a painful awareness of the blood drifting through the air and staining the blade in his hand. He knew it would not be long now before all reason left him, so without a backwards thought, he pushed all feelings to the back of his head and allowed his instincts to seize his consciousness.

The man's terrified eyes widened as the knife bit down upon the side of his neck; his mouth opened, but no words came out. Carefully, Justice ran his tongue along the small dark line that dribbled out and placed his lips over the cut. He used one of his fangs, normally hidden from view, to tear the incision open further, and then the blood was flowing like running water. The man himself put up little resistance: either he was too shocked to move, or the lack of fluid reaching his brain was disorientating him. On the other hand, Justice felt as though a great fire within him had been extinguished within him. As the warm blood splashed into his mouth, he closed his eyes and leaned forward so that almost all of his weight was transferred to the upper half of his body.

It was an overwhelming feeling, yet like everything else, short-lived, and as the reserve began to thin, he pulled back. A few drops still clung to his lower lip, but he wiped them away with his thumb and straightened up.

The sight in front of him was a sobering one: one man on his back, barely alive with his neck torn open, whilst the corpse of the other lay in a pool of its own blood on the other side of the path. The smell still lingered strongly, though it no longer carried the same degree of attraction now that his hunger had been fully gratified. It seemed like such a waste of a life to leave the guard untouched, but drinking a dead person was, to him, at least, the equivalent of a human consuming decayed meat. There was a small consolation, at least, in the fact that the two of them may provide food for a pack of wolves or other wild animal wandering the plains. The balding man had mere minutes to live, if that, and already his throat looked as though it had been maimed by the jaws of something wild. The way Justice saw the situation, it was highly unlikely that their bodies would remain untouched by morning, and even if they were discovered by someone, he had deliberately made it so that the fact he had been felled by a vampire not obvious – he was safe.

As he stood, he sniffed the air and frowned. Nothing seemed to be out of place, though what he'd been expecting he didn't know; perhaps the only thing left for him now was to return back to his home and try to sleep for the remainder of the night, as a human would.

However, another option suddenly sprang to mind – hadn't there been a horse with the two men? If it had kept to the path when it ran away, then there was still a high probability that it was within reach.

A horse… He hadn't planned on anything of the sort, but now that he thought about it, having an animal to take him across Marthiel may just turn out to be a good idea.

An excellent idea, in fact.

With that in mind, Justice began his way along the track, barely bothering to pay a second thought to the bodies now behind him.

8: Chapter VII: The Green-Coloured Falcon

Chapter VII

The Green-Coloured Falcon

"Sir, is there anything I can bring you before your departure?"

The man lifted an eyebrow and took a glance at the mirror that hung above his desk, where he noticed a small girl standing in the doorway. At once, his expression lit up into a grin.

"You are aware that, unless he has explicitly requested it or the matter is an emergency, it is forbidden for a servant to intrude upon the privacy of their superior, are you not?"

Almost immediately, the girl flushed red, bowed deeply and apologised, but the other merely laughed.

"Think nothing of it, my dear - it's only natural for one to make mistakes in their first few days." He examined her reflection for a few seconds. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but I seem to recall you being the new maid I hired last week."

"I am, Sir," she replied, embarrassment still thick on her face.

"I see... And will you be joining me on my journey to Harkshal?"

She replied with "No", at which the man frowned and returned to tending his hair.

Slowly, he gathered the long, dark brown tresses in his hands, picked up a single leafy-green braid from the surface in front of him and wound it round the base, finishing with a loose tie. With the slight shake of his head, the soft mane fell into a natural position, held together by the knotted braid that looked as if it were almost a coloured extension of his locks.

The man smiled, pleased with what he saw in the mirror, then stood and turned to face the girl waiting in the doorway.

"Say, if you really want to help me, why don't you find Rakina and ask him when we're ready to leave?"

She paused for a moment, then nodded her head in a small bow and left the room, closing the door behind her.

The man watched her go with the most subtle of smirks. Silently, he crossed the floor, climbed onto the mattress of his bed and lay back upon his hands. The room was small, yet that was not to say it was furnished by a standard anything less than excellence: four fine posters held a feathery veil above his head, and beyond that, the ceiling design was gold leaf. For years, he'd disliked the colour, but recently his tastes had taken a sudden change – he'd even begun to imbue it into his own clothing. Today, however, his garments had all but been set out for him. His role as a Guardian required he adopt a certain level of formality when meeting others of high status, particularly those of equivalent standing, as was the case today: of course, he was referring to his three fellow Guardians, and though he respected them unwaveringly, he saw no reason why they continued the farce of holding a meeting each year. After all, what was there to discuss? The power of the country was in the hands of the political states – the days of monarchs were over. Nevertheless, the others still insisted that the four of them convene annually, which, in his eyes, was a waste of both time and precious energy.

Thus, in unenthusiastic anticipation for what was to come, he was wearing his oldest set of clothes that, despite their age, still shone through as a reminder of the times when Marthiel belonged to the kings. The purple material wrapped around him like a gown, though the detailing and black belts holding his waist added a rigid look to his appearance in contrast to the delicate ornaments on his sleeves. It was an outfit fit for royalty, and one that he had always been fond of.
All of a sudden, a knock was heard against the door.

“Come in.”

A figure emerged from the hallway, and the man sat up on the edge of the mattress. “Ah, Rakina. I take it you received my message?”

"I did, Sir," the one named Rakina replied. "As a matter of fact, I was just assisting the other servants with their preparations; they're placing the equipment on the horses as we speak.”

The brown-haired man nodded. "How many?"

"Three in total, seeing as Luso is to be joining us – they should be ready within the hour."

“I see.” There was silence for a few moments, but then then he spoke again, frowning. "Have you heard any news from the other Guardians?”

"Not as of yet, My Lord."

The man leaned back on his arms and released a low, exasperated grown. This was the exact reason why he detested such occasions – nobody had the manners to inform him of anything beyond the basics, yet they still expected him to take a seat at the meeting.

"Right, I'm going." Suddenly, he leaped to his feet, prowled across the room and swept past the man into the corridor. His pace faltered, however, when he realised he was not being followed.

"Aren't you coming, Rakina?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

The man was shocked at his master's sudden energy. "But, My Lord… Where are you going? The sun doesn't finish setting for at least another half-hour."
The brown-haired man smiled to himself. "And since when has Rafaga, ruler of the wind, been afraid of a little sunlight?" The sound of his own title on his lips made him shiver slightly.

"Sir, you're not seriously considering…" Rakina was near speechless.

The other found this the need to break into light laughter. "Don't worry yourself – I'm only playing with you. No, I'm just going to take a walk through the castle." His back turned, the man, Rafaga, continued his down the hallway, the recesses of a smirk still pulling at his face. The servant opened his mouth to say something, but was promptly silenced with the wave of his a hand as his master turned the corner and disappeared.

---

A hand slammed down upon the counter.

Justice, who had been somewhat lost in own thoughts, jumped slightly as he was abruptly returned to reality. He stared at the man behind the bar with narrowed eyes.

The building was typical of the inns found across Marthiel's expanse, what with its wooden panelling and small bed of burning logs in the centre of the floor area; and like most, this one had its own helping of people pushed up against the walls on dirty chairs and tables. Each had with him a bottle and tankard, more than one in some cases, and seemed to carry a uniform desire to remain as detached from the next as possible.

"How much for a room?"

The barman, who had begun to occupy himself by wiping down the greasy surface in front of him, lifted an eyebrow. "A room? Why so early? It's barely past midday."

Justice glanced around quickly before saying in a hushed voice, "I've been travelling for over a day with no rest. I thought I'd be able to hold out until evening, but, well, I'm exhausted." He shifted a little on the spot. "That's all right, isn't it?"

"It's fine." The man frowned as he looked him up and down. "You didn't bring any trouble with you, I hope. What's in the bag?"

"I'm sorry?"

"The bag." He motioned towards the small brown sack in the other's hand.

Justice turned his eyes downwards, then placed the bag on the counter and opened it to reveal its contents: a selection of small, rounded bottles filled with a muddy-looking solution.

After briefly scanning the items presented in front of him, the barman shot him a sceptical look. "Well, what the hell is it?"

"I suffer from weak bones, so have to take a supply of medication with me wherever I go." He winced at his poor lying skills.

“Drink some.”

For a few moments, he did nothing but stand and glare at the man with hard eyes; though he was trying his best not to show it on his exterior, he was beginning to grow extremely irritated with the situation. The two of them had gathered a small audience from around the room, which made Justice feel uncomfortable in itself, not to mention the other's ever-critical eyes. However, he obeyed – if reluctantly – and took a small sip from one of the half-empty containers; the taste wasn't pleasant, though it was something he'd grown accustomed to.

As he acknowledged this, the barman placed the damp cloth he'd been using to the side and leaned back a little, as if examining his client in full for the first time.

"What's your name?"

Justice glanced to his left, where a man in green sat over a glass of what smelt like ale. He nodded towards him and asked, "What's his?"

In a matter of seconds, the barman's face had changed from scepticism to that of a moody child. Justice was wondering how much longer this interrogation could possibly go on for, when the man suddenly turned and shouted something at the space behind him; he received no response, so barked the same word, 'Nami', again. It wasn't long before a small figure in a dark blue dress ascended from a trapdoor near the back wall.

Justice felt a little slow for not realising that it was a name being called out. The emerging female appeared to be several younger than him, perhaps in her early twenties or so. The moment she reached the reached the counter, the man scolded briefly, then said, "This gentleman requires a room."

It seemed ironic for him to refer to Justice as a 'gentleman' all of a sudden, though he wasn't going to question it – after all, the sole purpose of his coming to this place was to gain a few hours' rest during the daytime so that he would be able to travel throughout the night. In little under thirty hours, he'd managed to stop just short of the border dividing the Earth and Water Regions, marking the approximate halfway point in his journey.

The woman, whose name he presumed was Nami, nodded and looked at Justice, and as her eyes caught his, her expression shifted from that of indifference to admiration.

"If you'd like to come this way…" She smiled, turned and began to walk towards one of the doors at the side of the room.

Slightly taken aback at this sudden change of attitude, the black-haired man took one more look at the barman before heading after the woman.

The door took them into a small space that seemed more like a hallway than a room in itself. At the other end was a ladder leading through a trapdoor in the ceiling, and the two headed straight towards it.

"I'm sorry about how disorganised this building may seem in terms of structure," Nami said as she took hold of one of the rungs. "When my father bought this place, it was just a tavern, so he decided to build guest rooms and turn it into an inn."

Wordlessly, Justice followed her lead and made his way up the wooden ladder; the thought of answering crossed his mind, but he deemed it better to remain quiet and not entangle himself in conversation.

The floor above reminded him of a small, enclosed version of the town square in Rockwood: three doors surrounded a stone bed of wood and ashes, and the walls were panelled with polished wooden planks that seemed much newer and better maintained than those downstairs.

"You're the only one staying here for now, so you can choose which room you'd like," said the woman. "If I may, though, I recommend the one straight ahead – the far side overhangs the street." She scratched her head, then added, "Oh, and in case you're wondering, we only light the stove in the evening, so I'll be up later to do that."

Uttering a mumbled word of thanks, Justice stepped around the stone pit, opened up the indicated door and stepped inside.

As anticipated, it was nothing special – merely a single bed, cabinet and window that indeed gave a pleasant view of the village. However, living in a small space was something he had grown accustomed to, so he was neither surprised nor disappointed with his lodgings.

What did take him aback, however, was the girl, who continued to stare intensely at him from the doorway, as if transfixed by something.

"You have interesting hair… Did you put the white in yourself?"

"No," he muttered in reply, "I was born with it." He walked round to the window and pulled across the curtains in one sharp movement, plunging the room into semi-darkness.

"Surely you can't see properly with it in front of your eye, though."

It took the man a moment to realise that she was still referring to his hair. As he sank onto the mattress, he answered dryly, "I make do."

Perhaps if he hadn't been so tired, her fascination with something so simple would've amused him, yet now he just found it irritating. Hopefully, his lying down would serve as an indication that he wished to be alone.

However, it seemed that the interrogation was not yet over. "Did you come here on foot?"

"No, I have a horse in the stables." Justice's voice was almost a snarl.

"I see. You know, I—"

"Enough." Sighing, he sat up and fixed Nami with a steely look. "I understand you're only trying to be friendly, but I'm exhausted. It's been over a day since I last slept, so if it's all right with you, I'd like to catch up on that a little now."

The woman was speechless – her mouth opened to say something, but no words were brought forth. Eventually, though, she came to her senses once again. "I, um… Before I go, I need to collect the money for the room…"

The man counted out the correct amount from his pocket and handed it to Nami before lying back on the bed. There was silence for a minute, as if the woman were expecting something else, but when nothing happened, she turned around in the doorway and shuffled out. Before completely disappearing, however, she turned her eyes back to the young man.

"If there's anything you need, just tell me."The door swung shut, leaving Justice on his own at last. Now that he was in his own company, he could really come to appreciate how tired he was, both physically and mentally; one may have thought that, being a vampire, fatigue would've posed little problem, though like all other creatures, his body had its limitations. Slowly, he bent one leg and adjusted himself into a comfortable position. At one point, he even considered removing his boots so as not to dirty the sheets, but quickly discarded the idea when he remembered the daunting amount of laces doing so would involve untying.

The world around him was still, a stillness broken only by the gradual rising and falling of his chest as he breathed, and it was this steady rhythm that he allowed his mind to concentrate on before his eyes closed and he slipped into unconsciousness.

9: Chapter VIII: Day Dream

Chapter VIII

Day Dream

Justice was awoken by the sensation of something sharp pressing against his chest. For a moment, the thought that he was being attacked crossed his mind, but he soon discovered the to be something far more innocent.
A cat stood on top of him, purring contentedly as it pawed his clothes and rubbed its head against his chin; happy to return the gesture, he ran his hand along the length of its spine, smiling to himself when it arched its body into his palm in response. He'd always held an affinity for cats – they were such beautiful, proud creatures, though seldom seen around his home area, unfortunately.
"Her name's Rodlin."
The voice caught Justice off-guard. He sat up at once, causing the animal to drop back onto the bed; only then did he catch sight of the figure on the other side of the room.
"What are you doing?" he snarled.
Nami stepped forward, clutching a cloth bag in her hand, which she placed at the foot of his bed. "You left this downstairs."
Outside, the sky was black, indicated by the lack of light filtering through the curtains, though Justice's eyes were accustomed to dark conditions. He watched as the girl made her way across the room and sat down next to him on the mattress.
"I realise I never got round to asking your name..." As her words trailed off, she plucked a thick lock of white hair from the man's face and twirled it between her finger and thumb. At once, Justice raised his hand to swat hers away, but the moment he moved, he was knocked back onto the bed.
"Stop—" He was cut off by the sensation of Nami's lips bearing down clumsily upon his. Her arms latched around his neck as she leaned into him, trying to push herself as deep as possible. Furiously, Justice wrenched his head backwards, took a hold of her shoulders and thrust her away as if she were a parasite.
Then all of a sudden, his whole body froze rigid.
It was as though his lower back had been struck with a rigid object, yet instead of a blunt hit, the pain was one that grew more and with each second until it was unbearable. Forgetting the woman for a moment, he reached round to the spot, shocked when his fingertips came into contact with the blade of what appeared to be a small dagger.
No sooner had he lifted his hand to the handle, however, he felt the knife being pulled sharply from his body. This time, there was no holding back the pained gasp as the full force of the agony began to spread across his lower back.
The blade flew into the air, the point aimed at his heart, but Justice was faster this time: in one swift move, he took hold of the dagger, leaped forward and pinned the woman lengthways across the bed.
With the wound burning him, it took almost all of his strength as a vampire to restrain her, though she eventually fell into submission. He plucked the knife from her bloodied fingers and pushed the edge against her jawline.
"Why?" he snarled.
At once, Nami began to struggle again, thrashing violently from left to right and kicking out. A knee landed in Justice's stomach, and for a moment he almost lost his grip on the knife, but he managed to wind his fingers in her hair and pull her head backwards so that her neck was pulled taut. A scream tore from her lungs, only to be silenced by the man's hand over her mouth.
"Do that again and I'll cut your throat open," he growled through gritted teeth.
The girl's eyes were wide and looked as though they were about to spill with tears, but Justice took no notice. Once he was sure she was still, he slowly pulled his hand away to allow her to speak.
"I'm sorry." The first words from her lips were barely above a whimper, as if it were taking every inch of her willpower not to cry out. "There was a man... He came yesterday morning with two other people. He said someone of your description would be passing through, and then he gave me money..."
Justice nodded, taking it in. "What was his name?"
"He didn't tell me," Nami said, then winced, feeling the biting edge of the blade against her skin. "I remember what he looked like, though: brown hair, quite tall, uniform..."
The man said nothing. Perhaps he had known it the moment he'd been attacked, but the confirmation of his thoughts made his mind cloud with rage. Judas. Who else would want him dead so badly? Yet how he'd managed to predict his movements with such precision was beyond him. The only conclusion he could draw was that he was being followed.
He was being followed.
Teeth gritted in rage, he glanced around the room, then returned his eyes to the trembling girl beneath him; he was furious, furious at the man for ordering his assassination, but equally, if not more so, at himself. How could he allow his movements to be tracked? Of course, this was the only village for miles around, so it wouldn't take a lot for one to guess that he would stop here, but was it really possible for Judas to be predict such movements through mere guesswork? Did he know he was visiting the Guardians? He was the one who had proposed the idea in the first place. What's more, he, too, was in pursuit of the Schwarzschild Sword, and despite the capabilities of his own army, it would be in his best interests to make sure that Justice was in no way able to gather his own.
If you try to hinder or oppose me in any way, then I shall make you suffer in ways... Unimaginable.
Justice cursed under his breath. He finally addressed the girl in a low, forceful tone. "Did he say whether he would return?"
There was no answer, so he repeated the question louder and with more aggression. The girl was clearly on the verge of tears now. "I-I don't think so."
If that was true, then Justice could only conclude that Judas was in a hurry. Slowly, and to the woman's obvious relief, he retracted the blade from her throat, though his left hand remained firmly wound in her hair. "Did he tell you anything else?"
"No, he only instructed me to kill a man with black and white hair if he came to this inn. He said you'd be travelling alone."
To Justice, that sounded almost too characteristic of Judas: giving orders, but leaving the rest to be guessed at. There was now no doubt in his mind that he was being pursued. When he thought about it, the girl was not to blame, and he felt somewhat cruel by interrogating her in such a manner; it was in no interest of his, however, to express an explicit kindness towards someone who'd tried to take his life, regardless of their motives.
Yet hadn't he, himself, been the robber of many lives?
How many people had he killed over the years? Surely the value of his own existence was not above that of any other he'd murdered – if anything, it was less, due to the absence of a family or people who would miss him should he disappear. Through his years of living, he had become hardened to the idea of stealing lives, like a person becomes accustomed to an unpleasant smell if they are constantly exposed to it, though that wasn't to say he didn't feel guilt each time he did so.
The knife hit the bed with such force it shook the frame, buried up to its hilt a mere finger's width away from the side of Nami's head.
Justice rose, climbed to the edge and slid to the floor, leaving the woman trembling in shock. Sighing to himself, he reached over and pulled back the curtains, drenching the room in night.
"I'm not going to kill you," he said. "However, I know where you live now, and no doubt will be able to find you if you move away. If I discover that you've spoken of this to anyone, then I shall track you down and go against my decision to keep you alive."
His fingers flicked back the latch, and with that the window slid upwards easily; when opened in full, it was just large enough of someone of his size to pass through.
The sensation of something brushing past his ankles brought his attention to the small creature at his feet. All this time, it had slipped his mind that the cat, Rodlin, had been present in the room with the two of them, yet now he felt a little guilty for ignoring her. Wordlessly, he glanced over at the quivering figure on the bed – or perhaps that was where his guilt lay, after all. The girl had managed to entangle herself in something that was far beyond her understanding, and he pitied her for it.
From the moon's position in the sky, Justice was able to estimate the approximate hour as a little short of midnight. Time was slipping away... He couldn't allow himself to linger on such thoughts if he were to reach his destination on time.
Clutching at her neck with shaking fingers, Nami turned her head to the right. Her breathing had become considerably shallow and her vision blurred, though she forced herself, as much as her body would allow, to concentrate on the area around the window and try to distinguish a figure from the darkness.
However, no matter how much she searched, there was none.
The man was gone.

---

Am I sleeping?
Am I awake?
God...
It's snowing, but I am unable to feel the cold against my skin; it is as if the snow is merely a vision, an illusion cast to break up the blackness of the sky above. Yet it is not a sky that I am familiar with: there are no stars here, no moon – only white flakes that fall in continuous succession, with no indication that they will ever stop.
Slowly, I stretch out my hand and try to snatch one from the air, but of course, it is a wasted effort. My body feels detached from my consciousness, as though I am viewing the world through another's eyes.
But no, this is me – the agonising pull in my chest is a certain reminder that I am in my own form and nobody else's. I would've thought that the pain, at least, would be one thing I'd be able to leave behind, yet it is ever-present, even here.
It is the pain of loneliness.
If I had known that this feeling would return after life, then surely I would have allowed myself to disappear completely. The memory of the sun against my skin, its heat scalding me to the point of unbearable anguish, is all too vivid in my mind: it is not an anguish that I chose to put myself through lightly. I can only admit, however, that it was a foolish decision, assuming my life as something so disposable; and it is only now, in this white world, that I realise the full consequences of my actions.
Perhaps if I lie here for an eternity, I will find forgiveness within myself; because in the end, is it not only a simple length of time, like a second or minute? I was promised an eternity of living, and yet here I am.
As a being arisen from the ashes, it seems only right that I should return to them. At some point, this pain will also cease to crush my body, but it seems that that is a blessing I shall have to wait for. It's not something I fear, though.
After all, here, I have the time to do so.

10: Chapter IX: Mistake

Chapter IX

Before the Storm

The man in the village had been right.
A little less than a mile in front of him stood a structure several stories high, a building that resembled a fortress more than someone's home. Even its placement, between a range of mountains and river, boasted supreme defence – a house fit for a lord of state.
It had taken Justice little over an hour and a half to arrive here, and over the course of that time, he’d had to gather information from passer-bys as to the man known as Fairslough. Surprisingly, many had been unable to provide him with anything, the majority of them being travellers like him; however, one man, a vendor in a small village whose name he had forgotten, had managed to direct him to the correct place. Follow the river and you should be there by sundown had been his words, and, little short of an hour after the sun’s setting, here he was.
He approached the castle from the front, following the stone path that led towards it; and as he neared, he began to notice several figures guarding the entrance. It was difficult to tell from his distance, but each appeared to be armed with either a sword or bow – something that the man had been expecting for a while now.
Two hundred yards or so away, Justice slipped off the horse, took hold of the reins and continued the remainder of the journey on foot – despite its reluctance at first, the animal now followed him as though he’d been its master for years. The man's eyes remained fixed upon the guards in front of him, his heart beating in anticipation. What would they think of his request? No doubt they’d been put in place to repel people like him, wandering travellers who wished to gain audiences with officials to suit their own needs; and who was he to tell them he was any better?
The moment he moved into the visible area, illuminated by two sconces on each side of the door, one of the guards addressed him abruptly: “In the name of Lord Fairslough, state your name and purpose of being here.”
“Reid Holloway,” he replied, piecing together a name from ones he’d heard uttered on his travels. “I’m here to see the Guardians.”
The man who’d spoken looked at the other, who slowly shook his head, as if a silent question had been passed between them.
“How do you know about the meeting?” asked the second one, lifting an eyebrow.
“I have a message to relay.”
A laugh escaped the lips of the first guard, who shifted position slightly. “A message? Why not tell it to me?” When no reply came, he crossed his arms. “No? Well, that's a shame. Go home – we’re not taking casual visitors today.”
Justice’s eyes passed between their faces, narrowed and calculating, yet still he said nothing. He'd been half-anticipating a refused entry, though it was an obstacle he'd already planned his way around – to speak out now would be foolish. With a bow of the head, he thanked the two men for their time, turned around and began to lead his horse back down the path.
He could feel the gazes of the other guards on him, watching his every movement like hawks; only when he was sure he was out of sight was he able to relax his pace. Judging from the reaction of the guards, it appeared that he’d arrived some time during the meeting itself, which was the kind of coincidence he was rarely graced with in life. However, it also meant that it would be more difficult for him to gain access to the castle; though it was in no way Justice’s nature for him to give up. Still gripping the reins, he stepped up onto the horse and steered it towards the forest at the base of the mountains, the purpose of this diversion being to use the trees as cover as he travelled round to the back of the castle.
The bramble-ridden ground was of little obstacle to the animal, who navigated its way through the roots and trunks with surprising ease – it took half the time Justice had expected before the manor was in sight again, a small hint of grey through the branches. However, it was at least another five minutes or so before he eased himself to a halt and slid from the back of the horse, by which time the building was all but out of sight.
A group of young trees stood nearby, and it was around one of these that Justice looped and tied the reins, anchoring the horse in place. Its eyes were fixed upon the man as he straightened up, almost sad-looking, as if it knew it were going to be left alone. Seeing this, Justice placed a gentle hand on either side of its face, pressed his own forehead against the flat of its head, and spoke in a low mumble.
“I’ll be back, I promise.”
If such a thing were possible, the beast seemed to understand his words, and gave a small grunt in response. Justice, however, closed his eyes and waited a few seconds before pulling back. The animal's heartbeat was a steady rhythm, pounding gently through his fingertips as if it were his own; its scent was vivid, yet subtly different to that of a human in the appetising sweetness it lacked.
Having said that, he would never intentionally attack an animal – the idea all but repulsed him. He’d always held an admiration for most species, both wild and domesticated; perhaps it was because, unlike humans, they acted upon instinct, never wavering from what their nature drove them to do. It saddened him to see such creatures confined against their will, kept in cages for entertainment, or even as trophies – in fact, he had plans to grant the horse its freedom once it had served its purpose in his search.
As he began to make his way back through the trees, Justice’s mind ran lightly over this. Despite his love for animals, he’d never felt so close to any as now. In fact, it seemed remarkable that the two – horse and master – had only known each other for the duration of three days.
Maybe it was because, amidst his solitary tendencies, it was the closest thing he had to a friend.
The moment he broke the line of forest into flat land, Justice took on a lighter step. He hadn’t been able to tell from his brief encounter, but as defenders of the castle where the Guardians were holding their assembly, there was a fair chance that the guards were vampires, in which case they would be able to detect the slightest movement he made from such a short distance. Being of the same nature, however, he was able to tread with a silence that would hopefully leave him undetected.
As he’d thought, the side of the castle was unwatched. It seemed odd that the surveillance wasn't tighter, particularly around a building where such aristocracy was assembled, but of course, that only made things easier for him. No doubt there were patrols that passed through this area, though – he had to be quick.
It was a blessing for Justice to slip into the shadows cast by the high walls, his dark hair and clothes providing ample camouflage to shield him from any watching eyes. Once hidden, he began to work with a hawk-like persistence, moving along the stone face to seek out a door or ladder that would give him access to the house. Surely a structure as large as this had countless passages and small entrances used by servants – it was just a case of finding them.
By a stroke of luck, it was no time at all before his fingertips were sliding across smooth wood as opposed to coarse rock. He took a step back, shocked at the immediacy of his discovery, and passed his gaze over what was, indeed, a door, built squarely into the the wall. Unlike its surroundings, which had collected small pieces of hanging weeds and moss over the years, it seemed quite untouched.
However, one last obstacle lay in Justice’s way: a lock hung from the handle. From the first look, it was obvious that it was composed of metal far too thick to pull apart, or even saw away with a blade – should he be able to find one, of course. No, he had another plan to overcome this.
At least ten years had passed since the man had last attempted to pick a lock, though he was certain the knowledge was still with him. His hand entered his pocket and extracted a set of thin hooked rods that almost resembled tiny animal bones. They were aged, and age had made them brittle – whether they would still be usable Justice didn’t know. Regardless, he selected the one that appeared the least worn, replaced the others and fitted it into the lock, supporting with his left hand so as to make as little noise as possible.
It was mere seconds, however, before he encountered his first casualty.
The rod fell into his hand, snapped through the centre, useless. The need to vent his frustration verbally was almost overpowering, but he was able to fume silently as he discarded the broken pick and placed another into the metal hole.
This time, the lock broke away easily in his fingers with the tiniest of clicks. Relieved, Justice set it down soundlessly upon the grass, then paused.
He was finally going to do it – the thought hit him as if he were waking from a dream. Up to this point, it had all seemed like a chore, something he was forcing himself to do; yet now, a sense of burning anticipation was beginning to establish itself within him. Everything just suddenly seemed so… Real. The feeling was so cathartic there was no way to put it into words.
He was going to see the Guardians, gain their trust and recover the sword; and nothing, neither steel nor fist, would be able to hold him back.
Slowly, Justice placed his fingers over the handle, twisted and pulled the door open. As expected, the hinges creaked as they moved, though to him, this was no longer stealth operation – now, it was a straight dash to the finish line. Speed had always been his attribute, so outrunning the guards would be no difficult task; and what’s more, he had the advantage of surprise. The odds weren’t tipped dramatically in his favour, but if it bought him a few extra seconds with which to convince the Guardians of his intentions, then he would take the chance of quickness over stealth.
The room on the other side was a kitchen, long and thin, with open ash-littered stoves embedded into the walls. Not bothering to close the door behind him, Justice sped through, weaving amongst the various tables and surfaces until he reached the corridor at the other end.
Candles illuminated two possible routes hidden behind separate wooden doors. For a moment, the man stopped to consider which to take, but then remembered that there was no time for complex decision-making – he had to rely on his instincts, and that meant turning left, into what he deemed was the heart of the building.
No sooner had he entered, the sound of voices became audible; faint at first, they grey ever-louder as he travelled through the empty rooms and corridors. Though he was unable to pick out individual words, it wasn’t long before he realised there were multiple speakers, three at least from the sounds of it. Could they be…?
Frantically, he burst through another door, and at once the voices ceased. A bright light, harsh in contrast to the dimly-lit passages he’d just been moving through, assaulted him from all directions, rendering him temporarily blind. However, it was mere moments before he began to adjust to his new surroundings, and when he did, his heart leaped in his chest at what he saw.
He had done it. He had reached his goal.
A voice – deep, yet carrying the delicate edge of an aristocrat – spoke out to him: “Well, it seems as though we have a visitor.”

11: Chapter X: A Game of Wits

Chapter X

A Game of Wits

Justice’s eyes darted left and right before resting upon the one who’d spoken, a figure seated at a table with three others. Each stared at him with bemused expressions. He blinked, unable to form words due to the shock that had taken a hold of his senses.
The room, despite its fine furnishings, seemed almost inadequate to hold the men who sat within it; in fact, Justice felt as though he were looking upon a scene from a painting. It was no difficult task to place names to faces: perhaps the easiest to identify was Kircheis due to the striking predominance of blue in his clothing, a direct correspondence to the colour of his namesake element, water. It was in his hair, too – long, sea-coloured threads woven into sandy pale locks that fell either side of his face.
To his left sat a slightly taller, more sturdily-built individual who regarded Justice with a look of contempt – he could only presume from the rich gold and black designs adorning his clothes that he was Wilderness of the Earth. Seated directly opposite was Rafaga, the Guardian that represented wind and sky; though unlike the others, he appeared to have lost interest in the intruder, and was occupying himself with his fingernails instead.
However, the person who intrigued Justice most was the fourth figure, the one who had spoken: had he not heard his voice, the man may have been led to believe that he was female, with a body so fragile it seemed it would snap if mishandled. A deep red dominated his garments, yet whether it was closer to the colour of flames or blood Justice found it hard to tell. Perhaps the most mesmerising features, though, were his eyes: large, doll-like and so deep that the man found himself lost in them for a second.
Carbuncle of the Fire blinked – a long, lethargic motion – then crossed his legs, though it was Wilderness who brought forth words.
“Who are you? What are you doing here?”
They were not questions so much as orders, and the black-haired man was all but obliged to answer. Before he could say anything, however, the sound of the door sliding open behind him made him freeze.
A hand clamped down upon each of Justice's shoulders in unison, restraining him should he decide to struggle, though there was no use anyway. He knew fully well, without even paying a look, that the guards had followed him, and it wasn’t in his nature to fight battles he couldn’t win, especially against his own kind. The grip on his arms was hard enough to cause him discomfort, thus clearing any doubt in his mind that they were, like him, vampires.
“I’m very sorry about this interruption, My Lords.” Justice recognised the voice from one of the men he'd spoken to outside. “We’ll see to this individual so that you may continue.”
All of a sudden, something within the man clicked, and at once he lashed out at his captors. It seemed they had been expecting this sudden resistance, however, and within moments, they had swarmed around him, using their whole bodies as restraints.
Wait!” he called out. “My name is Justice Schwarzschild – I came here to ask for—”
An abrupt, blunt force hit the back of his head, and for a moment he thought he was going to pass out. It took him a second to realise that he’d been struck by something solid, possibly the flat side of a sword, but by that time it was too late to react. The ground began to race towards him at an alarming rate until the two collided violently.
A hazy, paralysing anguish spread through Justice’s head, numbing his movements and befogging his vision; someone spoke, but the words washed around him. Was he going to lose consciousness? To do so would’ve been a blessing if it meant escaping the dizzying pain.
It was almost impossible to tell when the feeling began to subside, though it did, albeit slowly, and the man found himself becoming increasingly aware of his surroundings. Carefully, he raised his head and looked to the left, expecting to find the guards waiting, but there was no-one.
“I sent them away.”
The voice startled Justice. Standing over him was a figure, whom he immediately identified as Kircheis – like the other Guardians, his outfit was too detailed to take in fully with a single glance, with sections pieced together in such a complex manner it seemed like a work of art, with its wearer serving as the canvas.
It was only when he had come to his senses that Justice realised he was still spread across the ground from where he’d collapsed. Clumsily, he straightened up. The other offered him no help – not that he had been expecting any – and was already beginning to make his way back to the table to join his companions.
The black-haired man placed a hand on the spot where he’d been struck, his body tensing as his fingers brushed the tender skin. However, despite the lingering pain, he found he was able to take in his surroundings properly for the first time.
The room appeared to have been built specifically for meetings, though its size suggested it was used to accommodating them on a far larger scale. The ceiling was gold leaf Two chandeliers were suspended from the ceiling, and a set of fine chairs lined the two side walls, leaving a large empty space between Justice and the ones opposite.
“You say your name is Schwarzschild…” Now seated, Kircheis folded one leg over the other and leaned against his arm on the table. “Would you care to elaborate?”
Justice understood – the surname was no common one, and it seemed only natural that the Guardians would question; though whether they were willing to take his words as the truth was unknown to him as of yet.
“My father was Dreizehn Schwarzschild, Sir.”
At this, the only one who had not yet spoken, Rafaga, raised his eyebrows and smiled. “Ah, yes – you have his eyes.”
“What are you talking about?” Wilderness hissed. “The king never had a child. Are you actually going to believe this nonsense?”
Carbuncle shot him a sideways scowl. “Perhaps it would not hurt to hear at least a little of what he has to say before we can make a judgement.” Then he beckoned to Justice.
The man paused briefly before walking forward. His steps echoed off the walls, each one falling into a more forced rhythm than the last as his anxiousness grew.
Eventually, though, he reached the table where the others sat. Fear of saying something out of place kept his mouth firmly closed, so he simply remained silent as the others stared upon him with expectant faces.
“Well, sit!” snapped Wilderness.
“You can take my place, if you wish,” Rafaga said, standing and sliding the chair towards the man, who sat down uncertainly. “After all, you can’t play chess with five players.”
Up until that point, the Justice had been ignorant to the activity that was taking place, but now, as he cast his eyes over the table, he could see that it was, indeed, consumed by a game of chess. However, the board appeared to be at least twice the dimensions of a regular one, and instead of two sets of pieces locked in battle across the playing area, there were four.
Wilderness raised a hand to clear away the pieces, but Carbuncle stopped him.
“Perhaps it would be better to see how our visitor approaches a field that has already been stepped upon.” The fire vampire’s gaze bore deep into Justice, so much so that he had to look away. Being this close to the four people who held the most power amongst his kind was almost unreal, as though he had been dropped into a dream. In the space of three days, what had started off as an idea had become reality – the thought was almost too much for him to grasp.
Yet now, it was hard to ignore the vivid – and, no doubt, very real – sensations that gnawed at him. Something wasn’t quite right… And despite the fact it wasn’t direct fear he could feel, something about the situation deeply unsettled him, as if the air itself had eyes.
However, he had come here for the sake of gaining help, and help was what he was going to get – even if it meant sitting through their games.
Justice’s face was devoid of any visible emotion as he examined the state of the board in front of him: judging from the amount of pieces that had been captured, the scores were more or less even, with no obvious advantage to any of the four players. Chess was a game of traps, though, and a simple glance was, in his opinion, less than adequate to form a complete idea of the standings.
After about a minute of silence, Carbuncle spoke. “You’re quite strategic in your method, I see... Or is it that you do not know the rules?”
“I know how to play, thank you,” Justice replied quietly. For need to break the ice, he reached out and moved one of his – or rather, Rafaga's – pawns forward a square.
There was a pause whilst the others assessed this; then Wilderness, who sat to his left, sighed, uncrossed his arms and slid his rook horizontally across the board.
And so it went on: each player took their turn, and as it would seem, each acted upon his own individual tactics. If a piece was lost, it was a pawn – all the roles of importance remained, turning the whole board into a deadlock, a guessing game of who would be the first to lose his knight or bishop.
“So tell me, Justice,” began Carbuncle once play had returned to him for the second time. “If you are the son of our king, why is it that you have decided to pay us a visit after so long?”
Justice gripped his knee nervously under the table. “My Lords, I am here because I seek your aid in recovering something precious to me.”
“Oh yes? And what might that be?”
“It’s an artefact known as the Schwarzschild Sword,” he explained. “Have you heard of it?”
Kircheis frowned. “Oh, that. It’s a legend – nothing else.”
“Sir, if I may, I have reason to believe otherwise.” Objected the black-haired man. “That sword was my father’s, and I have recently heard wind of a rumour regarding its whereabouts…”
“You’re talking about the farmers, aren’t you?” Rafaga suddenly cut in from where he was standing. When the others fixed him with looks of confusion, he continued: “I overheard it from a set of travellers in an inn a few weeks ago. Apparently, a farmer had sent his sons into one of the forests nearby following the disappearance of some of his livestock, but instead of finding the missing animals, they came across a sword buried between the trees. Needless to say, they became curious, and tried to extract it from the ground, but when they discovered that they were unable to for some reason, they gave up and left.”
Wilderness stared down at the table, an expression somewhere between irritation and exasperation on his face. “So where is it, then?” His voice was calm, as if he were doing his best to keep his anger from spilling out.
“I believe it was somewhere in the South-East,” came the other’s reply.
“The South-East? Do you mean the Earth Region?”
“I do.”
“My region?”
An amused smile pulled at Rafaga's lips. “Yes, your region.”
“Yes? Well if it happened on my land, than why is it that I have yet to hear of it?” The vampire reached one hand between the long, loosely-curled locks of his hair to scratch his head. “I don’t believe this. Some… Person comes in here, claiming to be the son of a king who died almost two hundred years ago; and then, as if to add further insult to our intelligence, he dares to ask for out something that exists only in the minds of those who are foolish enough to believe such a myth!”
The whole room was silent, as if in shock from the outburst. It was exactly as Justice had feared – he was being branded a liar. How was he able to prove his royal bloodline to them when he had nothing material to verify it himself?
Slowly, Kircheis lifted one of his knights from the table, but instead of putting it down again, he held it suspended for a moment, rolling it back and forth between his pale fingers. “Yes, I’m very curious as to this business with the king as well, particularly as I do not recall him ever fathering a child.” He peered over his hands at Justice.
The black-haired man considered his words very carefully before opening his mouth.
“My Lords, you do known how a vampire is created of two parents, don't you?”
“Of course,” replied Carbuncle. “The offspring is a stillborn, then anywhere between one and two hundred years after being laid to rest, it rises from its decomposed remains. It’s a survival technique, designed to keep our kind alive and safe from any dangers that may be present at the time of birth.” He took his turn. “Check.”
Slowly, Justice turned his eyes towards the board to see that his king had been cornered by Carbuncle's bishop. He sat still for a few seconds, considering his options, before pulling his piece back one place.
The fire vampire raised an eyebrow, regarding the move with mild surprise. “You have the opportunity to take my bishop at the cost of your knight, and yet you choose to withdraw your king…”
“I see no purpose in sacrificing a playable piece,” said Justice. It felt somewhat invasive for him to have to explain his thought processes out loud, yet in this game, where each move he made was being critically analysed, perhaps it was the only way to gain the Guardians’ assurance.
“And what’s more, you leave it unprotected on the board, where it is susceptible to another attack.”
Rafaga shifted a little. “In Justice’s defence, though, the king is a strong enough piece on its own – it can stand without protection for the most part.”
A sharp sigh escaped Wilderness' lips, his tone dangerously low.“Perhaps it would be better if we were to return to the matter at hand? Instead of musing over a board game, that is.”
Instantly, all eyes turned back to Justice, who began to feel the pressure pushing down upon him again. “I… I was brought up by a couple who said they’d found me by a river, near to where they lived. It had always been made clear to me that I was not a child of theirs: when I was old enough, they took me to the spot where I'd been discovered, trying to find clues as to how I'd gotten there, but there was nothing. Well, that's how it seemed, at least. It was only when I reached the age of five, when the need to drain blood rose within me, that they found out that I was even a vampire.”
He glanced around the table briefly, making sure that he still had the Guardians' attentions. They all seemed interested, at least.
“Well, they let me live with them,” he continued. “I know it unnerved them to have such a creature in their house, but I tried my hardest to live a normal life as a human. A few years later, we found the gravestone – my gravestone – in the woods next to the river, bearing the names of two people: Rosalie and Justice Schwarzschild.”
At once, Wilderness snapped his head up, then followed with his whole body, barely shaking the table as he leaped up onto it and lunged towards the black-haired man. Justice rose to his feet, but before he could move out of the way, Wilderness had slammed his back down into the hard ground. Frantically, he brought his knee up into his attacker’s stomach, hauling him over his head so that both men landed sprawled across the floor.
Justice assumed a defensive crouch and gritted his teeth. It was only when his eyes fell upon the other’s red nails, however, that he noticed the wound in his face. He brushed his fingers lightly against his left cheek to find three gashes, like chasms carved into the flesh; blood dripped from his chin and leaked into his mouth, coupled with tides of sharp searing pain, as if the whole side of his face were alight.
A low growl, like that of an animal, ripped its way from the earth vampire's chest, his dark eyes fixed upon Justice. It appeared he was preparing himself for another attack, and for that reason, the man was watching his every move with a hawk-like awareness.
All of a sudden, Justice felt something knock him forward, as if the strongest of breezes had managed to find its way into the room. For a moment, he thought he was going to lose his balance, but then, as soon as it had arisen, it was over.
Wilderness, on the other hand, was not so lucky. It was though an invisible force had struck him, knocking him from his feet and sending him flying backwards across the room, where he collided with the floor. The black-haired man looked on, astonished at what he saw. By his side, a figure stirred.
“I would’ve thought that, being the adults we all claim to be, we would at least be able to behave like them.” Rafaga stepped forwards, the sound of his hard-heeled boots cutting through the air. One hand was raised to chest level, palm facing outwards – it wasn’t difficult for Justice to make the connection.
All this time, the thought that the Guardians held the abilities to physically manipulate their elemental namesakes had never passed through Justice’s mind, yet how else could he explain the scene in front of him? Had he not seen it with his own eyes, he probably would’ve dismissed the idea as an absurdity, though the feeling of shock that had had overcome him was too realistic to deny.
Rafaga had moved the wind of his own accord.
Just how much power did these people really hold?
Wilderness snarled furiously. “How dare you allow him to say her name? Filthy scum!”
He had barely finished speaking when Rafaga flicked his wrist; and, like a servant, the air obeyed. At once, he was assaulted by another barrage of wind that knocked him back again, this time into the set of chairs placed against the wall. There was the distinct noise of wood cracking as it came into contact with his body.
“You’re taking this a little far, aren’t you?” the wind vampire called out. “If you wish to continue this for the duration of the evening, then please, be my guest. However, I’m not planning on holding back next time, and by the look on your face, I would guess you’re not too fond of the idea of having your bones broken.”
Wilderness winced and narrowed his eyes, yet remained still. Still fastened to the spot, Justice paid a brief look over his shoulder at the two other Guardians, who both regarded the situation as though it brought them amusement. For a moment, Kircheis caught his view, then looked away.
But then he looked back again.
An expression of shock quickly formed upon his face. His lips parted, but no sound came out. Carbuncle, noticing the sudden stillness, followed his gaze until he, too, rested his eyes until the man; however, his reaction was closer to a frown than awe.
A feeling of deep confusion overcame Justice. Were they taken aback by the sight of his wound? He traced the mark with the tip of a finger – the blood was still thick on his face, though the skin was beginning to close and pain pain subside. No, their gazes seemed to be focused upon his eyes.
Kircheis was the fist to move: not daring to break contact, he pushed back his chair, walked around the table and stopped in front of Justice; only when he had fallen to one knee did he finally look down. His right hand rested over his heart and his head hung bowed in a stance of absolute submission. Carbuncle quickly followed, assuming the same position by the other’s side, as did Rafaga.
At this point, the only one not kneeling was Wilderness, who had managed to pull himself to his feet. His eyes flickered between the kneeling figures and Justice, and all at once an unnatural paleness came over his face.
The black-haired man was frozen, unable to move from the suddenness of everything. Slowly, his lips opened, but no words were brought forth.
The water vampire raised his head. “I am sorry for doubting you – please accept my deepest apologies, Your Majesty.”

12: Chapter XI: Checkmate

Chapter XI

Checkmate

Dreizehn was silent, a still form in the darkness. The nearest light source, a sconce protruding from the wall, did little to illuminate him, instead casting deep shadows upon his body. His garments were dominated by the usual black, a custom as unchanging as the seasons.
Slowly, he crossed his right leg over his left, leaned to one arm and rested his cheek upon his hand. From the next room, the low voices of a group of servants leaked through – faint, yet no doubt audible to his inhuman ears. Apart from that, though, there was nothing: no unusual happenings, no sudden appearances by Kranz to bring him news. Deep down, he almost wished that a problem would arise somewhere in the castle, that a ceiling would spontaneously collapse or a window break – perhaps then he would have a means with which to occupy himself for a few hours.
No, what was he thinking? The absurdity of the thoughts drifting forth was enough to make him roll his eyes. In a subconscious motion, he caught a lock of raven hair and proceeded to gently twist it around two of the fingers of his free hand. Was it not better to live in peace than in conflict? Surely if times were more turbulent, his answer would be different, yet boredom was now warping his resolve. Perhaps it was only now that he was beginning to realise the full consequences of life as an immortal being: the sun would rise in a few hours’ time, forcing him to retreat to the shadows, and only at its descent would he be permitted to roam again. It was an ever-repeating cycle, and one he was growing tedious of. Already, he had lived out the equivalent of two or three human lives, seen those working in his service pass away from old age; though he remained frozen, flawless, a clock whose handles had ceased to tick. One may have deemed the idea of unchanging and unfading youthfulness a blessing, but to Dreizehn, it was as much a curse as it was a gift.
Perhaps the only thing keeping him alive at this point was his kingdom, and protecting those who lived within it. His duty as king placed the responsibility upon his shoulders, but the desire to defend his people was far stronger, and for that reason, he would remain. Who was he to abandon those who looked upon him for guidance? The thought was selfish, ridiculous. Was his life really so monotonous that he would consider ridding himself of it, at the price of both the ones close to him and those who resided within his land?
He would keep on living for their sake, if not his own.
Like two blood-red flames, Dreizehn’s eyes shone crimson amid the black.
That was the first night the idea of suicide crossed the king's mind, a thought that would continue to torture him until the very day he succumbed to it.

---

Silence.
Justice was motionless. It was as though his feet had sprouted roots that fastened him to the ground. In front of him, three out of the four Guardians crouched, heads bowed, like pieces on a chess board.
The fourth, however, vigorously shook his head and exclaimed furiously, “No! The king had no son! How can he…” Yet it seemed that even the most forthcoming of them all was left without words.
When Rafaga lifted his head, it came as a surprise to Justice to see a smirk pulling at his lips. “And didn’t I say you have his eyes?”
It was only then that it occurred to Justice what he was referring to. Slowly, he raised his hand, pausing just before he reached his left eye. The tips of his fingers brushed against the space above his cheek. Though he couldn't physically feel it, there was no doubt in his mind that his irises had taken on the vivid crimson colour that occasionally appeared in times of deep emotion; and what's more, the Guardians appeared fascinated by it. For a moment, all other thoughts – the sword, Wilderness’ outburst, Rafaga’s manipulation of the air – left his mind, only to be replaced with a sense of overpowering bewilderment at the scene before him.
“May I also offer my apologies, Your Highness,” Carbuncle said. “I must admit that I, too, doubted you, but you have proved me wrong.”
Justice finally found it within himself to speak. “W-what do you mean?”
Sensing his confusion, the fire vampire replied, “Your eyes are proof of your royal lineage, of the blood that flows through your veins – you are the true son of Dreizehn Schwarzschild, and for that reason, I bow down to you as your loyal servant.”
“As do I.” Rafaga nodded his head before straightening up – the other two swiftly followed suit.
All his life, Justice had merely thought that the colours of his eyes, which fluctuated from anywhere between deep red to a rusted brown hue, had been part of his nature as a vampire, but evidently that was not the case now. When he paid thought to it, however, he was unable to recall ever having seen another vampire posses the same ability (not that such meetings were frequent). Could it really be that such a small detail was enough to convince the Guardians of his heritage?
However, one remained unswayed. Wilderness fixed the black-haired man with a hardened stare as he stormed across the room. “You are not my superior!” he spat. “You may have fooled everyone else into believing you're Schwarzschild, but I will not bow down to you – not today, not ever.”
The wind vampire’s arm twitched, as if he were planning to strike his companion, though decided against it in the same moment; instead, he simply ignored him and addressed Justice: “I can understand your uncertainty. You must be feeling quite confused, what with your being branded a liar one moment and deemed of royal descent the next – I know that I, for one, would be more than shocked at such a thing. But those eyes… In all my life, I have only ever seen one other holding the same colour, and that was the king. No doubt it is proof of the blood that runs through you, a trait passed through generations.”
Wilderness crossed his arms, scowled and looked away, muttering something inaudible as he did so. This time, it seemed as if Rafaga was unable to hold himself back: with a speed surpassing even that which Justice's eyes could follow, he clenched his right hand into a fist, swung it round and buried it in the earth vampire's cheek.
Wilderness froze. An expression of shock painted his face as he reeled back from the impact, though he managed to keep his balance. However, that shock soon wore away, only to be replaced with a look of smouldering rage. No, it was beyond rage… The man looked as though he were ready to break the wind vampire’s neck. Snarling, he made a lunge for Rafaga’s throat.
“Stop.”
Four pairs of eyes turned to Justice before he’d even realised he'd spoken the word aloud. Wilderness’ fingers were inches from the other’s neck, his lips parted slightly in blatant disbelief. Even Rafaga, who he’d assumed to be the most accepting of the Guardians, seemed somewhat taken aback by the order.
Wilderness was almost trembling in raw fury, though he clearly tried to hide it as lowered his hands and turned towards the black-haired man. A sneer crept across his face when he caught sight of the blood on his cheek, as if for the first time.
“Oh, you're bleeding? Well, I suppose, being what you are now, you'll be getting one of us to lick that clean for you – am I right?"
Justice’s heartbeat was in his throat, his eyes narrowed as he watched the earth vampire take his seat back at the table. The other three Guardians seemed unsure of whether or not to follow, but with a nod from Carbuncle, they, too, took their respective places. Rafaga chose to remain standing again.
Once seated, Justice took a few seconds to reassess the situation. It was almost laughable how quickly the circumstances had reversed themselves: now, he was the one in power, and the others his pawns to wield. Or so it would seem... But if that was the case, then why did he still feel so intimidated by the people around him? Was this not what he had wanted to start off with? Now he was wordless, unable to speak for lack of knowing what to say. It came as a surprise to see the Guardians appeared to feel the same – it was as if the whole room had been frozen.
“Well… I see that the situation has turned into one of considerable awkwardness.” Carbuncle was the first to break the silence. His eyes drifted from one figure to another with an almost lethargic feel.
The chess board still lay between them, its pieces locked in their formations. It seemed strange to Justice that just minutes ago, they had been in play, yet there was no need to continue any more. The game had been won. A king had been captured.
“Your Highness,” said Kircheis, addressing the black-haired man. “Would you please explain again the information you hold regarding the Schwarzschild Sword? I’m sure we would all benefit from hearing it once more, especially as this time we are willing to listen with more… Eager ears.” He dropped his eyes to his lap, as if in embarrassment.
Justice’s gaze darted around the table, faltering slightly when he passed Wilderness on his left. “I’ve told you of my intentions to travel to the Earth Region and recover it.” He couldn’t help but sneak a glance at the vampire by his side, half-expecting him to react in some way, though he remained still.
“As of the direct lineage, of course you would feel the need to,” mumbled the water vampire, more to himself than anyone else.
Just then, Wilderness crossed his arms over his chest, leaned back a little and raised an eyebrow critically. “You all seem so sure, but perhaps someone would like to explain to me how this man can claim to be the descendant of a king who produced no children during his lifetime? Unless I’m missing out on the fundamentals of basic procreation, of course.” Most of the anger had drained from his voice, having been replaced with a steely, sarcastic edge.
“I’m quite curious as well, actually,” said the redhead. “We have all seen for ourselves the royal blood that runs within you – there is no doubting that; and who is to say that the king did not have relations outside of the palace walls…”
Justice cut in: “My mother’s name was Rosalie.
Beside him, Wilderness tensed, but he made no attempt to lash out like before. That wasn’t to say that the mention of the name stirred no emotion in his composition, though.
Kircheis and Carbuncle exchanged glances before the latter spoke with relief. “Well, at least that allows some sense to be drawn from the situation.”
However, the blond-haired man seemed confused. “How so? I do not recall having seen Lady Rosalie fall pregnant during the time she was living in the castle.” Then, to Justice: "Your Majesty, allow me to explain about your mother. That is, of course, providing that you do not know yourself?"
To Justice, the offer seemed genuine, yet the suspicion still remained. Who was to say this was not just another opportunity for his actions to be scrutinised again a continuation of the test that had begun the moment he’d entered the room? The words ‘Your Majesty’ sounded forced somehow...
Perhaps it was because it had been so long since their last uttering.
Slowly, Justice nodded. The faint hint of a smile passed Kircheis’ lips as he placed both elbows on the table, locked his fingers together and rested his chin upon them. “She was a pretty girl, quite suited to the king in way of looks. I believe it was two years before his death that the two of them met: Lady Rosalie had been living around the castle, and upon first sight, Dreizehn took an instant attraction to her. They were married soon after and lived together in the castle. That was until…” He frowned, as if working out how to word the sentence.
“Until the king abandoned her. No, until he abandoned us all.” Wilderness unfurled his arms and fixed his gaze on a random chess piece in the centre of the board. “He told no-one of his intentions to take his life, not even the ones he apparently loved. Who’s to say that this Justice isn’t the spawn of one of his mistresses?”
“Schwarzshild had no mistresses,” Carbuncle snapped. “And I would appreciate it if you were to hold your tongue when referring to our king in that way.”
“I will do nothing of the sort," hissed Wilderness. "The pain that I saw Rosalie go through after that man left her… I had to watch her suffer more and more every day. I'm the one who found her dead because of that bastard…”
“Stop it.”
“Stop what, brother? Don’t you dare tell me what to do!”
Carbuncle did not protest, though the look on his face was enough, it seemed, to silence Wilderness without words. It was the first time Justice had seen the fire vampire express any kind of emotion beyond mild distaste or amusement, yet now he was able to see why: the man’s glare was acid, a concentration of deep fury and hostility that cut through the air like a blade. Unlike Wilderness, however, he did not seem to one to allow his anger to overcome him, and so the look only appeared to be a warning – even so, it sent chills trickling down Justice’s spine.
"Calm, 'Buncle…” Rafaga cautioned from somewhere behind Justice.
For a moment, nothing happened, but then the redhead turned his eyes downwards into his lap in submission. He blinked – a long, drawn-out movement that accentuated his fathomlessly dark eyes – before looking up again.
“Yes…" Once again, his face had returned to its emotionless mask, with nothing but a light frown to shade it.
Minutes passed, and no words were spoken. Justice took the time to roll back over the information he’d been told in his head. The story about his raising by foster parents had been the truth, as was the part about him discovering his mother’s grave. In a world of loneliness and hostility, the name 'Rosalie Schwarzshild’ had been the only things he could cling to, a small truth in his heart that linked him back to his heritage. Perhaps that was the reason why he was so accepting of the facts the Guardians were telling him now. In his eyes, he was just beginning to delve into the pages of a book whose contents he had only glimpsed. A sense of intrigue, as well as an insatiable curiosity, was swelling up deeply inside him, though he was a patient man – the time would come when he would be able to finish the chapter, and if that was an event fated to wait until the future, then so be it.
As much as he hated to pry, however, there was one thing whose explanation simply couldn't wait.
“Did you say that you found my mother dead?”
“Yes, that’s right.” It was Kircheis who answered. “Though it’s a subject of some delicacy, as you may have guessed. In the time following the king’s death, the lady grew… Depressed. With all respects, I’m surprised she even lasted the amount of time she did before deciding to take her life.”
The faint sound of material brushing against itself sounded behind Justice, as if Rafaga were shifting position.
“Perhaps,” said the wind vampire, slightly more solemnly than his usual tone, “It would be more beneficial for both His Majesty and us if we were to refrain from diverting the conversation and consider how to go about retrieving this sword.”
The black-haired man turned his head and looked over his shoulder to see Ragafa staring down at him, the slightest of smirks pulling the corners of his lips upwards – an expression which hardly seemed fitting for the situation. As he turned to face the table again, however, it was Kircheis who caught his attention; it seemed that he had also noticed his companion, and now he grinned in silent amusement, running both hands through his chin-length locks of blond hair to hide his face until he had collected himself. It was as though a silent, private joke had somehow been shared between the two.
“Yes, do carry on…” he muttered, the expression slowly fading. He motioned towards Justice.
“Your move, I believe, Your Majesty.”

13: Chapter XII: A Game of Wits

Chapter XII

The Pride of a Knight

The man in uniform stared wordlessly across the space in front of him until his eyes met the small cluster of trees standing a short distance away. It seemed peculiar that they would choose to take root in the middle of an open field such as this; but then again, nature always had its ways of intriguing him. Slowly, he raised his eyebrows and turned to the left, where a figure awaited him patiently.
“You’re late,” he snapped.
The figure merely smirked – a black hood had been pulled over his face so as to cover all but his mouth and chin. “But you know that I cannot travel in sunlight.”
The man grunted in reply. Indeed, the night was young, with the last of the sun’s rays casting a scarlet glow on the horizon to mark what had been the end of a long day’s travels; if it were not for the current business that he was obliged to attend to, he would most likely already be laying down camp for the night.
Moodily, he raised his hand for the other to shake, though his efforts went ignored, so he took to introducing himself instead.
“Judas,” he murmured.
To no surprise, the hooded man paid little attention, which angered him somewhat; however, he decided not not to make it obvious, and carried on: “So you’re the one I’ve been expecting, I take it?”
“Yes,” came the reply.
Judas nodded, glad that he had gained some sort of answer at last.
“And what about you?” asked the hooded man. “I assume that you can afford my services? You look like a man who knows what he's doing." The tip of his tongue slid across the parting between his lips, slowly, tauntingly, as if to mock the one who stood before him.
A frown fell upon Judas’ face. “Your target’s a man – no, a vampire – named Justice.”
The word 'vampire' seemed to stir a reaction in the cloaked figure. “Is he alone?”
“Regrettably, no. I’ve been following him with several of my men up until this afternoon, but decided to pull back for the time being to avoid suspicion. I know exactly where he'll be, though: he was headed towards Lord Fairslough’s castle in Harkshal to convene with the Guardians. The exact time and date of the proposed meeting has not been made known to me as of yet, but I wouldn’t put it past him to have gained their help by the end of it.”
The figure tilted his head to the side, like a curious animal. “The Guardians? Been a long time since I've heard anything about them—”
“You must not take them lightly,” Judas cut in, frustration and warning heavy in his voice. “Each has an army that holds enough power to crush everything you know; and that’s not to mention the capabilities of the men themselves…”
A small laugh escaped the unknown man's lips. Furiously, the other gritted his teeth.
“Funny, is it?”
“Actually, I was simply musing at how worked up you are about the whole operation.” When met with Judas’ enquiring expression, he continued: “I’ve been doing these kinds of jobs for as long as I can remember – since I was a child, in fact. I’ve killed more people than there are hairs on your head – vampires amongst them. And do you want to know why I’m still here?” He shrugged. “It is simply because... I am the best at what I do!”
It took Judas a moment to work out whether his confidence was genuine or if he was merely trying to ridicule him; though in the end, it hardly mattered. One had to admire his cheek, regardless of how infuriating it was.
“And may I ask how you plan to move around the Guardians without detection? Good or not, there are five of them and one of you – and that's not to mention that the bastards are near invincible.”
“Invincible? Nah…” As he spoke, the hooded man reached down into the folds of his cloak and produced an odd-looking weapon, perhaps an inch or so longer than an average dagger. Two blades protruded from its hilt, spaced an inch apart, with smooth, curved edges that ended in a deadly point. He held it up so that the other was able to run his eyes along its form. “This is one of my favourite little weapons. Her name’s Vaana, and whilst she may look like an ordinary knife, her blade has actually been tainted with poison.”
“Poison?”
“Yes. The formula’s one that I have tried and tested over the years countless times, and never before has it failed me.”
“And what does it do?” Judas asked dryly.
As before, the figure smirked, evidently enjoying the man's forced interest. “In short, it slows down the vampire healing rate down to the same level as humans. A wound inflicted by this would take – I don’t know – two or three days to heal over, depending on the severity. Oh, and it kills as well.”
"Kills?" For the first time, Judas' eyes lit up.
"Yes." The figure slowly ran his ring finger along the edge of the one of the blades, though taking care not to break the skin. “This ‘Justice’ character you speak of? Let’s see how well he makes do without a head upon his shoulders.”

---

The map resting in Kircheis’ lap was worn and yellowing. Maybe once, it would've laid crisp, but countless years of use had left it falling limply either side of his knees. Luckily, though, it was still readable, with the state borders, mountain ranges, rivers, forests, plains, villages, cities and, of course, regions that made up Marthiel marked clearly from corner to corner.
The water vampire placed two fingers against a small black dot in the upper-left quarter. “This is Regden, where we are situated at the moment – if what Rafaga said about the sword is correct, then we are headed…” The tips slid across the page to an area of forest in the opposite corner. “Here.”
“Wait… Surely you’re not going to base the whole journey on a rumour alone,” Rafaga exclaimed. “After all, that’s all it is – a rumour.”
The other twisted his head round to frown at him. “You didn’t seem so doubtful when the topic was brought up earlier.”
“No, but I didn't think we were actually going to follow it then...”
Justice pushed the sound of their squabbling to the back of his mind as he ran his eyes over the map’s various markings. Marthiel was a large, jagged country, landlocked on all sides. It was only a matter of seconds before he was able to identify his home area, a plain of flat land south-east of the origin, enclosed by mountain ranges to create the valley he was so accustomed to.
Just then, however, something caught his attention. It was a small mark in the centre, almost on the converging point between the four regions, and its writing had faded to the point of illegibility.
“What’s that?” He indicated the point with a finger.
“You don’t know?” Carbuncle answered. “It’s the king’s castle.”
Something pulled deep within Justice, but he said nothing.
“It’s no longer inhabited, though,” continued the redhead. “Since the establishment of the states, it has remained empty.”
Slowly, Justice nodded, then raised his hand again to trace a line in the page. “And this is the River Greymarsh, I take it?”
The fire vampire spoke again: “Indeed, it is. In fact, I was going to suggest that we take its path until it converges with the mountain range here.” He pointed. “It is only a suggestion, though, of course.”
With Kircheis sitting, the other four had taken to standing behind him and peering down at the document in his lap. Justice was just regarding the proposition silently, when all of a sudden, he realised a dilemma had arisen: the river ran directly through the mountains, which would no doubt cause a hindrance to their route; however, the range was large enough that moving around them would be a task consuming days of valuable time – time which they did not have.
“I’ve just noticed something.” The man paused to think for a moment. “Would it be possible to travel through the mountains? It would be a great deal quicker, and there should be a route...”
Needless to say, Wilderness was the first to speak out. All this time, he had remained quiet, but the chance to prove Justice wrong was just too tempting to ignore. “There's no route. The mountains are impassable – even the river goes underground at several points. Only a fool would think of getting himself trapped there.”
“Yes, he doesn’t have a point,” said Carbuncle, blinking lazily.
Justice said nothing, instead taking a moment to run the situation through thoroughly in his head. Two of the Guardians seemed adamant that the mountain path was treacherous, though there was no denying that it was the fastest by a long way. What's more, the river would serve as a useful guide along the most part of the journey – there really was no competition between the routes.
Still, a part of him desperately wanted to tell about Judas, and the urgency placed upon him – but how could he? He hated to think what the Guardians would make of him if he did so, what they would deem of a vampire on the run from a simple human. For a while now, he had been considering the outcome, though in the end, he decided to remain silent about the matter – at least for now. As with most things, the time would come, and the situation was already complicated enough as it was without another factor to bend things away from his favour.
“No,” he said finally. “Although I respect Wilderness’ views on the matter, I believe that the mountain route would be the fastest.” He ran his eyes over the map again. “It should be fine if we use the river to guide us, and then follow it closely until we reach the point where the sword is located.”
“The farm was around here,” added Rafaga, circling a small area of land in the far south-east of the Earth Region. “The forests have been marked on the map, as you can see.”
Justice nodded, his eyes constantly darting back and forth over the paper in front of him. Asserting his authority was not something that he had gotten used to, or thought he ever would, though if the Guardians were going to look him for guidance, then the least he could do was offer what he could.
His words were met with a deep silence, which lingered for a moment before it was broken by the sound of Carbuncle stepping away.
“Well, if that is the decided plan of action, then I shall order my subordinate to ready the horses immediately.”
He bowed his head briefly, then began to walk back across the room. There seemed to be a sense of irritation about him, as if the very air were tingling with sparks. When he reached the door, he barked a name – an action which seemed too harsh for someone of such delicate form – and a figure materialised in the space. It was one of the guards from earlier.
The fire vampire seemed determined to make it clear he was in a mood, though what had caused such anger Justice didn't know. Was is that he not used to having his authority challenged? Justice wondered whether he had taken a step too far by speaking out about the mountain route, but there was little he could do about it now, so merely watched as the fire vampire stood and spoke in short, abrupt sentences to the other.
“It shall be done at once, My Lord.” The uniformed man stood almost a head higher than Carbuncle, yet regarded his superior with the utmost of loyalties.
Seeing that the discussion had clearly been brought to its end, Kircheis gathered the edges of the map and rolled it into a tight cylinder. Then he looked at the others.
“So I see that Carbuncle is going to be gracing us with one of his moods again…” He frowned, a look of exasperation which suggested that he was all but accustomed to such things. Slowly, he rose from his chair, bowed to the black-haired man and followed in his companion’s footsteps, still firmly clutching the map by his side.
“Your Majesty.”
Justice barely noticed when Rafaga stood aside and motioned with his hand so that he, too, could head towards the door.
There was one, however, who did not move – and had no intentions of doing so either, it seemed: Wilderness had fixed his gaze straight downwards, mimicking the actions of a scolded child.
“Are you coming or not?”
Gradually, he raised his head and looked at the other. “I suppose I ought to,” he sighed, though made no attempt to break his position.
Rafaga watched through his peripheral vision; thick locks of brown hair fell untidily over his back and front, casting light shadows over his face. “Nobody’s forcing you, brother – you can head straight back—”
“I’ll do what I want.” Wilderness swept past him suddenly, marched across the room and left.
Now alone, Rafaga couldn’t help but allow a smile to pull at his lips. His hand reached behind and picked up the nearest chess piece, one of his own knights that had been played by Justice. It was still warm as he held it at eye level.
“What do you make of him, then? Think he's the one?”
The piece was still, though the wind vampire smirked and nodded as though he had received a reply. He turned his eyes backwards, where the four chairs still stood around the table, the remains of the game like an abandoned battlefield between them.
“God, I hate these meetings.”

14: Chapter XIII: The Leader and the Marksman

Chapter XIII

The Leader and the Marksman

Justice couldn’t help but feel relieved when the sight of his horse met him at last; and the animal, it seemed, felt the same way. Its whole body bridled and flicked in the small space, overjoyed to be in the presence of its master once again. The man smiled as he loosened the knot binding it to the tree, then took the reins into his hands and climbed up onto its saddle. With a gentle nudge, it began to weave through the trees and out into the open.
Fairslough's castle stood proudly at the edge of the field, and now that he was no longer trying to keep undercover, Justice was able to admire the beauty of its surroundings for the first time. Forests lined the edges, both behind and in the distance. A river cut through the grass a hundred yards or so away; and there, assembled by the banks, were the Guardians. They were not alone, however, having been joined by six others, each on horseback. As Justice approached, some bowed their heads deeply, whilst one or two paled in colour.
“Your Highness,” Rafaga greeted him once he had eased himself to a halt. He raised a hand and motioned towards two men stationed by his side. “May I introduce Rakina, my personal servant, and Luso, whom I believe you will find to be the most highly-trained and skilled knight at your disposal.”
The first, Rakina – a vampire by the looks of it – shrunk back a little at the mention of his name, but the second seemed to lap up the compliments with proud relish; a head of short, messy blond hair sat atop broad shoulders and light leather armour.
“It’s an honour,” he said, nodding in respect.
One-by-one, the remaining individuals were made known by their respective superiors: Abess-Reid was a small man with dark hair, a vampire serving under Kircheis alongside another by the name of Lan, though the latter had already been sent away to relay a message of some sort to their master’s castle. And then there was Jais Willow, working for Carbuncle, whom Justice immediately identified as the one who had almost incapacitated him earlier on in the meeting room. Judging from the expression on his face, though, no such feelings of contempt remained anymore – rather, he looked ashamed.
However, two remained without introductions, and Wilderness seemed to be in no mindset to give them. Stubbornly, he turned his head to the mountains rising behind the woods next to the castle.
Carbuncle cast his eyes over the river that cut a line through the grass like a dark, curved blade. “We should follow this south-west, then turn east along the River Greymarsh when the two converge. That way, we can seek shelter in one of the forests before morning comes.” His gaze shifted to the black-haired man. “Providing that we leave immediately, of course.”
“As you wish,” Justice replied simply.
And so they set off. As the one with the map, Justice suggested that Kircheis take the lead, at least for the time being – he obliged willingly. Unlike the others, whose horses fluctuated between different shades of dark, his was a pale dun that almost matched the colour of his hair.
The moon hung directly above them, its shape neither that of a crescent nor circle – perhaps in four or five days it would be full. Justice was just watching it when a small voice brought his attention back to the ground.
To his surprise, it was a girl, though this had been partially-hidden by a piece of material pulled over her face that obscured all but her eyes. Dark clothes wrapped loosely around her frame, and for a moment, the man spotted a small lock of black hair protruding from underneath her hood, but she quickly tucked it under again.
“My master doesn’t like you much,” she stated plainly.
Justice lifted an eyebrow. “Oh? Did he tell you that?” He remembered the girl as one of the two working under Wilderness who had been denied an introduction.
“I can tell when my master dislikes someone,” she said, then quickly added, “But don’t worry. He has more enemies than he can care to count – I doubt it’s personal.”
Before Justice was able to reply, however, a sharp exclamation sounded behind him. “Blanche! Get in front where I can see you.”
Wilderness’ dark figure rode up alongside the two of them, narrowed eyes fixing upon the man. Obediently, the girl turned her head forward again, struck the animal’s flank and raced away until she had disappeared amongst the others. Had the Guardian heard their conversation? His expression was angry – yet then again, Justice was unable to recall a time so far when he hadn’t been displeased about something.
For a moment, Wilderness looked as though he was going to speak, but then his lips snapped tightly shut. He shook his head to himself before he flicked the reins in his hands, bent low and accelerated forward without so much as a backwards look at the black-haired man.

 

*

It was just around five hours later until the group finally stopped. Reading the hour from the position of the moon was a skill Justice had mastered over the years; yet despite his timekeeping, the journey had seemed so long, as if he had been travelling for days as opposed to hours. Perhaps he could only put it down to the lack of sleep he had managed to receive recently. How long had it been now – a full day, at least? The man's consciousness had been flickering on and off for a while now. Truly, it was astonishing how much had happened in the duration of a single night.
Kircheis turned and brought his horse up alongside Justice’s. “This is the final area of thick forest for a while, according to my map. With your permission, we can seek shelter here for the daylight hours and then cross the border into the state of Osren tomorrow.
The man ran his mind lightly over the words, but trusted the Guardian’s judgement enough not to delve too deeply into it. “That sounds like a plan.”
“In that case, I leave it to you to co-ordinate the group,” Kircheis said pulling, back a step so that the other was able to address the group.
Justice paused, then spoke out to the group assembled around him, trying to keep his voice as even as possible to hide the uncertainty he felt: “We’re stopping here until dusk. Someone needs to go and find something that will keep the sun off us whilst we sleep…” His eyes swept over the concession of watching faces. “A cave should do, but if there isn’t one around, then any kind of undergrowth shall be fine – providing we have blankets as cover.”
His words were met with nods of agreement. To his left, a man who he remembered was called Rakina moved forward. “I’ll go, if nobody else offers...”
“And I’ll join him,” said Luso.
Justice regarded them with a slight nod. “If we need more people, then I’ll send them out.”
He remained silent for a moment, waiting to see if anyone was intending to add anything, but was met with quiet.
“Right.” Slowly, and fully aware of the every set of eyes fixed upon him, Justice gathered the reins in his hands, pulled gently and began to move away. At this, the rest of the group gradually dissipated, with Rafaga's two men setting off into the forest in search of shelter. Justice watched as several of the others, exhausted from the journey, stepped down from their horses, before he turned and started his way along the river.
The forest was silent around him, if one were to discount the faint sound of voices from the clearing, though even those were quickly dying. The river by his side made little noise as it slid over its rocky bed, as if it were a mirage, a silvery illusion cast by the thin blades of moonlight cutting through the canopy.
The horse came to a stop and its rider dropped to the ground. Carefully, he lowered himself to his knees by the bank, dipped his cupped hands under the surface and splashed the water against his face. It was ice against his skin, sending bullets of chill down his spine; yet after hours' worth of sitting in the same position, there was no better relief. Once his face was soaked, he began to move slowly down to his collar, when all of a sudden, something made him jolt.
“Justice!”
He was crouched before a heartbeat had passed, claws raised and back to the river to face whatever had made the noise. However, he relaxed when his eyes fell upon a familiar figure. Rafaga was bent low amongst the trees, one finger over his lips. He beckoned to the man.
Carefully, Justice made his way over to him, taking care to avoid stepping on any branch or object that may make a sound. When he reached him, though, the Guardian dropped to a crouched position and began to make his way further into the trees. Only then did Justice notice the bow in his right hand and quiver of arrows strapped to his back.
“What—”
“Follow me.”
Justice frowned, confused as to what was going on, but nevertheless, he bent down and followed the other. No words were exchanged as they moved swiftly through the undergrowth, which only raised the curiosity within him.
Around a hundred yards or so later, Rafaga stopped. The wind vampire lowered himself onto his stomach and motioned for Justice to do the same. From there, he edged forward a few inches or so more to adjust himself into a comfortable position, all the time keeping his eyes fixed upon a point between the trees ahead.
It was a moment or so before the man realised what had caught his attention: a buck stood in the space a little way in front of them, head lowered as it sniffed a patch of vegetation. From its stillness, Justice could tell it was oblivious to them both.
“Do you consider yourself a marksman, Your Majesty?” Rafaga asked, his voice barely exceeding a breath.
Justice ran his eyes over the bow in the other’s hand. Without even touching the materials, he could sense it was of fine quality, with gold details embellishing the smooth wood. “A passing traveller let me use his bow a few years back, but… Hm.” He frowned. His skills were nothing to be proud of, not least admit out loud to the present company.
“But you want to learn, yes?”
Before the man could object, Rafaga had reached round, selected a bow from his quiver and slid into place; instead of firing, however, he handed it to Justice.
The man took it with two hands, surprised at how light it was for its size. Carefully, he moved it into what he deemed was the correct position and placed his own two fingers on the string.
A smile lit up Ragafa’s face. “Now keep it horizontal to the ground, though not touching. Oh, and you’ll need to aim a little to the right – there’s no wind, but the bow’s a little used, and it helps with aim.”
Justice nodded, pulled the string taught and directed the tip of the arrow at the buck, just to the right of its heart. Its drifted through the air, the smell of warm, rich blood setting his pulse in motion. However, there was guilt, the guilt of taking the life of a creature completely oblivious to the danger lurking just a few tens of yards away. Surely it would provide the evening’s food for the humans amongst them? Nevertheless, the reluctance held his arm back for a few seconds.
Then, at last, he allowed the string to slip through his fingers.
The arrow hit the buck mid-flank, and instantly the animal began to kick and flail on the spot. One of its hooves snagged around a vine, causing it to come crashing down in a flurry of limbs. At once, Rafaga snatched the bow from Justice’s hands, slid another arrow into place and released. The movement was so fluid, Justice didn’t notice he had even fired until the arrow was lodged in the animal’s skull, and the creature fell still at last.
The two remained motionless for a minute or so. Rafaga's hand hovered above his weapon in case it required firing again – then he smirked.
“That was admirable! Especially for someone with such little experience.” His voice had returned to a normal volume now that there was nothing to hide from. However, Justice’s eyes remained on the dead buck.
“I noticed you hesitated before making the kill, though.” The Guardian's tone was conversational, yet the black-haired man was able to sense the smallest amount of criticism in his words.
“Taking lives is something I doubt I’ll ever become accustomed to,” he said slowly.
“Of course.” The wind vampire looked down at his nails, the same way he had done in the meeting room. He took a breath. “I apologise for my awful behaviour earlier, Your Majesty.”
“It’s fine.”
“No, it’s not,” he replied firmly, then sighed and snorted. “I see you've managed to charm Wilderness either way.”
The black-haired man rolled his eyes, unable to hold back a bite of sarcasm in his voice. “Yes, I can tell.”
“Don’t take it to heart, though. I overheard Blanche telling you earlier that it’s not you as a person, and, well, she's right. He just had a few… Loose ends he didn’t manage to tie with the King, and now he’s finally releasing them after a century and a half of holding them in.”
“‘Loose ends’?” Justice frowned. “What do you mean by that?”
Rafaga paused, his face quickly taking on an expression, as if he had said something he shouldn’t have. However, the sudden sound of a scream resonating against the trees snapped both their attentions away. It was brief, a single shriek tearing through the air, though the sound of it was enough to make Justice freeze solid.
“What?” The wind vampire was wide-eyed with shock. “What the hell was that?”

15: Chapter XIV: Shadows

Chapter XIV

Shadows

The trees were all but a blur to Justice as he raced through them, with Rafaga following just a few paces behind. At this sort of speed, it would have been all too easy for him to trip on the undergrowth and fall, but that was the last thing on his mind – now, all he wanted to do to run and run and find the others as soon as possible, to make sure that they were safe.
Barely half a minute had passed before both men burst into a small clearing. Several other members of the group had already arrived and were gathered around two figures on the ground, one of which Justice recognised Rakina. His heart recoiled in horror, however, to see that the material covering his back had been slashed open in several places, as though by a wild animal, to display a set of deep gashes carved into his flesh. He sat there, quivering, a vacant look in his eyes that suggested he was likely to pass out at any moment.
Rafaga dropped into a crouch beside him. “What happened?”
“He was attacked, but by what I don't know,” answered Luso. He kneeled beside Rakina, and from the looks of it, was the only thing keeping him upright.
Cursing, the wind vampire gritted his teeth and swept his eyes over the others in the clearing, but was met with blank faces. Justice had never seen him so serious: any flicker of light-heartedness had been drained away to leave an expression halfway between rage and panic. Quickly, he raised a hand to his mouth, bit down and lowered it again, a fresh cut adorning his wrist. The smell of warm blood hit Justice a second later, though of course he made no attempt for it, and simply watched, along with all the others, as the Guardian offered it to the wounded man.
With the last scrap of his conscious energy, it seemed, Rakina took hold of his master's upturned wrist and pressed it against his mouth. There was silence as he drank, each pair of eyes turned upon the two locked in bloody embrace: the servant, shoulders trembling in a mixture of both agony and relief, and the other, whose face was unwavering, emotionless, as if his features had been cast in stone.
After about a minute had passed, Rakina pulled away and tilted his head back to catch his breath; traces of blood still glistened on his lips, though some of the colour had returned to his face, at least.
Seeing this, Rafaga spoke to him in a low, controlled voice. “What happened?”
“We split up t-to try and find shelter.” Rakina's voice was surprisingly clear, despite the occasional stammer. “But when I was alone, something... It kn-knocked me to the ground... I couldn't...” He shook his head as his words broke off.
“So it was a person? Did you see what they looked like? Did you see their face?”
“No – they wore a hood. They caught me off-guard – I'm so sorry—”
“Don't apologise,” consoled Rafaga, his voice finally falling back into softer tones. Slowly, he raised his hand and reached a finger towards one of the cuts on his servant's back, but stopped before he could make contact. He frowned, staring deeply at the web of wounds. “Rakina, what were you attacked with? Did the person have a weapon of some kind?”
“A dagger, I think. I couldn't see well, though.”
Wilderness stepped forward, a sceptical look upon his face. “You 'think'?” Then, to the rest of the group: “In case the rest of you haven't noticed, his body hasn't yet begun to heal itself. Now, I would like to know what kind of weapon possibly has the power of dealing such damage to a vampire.”
“Perhaps it is enchanted?” suggested Kircheis.
Wilderness snorted. “I don't think so—”
“But you're going to dismiss it straight away, brother?” Slowly, Rafaga lifted his head to fix his gaze upon the other. “Vampires, dhampirs – whatever people decide to call us... Have you never thought that some time, the humans would find a way to inflict harm upon us? That is, besides the sun, of course.”
Wilderness narrowed his eyes ever so slightly, an action that he seemed to favour. “You speak as if you know of such a thing.”
“No, I don't, although the idea arose when I saw Rakina's wounds.” He stood up, leaving Luso to tend to the injured man on the floor, and spoke out to the entire group. “What if... What if there existed some kind of weapon, or material, or even solution, that worked against vampires in the same way that blood relieveed us? I'm merely suggesting it as a possibility, but having seen the evidence here... Well, I'm not putting it behind me.” He raised an eyebrow. “Or some kind of creature?”
“Vampire hunters.”
Justice blinked, only realising he'd projected his thoughts out loud when several heads turned to him. Immediately, his heart pace quickened as the foolishness of his mistake dawned upon him.
“Vampire hunters, Your Majesty?” said Kircheis.
Justice nodded slowly. “I know of a man – well, rather I know him personally – who I would think possible to possess such things. His name is Judas. I've been... Aware of him for many years now, but only recently has he become a problem. He wants my father's sword as much as I do.”
“Is he a vampire?” Rafaga asked.
“Human. He's dangerous, though, and I have reason to believe he's been following me from the moment I left my home. Just before I arrived at the meeting, he'd paid one of the girls at an inn I stayed in to try and assassinate me, but, well...” The thought of Nami brought a frown to his face, as if the memory were a stain on his mind.
“And do you think that he was the one who attacked my servant, Your Majesty?”
For a moment, Justice considered the question. Was one man enough to bring a vampire to his knees? It was something he would've taken to be near impossible, had it been anyone else – yet this was no normal human in question. He only had to glance down to remember the speed at which Judas managed to move during their conversation a few days ago, the way he'd brought his pierced his hand so fast it had taken Justice all of a second to realise he had even been attacked.
“I wouldn't put it past him,” he said.
At once, Wilderness spun and began to march towards the trees, though Justice knew straight away that it was a wasted effort – Judas was nowhere near foolish enough to allow himself to get caught at a time like. Nevertheless, he still searched furiously, scouring the trees with eyes of steel.
“Are you out there now?” he growled, then repeated the question in a shout, so that his voice resonated throughout the forest. He was met with the inevitable sound of silence.
“Wilderness, calm down,” Rafaga warned. “This 'Judas' individual seems like the kind of person who would rather wait for a time when we were alone, as opposed to attacking us in a group.”
“He's a coward like that,” agreed Justice. At last, he felt as though a vast weight had been removed from his conscience, even if it did mean admitting to his weakness – the fact that he was running from a simple human.
Rafaga nodded in agreement. “As true as that is, though, I would like to get Rakina to some kind of shelter before the sun rises. Luso, did you find anything?”
“Indeed I did, My Lord. I can lead us there.” The man's eyes turned to the black-haired man. “You Highness?”
Seeing that authority had fallen upon him once again, Justice nodded, at which several of the servants began to walk towards their tethered horses. The movement rreminded him that his own was probably still wandering the forest from where he'd left it by the river, so he quickly turned and ran off to retrieve it.
After finding the animal on the banks, he rejoined the others. Each was seated upon his own horse once again, all except for Rakina, who had been allowed to share Rafaga's saddle. He clung to the Guardian's back, eyes half-closed, body slumped against his master in exhaustion. Justice couldn't help but feel a great pity for him, yet at the same time, an ever-increasing hatred for Judas. The man had plagued him thus far, and surely would continue to do so until the moment one of them laid hands upon the sword. Still, he had the Guardians to accompany him now, the guiding hands of an ancient force that had probably fought more battles than Judas had years to his age. They'd accepted the fact well, better than he'd anticipated – why he'd been so worried about it he didn't know.
The place Luso led them to was, to the surprise of most of the group, a small abandoned shack. Perhaps years ago, its pale wooden walls would've stood proud amongst the trees from which they had been cut, but now the forest had begun to reclaim what had once been its own: moss and damp clung to the cabin's exterior, with some areas looking as though they were ready to collapse altogether. Inside was a slight improvement, though not much; it would provide shade, however, and just enough space to fit those who needed it.
Following a quick search through the cupboards at the back of the shack revealed two bottles of wine and a small box containing food. It wasn't much – several pieces of dried bread wrapped in leaves to preserve them and one or two sealed containers – though the humans amongst them were glad to be able to save their supplies and take the new ones. It appeared as if the structure had once served as someone's second home in the forest, or maybe even a shed, but lack of use had aged it and left it crumbling.
The smell of decaying wood was strong as Justice sat himself down in one of the corners, yet it was a comforting odour, one that reminded him of his own home. The floor space here was actually only half of what he was used to, but his house was full of so much useless furniture and equipment that there was usually barely any space to move around in anyway. Books, pots, empty bottles... He could feel a small ache within him for the simple home he missed. Surely after all this was over, he would be able to return: to fall back into his weekly trips to Rockwood; the habit of wandering the valley, searching the night for herbs and materials with which to brew the potion that kept him alive – the life of solitude he had grown accustomed to.
But what if he didn't return? What if he was unable to? Up until now, he had been so preoccupied with the goal of contacting the Guardians that he had had little time to think about what would happen afterwards, when he eventually laid hands upon the Schwarzschild Sword. If it really was as the tales said, and his father, the kind, was revived and his power restored, then what would become of him? Would there be a war to restore the monarchy? More fighting? The idea aroused his curiosity as much as it frightened him.
Outside, Carbuncle stood on his own, back turned to the shack. It had been decided that the three humans, Luso, Blanche and Frazer Whiteley (Wilderness' second subordinate who had received no introduction), would take short shifts as lookouts during the daytime, but Carbuncle had insisted that he take the first hour before dawn; and now Justice watched him, skin white moon-white against the forest and hair red as the blood that ran through his body.
Slowly, Carbuncle raised his right hand, and the other was intrigued to notice that a small flicker of light clung to the end of one of his fingers, like a candle; it was still for a moment, but then all of a sudden it flared up, engulfing his hand in a flurry of flames. They coiled around his delicate form, snake-like, a white-hot whip twisting through the air and casting shadows where clothes met skin. Carbuncle himself seemed quite unharmed by the fire – rather, he commanded and coordinated it with his hands as easily as though it were an extension of his own body. It was as if the two were locked in a complex dance: one moment the flames were flitting across his arms, the next they raged through the air, orchestrated by the one who stood amongst them.
And then they were gone. Gradually, Carbuncle lowered his hands and glanced briefly over his shoulder at the shack. There was a hard, defiant look in his eyes, and it was at that moment that Justice understood the purpose of his display: it was a warning, a taste to anyone watching of his abilities. If Judas wanted to frighten them by attacking one of his group and sending him back, then he would send out his own message – one written in flames.
It was now firmly established within Justice's mind that the Guardians were able to manipulate their respective elements, which clearly meant that Kircheis and Wilderness had influences over water and earth as well. The idea opened up a whole new channel inside him, and all of a sudden he was filled with a burning curiosity to see their powers in action. What would it be like to have a whole element, a piece of what made up the world around you, under your absolute and unquestioned control? It didn't seem real to think that such a thing were possible.
He looked right, at the others who had crowded into the small room. Rafaga and Rakina sat side-by-side in the opposite corner, the latter having calmed down considerably, though he still kept his head down. Next to them were Wilderness, Luso, Willow and Whiteley, and then the girl named Blanche, who still had not removed the hood covering most of her face. Finally, Kircheis and Abess-Reid rested against the back wall.
The night seemed particularly cold in comparison to the times Justice had spent outside before, but perhaps that was just because he was in a different area of the country, with different relief and climate. Silently, he drew his knees up into his chest, pulled the material around his collar closer to his neck and tilted his head forward so that his hair hung in front of him like a fine curtain. Around him, all was still, except for the faint sound of the others as they drew breath, as well as his own heartbeat. Soon, the sun would rise and the day begin, and maybe then the forest would spring to life, but for now, it was silent.
One night had passed in their journey; one step had been taken.
Now it was simply a race to the finish line.

16: Chapter XV: The Power of Two Rivers

Chapter XV

The Power of Two Rivers

Slowly, Justice opened his eyes. It took a few seconds for him to reacquaint himself with his surroundings and the people sleeping silently nearby, though from the looks of it, he was the only one awake.
He stood up, stealing a glance at the others as he did. Blanche sat against the far wall, and next to her were Luso, Kircheis (who had managed to curl himself up into a ball of messy blond hair as he slept), and finally Wilderness. Even when resting, the earth vampire's carried a frown, as if his very dreams were enough to cause him distaste. Shaking his head to himself, Justice continued forward, opened the door and stepped outside.
The smell of fresh rain and a newly-flooded ground were the first things to meet Justice. Sighing, he closed the door and began to walk towards the nearest tree, his boots sinking an inch or so into the sodden ground with each step. As he leaned one arm against its trunk, he rubbed one eye with his sleeve and looked out at the forest.
Then he froze.
The sun glowed behind a wall of grey clouds, yet thick as the barrier was, it wasn't enough to prevent the rays from cutting through. A mixture of frantic disorientation took a hold of Justice – how had it taken him so long to notice? Had he been so utterly foolish as to walk outside in the middle of the day without protection? Confusion gnawed at his mind, but most of all, panic: he had to get inside – now.
Like an arrow from a bow, he leaped back towards the shack and made a lunge for the door, but to his horror, it failed to open. By this point, he was just beginning to feel the effects of the sun on his skin – the burning on his neck, face and hands. It was all happening again, just like the time at Rockwood; only this time, it was no miscalculation, no outside fault – nothing but his own stupidity. Last time, he'd narrowly escaped with his life, though from the looks of thing, this situation wasn't turning out to be as fortunate.
Desperately, he pounded the door, nails cutting deep lines into the wood as he clawed at it again and again, but it was useless. Couldn't the others hear him? Were they oblivious to the sound? Either way, it was hopeless – no matter how hard he tried, the door remained as impenetrable as if it were made of steel.
Justice spun around, took one step and felt his knees buckle beneath him. The agony was spreading through him like now wildfire across a haystack, like a tide of steaming water coursing through his vessels. Mud splashed up into his face as he dragged himself forward, to a patch shade cast by the nearest tree; of course, it would provide little protection, but if it were to ease his pain, even in the slightest, then he would take it.
Never in his life had Justice known torture like this. He didn't even have to look at his hands to know that they would be heavily blistered, scorched by the unseen rays of sunlight in the air. How long would it take for him to disappear completely? The idea of death had always frightened him to his core, yet now he was wishing for it, begging for it to relieve him from his anguish. Surely it couldn't be long now...
A single agonised cry ripped its way from the man's lungs as he buried his quivering face in the mud and his back finally erupted into flames.
“Your Majesty!”
Justice's hands shot forward and seized something. He opened his eyes to see Blanche staring back at him, a shocked expression predominating what was visible of her face. As he looked down, he realised his fingers were gripping the material of her collar – it was a few seconds before they gradually began to unfurl.
The girl was crouching close at his level, but took a small step back once she was free again. “You were shaking in your sleep, Your Majesty. I'm sorry if I disturbed you.” She bowed her head apologetically.
Heavy with lethargy, Justice raised a hand and raked it through his hair. Of course, it had been a dream... Yet if that were the case, then why was he trembling still? A cold sweat clung to his body and glued clothes to skin – he could even feel the burn of the sun on his face. Everything had seemed so real, so vivid. Could something like that really be a dream?
A quick glance to his right told him that several of the others were missing. At first, he feared the worst, but Blanche answered his thoughts for him.
“They're outside, Your Highness – I saw them a few moments ago, and, well...” Her face was grave.
Justice opened his mouth to ask what was wrong, but as he did, something made him stop. He frowned. There was a strong smell in the air – so overpowering, in face, that he was surprised he hadn't noticed it before: the unmistakeable odour of blood.
And Kircheis, it seemed, could sense it too; a small space away from him, the Guardian stirred, lifting his head to catch the scent. When the two's eyes met, Justice noticed his expression was that of terror as opposed to curiosity. Wordlessly, he stood up and left through the door, and it was a mere second before Justice and the girl copied him.
What greeted them, however, was enough to make them freeze mid-step.
Of course. Blood.
It was everywhere: clinging to the bark of the trees, settling in pools on the ground, dripping from the corpses that hung suspended amongst the branches. There had to be at least a hundred of them, most butchered in such a way that it was difficult to tell which part belonged to which body. Each had been strewn across the forest carelessly, and from what was visible beneath the red stains, they wore the same uniform – silver with a pale blue crest.
“W-what is this...” Kircheis fell to his knees beside Justice. Slowly, he raised his shaking hands and pressed them either side of his head, though his wide eyes remained fixed upon the scene in front of him. His mouth opened, but he was unable to bring forth words.
Justice, too, found himself speechless, yet not to the degree as the other; horrified, he ran his gaze over the mass of torn and formless corpses surrounding him, repulsed by the smell that wrapped around him. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Wilderness and his servant, Whiteley, assuming a similar position, whilst Abess-Reid pulled at one of the arms of a nearby corpse to examine the emblem on its sleeve. It was difficult to see anything through the bloody stains, but there was no mistaking the familiar crest adorning the material.
“I'm sorry, My Lord,” he said solemnly to the water vampire.
Yet perhaps he had known it the moment he'd detected the small of blood in the shack. The first tears that made their way from Kircheis' eyes were small and few, but then he was sobbing, trembling in the mud. He almost reminded Justice of a child: defenceless, weak and utterly helpless.
"This is all my fault," he whimpered. "I thought that if I sent for my army, we'd have more numbers..."
Just then, Wilderness stepped forward. He regarded the grieving Guardian briefly before turning to the black-haired man. "It's him again, isn't it? That Judas you told us about."
Justice did not answer him.
"How he can destroy an entire army, though, is beyond me - even if they are human. And then there's the question of how he was able to set this up without waking at least one of us." He scratched his head.
Behind him, Whiteley lifted a hand. "My Lord, I am so sorry. I fell asleep - the mistake is mine—"
"I told you to be quiet," snapped Wilderness - evidently, the matter had already been in discussion. Then, to Justice, "We need to get Kircheis away from here - I trust you can manage that, yes?"
Slowly, the black-haired man nodded and looked at the water vampire, who was still bent over in the mud. It seemed cruel to ask anything of him, but Wilderness was right - they couldn't stay here. He stood in front of Kircheis and offered him his hand, which he took reluctantly. For a moment, he looked as though he were planning to say something, but decided against it, instead wiping his tear-stained face with his sleeves. Even when standing straight, he fell more than half a head short of the other in height.
"Come on, My Lord," Justice murmured, to which the water vampire nodded.
"Yes... Thank you."
Trying hard to keep his eyes on the ground so as to avoid having to take in any more of the scene around him, Justice began to guide the shaken man behind the shack, to a place where they would be out at sight. However, this was no escape – the matter bodies had managed to find their way here as well, as if they were closing in on them. The smell was foul – blood defiled by severed flesh. No doubt it was close to torture for Kircheis.
"By the gods..." Rafaga had emerged from the shack and was now patrolling the small area in front of the hut. After a few seconds, he stopped and raked his hand deep between the locks of his hair in a mixture of horror and distress, unable to believe what he was seeing before him.
Somewhere close by, Kircheis started crying again.

17: Chapter XVI: Grand Master

Chapter XVI

Grand Master

The man slammed back-first into the tree.
“What the hell was that?”
He sniggered. “What the hell was what?”
Judas snarled as he gripped the other's collar. “You know damn well what I'm talking about.”
“Oh, that?” Slowly, the hooded man's fingers wrapped around one of the hands holding him captive. “And may I ask what significance a few irrelevant lives has to you?”
Suddenly, his nails dug sharply into the flesh of Judas' wrist, forcing him to let go. Judas stared at him, scowling. “I tell you to kill one person and you slaughter an entire army. Do you like to draw attention to yourself?” He paused. “I'm not sure you understand how powerful these Guardians really are.”
The hooded man snorted. Now free to walk around, he crossed the small area and leaned one arm against a tree trunk, making sure to keep the other clearly in his sights. “From what I've seen, they're not all they're made out to be. Sure, they have their little tricks, but if you can overlook that, then they're really not anything to get worried about.”
Judas mumbled something inaudible and turned his back to look out at the forest; in terms of anger, he'd calmed down considerably, though the other's overconfidence continued to irritate him.
“And if it's really of any interest to you, I got rid of those soldiers because they were in the way.”
“‘In the way’...” Judas repeated the line moodily to himself.
All of a sudden, the air beside his ear whistled like a whip as it was split by the form of a flying dagger. Its point hit the tree in front with such impact and precision that the blade sunk into the bark halfway up to its hilt.
Slowly, Judas turned from the knife to the one that had thrown it – the expression on his face could have melted steel. “How dare you—”
“I think you're forgetting who you're talking to here, my friend," the hooded man said quietly, a strong hint of menace lingering in his tone. “You seem to forget that I could kill you here and now and you wouldn't even know it had happened.”
Judas snorted. “Oh, we'll see about that.”
"Is that an invitation?" The other titled his head to the side slightly – beneath his hood, he was smiling.
“Perhaps one day...” Judas smiled deeply, as though he were having to deal with a stubborn child as opposed to someone of his own standing. “Just... Kill Justice. And make sure that you do it before he can reach that sword. Or, if that proves too much of a challenge, bring him to me so that I can do it myself.”
A small laugh escaped the man's lips. “Bring him to you? Now, why would I give you that pleasure?”

---

Kircheis raised the bottle in his hand, pressed its neck against his lips and tilted back his head. Wine dribbled down his chin, though he didn't pull away until he had drained a sizeable amount of liquid. His eyes were stained with the redness of heavy tears, yet he still managed a small smile as he watched the scene in front of him unfold.
Justice crouched in the grass opposite Wilderness, who stood several feet away, his fingers clutching a thin stick. A pink line was etched into Justice's cheek, like the mark of a whip.
“For someone who claims to be the son of a king, your fighting skills are disappointingly poor.”
The black-haired man did not answer – his eyes were everywhere, his body tense as a spring, ready to move at once if he needed to. So far, he hadn't been able to land a single hit on Wilderness, whereas his own body was aching from having been struck so many times. The Guardian seemed to hold a solid confidence in combat: strength was undoubtedly his most deadly attribute, though he was fast as well, and appeared to have a habit of calculating his opponent's attacks before they'd even moved – evidently the mark of a being who had lived out his life tenfold.
All of a sudden, the ground beneath Justice shook and tore open, leaving a chasm two or three feet across. He leaped to the side to avoid being swallowed by the earth at Wilderness' command, but the Guardian was already waiting for him. The stick in Justice's hand flew up into the air, only to drop from his fingers as the other's fist knocked his arm back and a foot slammed into his ribs. He was on the floor before he could work out what was happening.
“This is painful to watch...” Rafaga placed his head in his hands and shot a sideways glance at Kircheis, who was lying across the floor beside him. The wine bottle was gripped tightly in his hands.
It had been several hours since they'd left the shack, though by now it seemed more like days. The image of what had happened remained in everyone's minds as clearly as if it had been burned in. Perhaps it was the sustained silence during the journey that had made it seem so long and drawn-out; but even so, to think that the event had occurred in the same night was almost unbelievable.
And now, Justice found himself in the unenviable position of having to face Wilderness in a fight. How it had come to this he couldn't quite remember exactly, yet he seemed to recall having being forced into it by Rafaga as some form of questionable entertainment.
What's more, he was being beaten - badly.
Wilderness stood over him, blocking out the moon - his face was shadowed and rigidly set. “Very, very disappointing,” he muttered.
Slowly, Justice rolled onto his front and started to pick himself off the floor, but just then his hand shot out, took a hold of the other's ankle and pulled it from underneath him in a single sharp movement. The shocked Guardian hit the ground at once. Seeing his chance had arisen, Justice lunged at him with the speed of a wildcat. Wilderness' hand landed somewhere near his shoulder, his fingers sinking into a mixture of flesh and clothing and twisting until blood was drawn.
It was more than just a petty child's battle with sticks now: the fight had turned into a vicious struggle of nails and teeth. At once point, Justice realised he could taste blood, only then realising that he had torn into the other's arm.
Rafaga, seeing that the friendly match was passing into extreme levels of violence now, stepped forward to intercept, but was stopped by the touch of a hand on his shoulder. He turned to see Carbuncle holding him back, a vacant look on his face as he stared at the two locked in a bloody struggle on the floor.
Eventually, it seemed, Justice fell back and swiftly edged away. Blood stuck hair to skin and ran from a split in his lips, though he could already feel the skin melting over. Wilderness appeared to be equally injured, with obvious claw marks around his neck and collar area. For a moment, the two men stared at one another, eyes narrowed, but then the brown-haired man's expression softened.
And he laughed.
It wasn't a mocking sound – rather, it was as if he were mildly entertained by something. Naturally, Justice fixed him with a questioning look.
“You amuse me,” Wilderness said, standing up. He took a moment to run his fingers through one side of his hair and reposition his clothing from where it had become dishevelled. Justice wasn't sure whether to consider his words as a compliment or not, so remained silent. Using his sleeve, he wiped away as much of the blood on his face as he could, clenching his teeth as the rough material brushed over the raw scratches.
They were in what appeared to be an endless field, surrounded for miles by nothing but wind-dried grass, the occasional gathering of thin trees and earth ridden with gentle hummocks. In the distant east, the profiles of the mountains that had caused such a stir in the meeting room were just visible against the sky. From where Justice sat, they seemed to tower above the ground, though he would remain by his decision to pass through them, rather than go around. According to Kircheis' map, the flat land continued until it met with the valley where he lived, but to cross it would waste days of valuable time, hence he was adamant upon taking the shortcut.
Now, however, it was time to rest again. Together, they had selected a large overhanging fold of land that draped over an indentation in the earth - a wild animal's burrow of some kind, perhaps. The chances of stumbling upon such an unusual thing were so fortunate that they'd decided to stop two or three hours short of dawn and take it as their shelter for the day, for fear that it would be the only opportunity they would have of finding shade before the sun rose. And now, the accompanying band of servants was dispersed around the area, gathering dry logs and branches from the trees and dropping them in a pile outside the burrow, where a large collection was slowly forming.
Since the excitement of the fight had died down, Carbuncle had begun to walk around. He bent down, inspected the proposed sleeping area and frowned deeply. “I can't believe we can be expected to spend a day in this squalor.”
“It's probably the only place for several miles around,” Rafaga replied. “Though in my eyes, I'd rather sleep in mud that burn to death come morning.”
The other mumbled in reluctant agreement.
The only servant who wasn't lending their aid to the fire-building, it seemed, was Rakina. He sat on the ground some distance behind Kircheis, out of sight and attention. His injuries had begun to heal, albeit slowly, as a human's would; and, like a human, Justice guessed that there would remain a web of scars on his back, an ever-constant reminder of what had happened.
Slowly, Justice straightened up, but just then, something soft suddenly collided with the side of his head. When he looked, he saw that it was a large square of black material, probably meant for the purpose of cleaning himself up. He glanced to the direction it had come from to see Wilderness bending down to readjust his boot. No-one else was around.
Within ten minutes, a fire had been lit and was burning noisily. It growled and snapped at the air, easily devouring the first layer of dried kinderling, though once it had been provided with some larger logs, it fell to a more manageable size. Needless to say, the spots closest were reserved for the Guardians, whilst the others slotted themselves in as near as they could, eager to warm themselves as the cold night breezes began to settle.
Justice took the place set out for him, gently lowered himself onto the grass and sat with his back to the fire. All around him, the field was plain, dried up by the elements. As far as he was aware, they were still just in the Water Region, yet ironically, it seemed as though this place had not seen rain for many months - perhaps even years.
“Look, Your Majesty.”
Justice turned to see Rafaga lying on his back, his arm outstretched in front of him. His eyes travelled along his finger to a silhouette darkening the northern mountains, a shape which he took to be a building of some kind. It appeared to be many miles away, and certainly of an impressive size, considering he was able to make it out from such a distance.
“What is it?”
“I'm surprised you don't know, actually.” The shock in the Guardian's voice intrigued Justice, who waited intently for an elaboration.
“It's the king's castle.” Kircheis lay on his stomach, legs bent behind him like those of a child. He faced the fire, and in his hand he held the neck of the second wine bottle. Like poison, alcohol was a substance that took no effect on the minds nor bodies of vampires; yet perhaps the Guardian believed that if he consumed enough of it, he would be able to flush from him the memories of the slaughter that had taken place, even if it were only for a few hours.
The king's castle... Justice found himself straining to make out the figure in the darkness. One or two pointed turrets stood out from the mountains behind, but apart from that, it remained shrouded. However, there was no denying the sense of awe that pulled at him – it seemed almost unreal that he was so close to something that he'd only ever heard about in stories. At once, he realised that he wanted to know everything about it, not to mention the one who had lived there – his own father, Dreizehn Schwarzschild.
“Is it empty?”
“Empty? It's been empty for years,” Rafaga answered. The words seemed to fade into the night as a small breeze swept through the area, bending the longer stems of grass and causing the fire to falter a little. “Your Highness, you are aware of the events leading up to your father's death, are you not?” The vampire fixed him with a look that could only be described as surprise.
The flames illuminated the soft strands of Justice's hair and cast heavy shadows upon his face. To his left, Wilderness raised his head, as if something had sparked his interest.
Slowly, Rafaga's expression lit up, a smile lifting the corners of his mouth.
“Well, that's a relief, at least,” he chuckled lightly. “I was afraid I was going to miss out on telling you that little story myself.”

18: Chapter XVII: Eyes of the Night

Chapter XVII

Eyes of the Night

A small log collapsed under its own weight as the flames claimed it, sending a handful of burning embers raining down upon the grass. Justice regarded it in his peripheral vision, but by now, his full attention was on Rafaga.
The Guardian slowly stroked his thumb against his chin, as if he were considering his words carefully. “Perhaps it would be best if I started right at the beginning, with the Lanzek Wars. Have you heard of them, Your Majesty?”
Justice nodded – more than once, he’d come across them in books, the series of battles that had shaped Marthiel’s ancient history. Despite his reading, however, warfare was one subject he had never delved further into.
Rafaga brushed a thin strand of hair from his eyes as he spoke. “The Lanzek Wars took place just over a thousand years ago, with the first breaking out in the year 613 of the Main Era. The two countries lying north of Marthiel, Vokul and Harvard, became locked in a territorial battle with one another, and gradually the surrounding lands were pulled into the struggle. Being the closest land, Marthiel was the first to ally with Harvard. The majority of the northernmost countries, above the warring nations, chose to fight alongside Vokul, led by Arn Lanzek, after whom the wars were named. For two years, it was non-stop destruction: towns were burnt to the ground, fortresses felled, innocents slaughtered in their hundreds. Even in the neighbouring country of Ödran, my country, it was unsafe. I remember my mother telling me that she watched from the window as the village across the valley was invaded and incinerated by enemy soldiers – my first year in this world was spent in hiding.”
On the other side of the fire, Carbuncle shifted from lying on his back to his side, so that he was able to face the two who were talking. The flames illuminated the details on the front of his clothes, whilst leaving other areas cast deeply in shadow. “I was eleven when the war first broke out,” he said. “Regrettably, my father was one of the many soldiers later lost to the cause.”
“The death count was high on both sides,” Rafaga agreed. “Some say it was the worst war of the Main Era, since the establishment of the monarchy. For two years it dragged on, until the assassination of King Zwölf forced the fighting to an end.”
Justice raised an eyebrow. “Assassination?”
To his surprise, it Wilderness who continued: “He was Marthiel’s ruler in the years before Dreizehn – loved, but then hated by his people of his country for leading them into ruin. Somehow, an enemy managed to infiltrate the castle one night and murder him in his sleep; the killer was caught and interrogated, of course, but by then it was too late.”
Slowly, Rafaga’s eyes passed along the tops of the distant northern mountains before falling to his lap, where he found himself subconsciously kneading a piece of loose purple material between his finger and thumb. Then he continued: “In the end, a pact was formed between countries, one that ensured peace throughout them all, and made certain that the land would never have to go through such a hideous experience again. In that same year, His Majesty Dreizehn, the late king’s son, was crowned at the age of twenty-two. However, the timing couldn’t have been worse: the land had been ravaged by battle, and there existed a strong hatred towards the monarchy, born from Zwölf’s rash decision to lead the nation into war.
“Yet Dreizehn was a natural leader, despite his young age. Instead of demanding reparations from Vokul and her allies, a move which surely would have sparked even more tension, he set about rebuilding the land from his own riches. Needless to say, his popularity rose, and people gradually began to restore their faith in the royal family.
“Now, tell me, Your Majesty – exactly how well does your history fare?”
Justice looked up. “Excuse me?”
“I wonder… Because this is a story about vampires, and vampires are the scum of the land.”A wistful smile pulled at Rafaga’s lips. “The first war is set in stone, though there are two versions generally told of the second – the original, and the ‘censored’, if you’d like.” He chuckled. “No doubt the humans have twisted it to suit their own values.”
“I think I understand,” the black-haired man replied slowly.
“Oh? Well, I can promise you that what I share is purely from my own recollections; and that, indeed, makes it the truth. Do you trust me?”
Justice eyed him for a moment, trying to work out what exactly he was trying to say, but then he nodded. “Yes.”
“Good. It is very important that you know that, Your Majesty. Now, I’ve forgotten already… Where was I?”
“The second war.”
“Of course. Well, whilst everything was slowly being restored in Marthiel, the ruler of Vokul, Arn Lanzek, fell ill, and died soon after. As was tradition, his own son, Monrey, rose to take his place. However, Monrey was even more power-hungry than his father – after only twelve years of peace, he had made plans to go to war again.”
“You’re forgetting the broken pact, brother,” Carbuncle reminded him, his dark eyes closed as though he were asleep.
“Ah, so I am. The new ruler turned upon the treaty that had been put in place to ensure peace throughout the lands and completely destroyed it. From what I heard, he made quite a public occasion of it as well. His first step was to approach the country of Harvard and propose an alliance; and to the surprise of both, I’m sure, they agreed to the terms, and set about expanding their territories – starting with Marthiel.
“Dreizehn couldn’t believe what was happening: after such a short time on the throne, he was facing an invasion; and not only that, but he was being betrayed by the land his own father had sacrificed so much to save. On the first day of the second month, year 627, the first set of enemy troops crossed the castle courtyard, forced an entry and captured the king. Dreizehn could very well have put up resistance, but instead he allowed himself to be taken prisoner, for he knew that Monrey Lanzek held something in his possession that was capable of turning the tide of battle. Maybe if he searched, he would be able to retrieve it whilst he was there.”
A frown came across Justice’s expression. “What do you mean?”
“Well, perhaps it would be best to consider that at this point in time, His Highness was still very much human,” Rafaga replied.
“As was everyone,” Carbuncle cut in. “At these events, I was not yet born, but my mother told me of how she watched, helpless, as they marched the king from the grounds. I can still taste the horror now that I did when I heard the story for the first time.”
It was difficult for Justice to imagine the redhead exerting any form of emotion beyond mild interest, let alone horror, yet there appeared to be a deep reverence in his tone. Like a cat unfurling from its slumber, he exhaled deeply, stretched his legs and rolled onto his back. It astounded the black-haired man that even this movement was handled with an almost choreographed grace.
Rafaga continued, though this time, there was a more serious edge to his words. “Dreizehn was taken to Vokul, where they confined him and… Attempted to force him to give up his throne; yet he would not submit, no matter what torture they subjected him to. Eventually, he managed to break free and cross the border into back Marthiel. It was a miracle he even completed the journey alive.”
“Monrey’s men had been relentless,” Wilderness picked up. “When the king arrived back at the castle, his left arm and most of his toe bones were broken – not to mention the exhaustion of the journey he’d had to make on foot across the land – the deserts of what is now known as the Fire Region.” He shook his head in disgust at the memory. “It was sickening to see such a person reduced to nothingness at the hands of someone like Monrey.”
In his mind, Justice couldn’t help but depict the scene described to him in all its detail. To think that someone he’d always regarded with such awe could be made so powerless… Yet despite his shock, a great sadness pulled at his heart, one that wept for the father he had never known. How could there be so much he wasn't aware of? He had always comforted himself with the fact that one day in his life, he would find out the truth behind his parentage; but even so, each word felt like a lie, a secret that he was uncovering at last. He found it difficult to pinpoint the wave of emotions simmering inside him – anger? No, he wasn't angry… Perhaps in the end, he simply felt belittled by how much he didn't know – or rather, how much he wanted to know.
“However, the king's efforts had not been in vain,” Rafaga continued, “As he had managed to retrieve Monrey's most valued possession, an elixir rumoured to grant the one who consumed it the blessing of eternal life. Indeed, it existed, and Dreizehn planned upon using it as soon as he was able to, for the sake of protecting his kingdom. There was no other option left for him: the castle was soon to fall into enemy lands, and the land was in panic; he believed it his duty, as protector of his people, to do what he could to shield them from danger – even if that meant sacrificing his own humanity.
“And so it came to be. The elixir’s effects were immediate, coursing through Dreizehn, transforming him. As a means to come to terms with the changes in his body, he confined himself to his chambers for several days, attempting no contact with the outside world. It was only then that he realised the true extent of what he had brought upon himself: the sharpening of his senses, and the need to shy away from the daylight as if it were poison. Oh, and of course, the hunger. At first, he tried to suppress it, though eventually it grew to the point where he feared he would pass into insanity if he ignored it any longer.”
As if by instinct, Justice lifted his hand to his throat and rested it upon his collarbone. The feeling was one he'd experienced all too many times, as unpredictable as it was overwhelming. Now that Rafaga had mentioned it, he began to wonder how long it had been since he'd last drunk blood – three or four days, perhaps? No doubt it would not be long before the need rose up once again.
“Do you still take to drinking blood for your survival, Your Majesty?” Carbuncle eyed him critically.
“Of course,” Justice replied, shocked at the incredulousness of this question.
The fire vampire frowned and turned his head away. “Oh.”
“Carbuncle, you know that His Highness is still a child in terms of immortality,” Rafaga said. Then to Justice: “There is is no sin in a vampire taking blood in order to stay alive. However, there comes a point where one is able to surpass their desires and adapt to an existence free from restrictions.”
Justice was astounded. “Do you mean to tell me there is a way to live without drinking?”
“Indeed, there is, although it takes centuries to quell what is only natural for the body to desire,” Rafaga said. “It took time, but in the end, the four of us set about withstanding a life without blood. The process was long, and there were setbacks... Yet there came a point for each of us where the body adapted – it began to support itself independently.” He sighed. “But the king... He was unable to turn away from his roots in the end. Ultimately, it was not a mere case of willpower – it was as if his body were still trying to accept the changes within itself. I... I do not believe that, in his thousand years of life, he ever managed to rid himself of the pain that being a vampire brought with it.”
Wilderness continued: “In his first few days after changing, Dreizehn sought out those who had always been precious to him. Well, to be truthful, most of us insisted upon it. Although he tried to hide it, there was no doubt that the king was suffering, and we were determined to join him; not for our own selfish gain, of course – the idea of becoming immortal was daunting. No, we were to share in the king's anguish and provide him with at least a little comfort as he transformed. It wasn't long before it was discovered that through the exchange of blood, the elixir's effects were able to be passed on – and so, one by one, the first vampires came to be.”
A smile passed over Rafaga's lips, as if he were remembering a fond memory. Seeing this, Wilderness narrowed his eyes and snapped, “What?”
“Oh, it’s not you, brother – I just recall my reason for contacting the king stemming from more... Selfish motives.” His expression fell to one tainted with guilt. “I took up fencing around the age of ten, when one of my mother’s friends presented me with my first sword. The war was over by several years, so I had a fair amount of time to practise. It wasn't long before I fell in love with the sport. Sometimes I would spend days on end just working over and developing my skills. By thirteen, I was the best in my village. All the younger children would come and train with their homemade wooden swords. Occasionally, I would let them win – others, I was selfish.” He chuckled. “However, it seemed it was not to be – I suppose fate has its own way of destroying people's dreams. Through reasons unknown, I contracted an illness which left me bedridden. The doctors were unable to identify or find a cure for the condition, though one thing I did know was that I was slowly losing the use of my legs. I would never be able to wield my sword again... Perhaps that was the only thing that frightened me more than death.
“There was one last hope for me, but I was doubtful: my older brother, Rüstung-Kranz, was away at the castle working for the king, and so I addressed a letter to him, explaining my situation and asking him to find out if there was anything that could be done to save me. It was a rash, self-centred decision, I know, but I was desperate – no doubt I would’ve gone to any extent to stay alive.
“Kranz did indeed visit me, though he was not alone. You can probably imagine my shock when I was approached personally by King Dreizehn Schwarzschild in my own home. He told me about what had befallen him and my brother, and told me the only way I could be cured was by becoming a vampire myself. At first, I turned down the idea at once. Me? Become a monster? Despite my pain, I was willing to rekindle my faith in natural treatment for the time being. It was years – too many years – before I finally caved into the offer, by which point my condition had deteriorated to the point where I was begging for immortality.
“Sure enough, my desire was granted, and as the illness faded, I found myself able to walk and move again. The king was selfless: he knew I had family to look after, so let me remain at my home with them. Yet how was I supposed to tend to humans when I was unable to leave my roomring the daytime? Over the months, I gradually became aware of how much I was trapped within my own body, a wolf walking amongst sheep… As much as I adored my family, I knew I would benefit more from being around my own kind.
“And so, I ended up joining my brother in the castle. Dreizehn seemed more than willing to accept me; in fact, he even presented me with my own bow and encouraged that I practise using it. The idea was daunting to me at first, but the more I used it, the more it began to grow on me and replace swordsmanship as my new love.” All of a sudden, he lifted his arm and pointed a finger at Justice. “Your father who made me the marksman that I am today.”
Jusice made himself smile – a little forced, but a smile nonetheless. All through Rafaga’s story, he had allowed his attention to wander to the other members of the group, watching them with light interest as they went about their individual businesses: Whiteley, one of Wilderness’ men, was occupying himself by reading in the low light, whereas the majority of the others were trying their best to fall asleep. However, one person who seemed reluctant to rest was Blanche. For at least ten minutes now, she had remained completely still, staring at the mountains ahead of her as she listened to what was being said; her eyes, the only part of her face not covered, caught the flames like two mirrors in the night.
Justice stared at her for a moment, but almost jumped when Wilderness cleared his throat noisily – obviously for the purpose of drawing his attention back. He turned his head to see the earth vampire fixing him with a look that could’ve melted steel. “Well, since we all seem so eager to share our little stories, perhaps Justice would like to grace us with the pleasure of his?”
The man frowned slightly. “What do you mean?”
“I think you know exactly what I mean.”
“I really don’t—”
“Judas.”
A sudden breeze swept through the grass, lifting a several ebony hair from Justice's face. “What would you like to know?”
“Everything that is relevant.” Carbuncle, having joined in again, spoke with the authoritative tone of a school teacher. “Correct me I'm wrong, but I daresay this is a matter that involves all of us now.”
Justice's expression was a wall, his eyes turned downwards so as to avoid making contact with anyone. He’d known it would come to this, and whilst he’d passed the obstacle of making Judas' existence known to the others in a relatively painless manner, he had a feeling that the rest would not be accepted so easily. The truth was… Disturbing, something he’d never told to anyone else before – he could feel his heartbeat accelerating even before he’d opened his mouth.
“I already explained to you at the meeting how I was discovered in the forest when I was a baby,” he began slowly, still staring down at the ground. “My saviours were a couple with a two year-old son. Originally, they’d given birth to twins, but one had died a few weeks into its life, and so I was taken in as the second – the replacement, if you'd like. Still, I was treated with all the love and care that the twin would have received, and was accepted into the family straight away.”
Rafaga nodded. “And this other child was Judas?”
“Yes.” Justice felt his stare become ever more wooden as he allowed the flood of memories to push him onward. “We grew up as brothers, despite the small age gap. It wasn't long before it became known that I was a vampire, though surprisingly, I was treated no differently for it. I stayed inside during the day and went for walks at dusk. Judas' parents worked as assassins, so most days, they would bring home the bodies of the people they’d murdered and allow me feed on them before burning them in the garden.” He shook his head slowly. “The concept of killing carried no sin back then. I grew up with a family who lived with death each and every day.
“We lived in the forest, so there was a lot of open space. Judas’ father would take him on hunting trips, leaving me to remain at the house. It
just so happened he had an infatuation with bringing home some of the animals he captured and keeping them in cages – rabbits, goats, even a small wild cat at one point. It was my job to tend to them in the others’ absences. I loved them all, but one I adored more than everything was a beautiful silver wolf that returned one autumn evening.”
“A wolf? In this country?” Wilderness raised an critical eyebrow.
“There are many wolves living in the forests,” Justice said, finding slight satisfaction in the fact he was finally able to correct the earth vampire. “Out of all the animals, I spent the most time around the wolf. I never touched it – the animal was wild, after all – though I would take out hours sitting and talking to it through the bars of the cage, thinking that it would be able to understand me if I spoke enough.” He smiled to himself. “I was willing to believe anything back then.
“Yet one day, when I was about ten, I came home from playing in the woods with Judas to find the father beating the wolf. I begged him to stop, but he… I was so angry…” Words were beginning to fail him now – the man who was usually so calculating in the way he conducted himself. “And then the mother, seeing what was happening, ran forward…”
Justice's voice finally cracked and trailed off into the night; it was with great surprise that he discovered his eyes were growing moist as well. Quickly, he wiped away a tear from the top of his cheek and lowered his head in shame. “Judas watched the murder of his parents before him – watched as I became the monster I had managed to keep hidden for so many years. I doubt I’ll ever be able to understand what passed through my head at that moment… I just lost control.
“And so I ran away, then and there on the spot. The wetness on my hands was warm – it was my first time tasting the blood of someone living. It was the first time I killed…”
At last, he raised his head to look around at the shocked faces of the Guardians. Rafaga, in particular, looked extremely taken aback. Justice watched, heart in throat, as he opened his mouth, then closed it again. He paused for a moment, as if trying to order his thoughts inside his head, before speaking in a slow, controlled tone. “Your Majesty…” Despite the vampire's expression, his words were soft. “There is no shame in what you have done. You cannot allow yourself to dwell on past events so far into the future…”
“‘No shame’?” Justice couldn’t help himself from interrupting the other mid-sentence. “Perhaps if I hadn’t murdered his family thirty years ago, Judas wouldn’t be following me right now, causing the pain that he is.” He only had to glance back at Kircheis to remember the agony on the vampire's face when fronted with the sight of his slaughtered army – an anguish that could still be seen deep in his eyes. He caught his gaze for a second, but turned away before his expression could be fully read.
“If you’re referring to what happened earlier, then you’re a fool. It was my own fault for summoning my soldiers without studying the board beforehand, and, well, now I shall have to live with that guilt. I'm not asking for condolences.”
It was the first time Kircheis had spoken in a while – the others had almost forgotten his presence.
“On the other hand, if you are talking about the ones that you…” He frowned. “The ones you did away with, Your Highness, then I can tell you that I understand how you feel. Well, perhaps it is not quite to the same degree, but before I worked for the king, my twin sister, Martisor, and I would carry out killings for people in return for money. Being orphans, it was the only way for us to survive; and yet at the same time, the two of us saw every fragment of evil what we were doing…” A small chuckle escaped his lips. “Of course, there is no going back on what has been done. It was only when my sister and I parted ways and Dreizehn took me into his care that began to come to terms with what I'd done – for what we’d both done.”
The more he spoke, the more confidence seemed to flow back into Kircheis’ words. Justice could tell that he was not trying to create sympathy for himself; quite the opposite, it was as though he were attempting to comfort himself through his own experiences. Nevertheless, the memories were still vivid in Justice's mind, and whilst he was usually hardened to such violence, the event continued to affect him, all these years later. Maybe it was not the murder itself that had cast such an imprint upon him, but the fear, the way he felt sick whenever the thought crossed his consciousness.
Or perhaps it was in another that his guilt lay.
An image of Judas passed before him, though it was not the man with whom he was so accustomed. It was the twelve year-old: small, quivering and flecked with the blood of his parents. No matter how much he tried, there was no erasing the sight from his memories, the hopelessness that gnawed away at him amid the hatred. For so long, he had wondered whether it would’ve been kinder to them both if he had killed him along with his parents, to have allowed his rage to swallow up any doubts he held.
Because Judas was the only living person who had seen him for what he truly was – a monster.
Justice almost jumped when a hand rubbed his shoulder. Sowly, he looked upwards to see Rafaga standing beside him, the light from the fire gently licking his pale skin and purple garments.
“Would His Majesty kindly join me for a moment?”
For a second, Justice wondered what he could possibly mean, but pulled himself to his feet nonetheless. It was only when the Guardian turned and began to walk away that he realised he was expected to follow.
“My Lord…” Rakina attempted to stand up, but his master waved away his efforts with the flick of his hand.
“We shall not be gone long.”
Every pair of eyes followed the two men as they made their way across the field, leaving the warmth of the fire behind. Now that the flames were unable to reach him, the night’s biting chill seized its chance to gnaw away at Justice’s body, making him shiver slightly.
One thing that caught his attention in particular was the lack of life on the plains. There were no birds, no insects around him – even the dry grass crumpled beneath his feet like sand. At least in the valley where he lived, one could sit at night and watch the glowflies as they hung suspended in the air, casting their lights like candles. Now, though, their absence gave the place an empty, lifeless feeling, as if he were staring at a night sky devoid of stars.
The castle in the distance was a dark smudge against the mountains, barely visible even to the enhanced eye. From this angle, it almost appeared as though it had been built into the slopes themselves, like something pulled from a book of fairy tales. Over the years, time had been cruel to the home of Marthiel's ruler, slowly reclaiming its stone walls and worn towers. Its empty rooms resonated with abandon and the sound of the wind, tearing through bare corridors where once walked vampires and humans alike. Truly, it was a shadow of its former glory – faded, along with the one who once resided there.
A soft laughter brought Justice’s thoughts back to the present, and he glanced around to see Rafaga smiling. “It must be quite a shock to you, suddenly learning so much about the king after all these years.”
The man nodded, but said nothing.
Slowly, the Guardian tilted his head back and allowed his eyes to wander into the sky as he walked. “He was a father to us all, and a great king. I doubt the country will ever be able to find a ruler who loved his people as much.” His eyes flicked back to Justice. “And of course, there was your mother as well.”
“Rosalie,” Justice said.
“Yes, Rosalie. I remember you mentioning her at our first meeting.” Rafaga paused abruptly in his steps, leading the other to do the same, and silence was dominant one again. However, it was only for a few seconds this time, as it appeared he was eager to speak again.
“Rosalie... Indeed, she was a lovely woman, and beautiful at that – the king adored her. I believe it was one evening when the two of them met: Rosalie's family had been murdered by a rogue vampire and her house burnt to the ground, so she was living with one of the castle's gardeners – working in return for food and lodgings. Needless to say, Dreizehn took an immediate attraction, and invited her to live with him in the castle as his lover, as opposed to a worker.”
Justice could sense that telling him this was most likely the reason why Rafaga had taken him asied, though he was yet to discover why it had to be kept from the others.
“Yet seemed that not even his love for Rosalie could prevent the king from committing the final, inevitable act. Even today, I still cannot comprehend what truly drove him to it, though I can tell you that Dreizehn's death was something he had considered over and over again,” Rafaga continued. His words seemed rushed, as if he were telling the story directly as the thoughts came into his head. “He just... Disappeared one night, telling no-one but my brother Kranz of his intentions. I had sensed that something was wrong for months: the king had begun to become withdrawn from his daily life, spending increasing amounts of time confined to his room, brooding over his each and every activity. It shocked me deeply to have the one man I looked up to suddenly end his life without so much as a farewell.
“Rosalie was distraught. Within days of finding out, she came running to me with talk about suicide, and begged for me to take her life. Why she decided to approach me, of all people, I don't know, but I managed to calm her down to the point where I could speak some sense into her. She had fallen pregnant by Dreizehn, and although it was impossible to turn her from the idea of killing herself, I made her promise to stay alive long enough to give birth to the child.
“However, it soon became obvious that she was not the only one who was suffering from ill emotions: Wilderness had descended into a state of rage towards the king for abandoning us all. It was no secret that he had always held deep feelings for Rosalie, and seeing her in such depression only made him more furious. The Lady began to grow wary around him, a wariness which eventually led to hysteria. She feared for the life of her child, worrying that Wilderness would destroy it one day in revenge against the king who had pained all those he'd left behind. The thought was completely irrational, of course, but like before, there was little sense to be talked into her.
“And so the two of us set about finding a way of making her disappear to Wilderness, but keep her alive. In the end, I decided upon injecting her with a poison that only gave the illusion of death by temporarily bringing her heartbeat down to such a rate that it was undetectable, even to a vampire. I lied to Wilderness, saying that she'd suffocated herself in the night – that was the point at which he lost control completely. Drunk on his own fury and grief, he ran away from the castle, severing contact with everyone he knew until he reappeared in his own castle several years later.
“Meanwhile, I took Rosalie to a small cabin I'd had made especially in the woods, where she intended to live out the remainder of her time. Aside from my occasional visits with food and other amenities, she was alone; each day, she would sit by the window, staring out at the forest, yet never once stepping outside. It was as if she were trying to detach herself from the world in the same wau that the king had before her.
“And then, after so many painful months of waiting, the time finally came for Rosalie to give birth. Normally, the event would've been a joyous one, but the Lady... She lost too much blood. In a state of panic, I begged her to allow me to save her through the exchange of blood, but she refused. Rather than becoming a vampire, she would rather join Dreizehn, as was her original wish. On her deathbed, she allowed herself one final prayer, a promise to watch over those she was leaving behind, including her newborn son. It was in those final moments that the word 'Justice' was first uttered.”
The mention of his name sent shivers trickling down the man's spine. He was speechless – what was there that he could possibly say in response? An emotion he was unable to put his finger on sealed his lips – sadness, perhaps? Or was it something deeper, a feeling that was choosing to surface only now, at the mention of the mother he had seldom paid a thought to in the past?
“And what then?” were the only words he could manage.
“Well, what else was there to do after that?” said Rafaga. “There was nothing left... I buried the body of Rosalie and her child nearby, marking the spot with a gravestone. Perhaps the only thing that gave me hope was knowing that you would eventually rise up again as the son of the king.”
Justice nodded. “And then I was taken in by Judas' family,” he mumbled. “Is that the reason why Wilderness hates me? Because of my father?”
“Wilderness doesn't hate you, Your Majesty – nor does he hate Dreizehn.” The wind vampire sighed. “Truly, he loved the king more than any of us. After all, he had been the one to help him escape from Vokul and guide him across the desert.”
The black-haired man could feel his eyes widening. “That was Wilderness, you say?”
“Yes.” Rafaga's gaze was distant. “Indeed, he was one of the ones who interrogated Dreizehn during his imprisonment; and not only that, but one of Monrey's highest subordinates. He had land, wealth, and any woman he could lay eyes upon... Yet he gave it all up for the sake of another nation's ruler.” All of a sudden, the vampire's head snapped around to face Justice. “But you must never tell him you know that, Your Majesty. Wilderness hates the man he once was; his choice to serve the king was one driven from his own need to make amends with himself, to prove that he was willing to lead a new life.”
Again, Justice nodded silently, but was taken aback when Rafaga took a firm hold of his shoulders. His eyes stared into the other's glassy green ones, and for a moment no words were exchanged. Then the Guardian spoke softly.
“That is why you cannot blame yourself for what happened all those years ago, Your Ma— No, Justice. Even to this day, at the mention of the king, I can see the regret in Wilderness, the sadness in his eyes. Sometimes, I even think that this anger he has towards him is just a way to hide the anguish he feels on the inside; and that's no way for a person to live.”
“I know.” The black-haired man sighed, a long, drawn-out motion. “I just can't help thinking that everything that's happened is Judas' way of taking revenge on me, that it's my fault.”
A smooth expression melted across Rafaga's face. “And do you really believe that, as Marthiel's most respected officials, the four of us would have taken to following you, had we not been aware of the sacrifices we would have to make? Justice, My Lord, it is no secret that what you did all those years ago was terrible, but there is not one amongst us who has not done something they regret. Take me, for example: I'm not going to go into detail, but as a vampire, I have killed more people over my thousand years than I can care to count –as have we all.” The air shook as a small sigh escaped his lips. “Having said that, though, I doubt I will ever be able to forgive Judas for what he did to Kircheis, for what he did to Rakina...”
His words faded into the night as the memories returned to him. Justice found himself turning his mind over everything that had been said, about the king, his mother and, most of all, Wilderness. Perhaps the the two of them weren't such contrasting people after all, despite their differences; and now that he knew a little more about the earth vampire, he would be able to regard him with new, more understanding eyes.
The walk back was shorter than Justice had expected, but perhaps that was down to the fact that so much had been taken from his shoulders. In a way, he felt liberated – there were no more secrets to be shared, no more guilt gnawing away at him. He reasoned that he could trust Rafaga, no doubt as his father had done so before him; out of all the Guardians, the wind vampire seemed to hold the deepest connection to the king, speaking of him with a fondness that could only be shared between two friends. Was that the reason why he treated Justice in the same way? Having not known his father, the man could only guess at what similarities they shared. What was he like as a person? A great ruler – there was no denying that – but also a strong individual? Or maybe he was of a quieter nature, like his son.
Maybe Justice was more like his father than he knew.
The thought was a warming one.
The fire had died away during their absence, taking with it the heat and comfort of the flames. Now, all that remained was a collection of warm ash and logs, whose edges still glowed amid the darkness. A small distance to the right, Justice was able to locate the lip of land that housed the remainder of the group. There was no sound, not the faintest detectable movement, which led him to assume that everyone had already laid themselves to rest for the night.
Maybe if he had taken the time to properly inspect the area, he would have known that something was wrong, that something was out of place.
Because there were nine present where originally there had been ten.
Wilderness was missing.

19: Chapter XVIII: The Last Night Falls...

Chapter XVIII

The Last Night Falls...

The smell of earth hung heavy in the forest air, released at last after so many days of rain. With each footstep, the man could feel the dirty water welling up between his toes, but he paid no attention to it. Panic pushed him onwards, drove him at a constant pace until his throat was raw from each pained breath, and his ankles and legs were splashed with mud.
“Your Majesty!”
His voice ripped through the forest like an arrow from a bow. It received no answer, though it was not as if he had been expecting any. No. the man would have to rely on his senses, as well as speed to reach his goal; yet it seemed that even those were slipping away from him now. With each step came a new pain, each movement adding confirmation to the fact that he was probably too late after all.
No, wait… There! Finally, he was able to sense something else moving nearby, even if the motion itself was worryingly slow. Gritting his teeth, he lowered his head and concentrated on directing every part of his being towards the source of his attention.
Then, at last, it came into vision, a lingering figure amongst the trees. It cast a darkness against the night, black on black, a shadow barely visible even to the enhanced eye. There was no denying that it was the shape of a man, though – bent, weak and broken as he made his way clumsily forward.
“Your Majesty.” The figure stopped a yard or two behind the king, frenzied breaths shaking his shoulders.
Slowly, Dreizehn turned his head around just enough that he could fix his eyes upon the other. It was only then that the man was able to see just how much his condition had deteriorated over a mere few hours: unnaturally pale fingers gripped the bark of the nearest tree; his body slumped slightly, as if suffering from heavy exhaustion; and the one visible red eye was framed with a deep black, suggesting it had not seen rest in several days.
He looked away before their gazes could properly meet. “Go home, Carbuncle – you have no business out here.”
“But Your Majesty—”
“Are you deaf? Did you not just hear me?” Dreizehn snapped, suddenly taken by anger. It did not last though, and shortly after he let out a sigh. Slowly, he ran his eyes over the form of the young vampire in front of him pausing when he reached his mud-drenched lower legs and ankles.
“Carbuncle…”

---

Like a candle flickering to life, Justice’s eyes opened.
He had been slipping in and out of sleep for a while now, unable to embrace one state of being before the other took a hold of him. How long he had been trapped in this cycle for exactly he didn’t know, but he doubted it could possibly be less than an hour. Outside, the moonlight cut through the gap in the earth like a knife, though it was fading, ready to give way to dawn.
Justice was just working out what had cause him to awake, when all of a sudden, he heard it again, a faint rustling above his head. At first, he merely dismissed it as a rat or other small animal ,yet the more it persisted, the more he began to doubt even that.
Eventually, he allowed his curiosity to take a hold of him and eased himself to his feet. There was little room to stand up, and so he found himself half-crouching, half-crawling across the floor to the opening. At one point, it took nearly all of his strength to avoid crushing someone’s outstretched arm beneath his foot, yet in the end, he was able to remain silent until he broke through into the open.
The slightest of breezes pulled at Justice as he surfaced, lifting one or two ebony strands from his face. A quick look to the east told him that dawn was an hour or so away at the most – perhaps sooner. He wasn’t planning on remaining out here for long though, so it didn’t pose an issue.
Slowly, he ran his fingers over the back of his neck and straightened up to his full height, allowing his senses to unravel. A dry earthy smell lingered in the air, combined with ash from the fire to create a unique odour. The man paused for a few seconds to take it in before turning his attention to the source of the sound, though from what he could see there was nothing there.
He frowned. Had he simply imagined it? Further investigation of the area returned nothing leading him to wonder whether he had allowed himself to be awoken by nothing. Perhaps there had indeed been a small animal, but if that was the case then it had long since fled.
He was just about to return to the sleeping area when it sounded a third time, an unmistakeable rustle against the grass. With instantaneous speed, Justice spun around drew his dagger and held it poised in front of him. His eyes strained in the darkness to identify anything out of place, though surprisingly, there was nothing to be seen – not even through the vision of a vampire.
Before he could stop himself, he had begun to creep forward, a movement which advanced into a walk and then a run. What he was chasing he didn’t know, but there was no ignoring the sense of unease that had come over him all of a sudden – it was as if his subconscious were being drawn onwards.
Just then, the air was split as something raced towards Justice. He managed to dive forward just as an arrow passed over him barely catching the edge of his sleeve. However, the next time was not so fortunate, as a second sliced through the darkness and pierced his shoulder.
Clenching his teeth, he took a hold of it, pulled it free and thrust it to the ground, when a sudden force knocked him backwards. He lashed out at once, kicking and scratching before his body had even reached the grass. An arm brushed against his mouth and he bit down, feeling his fangs sink into flesh. Somewhere nearby, his attacker whimpered and retracted slightly. giving Justice a chance to throw himself backwards and make his escape. It was not a long-lasting freedom, however: the moment he had clawed his way to his feet, a hand clamped down upon his boot, pulling him to the floor again.
A dark figure, like a shadow, passed in front of Justice. At once, he spotted the silver of his dagger on the ground, snatched it up and slid it across the back of the other’s ankle, severing the tendon. The figure collapsed with an agonised roar.
Justice’s heartbeat was in his throat as he slid from the grip on his foot and launched himself forward into a sprint. Despite his efforts to fight them off, the figures were persistent, and far too big a number for him to take on alone – even as he moved he could sense more approaching from the darkness. If he could just reach the Guardians in time for them to help…
A sharp object hit Justices back, burying itself in the area below his shoulder blades. At once, his legs failed beneath him and he fell to the ground, writhing like a fish out of water. The pain spread like poison until it reached a point where it was near unbearable.
“What a letdown.”
Justice’s fingers curled into helpless fists as he looked up and stared, through tear-clouded eyes, at a shape that blocked the moon – a male, by the looks of it. It was almost impossible to tell from the lack of light and dizzying pain what expression his face held, though judging the tone of his voice, Justice guessed that it was closer to a smirk than anything else. Slowly, the figure bent down and wrenched the knife from Justice, who let out an agonised gasp in response.
No sooner had he been freed, two figures descended upon him him, seized a shoulder each and dragged him sharply back. The one standing up raised his blade into the air, as if to examine it – Justice was sickened to see his own blood staining its length.
“You know I really didn’t think you’d be lured into the open so easily, but, well… I suppose that’s how animals are usually drawn from their lairs.” He turned his eyes lazily to the black-haired man. “Curiosity’s a burden – am I right?”
Justice’s expression was a combination of fury and pain as he growled “Who are you?”
The man chuckled then lowered his dagger and fell into a crouch in front of him. A snarl – a warning to stay away – ripped through Justice’s bared teeth, but the other paid no regard. Instead he pushed his face close and spoke in a low voice: “Who am I, you ask?” He smirked softly. “My name’s Gideon. And you must be Justice – am I correct? That’s a pretty name…”
Justice said nothing, bound to his own silence. The man in front of him was young – perhaps midway through his twenties in human years – with a head of blonde almost silver-coloured hair, and eyes that carried a confidence far beyond his age. His was a face Justice was certain he had never encountered before – so how could he possibly know his name?
The realisation hit him like two forces colliding.
“You!” Justice spat between gritted teeth. “You’re with Judas!”
Gideon smiled. “Clever.”
Before he could even finish speaking the black-haired man had leapt into a struggle, thrashing violently in an attempt to free himself. His usual calm demeanour lay shattered, only to be replaced with an overpowering hatred, a desire to tear apart the face in front of him. Maybe he would even have succeeded if it were not for the agony that continued to scorch his body, and the ones holding him down on either side.
Gideon frowned and straightened to his full height. His boot swung forward with dizzying speed and force, connected with Justice’s face and sent him crashing back onto his shoulders.
Pain racked Justice’s head; he didn’t have to raise a hand to realise that his nose was broken and a thin stream of blood was sliding down his cheek. The two by his side had released their grips and allowed him to fall back. It was his chance to run, to take advantage of his momentary freedom – so why didn’t he? Perhaps in the end, the fault lay in himself. It was as if his body had detached itself from his consciousness, unable to do anything but bear itself against the anguish for a few seconds.
He was barely able to struggle when Gideon crouched over him, brandishing the same blood-moistened dagger. “Please don’t try to fight me – I assure you it will only end badly.”
The way he spoke reminded Justice of a patronising teacher – one may have thought he was addressing a naughty child as opposed to someone of the same standing.
The black-haired man’s eyes remained fixed upon the dagger in the other’s hand, watching with an unwavering terror as he twirled it around and around. like some sort of toy. It was a few seconds before he caught his gaze and chuckled. “You’re interested in my blade, I see,” he said holding it in front of the other’s face. “Her name’s Vaana – I feel you may find her rather… Unusual.”
As he spoke, Gideon ran the tip along Justice’s face, tracing a line from the top of his cheek to the base of his chin; yet it was only when he reached his jaw that he allowed it to break the skin. The blade slid over his pale neck, leaving behind a thin thread of crimson and and only lifting when it reached the collarbone.
Justice didn’t move. Every cell in his mind was screaming at him, urging him to fight back, but he was beyond listening to them. What good would it do now? Even if he did manage to pull himself to his feet, he would be knocked down again, and that would only bring more pain… The spot where his back had been pierced still singed – evidently, his body had not yet initiated the healing process. Was that what Gideon meant when he had said ‘unusual’? The wound on his back was agony – he would have even gone so far as to liken it to the sun’s burning rays.
“You killed Kircheis’ men… And Rakina…” The words were little above a mumble on Justice’s lips. It was all so obvious now; maybe if it were not for the circumstances, he would have felt the need to laugh. Judas, it seemed, was even more of a coward than he had originally been led to believe in enrolling someone to carry out his practical work for him. Indeed, it fit his personality: Judas had always been one to look for an excuse not to dirty his own hands; though how he had managed to come across someone – a vampire, judging from his strength – so willing to bend to his will Justice would never know. Gideon appeared to be the kind of individual who prized his values above all else, one who controlled others as opposed to allowing himself to be manipulated – so why was he serving Judas?
Perhaps Justice would find out the answer to that question in time, but now was clearly not the time to ponder, for there were far more pressing matters at hand.
For a moment, he was able to blot out the pain from his mind and summon a small spark of energy from within him. With the speed and fury of a wildcat, he threw the silver-haired man from him and sprang forward, pinning him to the ground. The situation brought back memories of his fight with Wilderness earlier that evening, though this time there was no holding back, no hesitation: this time every inch of his body was programmed to rip, tear, shred, claw and slash at the one beneath him. If Gideon resisted, then it did little to protect him.
A hand wound in Justice’s hair and dragged him away, but still he fought violently, twisting around to swipe at the one holding him. The figure jumped back to evade his nails, but returned with a sharp kick to the chest. At once, the others came rushing forth to restrain the vampire, and Justice found himself having to struggle against three or four pairs of arms. However, it was a wasted effort on his behalf – he was overpowered within seconds.
Gideon stood before him, a deep web of red staining his neck and left shoulder. The skin was raw and bleeding, as if it had been raked by the claws of a lion or bear. No words passed his lips for a moment as he stared, stunned, at the wounds that showed through his torn garments. Then he looked back.
“You… You bastard…” he spat.
Justice flinched, expecting some kind of blow, but none came. Somewhat shocked, he followed Gideon’s gaze to the east, where his heart missed a beat to see the unmistakeable faint pink glow on the horizon.
Dawn.
The sun was rising.
Gideon’s expression melted into a smirk, the anger having faded. “Well, it seems that this may just turn out easier than I anticipated.” Then, to the others, “Tie him down.”
Before he’d even finished speaking, the men had begun to move. They were like a swarm, working together behind Justice’s back whilst the silver-haired vampire caressed the marks on his chest. Desperately, he struggled, but it was to little effect: the rope, obviously pulled from someone’s pocket, was thick enough to make escape an impossible option.
Once Justice’s hands and knees were restrained at last, the men stepped back, as if to admire their work. Gideon too, it seemed, was satisfied with what he saw, though his pace appeared more rushed now that a time limit had been placed on him.
“I shall leave you to enjoy the sun then, Justice, ” he taunted. “It’s too bad I can’t watch you burn, but, well…”
He turned away without finishing his sentence and had begun to move forward, when he was approached by one of his men; Justice strained to head their muttered words over his own frantic heartbeats.
“Don’t you think we should kill him here? What if he manages to escape?”
Gideon paused and glanced back at the black-haired man. “There’s no chance of that – leave him.”
“But shouldn’t we—”
There was an irritated sigh. “If it worries you that much, then break his legs. But be quick about it.”
Needless to say, it was done: Justice knew it was pointless to try and resist, so merely watched as his first knee was snapped backwards under the hard sole of someone’s boot as easily as if it were made of dry wood. The second proved more of a challenge, but eventually it, too, gave way with a sickening crack, like that of a branch being split.
The pain was indescribable. Justice’s breath came in short, agonised gasps, his eyes searing as the tears swelled and befogged his vision. He was barely able to make out the disappearing figures in the darkness, let alone hear their footsteps over the sound of his own sobbing. and when he tried to move his body, it only intensified the pain. He didn’t need to glance down at his legs to know that they were most likely twisted out of shape from where they’d been broken. He could even feel the edge of a jagged piece of bone piercing his skin.
The rope around Justice’s wrists bit into the flesh, but he paid little attention to it. Consciousness was like a flame in the wind: teetering, flickering, constantly fluctuating – how long would it be before it faded completely? Surely he couldn’t withstand this torture much longer… For his body to buckle and slip into unconsciousness now would have been a blessing.
As his eyes grew ever-heavier, he realised that his wish may just be granted after all.
Overhead, the sun continued to rise.

20: Chapter XIX: ...But I am No Longer Afraid

Chapter XIX

...But I am No Longer Afraid

“I understand, Your Majesty. I’m sorry – I shall not defy you any longer.”
It was true: Carbuncle knew it was not within his place to address the king in such a manner, regardless of the situation. Shamed by his own actions, he lowered his head and made to walk away, but paused, surprised, when a hand graced his shoulder.
“Carbuncle,” Dreizehn said – his voice held an almost forced smoothness to it. “How much do you know?”
The young vampire shook his head as he turned to face the other. The king was at least half a head taller than him, so he found himself staring down at the pale skin of his jawline. “I-I was looking for you… Rüstung-Kranz told me that you would be with the Lady Rosalie, but you were nowhere in the castle; and then Kranz, he—”
“He said I had gone to end my life.” Dreizehn’s words were dry as the air was moist. “And what of Rosalie? Is she aware of what is going on?”
Silence.
Whether it was his remorseful expression or lack of reply that gave him away Carbuncle didn’t know. However, the king seemed to understand; mumbling something to himself, he turned away and dropped his head into his hands, frustrated. “No, no… Why did you tell her?”
Carbuncle was helpless, unable to do anything but stand and listen to Dreizehn’s pained murmurs. It was partially his own fault – that much was for sure – another layer of agony to a situation that was already heavy with it. Even in the low light, he could see that Dreizehn’s face was weighted with despair, his eyes on the mud as if his only wish was to curl up and lie amongst it.
Yet there was a conflicting side to the fire vampire’s reasoning – one that was tainted with his own selfishness. It had not been within his intentions to do so, but now that he thought about it, was it not better to have the king feel this way? Perhaps if he were to truly realise the hurt he would cause by disappearing, he would hold back in doing so.
Slowly, Carbuncle took a step forward, but froze solid when Dreizehn turned his eyes upon him; instead of anger, though, there was only helpless despair. “I didn’t want you to see me like this, Carbuncle.” He sighed deeply. “My body knows it is to die, and so it has begun to reject itself. I can’t—”
“Then take my blood, Your Majesty!” The remark was little short of an exclamation.
For a second, Dreizehn’s gaze lingered on him, but then his eyes fell to the ground and he straightened to his full height again. His fingers lightly traced one of the many tightly-wrapped braids adorning the fire vampire’s head before his hand found its place on his shoulder. His lips parted, though no sound came out.
Instead, it was Carbuncle who spoke in a low, controlled tone: “Please, Your Majesty – if you so choose to end your existence in this way, then take my blood. It would be the last honour you could grace me with.”
Dreizehn sighed – a soft, yet painfully drawn-out sound. He glanced at the redhead’s neck, where smooth, pale sinews melted into a sculpted collarbone. If he desired so, it would be all too easy for him to take up the offer and allow Carbuncle’s blood to enter him, replenish him, to draw away the lethargy that he had felt for so long…
“No.” The decision was a firm assurance, not only to the young vampire in front of him, but to himself. “I could never find it within myself to harm my own nephew – you know that, Carbuncle.”
The words seemed to wash around the fire vampire, causing him to shiver slightly. Slowly, he allowed his eyes to turn up and meet with Dreizehn’s, but what he saw before him was not a king: instead, it was the man who had tended to and looked after him since the day his parents had passed away in infanthood. Dreizehn had been a father to him; nurturing, but also scolding him; often taking whole hours out his busy schedule as a monarch to sit him upon his knee and educate him on the world’s workings through maps, books and games of chess, a skill he had been taught since he was old enough to lift the pieces. He knew that the king had taken a great deal of pleasure in watching his nephew grow from a child into a young man. Was he really ready to discard so many memories – Carbuncle’s, as well as his own?
“I understand, Your Majesty. I’m sorry.”
“Or perhaps it is I who should be apologising.” Dreizehn moved his gaze to a nearby tree, as if he deliberately avoiding Carbuncle’s eyes. “Indeed, I am abandoning you. Everything I’ve done, everyone I’ve loved… It’s meaningless now. And for that, I hate myself.”
The way he spoke made Carbuncle wonder whether he was speaking purely for his own sake, though he quickly dismissed that thought. If he knew the king well, then he would have considered this thought countless times, brooded over it, allowed it to trouble him for nights on end. How foolish he was to think any less of his uncle.
“That is why I leave my kingdom to you.”
“What?” Carbuncle’s eyes widened, and shook his head. “Your Majesty, I can’t…” His reaction was not born of modesty, but rather of genuine repulsion to the idea. Surely Dreizehn could not expect him to take on such a duty? Even if it were only in part, how could he be expected to walk in the footsteps of such a person with the low experience he held? The concept was as absurd as it was alarming.
“I’m not asking for forgiveness, Carbuncle; only that you, along with the other three Guardians and Kranz, continue to look over Marthiel in a way that serves its people well. Keep it a safe place for them…” He sighed, his voice sliding into a murmur. “And look after Rosalie. If nothing else, protect her, and make sure the others do as well: though I trust the five of you implicitly, I know not what the servants will think of her when I am gone. Promise me that.”
Carbuncle opened his mouth to protest, but quickly decided against it, bowing his head in submission. Dreizehn seemed adamant that this was the right choice; and as much as he disliked it, he would abide by his superior’s words. Perhaps it was not such a bad decision after all, Carbuncle reasoned. If he were standing in the king’s position, then he, too, would probably choose to entrust his throne to the ones closest to him – it was only natural.
“I promise.”
For a moment, the smallest of smiles flitted across Dreizehn’s lips. Carefully, he leaned forward and buried his nose in the fire vampire’s hair, pausing for a moment to take in the warmth.
“Thank you.”
Carbuncle closed his eyes, allowed himself to be enveloped by the feeling that was slowly taking him over. For the first time in years, he felt like a child again, a small boy held in his uncle’s arms. To think that this was the last time he would ever experience such a sensation… The thought was more painful than any form of physical torture he could be subjected to. After nearly nine hundred years, barely a day had gone by without some kind of interaction with the king, be it hours’ worth of company, or simply a crossing of paths in the corridor; to deprive him of that was like denying one access to shelter after a lifetime of living under a single roof.
Then all of a sudden, the warmth was gone, like a candle snuffed. Fearing the worst, Carbuncle allowed himself one final moment of ignorance before opening his eyes. He was alone again. Dreizehn’s scent lingered in the air, but the man himself was nowhere to be seen. He was gone.
Loneliness began to gnaw away at Carbuncle like a disease. Slowly, he extended one hand and reached as far as he could into the night, then snapped it shut, though there was nothing for him to take hold of – nothing to latch onto…
The first drop of rain landed on the ground in front of him, followed by another and another until the mud started to dance with it; one landed upon the vampire’s cheek and trickled gradually downwards, only stopping when it reached his lips.
That’s funny, he thought, I don’t remember the rain tasting salty.

---

Darkness.
A world of black, a world of silence. Is this death? I never imagined it to be so… Peaceful. I could lie here for an eternity, feeling nothing but this, and feel satisfied. Truly, it is a bliss I have seldom experienced before.
Yet there is something breaking up the darkness – a light. Faint at first, it begins to expand until it is all-consuming. It hurts my eyes… Yet when I try to lift a hand to shield myself, I find that I am unable to.
He’s here!
A voice… Am I the person they speak of? Perhaps…
Is he still alive? He’s injured, Sir.
More meaningless words breaking up the silence, and still the light continues to scald my vision.
There is the faint sound of material rustling, and at the same time my hands fall free, as if they have been released from some kind of restraint. Finally, I am able to cover my eyes, but there is no need to anymore, as the light is suddenly cut off.
Once again, I am swamped by the darkness, though this time I am able to fully embrace it; slowly, I tilt back my head and close my eyes, allowing myself to float in the nothingness. Somewhere, a voice is speaking soft words, but they’re at the back of my mind now, gradually fading into the black.
Rest – nothing is going to hurt you.
Hmm, perhaps they’re right; I’m happy to let myself drift here, even if it is only for the meantime.
After all, who knows what it is that will await me when I open my eyes?

21: Chapter XX: Playing With Fire

Chapter XX

Playing With Fire

Slowly, Justice awoke. The transition from sleep to consciousness was unpleasant, like a carriage moving from smooth track to gravelled road, but eventually, he was able to pull himself to his senses and scan his surroundings.
He was lying on a bed in the corner of a small, dark room. For a moment, he considered the possibility that he was back at the inn with Nami, but as his eyes adjusted, he began to notice differences: the window was longer, stretching almost the entire length of the side wall; there was more furniture – dressers and shelves holding candlesticks, mirrors and other decorative objects; and placed against the wall, between the bed and the door, was a chair.
It was not empty.
A woman sat near, her eyes fixed upon him with light interest. She smiled politely, but Justice was far too alarmed to return the motion.
“What are you doing here?” Rapidly, he made for a sitting position, yet the the second he moved, a jagged bolt of pain surged up his back, causing his entire body to lock into position.
The woman seemed to sense his discomfort, straightening up and making her way over to him. She was young, with a face that held an adult maturity whilst still retaining its childlike roundness. Black hair reached her chin and fell above her eyes in an untidy fringe.
“Relax, Your Majesty - moving will only make it worse.” Her voice was familiar, though Justice was unable to remember where he had heard it before.
Carefully, he lay back against the bed. He was reluctant to let the woman from his sights, but the pain was simply too great to ignore.
A small sigh of relief escaped Justice’s lips as his head hit the pillow, the anguish fading until it was a dull throb that he was able to push to the back of his mind.
“Why are you here?” The question was less forceful this time.
The woman paused for a moment, confused, but then she smiled. “Oh, I'm sorry, Your Majesty. You probably don't recognise me, don't you? It's Blanche – servant of Sir Wilderness.”
Justice had to look twice before her words fully sank in. It seemed so obvious now – how he hadn't noticed it sooner he didn’t know. Admittedly, though, it was the first time he had seen Blanche without some sort of covering over her face; yet now that he was able to admire her in full, it seemed strange to him as to why she chose to hide herself in such a way. She was pretty – that much was certain – and despite not possessing a stunning beauty, there seemed no way for her to go to the usual extent she did in concealing herself.
“I hope you don't mind, but I tended to your injuries. Your legs had healed by the time we arrived here, and I noticed some blood on your shoulder, though that's been cleaned now. However, your back…”
Her words cut off and her eyes fell to her feet. Justice eyed her for a moment, wondering whether she was planning on elaborating or not, but nothing else was spoken, so he turned his attention to his middle body. Slowly, he pulled back the hem of clothing to expose the area underneath; yet instead of skin peeking through, the entirety of his lower back and front had been wrapped with long strips of dirty white cloth. It appeared to be a section of bed linen, tied in several places and crudely torn in others as a set of improvised bandages, though it was obvious that a lot of care had been put in place so as to make it as indiscrete as possible.
All at once, the memories of the previous night came back to Justice. Gideon’s figure was a dark stain on his mind, a scar he doubted he would be able to shake from himself for some time. The feeling of such helplessness, such inability to defend himself, was not a sensation that he had grown used to in his life, and one that he was determined never to face again.
“Thank you.”
Blanche looked up at his words, a slight flush coming over her face. “I-I’ll go and tell the others that you're awake, then.” She turned to leave.
“Wait.” Justice watched as she paused midway to the door and spun to face him again.
“What is it, Your Majesty?”
Now that he thought about it, the man could recall no conscious reason for stopping her. His eyes flicked around the room for something to draw her attention to before falling on what looked like a set of clothes perched on the end of his bed. He motioned with his hand. “What's that?”
“Oh, forgive me – I forgot to mention them. The Guardians gave them to me – they're for you.”
Justice nodded slowly, at which the girl bowed her head and headed once again for the door. He followed her with his eyes, but then found himself drawn almost instinctively to the items at his feet. Strangely, he was unable to recall the Guardians carrying any sort of additional garments with them – that was, of course, assuming that they were clothes. Either way, he was curious now.
Standing up was not as painful an exercise as Justice had anticipated, providing that he moved his lower back as little as possible. Finally on his feet, he moved to the end of the bed and inspected the items laid out before him. Indeed, it seemed that he had been correct in his assumptions, as he looked down at what appeared to be a full set of clothes. He took a moment to run his eyes over his own outfit, surprised by how torn and dirty it was in comparison; despite his reluctance to part with it, there was no denying that a change was needed.
The new outfit felt somewhat strange against his skin, yet as he inspected himself in the reflection of the window, he was taken aback by how much it suited him. Truly, it was as though the materials had been grafted to his body: the leathery material formed long sleeves and a high neckline, mottled with black and white all over. The whole piece fitted together like a tunic around the waist area, but beneath that, there was little to cover his mid-thighs from the elements.
“Oh.”
Justice’s expression was somewhere between alarm and horror as he searched the area for something to conceal his legs with, but there was nothing. Gritting his teeth, he turned back to the window and inspected himself again. It wasn't too obvious, he concluded: everything else was rigidly covered, although he did feel that the choice in design had been influenced in part by Carbuncle and his less-than-modest way of dress.
Carbuncle.
The Guardians!
All at once, Justice found himself overcome with a new sort of alarm, one that pressed him more than any petty clothing issue. Did they know he was here? He relaxed a little when he remembered Blanche talking about ‘the others’, though he was anxious to find out nonetheless.
It became clear to him as he stepped out of his room that he was in an inn, much larger than the one in Ashlington, but carrying the same home-like feel to it. Identical doors lined both walls of the corridor – perhaps five or six on each side – and to his right, he spotted a narrow set of stairs which he presumed led to more rooms. Carefully, Justice closed his own door behind him and began to make his way to the end of the passage.
What met him on the other side, however, was the exact opposite.
The door opened out onto a balcony, with wooden staircases on either side leading down into a room rippling with activity: tables lay set out around an open stone bed of flames, and all over men were dancing, laughing and drinking. One or two held lutes, whilst others clutched tankards of what appeared to be mead. Justice's eyes passed from face to face, trying to pick out any he recognised, though there was no-one; what did catch his attention, however, was a small figure in the corner, a hood pulled low over their head. Curious, he made his way across the room to approach them.
“So you’re alive, I see.”
The voice startled Justice, who had barely even reached the table. Slowly, the figure turned to face him. The hood cast shadows over most of his face, though it was no difficulty to spot the unmistakeable shade of red hair peeking out from underneath the folds.
“Filthy, isn't it?” he mumbled as the other took a seat opposite. “They're like animals – give them a bucket of offal and they’ll probably all run to feed from it.”
It took Justice a moment to realise that he was referring to the men in the room. It appeared that they were celebrating something – a victory, perhaps – yet the festivities had clearly fallen short of reaching the one seated before him.
Glowering, Carbuncle leaned forward in his chair to address the black-haired man. “Believe me, it was not my choice to bring you here. This… Place was the only accommodation for miles around. Though now I’m beginning to think that even a gutter would be more suitable than this squalor…” His words faded into another scowl.
Justice ignored his comments. “Where are we on the map, exactly?”
“Some pit called Briar's End.”
“I see.” The name rang a bell, though Justice was unable to remember where exactly he had heard it mentioned before.
Before he could say anything else, however, the pair were approached by a small figure bearing two tankards of something sweet-smelling. Blanche set the first upon the table in front of the fire vampire.
“What is this?”
“Mead, My Lord.”
“I thought I told you not to call me that here,” Carbuncle hissed. Then he turned his eyes to the frothing metal tankard. “I also told you not to waste my gold on this.”
A shocked expression came over the girl’s face. “I'm so sorry – I didn't think you meant—”
“Just go and find Willow,” snapped the Guardian. Even with his hood covering most of his face, Justice could tell that Carbuncle’s features were weighted with his mood.
Bowing apologetically, Blanche hurried away, leaving the two men alone in the corner again.
A few tables away, a man suddenly jumped to his feet, brandishing a half-full glass bottle. He swayed drunkenly for a moment before his face twisted in disgust and he roared at the ones around the fire, “Someone's pissed in my drink!”
The sound of laughter rose. “Calm down, Orik, you old sod.”
Yet it seemed that the one named Orik was in no state to calm down. He staggered forward, still clutching his drink, and launched himself at the group of men, who scattered, cheering him on like spectators at a cattle fight. One even went so far as to empty the remains of their tankard over his thick back, as if to wind up the situation further.
“You’ve chosen to wear the king's clothing, then.”
Justice drew his eyes away from the scene across the room to look at Carbuncle, who seemed to be admiring him in full for the first time since sitting down.
“My father's?”
“Of course,” Carbuncle snorted. “Isn't it obvious? When Kircheis sent for his army after the meeting, he ordered that they bring the clothes along with them from his castle, and, well, he's been carrying them ever since.”
Justice took a moment to re-examine his outfit. Perhaps he had known all along that they had belonged to the king, though hearing the words out loud filled him with a strange kind of warmth. “Are the others here?” he asked.
For a moment, Carbuncle said nothing, but then his face fell slightly. “No.”
Justice raised an eyebrow, waiting for some kind of elaboration. “No?”
“No.” The fire vampire repeated the word as if it were a ball being thrown from one to the other. “The human girl, Blanche, was the first to notice you were gone. Of course, we all awoke, and that led us to notice Wilderness’ absence as well...”
“Wilderness?” The black-haired man’s eyes widened. “He’s gone?”
“Yes, he is.”
A sinking feeling came over Justice, his mind rolling subconsciously back to his conversation with Rafaga the previous night. Had the earth vampire been present then, listening in on them? Was that the reason why he had left?
No, he was jumping to conclusions – if anyone else had been nearby, then surely either him or Rafaga would have sensed it. Hiding from a vampire was no easy task – in fact, it was impossible. He needn’t worry himself.
“The others, then – are they here?” Justice asked dryly.
“They chose to take their own path through the mountains,” said Carbuncle. “This tavern seemed like the only place within tens of miles that seemed suitable to house you until you recovered. At the moment, it is only you, Blanche, Willow and I here. The others are to meet us—”
He was cut off as a person who Justice recognised as Orik flew towards them, stumbling into Carbuncle and knocking his chair forward; there was a moment's struggle, but then the man hit the floor beneath the table, panting. The fire vampire stood over him.
“You...” Carbuncle seized his collar, dragged him to his feet and slammed him against the nearest wall. Despite having half his build, he handled him as though he were a straw doll.
“How dare you,” he spat. Carbuncle’s pale hands were taught as he held onto the man, one hand wrapped in his clothes, the other digging into the base of his throat with bared nails. Orik looked shocked – clearly, he was too drunk to realise what was going on. “Look, I didn't mean—”
“Shut up!”
The fire vampire's hand tightened, drawing a dribble of blood out from under his nails. Orik's expression was pained, though he made no effect to try and free himself.
However, it seemed that the ones around him were of a far different mindset. Shouting wildly, one of the men from the fire assembly began to sprint towards the vampire, raising his tankard with which to strike him across the head. Yet Carbuncle was not short of speed: in a second’s length, he spun around and caught the man, throwing him back across the table, where he slid and collided with a chair.
Needless to say, the situation took a turn for the worse. Man turned upon man as fights erupted across the room; clearly, Carbuncle's actions had only been the spark, to ignite a barrage of struggles that proceeded to spread through the tavern like wildfire.
From the bar area, a figure who Justice recognised at once as Willow leaped over the littered chairs and people to help his master, who was busying himself fending off two individuals brandishing short swords. Justice himself was just wondering whether it would be wise to lend the Guardian his hand as well, when all of a sudden, he froze.
Blood.
He could smell blood.
It had barely reached him before, but now the scent hit him with full force, as though he were suddenly being plunged into it. The very odour was enough to make his throat burn and befog his vision. Was it Orik? Perhaps if there had not been such chaos, then the answer would have been ‘yes’, but it was all around him, dripping from open wounds as people lashed out at one another with blades and nails. The violence was everywhere.
He had to get out of here before he lost control.
With the appearance of a drunkard, Justice began to stagger through the tables, making sure to keep to the walls so as to avoid getting swept up in the brawl. How long had it been since he’d last drunk? Four or five days, at least… He was a fool for leaving it so late. The hunger was an agony now, as was usually the case in such times: his body craved blood like a fish craved water, and he knew that if he remained without it for much longer, then there was no telling what his actions might be.
It was a relief to finally climb the stairs, close the door and sever himself from the alcohol-fuelled chaos of the main room, yet still his throat burned on. With one hand against the wall to steady himself, Justice moved through the corridor, only pausing to raise his head and occasionally look up. His room lay ahead of him, but he wasn’t headed there – not yet, at least. Instead, he took a left turn and made his way up the stairs he’d spotted earlier.
As expected, Justice arrived at another passage of rooms, and his heart leaped to see a young girl standing beside one of the doors. She eyed him inquisitively as he approached.
“What are you doing here?” Even the simple task of keeping his voice on the same level was a strain.
The girl seemed somewhat anxious at the figure who stood before her, but replied nevertheless. “Oh, I’m waiting for a friend—”
Before she had finished speaking, however, Justice had caught her lips with his own. One hand snaked around the back of her neck to draw her closer, whilst the other slid slowly down her hips through her dress, resting when it reached the top of her thigh. He could feel her pulse in his fingertips, the very sensation causing his own heart rate to leap into frantic pulse. It wouldn’t be long now… The thought was the only thing that drove him onwards and stopped him from caving in then and there. He just had to be patient.
Sharply, Justice pulled away, then leaned towards her ear and whispered, “Meet me in the last room to the right on the main corridor. Alone.”
The girl nodded, a deep flush plunging her features into red as she watched the stranger return back down the corridor.
Barely two minutes had passed before Justice could sense movement outside his door; and sure enough, the girl was standing before him.
This time, though, there was no holding back: the moment she was inside, the man slammed her against the wall, took hold of her shoulders and bit down as hard as he could into the side of her neck. A scream escaped her lips, but was cut off at once by the hand that clamped over her mouth and tilted her head back, exposing more of her throat. Blood spilled out like a river, splashing against Justice's tongue, replenishing him at last. Some dribbled out from the corners of his mouth, but he was beyond caring now – all he could concentrate on was the feeling of sweet relief that shook his whole being. It was like fire, though completely different to the burning hunger that had scorched his throat in the corridor: no, this was a soothing warmth, one that washed around him, more intoxicating than the strongest of wines. Truly, there was no parallel sensation.
A sensation broken only by a single sound.
Screaming.
A figure stood in the doorway, frozen as though set in stone. Her mouth still hung open from the shriek that had shattered the air, eyes wide in a mixture of shock and horror at the scene before her.
“No...” The moment Justice pulled away, the woman slipped out from underneath him and hit the ground with an audible thud. He watched as the other's eyes fell to the unconscious body, then returned to him once again. For a second, he thought she was going to pass out, or at least scream again, but instead she dropped the bag in her hand, turned and sprinted back down the corridor before Justice was able to stop her.

22: Chapter XXI: Rogue

Chapter XXI

Rogue

Justice was speechless, unable to do anything but stand and stare at the empty space outside the door where the woman had just been. How he could be so utterly stupid as to forget something so simple as closing the door? No, how could he allow himself to lose control altogether? He didn't even have to look at his own reflection to imagine how grotesque he must have look: blood clung to his hands, his front and his face, dripping from his chin and staining the floor beneath. What had he become?
A monster, for sure.
Panicked, he bent down and placed two fingers against the woman's neck, and to his relief he was able to sense a pulse – weak, of course, but still a sign that hope was not lost. No doubt someone would come and find her before she lost so much blood that her wounds proved fatal.
Justice was almost shaking as he pushed back the door to the tavern. He was half-expecting to be met with silence, but to his surprise, evidence of the feud remained, though it seemed that many had ceased their petty fighting in favour of what they had been doing before, be it drinking or simply standing around the fire. However, to the left, he noticed the woman from earlier amongst a group of four or five men, one of whom had his eyes turned directly upon Justice.
“There!” he exclaimed, directing a finger at the platform. “There's the vampire scum!”
His voice turned several heads; many stopped their bickering to find the source of disrupt, and when the saw the bloodied man, their expressions transformed into looks of shock and horror. Like a disease, it spread across the ensemble, until every pair of eyes was on the figure by the door. There was a moment's silence, as if the whole room was locked in place, but then the first figures began to surge forward.
Justice was frozen, unable to do anything but stand and listen to the sound of shouting over his own frenzied heartbeats. What was there for him to do? Perhaps if he were faced with fewer enemies, then there would be some purpose to fighting, but there were at least a hundred before him, each probably skilled in swordsmanship, all baying for his blood.
The first two approached from the stairs on the left, bearing swords. Justice's own dagger was pressed against his leg in a small pocket he'd discovered earlier, though his reluctance to use it was drawn from an act of submission, to show them that he was not intending to harm them should they withdraw.
However, that didn't seem likely.
One man charged at him, and he had to throw his himself against the wall just to avoid the tip of the blade. His hand took hold of his knife and raised it just in time for it to collide with the sword, and inch or so away from his face. The man stood before him, his expression taut as he pushed as hard as he could against the blade in the other's hand, though his eyes widened in shock as a knee made its way into the soft of his groin. Taking the opportunity, Justice swung his elbow around and felt it collide with the man's cheekbone, sending him crashing to the floor.
There were more people advancing up the stairs now, blocking his escape from either side. Before they could reach him, however, he pushed off from the wall, dived forward and launched himself off the balcony.
The impact of the landing sent waves of pain shuddering through his back, making him freeze. At once, a figure at least a head taller than him rushed forward, shouting and clutching a greatsword in both hands, which he swung upwards at Justice. The blade would surely have opened him from stomach to collar, had he not been interrupted, and Justice watched as he froze mid-movement and looked down at his chest. A red stain had leaked through his clothes, and was expanding across his leather breastplate. He placed one hand against it before his whole body heaved and he collapsed onto the floor.
Willow stood in the place before him, the bloodied blade of a dagger in his hand.
“This way, Your Majesty!”
All of a sudden, he leaned forward, took hold of Justice's sleeve and pulled him forward. As if breaking from a trance, the man shook his head and followed, climbing up onto the nearest table. A hand caught his ankle, but he was able to swing his boot around into the person's face and send them toppling backwards.
A flash of sky alerted his attention to a point on the wall nearby, where he saw the door swing open as several people flooded out. At once, his heart leaped – his exit was right in front of him! Like an arrow from a bow, he raced towards the opening, launching himself from one tabletop to the other until he hit the ground and burst into the air.
The cool night breeze wrapped around Justice, and he looked around to see that he was surrounded by a village. The buildings reminded him of Riverwood in terms of style and shape, yet there was no river here: instead, the path leading away from the tavern met a larger, paved track that looked as though it led the way out of the settlement, and it was there that the man knew he would have to go if he were to escape.
The feeling of something against his shoulder made him jump, and he turned to see a figure rushing past him.
“Blanche.”
“We have to go now!” she exclaimed, barely pausing to face him.
“What about—”
“Jais went back to help Carbuncle. He told me to take you as far away as possible.”
Justice nodded, and together the two sped down the track. No sooner had they set foot upon the main path, however, the sound of shouting and something slamming rose up from the direction of the inn.
“There!”
With the sensation of heavy footsteps behind to drive him, Justice continued onwards, making sure that Blanche remained close. The town was like a labyrinth, with passages leading between buildings to other paths at almost every turn – were it not for the main track, he most surely have gotten lost already.
However, it was not long before trouble struck.
Before them stood a dead end. To the left, a stone wall, perhaps ten feet high, wrapped in front of them, where it met the wooden edges of a large building and created a passage completely cut off on all three sides.
Blanche turned to the man. “You can climb over that wall, can't you? You have to get out of here!”
He shook his head vigorously. “I'm not leaving—”
His words were cut off, though by the sound of shouting nearby. Blanche, it seemed, could sense it too, and at once, she turned and threw her shoulders into his chest; her hand took hold of his, and the man was shocked to see her raise the dagger to her own throat, just as the first figure rounded the corner.
It was mere seconds before Justice realised what she was trying to do – it was his only option to play along. His eyes flashed in defiance at the quickly-growing crowd of watchers, his fingers tightening around the knife handle.
One stepped forward, a bearded man clutching a sword who Justice recognised from the tavern. His voice shook slightly as he spoke: “L-let her go.”
Justice's eyes narrowed, though he said nothing: slowly, he took a step back, towards the wall; and Blanche, guided by the blade at her neck, followed. He could feel her trembling against him, hear the frantic rhythm of her heart resonating throughout her body. For a second, he wondered whether he should relinquish his grip a little, but decided against it for fear that doing so would reveal his true intentions to the others.
It was as if there were an invisible line between the two sides that the men dared not pass – at least for the time being. However, Justice had no idea when the moment would come when they decided to try and overpower him, so he took another step back, gradually making his way towards the wall.
“It's funny, vampire,” said the bearded man from earlier, his voice having melted into a sneer. “How many of your kind do you think we've slain over the years?”
He made to move forward, but Justice's grip tightened and he stopped.
“He's not going to touch her,” called out someone from the back. “She's his only defence.”
“You think I wouldn't?” The man could feel his own heartbeat now as he spoke for the first time. He'd killed before – the men knew that – so what made them think another body would make a difference? To them, he was a monster, a senseless murderer who ripped and clawed his way through life on the blood of others. To them, he was vermin that needed to be eradicated.
Vermin... The very word left a bitter taste on his tongue. Who was he to object, though? He'd already taken someone's life tonight – surely it was a fair exchange for his to be taken in exchange?
The sound of something shuffling against the floor brought his attention back to Blanche: the girl had taken the smallest of steps back into him – to the men, it would have looked as though she were going to break into struggles, but Justice knew it was a subtle invitation for him to do the same.
No, he wasn't going to die.
Not yet.
With one last look at the man, Justice dropped his arm, spun around and leaped towards the wall. The first of his hands caught hold of a piece of protruding stone, and from there he began to pull himself up at a speed not even he knew he was capable of. When he was halfway up, he snatched Blanche's outstretched hand from below and pulled her up so that she was able to latch onto the rocks like him and make her way upwards.
The man didn't even have to look back to know that the others had taken no time to advance upon them. A sharp growl escaped his throat as the tip of a blade sliced through the back of his boot to his calf, but still he kept going, using every ounce of strength he possessed to force himself further up the wall.
Eventually, he reached the top, and with a small push he was able to swing himself onto the other side. Blanche, on the other hand, was a little slower, though with a little help, she eased herself over, and the two dropped to the ground.
“Ah!” she cried out as she hit the floor – Justice was there to help her up immediately. “You don't think they'll follow us, will they?”
The man didn't reply, instead choosing to answer in actions. Without so much as a backwards glance, he grabbed hold of the girl's wrist, pulled her to her feet and dragged her away.
Before them lay a field, and beyond that, forest. The trees would provide ample cover for the time being, at least – all he knew was that he would be far safer when he wasn't out in the open.
All of a sudden, an arrow hit the ground to their left – Justice could hear it slicing through the air. A quick look told him that several of the men were already descending to the ground, and whilst it was only a handful, the group was large enough to be a problem if encountered.
To the pair's relief, though, they were almost at the edge of the forest, and with a speeding of pace, together they broke into the trees. However, they didn't stop there: still firmly clutching Blanche's wrist, Justice led them onwards, weaving through the trees as fast as his legs would allow him. He could hear the girl's breaths tearing through the air behind him – he'd almost forgotten that, being a human, she would tire more quickly. There had to be a place where they would be able to hide nearby.
Sure enough, it wasn't long before they came across a clearing, around which stood a series of small wooden structures on platforms that Justice immediately recognised as empty beehives. With a single, sweeping look of his surroundings, he led the girl over to one of the hives and crouched down behind it. He could feel Blanche shaking, so reached out, wrapped his arms around her shoulders and pressed her head against her collar, where she continued to tremble with exhausted sobs.
Justice was silent. The scent of the forest hung thick around him, though he was searching for something else, an indication that they had been followed. It was difficult to tell over his own frantic heartbeats, but he was quite sure that they were safe now.
However, his whole body froze when a shadow fell over them.

23: Chapter XXII: Agony

Chapter XXII
Agony

Justice turned around.
A figure stood in the clearing before him, cold and unmoving. For a moment, he wondered how he hadn’t heard him coming, but then he realised why.
“Carbuncle?”
The fire vampire made no attempt to move, instead staring down at the two with an unreadable expression upon his face.
Justice sensed a deep feeling of relief flooding him: in the chaos, he’d almost forgotten about Willow and the Guardian. However, when he glanced around, however, he was surprised to see that Carbuncle was alone.
“Where’s Willow? Is he okay?”
Carbuncle’s voice little more than a growl. “Jais Willow is dead.”
The words spread through Justice like an icy wind. “Dead? How—”
“Are you stupid?” snapped the fire vampire suddenly. “Do you know nothing of your own kind? One of the human men had a silver sword. They used it to remove his head.”
There was something about the bluntness of his tone that took Justice aback a little. “But surely that can’t…” He slipped out from underneath Blanche, who sat back on her legs, staring up at the two men with a look of shock.
“Is this a game?” Carbuncle’s voice trembled slightly as he spoke. “Are you playing with me? Willow is dead!” He gritted his teeth and turned his back on the two of them – Justice could hear his breaths shaking the air.
“Carbuncle…”
“No, don’t.” Sharply, the redhead spun around to face him again. “Do you not realise the gravity of the situation? Of this whole situation? You come crawling to us Guardians, asking that we help you find some sword that may or may not exist – and then you betray us!”
“Betray you?” At last, Justice felt his words returning to him. “Are you talking about what happened back at the inn? Do you think I meant for that to happen?”
“No, I don’t think you meant for it to happen; but then again, I don’t know what’s going on inside your head, do I?”
The black-haired man frowned. “What do you mean by that?”
“I think you know exactly what I mean,” Carbuncle hiss.“You never even told us your true motivations for recovering the sword. What is it? Do you want to become the next king?”
“You know that’s not true,” Justice growled – anger boiled down inside of him more with each word.
“Do I?” roared Carbuncle. “I don’t know anything about you! If it weren’t for your eyes, I would still doubt your legitimacy to the throne.” He took a step forward, so that his face was mere inches away from the other’s. “In fact, how do I know for sure? How do I know that you haven’t just been leading us on all this time?”
Justice opened his mouth to reply, but stopped just as the fire vampire’s hand flew upwards. He snatched it from the air, crying out when he realised that it was enveloped in flames – he might as well have been holding a white-hot bar.
“Stop it!”
The sudden voice surprised Justice, and he looked left to see Blanche throw herself at the redhead in an attempt to pull him away. A sharp blow to her face sent her crashing down to the ground again.
An expression of shock hung upon her features, her eyes wide behind her loose fringe. Slowly, she raised one quivering hand to the spot where she had been struck as a figure loomed over her.
“Know your place,” Carbuncle seethed. “I know not what this man sees in you, but you’re still just a servant girl to me.” Then turning to Justice, he added, “And you… You are not my king. Even if you somehow manage to find the sword, I shall not bow down to you.”
“Car—”
“You will never be Dreizehn!” The fire vampire was bordering the edge of hysteria now, a single finger flying up to jab sharply at the other’s collar. “You can try, but the king was kind, thoughtful… Everything that you’re not!” He paused for a moment, teeth gritted in rage.
And then he ran.
“No, stop!”
It was Blanche, calling out from her spot on the ground. Justice shot one sideways glance at her before leaping into a sprint after the redhead; yet no sooner had he caught up, Carbuncle spun around to face him.
“Get away from me!” he shrieked. At once, tides of flames tore forth from his wrists and twisted up to his hands, which he plunged into Justice’s chest – the man was sent tumbling back into the nearest tree. A supporting branch snapped beneath his weight, and before he could catch his balance, he was on the floor.
“Carbuncle.” The word was little above a strained whisper as Justice peered between the trees. The fire vampire’s scent lingered in the air like a faint perfume, but there was nothing else – no flames, no figure receding into the distance. No sound.
Carbuncle was gone.

 

*

“Here. There’s a small stream nearby, so water shouldn’t be a problem if we need it.”
Justice merely grunted in reply, his eyes fixed upon the fire before him. To his right, Blanche bent down and deposited a small pile of dry sticks, ready to feed the flames if needed. He was half—expecting her to walk off into the woods again, when her hand graced his shoulder, making him jump slightly.
“Your Majesty,” she said softly, “How are you feeling?”
Justice caught her concerned gaze for a moment, then turned back onto his front. “I’m fine, thank you.”
Of course, it was a lie: he felt empty, as though all emotion had been flushed from him. Carbuncle… How much truth had been carried in his words? No matter how much Justice tried to distract himself, his mind kept on returning to the exchange, rolling over it again and again until his mind was sick of it.
A small distance away stood the circle of empty hives, and beyond that was a small shed. When tried, the half-rotten lock had broken away easily, revealing a space conveniently large enough for the two to sleep in. Now, though, a fire was burning on the woodland floor, and both figures sat around it in silence.
Blanche expelled a small sigh from her lips. “Your Highness, I’m sure Carbuncle is fine. He’ll return later when he’s calmed down.”
Again, the man grunted and rolled onto his back to face the canopy. The pain from where he’d been stabbed by Gideon had begun to throb across his back, but it was barely enough to distract him from his thoughts.
“Blanche…” he began slowly. “What do you think of Wilderness?”
“Wilderness?” The girl appeared a little surprised as she looked down at him. “Well, I hold him in my highest respects, of course, as I do all the Guardians; yet if it were not for my master, I would probably be dead right now.”
Justice lifted an eyebrow. “Oh? How so?”
“It’s nothing much, really,” she said. “My parents separated when I was small, and I was left abandoned on the streets by the age of nine. I lived on doorsteps for a month or so before deciding to make the journey to the Castle of Earth. Luckily, Wilderness took me in, and I’ve been in servitude ever since.”
“And he treats you well?”
The corners of Blanche’s mouth lifted slightly. “He has a temper, but I owe everything that I am to him. The others at the castle are nice as well – you’ve already met Frazer, haven’t you?
“Frazer?” The name seemed familiar. “Oh, do you mean Whiteley?” Justice remembered the brief words he’d exchanged with the dark-haired man across the course of their travels, and couldn’t help but feel a smile pulling.
Blanche shot him a sideways glance. “What is it?”
There was no reply, so she smirked softly to herself and leaned over to place another small log on the fire. The flames licked at their figures, casting deep, warped shadows across the ferny ground and tree trunks.
“So, what about you, Your Majesty?” Carefully, Blanche sat back down and bent her knees so that the entirety of her weight was resting upon her arms. “What do you think of my master and the Guardians?”
Justice grimaced. Whilst part of him knew that the subject would inevitably turn to him, he had been hoping to avoid it. Still, there was no hiding from what had been plaguing him for a while now.
“I’m not entirely sure,” he said slowly. “I know each was close to my father, but I don’t want them to force themselves into treating me as their monarch by default.”
“Rafaga sees good things in you – I’ve heard the way he talks about you to the others. But then again, I know from Wilderness that he was close to the king, so perhaps he sees parts of him in you.”
Justice smiled at the thought, though he couldn’t help but feel weighed down by Carbuncle’s words that continued to cling to his mind like an unpleasant smell. You will never be Dreizehn... Did the other Guardians believe that as well? As the ones who had known the king, surely they would be the first to notice any similarities between father and son. What did he have to do to prove that it was not in his intentions to follow in Dreizehn’s direct footsteps?
“Hmm, perhaps.”
Again, there was a period of short silence. Justice allowed his eyes to travel around the clearing, scouring the trees, before resting upon the figure next to him. Blanche was still as she watched the fire, her head tilted in such a way that her eyes caught the flames like mirrors. Her cheek was still slightly red from where she’d been struck.
“How are you feeling now?” Justice asked. “I’m sorry for Carbuncle’s behaviour earlier.”
“There’s no need to apologise, Your Majesty – I was out of place.” She looked at the man, running over eyes up and down before they rested over his chest area. “What about you? Is your back healing well?”
“I’m not sure. It’s been fine for a while, but I—” He was cut off as Blanche unfurled from her position and moved so that she was crouched beside him.
“What are you doing?” Carefully, Justice propped himself up on his elbows, yet still the girl continued to inspect him. After several seconds, she shot him with a look of concern.
“I’m sorry, Your Majesty, but I’m going to have to ask you to remove the top half of your clothing – it’s the only way for me to look at your bandages.”
The man raised an eyebrow, but obeyed nevertheless. Slowly, he reached down and began to unfasten the first buckle at his hip. It was quite impressive to see how the whole piece fit together, what with all its small details and ornaments, though Justice couldn’t help but miss the simplicity of his own tunic as he fought his way through the various layers. Eventually, though, he was able to ease it up and over his head.
A small flush spread across Blanche’s cheeks, but she did her best to ignore it as she leaned over Justice and began to undo the bandages around his pale skin. “I hope you don’t deem me intrusive,” she said, “But I’ve always wondered what it must be like to be a vampire.”
“How so?”
“Well, your body, for example. Do you feel pain like humans?”
Justice grimaced. “Yes, I feel pain. Usually, it’s only brief, since my kind’s healing rate far excels that of humans; but then again, you have to consider that I am only a half-blood, so my capabilities fall short of those born pure. I can feel the cold, whereas for the Guardians, the fire is merely a comfort.”
As if to confirm what he’d just said, a blade of ice suddenly trickled down the man’s back, making him shiver. He looked down to see Blanche pulling away the final strip of white material, which she draped over her knees.
“Would you mind rolling over, Your Majesty?”
“Of course.”
The grass was damp against Justice’s stomach, sending more bolts of chill running down his spine. Long locks of raven hair fell over his arms as he rested his head against them, vaguely aware Blanche’s fingers gently brushing the tender area around his wound.
“How is it?” he mumbled.
“A lot better, actually,” she replied. “You must have opened it again when Carbuncle pushed you, but the bleeding has stopped, and there doesn’t seem to be any signs of infection. The bandages can probably be reused too.”
Well, that was one less burden for him to carry, Justice thought. Behind him, the girl inspected the wound one more time before leaning back onto the grass and sighing softly.
“What’s wrong?” The man could sense the tension in her her tone, as if she were holding something back.
Blanche was silent for several seconds. Then she took a deep breath and said, “Your Majesty, would you make me a vampire?”
The question shocked Justice, so much so that he had to roll back onto his front just to stare at her in disbelief. Her expression was unreadable, her eyes fixed upon her lap so as to avoid the other’s gaze.
“No,” he said finally.
“Why not?”
The man pursed his lips in defiance. “Because the idea is ridiculous. I’m not going to rob you of everything that makes you human.”
“Like what, Your Majesty?” said Blanche, leaning forward slightly. “Do you mean my having to drink blood?”
“I mean sunlight,” Justice snapped. “I’ve lived my life without knowing the true sensation of the sun’s rays on my skin, a life of having to shy away from the daylight; but to someone like you, who lives alongside that feeling, I can’t imagine anything more cruel.”
Once again, there was a period of silence which seemed to linger unpleasantly. Justice turned his attentions to the gentle thump of the girl’s heart beside him. From such a short distance, it was easy for him to distract himself by picking out each soft beat from the night, like the graceful rhythm of a swan’s wings in flight.
“Then take my blood.”
The man’s head snapped around. “What?”
“It’s the least I can do, if you won’t allow me to be changed.”
“I don’t know…” Despite the girl’s willingness, Justice was disgusted at the way his own heart leaped into frantic, excitable motion at the promise of blood. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Please.” Blanche’s tone was almost pleading now, her eyes wide as she gazed into the man’s, so much so that he found himself unable to look away.
A small sigh escaped his mouth. “Fine, then. If this is what you really want.”
Gradually, Justice raised his head. One hand slid behind Blanche’s neck and drew her towards him. However, instead of moving any further, he paused a few seconds before touching his lips to to the soft of her throat and pulling away.
Blanche stared down in confusion, though it was Justice who spoke: “I promised I wouldn't hurt you, and I'll stand by that vow.”
For a moment, the girl said nothing, but then she nodded, as if accepting his words at last. “I’m sorry. I didn't mean to put pressure on you like that - it was wrong of me—”
“You needn’t apologise.” Justice’s hand was already over her hand, his fingers curling around hers. Slowly, he raised his arm and pressed the tip of her thumb to his lips.
“Are you hungry?” he asked softly. “I can try to find you some food if you’d like.”
“Thank you, but I had something to eat back at the inn.”
Justice nodded. His memories of the tavern seemed so far away, despite the fact that it had been little over an hour ago since their leaving. It seemed strange to think that Willow had been with them then – as had Carbuncle, for that matter. Where the fire vampire was now, though, was only left to be speculated upon. Had he gone to meet the others, perhaps? Justice didn’t know.
However, one thing was certain, and that was that he had been left without a guide. He was in unfamiliar territory, a place whose name he couldn't even recall on a map.
And it frightened him.
Justice closed his eyes and held Blanche’s hand against his chest, felt the gentle rhythm of her pulse against his own beating heart. Indeed, he had been abandoned, and through his own careless actions; yet there was something he was willing to hold onto, no matter what the cost.
He had found something to protect.

24: Chapter XXIII: A Final Wish

Chapter XXIII

A Final Wish

A small bird landed on the windowsill. A weaver, in fact – the man recognised it from his books. Silently, he watched as it paced for a few seconds, its green-tinted wings catching the rays of fresh morning sun as though its feathers were made of fine glass. Then, seeing that there was no reason to stay, no food of any kind, it spread its wings once again and took off into the sky.
The man's eyes remained fixed upon it, only looking away when it had disappeared into the distance. It had been a while since he'd seen a bird so close, especially one as beautiful as a weaver.
Yet then again, it was a suitable price to pay when one was bedridden.
Slowly, he turned his eyes to his lap. Even without pulling back the covers, he could tell what his legs looked like – limp, thin and, most of all, bruised. It had been several hours since he'd last attempted to use them, though that had only ended in pain, as usual. What would they be like now, he wondered? He'd been drifting in and out of sleep all morning, his consciousness wavering since long before dawn – surely he was rested enough to try again?
Sure enough, though, it was hopeless: the moment he lifted his right leg, a ripping agony tore along its length and into his lower torso – it was as if the very movement were shredding his muscles to ribbons. Panting, he fell back against the pillow, his whole body heaving with deep, shuddering breaths. The illness was worsening – there was no doubt about that now. How long would it be before he succumbed to it completely?
He could hear Flügel's voice in his head, urging him on: Be strong, Rafaga! Take a stand! That bastard... What did he know? For too long now, he'd allowed himself to be fed that man's bullshit – how dare he! He wasn't the one who'd lost the use of his legs. If he wanted to, he could pick up a sword and fight any battle he wanted.
And then there was him.
Rafaga's hands curled into fists around his bedsheets, and for a moment, he thought he was going to rip them from the mattress, but then he relaxed. Slowly, he took hold of his shirt and began to ease it upwards, craning his neck to look down at his stomach area, where a bruise, the size of a wooden plate, was etched into his skin. It was difficult to tell from something so vague, but by the looks of it, it almost seemed to resemble an insignia of some kind, the shield of an ancient clan marked onto his body in deep brown hues.
Though of course, that was impossible.
Carefully, he allowed the material to fall back into place and leaned back against the sheets; yet as he did so, he couldn't help but feel drawn to the window again. It was difficult to explain, but in a way, he felt as if he were waiting for something – for the bird to return, maybe? Or for the sun to set, marking the close of another wasted day in his life.
Perhaps, in the end, he was waiting for a miracle.

---

Justice wasn't sure whether he had heard the knocks the first time, but by the second, he knew his mind wasn't eluding him.
Blankly, he stared at the door in front of him. The cracks in the wood were enough to allow thin slithers of sunlight in, though they were far from reaching him. To his right, Blanche slept soundly, the weight of her upper body dispersed evenly against his shoulder and wooden wall behind them.
Yet still, Justice remained frozen. Who could possibly be knocking on a shed in the middle of the forest? Had Carbuncle returned? Or perhaps it was one of the villagers who had followed him. If attacked now, he would be vulnerable, utterly defenceless in the sunlight – maybe the only thing for him was to remain as still as possible and pray that it would pass.
However, when the knocks sounded a third time, the whole structure shook, and the door came crushing down onto the ground.
Light flooded the floor at once, and Justice leaped to his feet. However, it was mere moments before it was blocked out again, as several figures filled the doorway. Black robes fell over their bodies, obscuring their faces and eradicating any chance of recognition.
One advanced upon Justice, but paused mid-step when a deep growl began low in the black-haired vampire's chest.
“What's going on?” Blanche's voice was weary from having just woken. Justice shot her a sideways glance as she stood, eyes passing between the man and those assembled in the doorway in confusion. “Your Majesty?”
Was he being attacked? Justice probably wouldn't have been able to answer Blanche's question if he'd tried. Slowly, he looked down at the floor, and his heart jolted in relief to notice that he was in darkness: even with the shadows from the cloaked figures, the pool of sunlight only reached halfway across the floor, leaving an area of four or five feet at the back safe from protruding rays, So long as he remained still, he was safe.
“So I believe that this is 'hello' again, Your Majesty.”
A figure stepped forth from the group, shouldering his way through until he reached the front. The very sound of his voice was enough to send shivers sliding down Justice's spine, like steel bolts, making him freeze in place.
Gideon stood before him, the subtle traces of a smirk still visible beneath his hood. “And I see that you've gotten yourself a little bedwarmer along the way. Why, does a night without your beloved Guardians scare you so much?”
Blanche flinched by his side, but Justice moved so that he was in front of her should any of the figures decide to make a move. He stared at Gideon with sharp, narrowed eyes, trying with every effort to suppress his desire to leap forward and tear the smirk from his face with his own hands. Then, all of a sudden, the cloaked man dashed forward. One hand reached for Justice's face, though the other, unseen, landed in the soft of his stomach, causing him to double over briefly. Yet no sooner had he reeled back, something wound in his hair and thrust him through the doorway.
Justice hit the grass on all fours, then twisted around so that he would be able to face the ones descending upon him. Raw sunlight flooded his skin, blinding him as much as it scalded, but he was more occupied with the robed figures who tore at him like hawks over a carcass. His boot flew up into one's hooded face, knocking him backwards. Following in his partner's footsteps, another reached for Justice's collar, though the man's fingers were already around his dagger, and in one swift movement he drove it deep into the flesh of what he presumed was his thigh. The gap created allowed him to claw his way to his feet.
The doorway flashed before him, and like an arrow from a bow, Justice sprinted towards it; darkness met him like cold water, relieving the scalding damage the sun had inflicted upon his skin. However, no sooner had he fallen into the shadows, a scream drew his attention to the outside world again, where he saw two figures locked in struggle. Gideon's arm wrapped around Blanche's neck, crushing her against his chest, though that wasn't to say that she was letting him. Desperately, she fought against him, sinking her teeth into the flesh of his lower arm until blood stained her lips and he was forced to relinquish his grip.
Without even a further thought, Justice launched himself towards her, though Gideon was faster. A smile came over what was visible of his face as he plucked the struggling girl from the ground and slung her over his shoulder. Then he turned back to the trees.
“No!” Justice shrieked. One hand reached out to somehow grab at Gideon, but just as he approached, his boot caught on a root and he found himself on the ground again. By the time he had managed to pull himself to his feet, Gideon and his men were disappearing from sight.
Yet still he carried on, pushing himself further through the forest. His eyes stung from the light, but that was nothing to him now – all he could care about was moving forward as fast as he could.
It was only when he reached the river, however, that he stopped. The water had been stirred – he could sense the smell lingering in the air – though nothing else could be heard. No shouting, no breaking of branches... Nothing but the sound of the stream and his own panting.
Furiously, he thrust the heel of his hand into the bark. The sun hung behind the clouds, and despite the relatively short amount of time he'd spent before it, his skin was already beginning to tan under its rays. Growling in frustration, he turned and began to sprint back to the clearing, racing over roots and dirt until the small wooden shed was in sight again.
Darkness rose up against him once more, and as he knelt back into the wood, he felt the first sensation of sinking despair gnaw away at him. Again and again he pounded the wood with his fist, his knees sinking him closer and closer to the ground. How could he let this happen? First the Guardians, then Carbuncle, and now Blanche... What was going to be stripped from him next? Or rather, what was there left? One half of him yearned to tear through the doorway and race through the forest after her, to keep on running until his entire body fell apart into ashes; yet even if he did that, nothing good would be achieved – another life wasted. Perhaps it would be better if he were just to fade away here.
Just then, however, a light noise met his ears. Justice paused, unable to tell exactly whether he had heard anything or merely imagined it, but there it was again, a faint rustling overlayed with the slightest of whimpers, as though someone were sobbing. Slowly, he straightened up and pushed open the door to see a figure lying on the ground several feet away. A hood covered his face, but there was no mistaking the blade that protruded from the top of his thigh. When his gaze turned to the man, he recoiled in hatred, a low growl arising from his chest.
Justice, on the other hand, did not move.
Because at last, he knew what he had to do.

25: Chapter XXIV: Towards the End

Chapter XXIV
Towards the End

It was less of a struggle than Justice had originally anticipated to retrieve the figure. He was physically weak, and trying with every effort to keep his skin covered from the scorching rays of the sun. A hiss, like that of a snake, escaped his lips as the black-haired man approached him, though after that he put up little resistance, bound by the pain in his leg.
There was barely enough room for the two of them inside the small dark area at the back of the shack, and the figure seemed to know this. He cowered in the corner, robes pulled up to his collar so that his head was hidden. Sharply, Justice bent down and pulled back his hood to reveal a pale face, framed with locks of messy brown hair – a vampire, of course, and young by the looks of it. The man made sure to keep his eyes firmly fixed upon him as his fingers found his dagger and began to ease it from his flesh.
The vampire hissed in pain, but his shoulders finally relaxed once the knife was out completely. He closed his eyes as the tip of the blade was pushed against his throat.
“Where’s Gideon?”
For a moment, there was no reply, but then, to Justice’s surprise, a light cackling arose from the unnamed figure. He paused a few moments before opening his eyes and staring straight at the black-haired man. “You think you’re so important, don’t you? All because you’re the king’s son… How powerful you must be.”
Justice’s eyes narrowed, though he said nothing. Instead, his grip on the knife tightened as he repeated the words, “Where’s Gideon?”
Again, the vampire simply sniggered. “You’d love to know, wouldn’t you? I wonder… What would you give?”
Without hesitation, Justice drew back his hand and plunged his thumb deep into the closing flesh wound in the other’s leg, causing the blood to well up around him. The man’s head hit the wood, his mouth open in wordless agony.
“I’m not playing games,” snarled Justice, taken aback slightly by the ferocity in his own voice. He couldn’t help but feel the slightest sympathy for the young vampire; yet then again, he only had to remind himself of what had happened to feel his rage rise again. This man had helped to steal Blanche away from him, and he was prepared to do anything within his power to get her back.
“N-nor am I,” stammered the vampire between agonised pants. “I’ll d-die before I tell you anything.”
Justice gritted his teeth behind his lips. With the knife still firmly in his hand, he reached down with his right and wrapped his fingers around the other’s wrist. For a moment, the vampire simply watched with a confused expression, but then he seemed to understand. “No…” He broke into frantic struggle, kicking out with both legs in an attempt to break free; Justice had to use his whole body just to retrain him. “Wait!”
The black-haired man paused and turned his head to look at the other, though he said nothing, at which Justice tightened his grip and pushed the vampire’s hand forward, into the light area of the shack. His palm hit the wall, where it was swamped to the wrist with sunlight.
There was silence for a few seconds as the vampire stared, frozen, at his hand. Then, gradually, the pale skin began to darken, to redden, as if it were being scalded by some invisible water source. Blisters rose up from the flesh – large, white bubbles that seemed to pulse over the skin; and then, as though it could take no more, the whole hand burst into flames.
The vampire shrieked, but Justice remained still, eyes fixed, horrified, upon the scene before him. It was a full minute until the hand had burnt away completely, skin giving way to flesh, which in turn gave way to bone and crumbled onto the floor as ash.
Slowly, Justice allowed his grip to relinquish, and at once, the vampire pulled back his arm. His face was twisted with pain, his whole body quivering as he cradled the stump that had once been his hand – a wound that, as long as he lived, would never grow back.
The black-haired man bent to his knees; yet the moment the other’s eyes snapped up to him, he recoiled in fear. “No, please…”
“Tell me where Gideon is headed.” The words were barely above a weak murmur as they passed from Justice’s lips, said with far less conviction than he might have hoped for. Still, the other seemed much more willing to comply now, which was more than a relief for Justice – after what he’d just seen, he didn’t know how much more of this interrogation he would be able to stand.
“I-I’m not sure exactly…” stammered the vampire. “Master G-Gideon said something about a forest of some sort. Groveside Woods, I think.” He flinched suddenly. “But that’s all I’ve heard – nothing else.”
Justice nodded slowly. “And that’s where he’s taking Blanche? Why?”
The vampire paused for a moment, as if deliberating whether to say or not – or perhaps trying to recall information. “There’s the sword, isn’t there? The Sword of Kings. He wouldn’t tell us exactly, but he mentioned that we would be headed there – that you would be headed there…” His voice broke off into sobs.
Groveside Woods... Justice couldn’t recall ever having heard of them; yet then again, this was unknown territory to him, and identifying place names was the last thing on his mind. What he needed now was some sort of direction, a pointer as to where these woods could be; and if it did, indeed, lead him to the resting place of his father's sword, then there was a chance he would be able to reach it before Gideon. That was, of course, providing that he left immediately.
As he turned back to the vampire, however, he couldn't help but feel a deep regret within himself, despite his earlier feelings. It seemed cruel to ask anything of him, but there was just one thing left that he required.
"Your cloak."
The young vampire shot him a questioning look. "What?"
"I need your cloak."
Justice watched as the figure, making sure to avoid touching his arm, slid out of his robes and handed them over. The material was heavy in his hands, though it would do. Carefully, he pulled it over his shoulders and upturned the hood so that his face was covered. Then he turned to the door.
The sun was just beginning to darken over with clouds as Justice stepped forward, though its rays still shone bright. There was no pause in his step, no holding back – this time, his goal was set. He was going to find the Guardians, rescue Blanche and retrieve the sword.
And most of all, he was going to kill Gideon.
A low whimpering met his ears, like that of an injured animal. Behind him, the vampire sat huddled in the darkness, sobbing over his burnt stump of a wrist. It wasn't his fault – Justice knew that – and in a way, he felt as though he should make some kind of effort to amend.
“Go south of here,” he said with his back to the vampire. “There's a small village in the valley called Rockwood. If you follow the path east from there, you’ll come across a small house in a hamlet – it’s the one with the thatched roof. Inside you'll find a mixture that will ease your pain. Use it. Start a new life there.”
Justice sighed. Perhaps after all this time, he had known, deep down, that he would never be returning to his home. Whether or not the young vampire would take his offer he didn’t know, but it was a forward battle from here – there was no mistaking that.
Gathering his robes around his shoulders, Justice took one last glance around the shed before pushing the door open to its full and stepping out into the sun.

26: Chapter XXV: The Grey Marshes

Chapter XXV
The Grey Marshes

The day was just approaching noon, and all around, the forest was alive. Sunlight streamed through the canopy, illuminating dust motes that hung, like feathers, between the trees. Slowly, a rabbit emerged from its burrow and sniffed the air once more before scampering off between the brambles.
Justice watched it go with mind interest. The woods here, he knew, were teeming with wildlife – already, he had passed several herds of deer on his travels, though of course, taken minimal notice of them. After all, if there was any time worthy for him to be distracted, now was not it.
Yet it seemed almost ironic that despite his determination, he would have little to no idea of where he was headed. The river had been his first pointer, but when that forked out, his only measure had been his instincts and the trust within himself to maintain a straight path south-east. Groveside Woods were, as far as he could estimate, somewhere on the eastern edge of the Earth Region, and thus he knew that his best attempt at reaching them would be to travel as far into the wilderness as he could before requesting directions.
Directions from whom, he didn’t know, for out here, he was on his own.
Slowly, Justice made his way over to the nearest tree and placed a hand against the trunk. The wood was hard through his gloves, the bark mottled to the point where it looked as though each inch had been carved with a knife. For a moment, he merely stood there, but then all of a sudden, his fingers thrust into the bark and he leaped at the trunk. The strain on his muscles after so many hours of walking was painful, though he was just able to find enough footholds to support him as he half-ran, half-clawed his way up the height of the tree.
Within seconds, Justice had reached the canopy, but he didn't stop there. He launched himself forward, landing hard on a thick set of branches that protruded from the trunk of the neighbouring tree. The canopy shook beneath his weight. Somewhere nearby, a bird – a crow, judging from the glimpse of black he was able to catch – burst from its perch and lifted into the sky.
Again, the man pushed off. His body was beginning to loosen now, warming to his will as he flitted across the branches. The forest was like a green maze: trees stood to guide his every step, and if Justice found his path blocked, then he simply took another direction. Of course, there was always the need to keep his bearing in mind, though up here, he was able to plan his route far more easily; and, indeed, move at a much quicker pace than he ever could have done on the ground.
It was five whole minutes before Justice was forced to stop, by which time his legs were screaming for relief. Ragged breaths tore from his lungs as he found his footing on one of the more sturdy branches, though they were pants of enjoyment as opposed to labour. He felt liberated. Never before had he seen the forest from such an angle, looking down upon the undergrowth as light spilled from the gaps in the canopy around him. Even from beneath his hood, there was no rivalling the beauty of nature from the eyes of a bird.
But then, Justice remembered the true reason why he was travelling, his purpose of being here. Gideon. The thought was enough to crush any sense of uplift he had been feeling.
Gradually, he lowered his head and clenched his fists around the branch.
It was time to move again.

*

The sun was beginning to set as the first hint of marshes began to peek through the trees.
So he had reached the eastern side of the Earth Region already. All this time, Justice had been vaguely aware that his path took him in the same rough direction as the river, though he certainly hadn’t anticipated reaching this location in such a short space of time. He could picture it now, the large, slightly darker piece of land marked on Kircheis’ map – the region known as the Grey Marshes.
Over the course of the next hour, the trees started to thin out until they gave way to the new terrain completely. The marshes were a bleak place: a mixture of thick mud and water collected in shallow pools amid banks of stones and bare earth. Even the trees here were brittle and dead as they rose from the mist that seemed to hang in a thin layer above the ground in all directions.
Slowly, Justice reached up, slid the hood back over his head and ran his fingers through his hair to loosen it. He had been half-expecting a breeze, though there was no wind here: the marshes carried with them an almost eerie silence – much unlike the forest, which had been alive with nature. Truly, it was as if he had stepped into a whole new country altogether.
And the atmosphere, it seemed, was enough to dampen his mood as well. As he made his way through the loose mud and silt, Justice couldn't help but allow his mind to wander into other areas. Was he going the right way? For a while now, he had been trying to pick up some sort of sign that he was on the right track – a footstep, maybe, or even a scent. Obviously, being a mere half-blood, his sense of smell was not as sharp as he might have hoped, though that was not to say he wouldn’t have been able to pick something up, should it be present. Vampire blood was distinctive, different from that of both humans and animals. If Gideon had passed through here within the last half an hour, then Justice would surely be able to sense it.
But there was nothing – nothing but the smell of stagnation.
And yet, the man was adamant that he had followed the correct path from the beginning. Gideon had made a clear dash for the east, and thus Justice was executing his pursuit in the same direction. He had to be right – there was no other choice.
One thing that really made him wonder was the way he had been attacked back at the clearing. Gideon had been strategic – that much was for sure. If he had wanted to kill him, then Justice was sure that he would have done so on the spot, at the moment when he was most vulnerable in the sunlight; though instead, he had gone through the effort of capturing Blanche. Justice found himself gritting his teeth at the thought. In a way, it was as if Gideon was wanted him to follow him into the forest. As if he were being lured out…
Justice’s fingers coiled rightly around the dagger at his hip. If he was correct, and he was, indeed, being led into a trap, then this time he would be ready. Gideon had caught him at a disadvantage in the clearing, but now he was free, able to move around under the cover of darkness. What’s more, the water here would be able to pick up any movements from within a certain range. He was prepared, at least.
Just then, as if to flood his thoughts with heavy irony, a noise sounded from up ahead. Faint at first, it grew until Justice was able to make out what it was. Footsteps… Surely it was too much of a coincidence, taking into account what he’d just been thinking over?
Yet despite what he thought, there was no mistaking it – something was moving nearby.
At once, Justice pulled out his dagger and held it at chest level. The mist of the swamp made seeing anything beyond several yards an impossible task, especially now that night had fallen. The man’s heart was in this throat as he made his way forward, careful to disturb the water as little as possible; and still the noise went on, as constant as before. He was definitely closing in now. Had he managed to track Gideon and his men down at last? The marshes masked scents, so he was slow to pick out anything in those terms – though why anyone else would choose to travel in such a desolate place he didn’t know. It had to be Gideon… And this time, Justice was going to finish it.
All of a sudden, there was a great pulling sensation in the water at his feet as something coiled around his right ankle. He leaped back, but before he was even able to work out what had taken a hold of him, the thing whipped upwards and dragged him into the air. His head hit the water as he was flipped upside down. Only at that point did he realise that it was not a creature within the mud, but rather the water itself that was holding him captive.
Then, from the bottom of the shape, the water began to harden, crystallising into shards of ice before Justice’s eyes. It continued until it reached the point where his foot was trapped, holding him suspended and making escape an impossible option.
Two figures emerged from the mist before Justice. It was difficult to tell exactly from the visibility and dizziness he felt, but one looked to be holding some sort of bow – a bow whose tip was pointed directly at him. He closed his eyes, waiting for the inevitable blow, when all of a sudden a familiar voice spoke out to him.
“Justice?”
Gradually, the man looked up to see the figure staring at him, a shocked expression upon his face. He almost cried out with relief when the features clicked into recognition. “Rafaga!”
By his side, Kircheis let out a small chuckle. “Really, now. And here we were thinking that you’d been lost to the wilds… Come, Your Majesty – we think we may have found your sword.”

27: Chapter XXVI: Frozen Heart

Chapter XXVI
Frozen Heart

Once Justice had been let free of his ice prison by Kircheis, he rejoined the others, who had gathered nearby. Everyone was there – Whiteley, Rafaga, Luso and Abess-Reid, as well as the two Guardians. Upon seeing the young prince, each greeted him with an echo of “Your Majesty” and a respectful bow – something that Justice still wasn’t used to, after so much time.
However, there seemed to be one who was neither obliged nor willing to pay him any regard. Carbuncle stood beside a nearby stump of a tree, his back turned to the rest of the party as he stared out over the marshes. Justice froze when he saw him. For a moment, he even considered approaching him, but knew that doing so would only bring back the bitterness of the previous evening. Had Carbuncle told the others about Jais? About the inn and Blanche? Judging from their behaviour, they were still none the wiser, though the confrontation was one he would much rather leave for later than sooner.
A hand tapped his shoulder, and Justice turned to find himself staring into the face of a horse. It took him a few seconds to recognise the familiar features, though when he did, he found himself smiling; and the animal, it seemed, was pleased to see him as well. It flicked its mane excitedly as the man ran his hands down the front of its head, snorting in appreciation when he scratched the area between its eyes lightly.
“I can't believe you kept him with you,” he said.
“Your horse is female, Your Majesty.” Rafaga nodded as he walked past. “And may I say, one of the most well-trained animals I have ever had the pleasure of looking after.”
Justice turned back to the horse and chuckled softly, when he noticed Kircheis approaching him from the side. In his hand he clutched the map.
“Your Highness,” said Kircheis, “We have managed to gather the final information regarding the Schwarzschild Sword. According to the map, we need only continue through the marshes before reaching a place called Groveside Woods – that’s where it is hidden.” He traced the route with his finger.
“Groveside Woods...” Justice’s heart set in motion at the mention of the name. “Yes, that’s definitely right. That’s where Gideon is headed. If we hurry, we can intercept him.”
Kircheis fixed him with blank eyes. “Gideon, Your Majesty?”
For a moment, Justice frowned, but then it occurred to him – of course! He had yet to tell the Guardians about the vampire and the events that had happened since their separation. Had it really been two days since that night? In a way, he was surprised Carbuncle hadn’t filled them in on the details behind his back; but then again, it still eluded him as to how the fire vampire had managed to find the others before him – or indeed, how long they had been together.
So Justice told them about Gideon: about how he’d been attacked the night of the campfire; his rescue and subsequent separation from Blanche; and how he had set out to find her. He deliberately avoided any mention of his dispute with Carbuncle – primarily because he was determined not to over-complicate matters, but also as a result of his own emotions. He was beginning to feel a deep resentment for the fire vampire now that the initial relief of meeting the Guardians once again had faded away. Perhaps if he had not been so hasty to abandon them, then Gideon would not have been so successful in his kidnapping. Blanche would still be with him…
For the first time that evening, Justice felt a sharp pain stab at his heart. Why would someone like Carbuncle associate himself with a mere human? After all, she was a mere ‘servant girl’, and he a traitor. If the Guardian was going to regard him as nothingness, then so be it.
Kircheis’ expression was that of shock as he stared at the black-haired man. “And this person is taking orders from Judas, you say?”
“Yes. He’s the one who attacked Rakina, and—” Justice stopped himself before he could continue. Maybe mentioning the lost army would not be the wisest choice with the present company.
However, the water vampire seemed too wrapped up in his own thoughts to notice the other’s mistake. He turned to Rakina. “Do you remember anything of this person? Surely you must have seen something from when you were approached?”
The servant looked flustered. “It's very difficult to say, My Lord. He did everything he could to keep his face hidden.”
“Did he have silvery-white hair? Possibly a cloak?” said Justice.
“Y-yes, actually. Now that you mention it… I think he very well may have done some sort of black overalls, at least.”
The words only served to confirm what Justice had known all along. Kircheis, on the other hand, seemed to descend into a state of panic. “This… This is awful! If he’s heading for the sword, then that means… We need to leave now.” At once, he began to make his way towards the area where the servants were tending to the horses. Then, turning to Justice, he added, “Your Majesty, would you care to join me in the lead? There is something I would like to discuss with you.”
Justice found himself slightly taken aback at the water vampire’s sudden spirit, but obeyed nonetheless, mounting his horse as the others did the same. It took a few seconds for him to reacquaint himself with the feeling, but then he gathered the reins in his hands, and set off.
The horses fared better than he would have originally believed on the marshy ground, their hooves succeeding in finding what little solid matter existed amid the mud. After a few minutes, they had fallen into a steady rhythm, so Justice took the opportunity to glance up into the sky. A full moon… Perhaps it was because he had been so distracted these past few days that he had barely had time to pay attention to the phases he usually observed with such attentive eyes.
“Recently, I’ve been wondering whether Wilderness is looking up at the same moon.”
Kircheis’ voice startled Justice a little. His horse's dun coat stood out against the darkness as he rode up alongside him, much like the man himself; the vibrant blue detailing of his clothes caught the moonlight like water.
The black-haired man nodded, at which Kircheis sighed softly. “There’s no use in pondering over such things, or pretending that this is the first time something like this has happened. And besides, we are our own people now – the Guardians. The days of being Schwarzschild’s Knights are over, and if Wilderness wishes to abandon us mid-operation, then he has every right to.” Slowly, he turned to look at Justice. “Rafaga told you about his connections to Dreizehn, did he not?”
Justice’s eyes widened, unsure of whether or not to say. “How did you find out?” Surely the wind vampire had told him to keep to a secret.
“Rafaga is an easy person to read,” chuckled the blond. “And, well, we’ve always been close since the fall of the monarchy.” A small sigh escaped his mouth. “But Wilderness... We all have times in our lives we must try to forget. For me, that is…”
Justice listened as his words faded into the night. There was a few seconds’ silence, but then Kircheis spoke again. This time, though, his tone seemed firmer, as if he were doing his best to hide some deep emotion.
“We ran into some rogue vampires along the way here. Young, of course, and clearly well-endowed – the smell of blood clung to them like rot. We were able to fend them off, but…” He lowered his head with a gentle shake. “Sometimes I spend so much time as a Guardian that I forget I’m a vampire, that there are beings like that wandering the night. And it wasn’t so much the fact that they had drunk recently than the way they acted; it was as if they were attacking us out of instinct, for the sole purpose of shedding blood…
“I shouldn’t dwell upon it. I know. Yet after over a thousand years of existence, it still hurts to see how I might have turned out, had I not been around others who were trying to refine themselves. Wilderness, King Dreizehn… But perhaps after everything, I owe the most to my twin sister.”
“Your sister Martisor?” Justice recalled the name having been mentioned briefly around the campfire.
“She would be honoured that you remember her name, Your Majesty,” Kircheis said. “And honoured further to meet you. We were born to a small clan of mages in the mountains whose first hand was the manipulation of ice and water. Both Martisor and I had sorcerer’s blood within us – if we’d wanted, we could have trained to become masters in the field of magic. But when I was still in my mother’s womb, something happened: Martisor seemed to take precedence over me in terms of physical development. It was no fault of her own, by any means, though it meant that she was born healthy, and I as a sickly child.
“Regrettably, our mother died whilst giving birth, so we were left in the hands of our father; and as expected, we started to pursue our clan's art from a young age. Of course, Martisor excelled. I would look to her every time we practised together. It continued like that until the clan was ravaged by a rare disease, and half of its adult population – including our father – was wiped out within a week. That was the moment when we decided to leave once and for all.”
A sudden jolt brought Justice back to the present as his horse lost its footing, though it soon fell back into a regular pace. Kircheis didn’t seem to notice – his eyes were distant, as if he were seeing something other than the marsh in front of him.
“Martisor said we would be able to travel to the nearby towns and look for work, but by the time we arrived at the first village outside our mountain range, the wilderness had taken its toll on us. No-one wanted to employ two sickly children, especially when good money was at stake. No, it soon became clear what our roles were.” He sighed. “You would be surprised by how much a person will pay to have another killed.”
“But surely it wasn't your fault – you were trying to stay alive, after all.”
“No, Your Majesty,” said Kircheis, shaking his head. “We may have been children at the time, but we had been brought up as adults – we knew what we were doing. I was thirteen when the first Lanzek War reached Marthiel, by which time I had already carried out my first kill. I doubt I will ever be able to forget the look on the man’s face as I placed the knife to his throat – just a normal person who had brought it upon himself.
“And so the years dragged on. At times, things improved, and I was able to turn away from my underground life; others, I was forced to fall back into the footsteps of an assassin. I even attempted to resurrect the water powers I had learnt as a child, so that I may find work as a public performer, though there was no spark there – not like Martisor. Truly, when Schwarzschild found us, it was a blessing.
“Well, I say ‘found’, but in fact, it was us who came to him. The second war was in motion, and the king began to appeal for men to apply as soldiers for his army. Martisor and I responded at once, and upon request, granted an audience with the king himself. We explained how we had left home, and that if he required so, we could provide our skills to his personal guard. I strongly believed that we would be turned away at first, but Dreizehn listened to our each and every word. We were fighting alongside him as vampires before a year had passed.
“When the war was over, the two of us remained with the king. But Martisor… I could tell she wasn't satisfied with her life in the castle. Out in the towns, she had begun to find her own way at last. She asked Dreizehn for a leave, and he obliged – within months, she had found a house to settle in, and a man who loved her. I was so happy for my sister – she had discovered her place at last.
“On the other hand, I… I had been having some problems adjusting to the life of a vampire. Perhaps it was that after a life of weakness, I was suddenly in control of such power that my body was unable to cope with the changes. I grew restless. Then, one day, I was approached by one of the maids, a human named Hannah, and ended up lashing out with my powers. Luckily, there was no serious damage, but that was the point when I realised I had to take a stand against myself. There was nothing else for it – it had to be done.
“I confined myself to the castle basement and encased myself in ice – my own personal prison, if you like. It was as if time had been suspended, as if everything were revolving around my own little palace. My memories from that period are hazy, though I know that every moment I fought against my enhanced powers was a step closer to the possibility of never waking up again; yet that was a risk I was willing to take if it meant that I would be able to rid the world of the monster I had become.
“Of course, I did manage to break out in the end. I remember lying on the basement floor, surrounded by the shards of ice that had held me for so long. I was a changed person, and for the first time since my transformation into a vampire, I felt as if I had absolute control over my body. The castle was unchanged, leading me to wonder whether any time had passed at all – how wrong I was.
“Forty years. That was the amount of time I had spent unconscious. When Dreizehn first told me, I could barely believe it; yet the more time went on, the more changes I began to notice: the king had turned yet another vampire, Rafaga, to his side, and all over the country, the great wars were merely a memory. And Martisor, my dear Martisor… She had been deceived by her lover during the early years of my confinement and exacted her own revenge. However, the discovery by the townspeople had led to the revelation of her true nature as a vampire and an execution being ordered. She was burnt by the mobs in the town square.”
Justice was silent for a few minutes. “I’m so sorry,” he said at last.
“Sorry? Why is that, Your Majesty?” Kircheis’ head remained low as he spoke. “I cannot say my sister lived a good life, but it warms me to know that those final years with her lover were happy times for her.” He sighed. “I used to wonder why she didn’t use her abilities to fight back against those who killed her, though only now I realise that she was willing to accept any fate brought upon her, so long as it meant that she could live as a human. In the end, all she wanted was a normal life, away from all the bloodshed and killing; yet after all that had happened, even that turned out to be an impossible reality.”
A normal life… Justice was unable to think what could be classed as such a thing. Was ‘normal’ starting a family, surrounded by a comfortable home and friends? Perhaps it was the idea of aging, of living a life where one could do as they pleased and not remain bound by their own nature.
Or maybe in the end, ‘normal’ simply meant ‘human’.
Slowly, Justice turned to the water vampire to see him looking directly at him, and to his surprise, there were tears clinging to his cheeks.
“You're probably wondering why I’m telling this to you. In short, I don’t believe there should be any secrets between brothers.” His eyes flitted to the ground. “And, well, if I am to be frank... I’m frightened, Your Majesty. I know not what lies for us ahead, and with all this talk of powerful vampires – of this Gideon…”
“You can’t compare yourself someone like that!” Justice interrupted. “You're a Guardian, after all.”
Kircheis’ expression was halfway between a smile and a grimace. “But that is merely the title I have been given. On the inside, I am no better than any other vampire that walks this land. I fear for the life of my fellow Guardians, and I… I fear for my own life. If I ever find myself overridden with my powers again, and I have to retreat to my ice prison, I know that this time, I shall never wake up.”
Once more, Justice was at a loss for words. He longed to give some kind of reassurance to the water vampire, but what was there to say? Looking at the man, he could never have realised how much he had suffered in his life, how much anguish he had been forced to endure. How could he tell him that the future would be better when the past stood as it did?
Because, ultimately, neither knew what waited for them at the end of the path. Even if they did find the sword, then what would happen? Would they be able to rescue Blanche? The answers to these questions lay ahead – Justice was sure of it; now, it was simply a case of waiting.
Waiting for the unknown.

28: Chapter XXVII: In the Name of Justice

Chapter XXVII
In the Name of Justice

Groveside Woods.
They were bigger than Justice had originally believed, and certainly a great deal more impressive. In fact, the man felt almost dwarfed as he stood at the edge of the field, staring up into the face of the forest that ranged as far along the horizon as the eye could see.
“We're here.”
Rafaga rode up alongside him and glanced down the narrow passage between the trees. There was a clear parting ahead of them where the trees had been split into two sides, revealing an convenient area of flat ground that they would be able to ride the horses through. Justice could only guess that it had served as a road of some sort in the past, but now the forest had begun to reclaim it once again.
“Your Majesty, how would you prefer to go about this?” Rafaga asked. “We can rest now, or—”
“No.” Justice's eyes remained locked upon the path. “Our search for the sword will be more effective if we split into four routes.” He motioned with his hands as he spoke. “Kircheis and Abess-Reid can take the front-left, Carbuncle and Whiteley the back-left, and Rafaga and Rakina the front-right. As for me, Luso and I shall be taking the back-right.”
At once, the blond-haired knight moved up from the rear of the group to position himself by Justice’s side. The others, too, began to move into their respective pairs, each ready to leap into an advance should it be ordered.
“Keep alert, but most importantly, stay together. We don't know what lurks within these trees…” He took a deep breath. “If nothing is found after ten minutes, assemble here.”
Justice shot a brief glance at the others before turning back to the forest. His back and legs ached from so many hours’ worth of continuous riding – something Rafaga had come to call ‘saddle syndrome’ – but it was too late to stop now. To think that he was finally here… The thought alone was enough to send his heart into frenzied pace.
“Right. Prepare yourselves.”
All through the assembly, there was a uniform shift as each person moved into position. Justice regarded them with a nod, then addressed his own horse. The animal was bristling with energy, as if it could sense the anticipation in the air, and when he gathered the reins in his hand, it tensed in response.
“This is it,” he called out. “Advance!”
And so they were off. Like an arrow from a bow, Justice sped forwards, into the narrow channel between the trees. The sound of heavy hooves was thunder behind him, an echo to the pounding of his heart that filled his whole chest. This was it… This was it! The sense of uncertainty seemed to fall short of the burning anticipation that had taken a hold of him, driving him onwards, further and further into the depths of the forest.
Justice was about three hundred yards into the forest before he realised that two of the four pairs had already branched off into the trees – now, only Carbuncle’s group and his remained. He turned his head to the left to see the fire vampire bend low over his black steed, signal, then take a sharp turn to the left with Whiteley. The two were gone within seconds.
“I suppose that means we’re the last ones now, Your Majesty,” came Luso’s voice, at which Justice nodded.
Ahead, the trees were beginning to thin into a small area of open space. Justice tightened his hands around the reins, gradually easing himself to a trot and finally a gentle walk. No sooner had he broken the line of trees, however, he was met with a shock.
The wind was stronger here, sweeping its way over the edge of a sheer cliff. Fields, forests and lakes lay before him like a map in the darkness, though Justice couldn’t help but feel daunted by the view. His heart lurched uncomfortably as he peered over the edge – a forty yard drop to the ground below.
“This is dangerous,” he said, turning back to the forest. He watched out of the corner of his eye as Luso moved as close to the edge as his horse would allow him, then shivered.
The two men continued on into the woods. Perhaps if Justice had been somewhat less anxious, then he would have taken the time to stand back and appreciate just how beautiful his surroundings were: the trees here were thinner and much paler than those further west, with small, rounded feathers for leaves. A thick mist hung in a blanket over the ground, catching the moonlight so that it shimmered like water.
They weaved through the trees together with fast yet deliberate steps, several yards apart so as to cover more ground. Justice’s eyes darted back and forth across the forest, yet he always made sure to keep Luso within his sights – the man was human, after all. Exactly what he was looking for, though, he didn't know. How would he be able to recognise the sword when he came across it? The question hadn’t occurred to him yet, but when he thought about it, he felt the first sinking sensation of doubt arise within him. Indeed, how could he be certain that he would even be able to find the sword in this vast forest? Steel wasn’t living – it gave off no smell for him to detect. What if it was buried in the earth? Desperately, he tried to rid himself of the idea, but it was no use – it was already in his head.
No, he couldn’t think like that. Any moment now, there would be a shout from one of the others, and everyone would come running. Yes, that was right. With that thought in mind, Justice pressed onwards, speeding up his pace slightly. The thin layers of dead leaves on the ground crackled beneath his horse’s hooves, punctuating his every step with a crisp crackle.
However, it wasn't long before something caught his attention.
A tree stood in front of him, though unlike the others, there was something odd about it. Slowly, Justice edged forward and lifted a hand to brush the end of his finger along the nearest thin branch. It had been broken, snapped in two so that the end hung from a sinew. He raised a handful of leaves to his face to take in then scent.
And froze.
“What is it, Your Majesty?” Luso approached him from behind.
Justice drew back his hand, then gathered the horse’s reins once again. “Someone’s passed through here.”
“A human?”
Justice shook his head. “Vampire.”
The word seemed to linger on the air like an unpleasant smell. Justice’s expression was hard as he dismounted the animal and began to lead it forward through the trees, pushing aside the branches one by one. It was too narrow to ride here anyway. The smell was fainter now, though every so often, he would catch the slightest trace again. Was it one of the others? Or perhaps…
Gideon.
At once, Justice slipped his hand from the reins and broke into a sprint. Judging from the freshness of the scent, then the person hadn’t travelled far; if he moved fast enough, then maybe he would be able to catch them unawares…
All of a sudden, his foot latched around something, and he found himself falling forward into the ground. His body hit the mud with heavy impact. Wincing, he propped himself up on his elbows in an attempt to find some sort of support in the small space, but what his fingers closed around made him freeze.
And look up.
The cold metal in his hand was the blade of a sword that protruded from the ground at right ankles. The material rang with age, with an almost tangible echo of another time; yet at the same time, it stood as proudly and untarnished as if it had been forged that very day.
Luso was already calling out into the forest as Justice stood up. His eyes were drawn to the blade with unwavering intrigue – he simply could not look away. There was a short space around the sword where nothing grew, creating a small clearing between the trees, as though nature itself were bowing to this magnificent article.
A light rustling sounded to the right, and two figures emerged from the trees. Rafaga’s face paled as his eyes fell to the scene before him. “Oh, my...”
Yet Justice said nothing. Nothing seemed real, as if the whole situation were merely something he had dreamt up. Whilst the unknown struck fear into his heart, he could feel a deep pull towards the object in front of him, as if he had visited this place before.
Which, of course, was only natural when his father had done the same so many years before.
And now, he was finally taking back what was his.
Justice fell to his knees and placed his hands over the sword – one on the hilt, the other around its blade. The metal tingled against his skin, sending shivers down his spine. Just what would happen when he released it, he wondered. If it was as the legends said, then doing so would grant him the power to take on Marthiel’s throne, but in a way, he wasn't interested in that – this time, his motives were more of a personal matter.
Justice longed to wrench the sword from the soil on the spot, but somehow, he knew that doing so would have no effect. His fingers tightened around the blade, harder and harder, until he could feel it biting into his skin. A sharp pain shot up his arm as he felt the first drops of blood rise up between his fingers, but still he carried on, squeezing as tight as his hand would allow. Blood slid out from his grip, over his knuckles and down the length of the blade; within a few seconds, the first drops had reached the point where metal connected with earth. Then, in the same second, the man felt a sudden surge of power, and the sword came loose in his hands.
There was a uniform gasp as Justice fell back in the mud. His whole body tingled as if he had just stepped from fire into icy water, though that sensation was soon to fade. Slowly, deliberately, he turned his eyes downwards, to the blade in his arms.
He had it. It was his.
After so long, he had finally done it. There were no words with which Justice could describe the feelings coursing his veins at that moment. Exhilaration, pride, joy… And triumph. No matter what happened in the next few moments, he had reached his goal. He had won.
Justice passed his eyes from one shocked face to the other before taking the blade handle between his fingers and raising it into the air. The tip seemed to cut through the night as though it were something tangible.
Overhead, there was a deafening crack as the first fork of lightning whipped across the sky.
Justice was just about to straighten up, when a sudden sneering voice sounded from nearby, making him freeze in place. “Well, well – look what we have here.”

29: Chapter XXVIII: Betrayer

Chapter XXVIII
Betrayer

“Our third meeting,” said Gideon. “And here I was thinking that you were trying to avoid me.”
“You!” Justice’s voice was a snarl as it left his mouth. He leaped to his feet, ready to lunge, but stopped when he realised that his enemy was not alone: Gideon’s men had surrounded the group, forcing them inwards. Normally, this would have proved little obstacle, but there had to be at least forty of them, each brandishing some sort of sharpened weapon. One smirked as Rakina recoiled to his master’s side.
“And you must be Judas.” Rafaga took a step forward so that he was level with Justice. There was a certain lack to surprise to his tone. “I’ve been waiting to meet you for a while now.”
“I am Judas.”
The voice was enough to send shivers of hatred trickling down Justice’s spine, and he watched with wide eyes as a figure moved forth from the group. He stared at the black-haired man, his lips twisting into a wry smile. “So I see you did manage to raise an army of your own – you are a man of your word, my friend.”
Rafaga had to take a hold of Justice’s shoulders to prevent him from lunging forward.
“Why?” he spat at Gideon. “Why are you working for someone like him?”
Gideon raised an eyebrow. “Why, you ask? I prefer not to use the term ‘working for’ so much as ‘assisting’.” He glanced at the one by his side. “Judas’ parents worked as assassins under my hand – you could say our families were already acquainted with one another.”
Judas continued: “I found my father’s records and managed to trace them back to their employers at the time of death.” His eyes narrowed at Justice. “It seemed only natural that if I were to go up against a vampire, I would arm myself likewise. Even if that vampire happened to be someone like you.”
Again, Rafaga had to fight against the black-haired man to hold him back. As he looked from face to face, Justice couldn’t work out which he hated more; yet seeing Judas here seemed to dredge up a tide of bitter emotions he thought he had left behind. Perhaps it was because he had finally told someone else of his attachment to the man that he actually felt permitted to hate. In other words, there was no holding back this time.
The Guardians, it appeared, were less than impressed as well. Slowly, Kircheis stepped forward. “Assassins, you say?”
“Naturally, as the son of a king,” said Gideon.
There was a pause, but then the information seemed to register with the water vampire. “Monrey Lanzek.” The name was a whisper on his lips.
“Clever boy.” Gideon’s eyes flashed.
“Monrey Lanzek…” Justice recalled the wars that Rafaga had told him about several nights ago. “So it was your father who started all of this? The one who betrayed our country’s royal family?”
Some of the taunting edge fell from Gideon’s face. “My father? Let’s not forget that it was your bastard Schwarzschild who abandoned his people for his own likeness!”
All of a sudden, there was a great rush of force as a barrage of flames tore past Justice; the crowd parted like sheep to avoid the fire that rushed towards them, then faded out into the forest like a burning tidal wave.
Shocked, Justice turned around to see Carbuncle standing several paces back. The look on his face could have melted steel – a look that was directed straight at Gideon.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” The scent of singed greenery hung in the air from where the flames had scorched them in their path. When Gideon straightened up again, his expression was subtly sinister. “Bring her,” he barked to one of his subordinates.
At that moment, the group began to move amongst themselves, and a figure was brought forward. Justice watched in horror as Blanche fell to the floor in front of him, to the sniggers of the ones around her. Why wasn’t she moving? The man only had to look to find out why: Blanche’s body was limp, her skin lacerated in several places. Her skin looked bruised, as if she had been beaten badly.
Gideon shot a look at the Guardians before reaching down, wrapping his fingers in the girl’s hair and lifting her upright. Judas handed him a dagger, which he held to her throat. For a second, her eyes connected with Justice’s, though the man was shocked to see that they were wild with terror – a plea for help in a face devoid of hope.
In one sharp movement, Gideon pulled her head back so that more of her throat was exposed to the knife. He nodded at the black-haired man. “And now, if you don’t mind, I’ll be having that sword.”
Justice’s hands tightened around the blade in his hands. He was in Gideon’s grip – there was no doubt about it. As he stared at Blanche, he couldn’t help but remember the time outside the inn, when he had held her as a threat against the humans, much in the same way Gideon was now. That time, he had set up the scene, but this… This was real; and he could hear her frantic breaths, feel each and every heartbeat as clearly as if it were his own. Yet it was a weak rhythm, like the wings of a dying bird.
No more. This was going to go on no more.
Justice took a slow step forward, but a sudden cry from behind interrupted him. He turned to see Carbuncle standing before him, his eyes on the sword.
“You can’t,” he pleaded. “You can’t lose that sword for a ser…” Yet it seemed that not even the fire vampire was able to finish his sentence under the circumstances.
For a moment, Justice caught his eyes, saw the pain that lingered deep within them, but then he looked away.
“I am the king’s son. What I do with my own possessions is my own decision.” The words fell like stones from Justice’s lips, though he was in no mindset to soften them. Trying as best as he could to avoid looking at Carbuncle, he turned to Gideon. “Why not pull it out yourself? You had the opportunity.”
However, it was Judas who answered: “Why, only one carrying the king’s blood can retrieve the sword.” His face darkened slightly. “Now hand it over.”
Justice paused, then raised the blade in his hands. His eyes fell to Blanche. Soon, it would be over. Everything he’d worked towards, everything he’d done… It seemed pointless when he considered that he was going to jeopardise it all. But no matter what, he was not going to stand and watch as the person closest to a friend he had had over the past few days was killed.
“Have it,” Justice muttered scornfully. He raised the sword in his hands before thrusting it down in the mud at the others’ feet. Judas picked it up. Slowly, lovingly, he ran his fingers along the hilt, touching each stone individually. It was almost hypnotic to watch him, stroking the blade as if it were something alive. Then, after about a minute, he appeared to tire of the sight, and handed it to one of the other vampires, where it disappeared from view.
A deep sadness filled Justice at the sight, but he managed to hold himself together as he turned his eyes to Gideon. “You have the sword,” he said. “Now let Blanche go.”
“Hmm, perhaps,” the vampire mused in response. “It just seems like such a waste…” He bowed his head forward to bury his nose in the girl’s hair.
It was then that something seemed to snap inside Blanche. At once, she kicked out at Gideon, slamming the back of her head into his chest so that he was forced to let go. Her hand flew up into the air, but Gideon was faster. His fingers caught hold of her wrist and twisted her around to face him.
A small whimper escaped her as the knife’s tip was replaced against her neck, this time at the nape. Slowly, she looked up at Gideon. The traces of a smirk still clung to his lips, yet there was something else as well this time, a crazed darkness lurking deep within his eyes. He paused for several seconds to stare down at the terrified girl before his eyes flicked to Justice and he lowered his lips to Blanche’s throat.
Justice was unable to move, unable to tear his eyes away from the sight in front of him – it was as if his whole body were being held by some unseen force. There was no struggle involved; evidently, Blanche had exerted the last of her energy in trying to break free earlier. One hand pulled at Gideon’s hair, only to fall helplessly to her side. Even Judas, it appeared, could not bring himself to watch, instead turning his head away to stare into the forest.
And then, the unthinkable happened.
The blade slid into Blanche’s neck as easily as if it were cutting through butter. Her whole body froze and a small whimper of a gasp escaped her lips, just as Gideon lifted his head and stared down at her. Blood glistened on his mouth like dark ink. Then, slowly, he placed his lips to hers in a suffocating embrace.
“You want Justice?” he whispered to her. “He’s all yours.”
The knife was wrenched from Blanche’s throat the moment she was thrust forward into the mud. At last, Justice was able to break from his trance and descended upon her, horrified. The smell of blood rose up from her body, as sickening as it was alluring, and her wide eyes reflected a glassy stillness that struck the most nauseating terror into the man’s heart.
There was no mistaking it – Blanche was dead.
Before he even had a chance to pull the hair from her eyes, a foot swung around and buried itself in Justice’s face, knocking him backwards. The force was enough to fracture his nose at least, but he drove through the pain and leaped to his feet. As grief turned to fury, he lunged towards the vampires in front of him, but they had already begun to fall apart, scattering into the trees like flies.
The Guardians were immediate: within seconds, there came a flash of light and heat from behind Justice, and a corresponding shriek – no doubt by Carbuncle’s hand. As for Justice, he stared down at Blanche’s form on the ground helplessly. He longed to reach down and try her pulse again, to tell himself that his earlier assumption had been wrong, yet there was no use in trying to blind himself with false hope. There was no sound from her, no movement – even the warmth was beginning to fade away. He had allowed this to happen. He had failed.
A sudden hand on his shoulder took his attention, and he turned to see Rafaga.
“Go!” urged the wind vampire. “I’ll stay with Blanche. Get the sword!”
Perhaps it was the sincerity of the look in his eyes that ultimately convinced him, but Justice knew Rafaga would remain true to his word. He nodded once, then straightened up and pushed off into the trees. His nose still ached slightly from where it had been kicked, though the pain was quickly fading as it healed.
His initial goal was to track down Gideon – or Judas, at least – but he was saving that for later. He’d seen the vampire holding the sword take a right turn into the trees as the group separated, and now, he had managed to pick up an unmistakeable scent that, if he moved fast enough, would lead him straight to it.
This was going to be a short battle.
He would make sure of it.

*

“You’re not really the most threatening person, are you?”
Kircheis glared at the one before him, narrowed eyes cutting a fine line through the air. He could tell the remark served to stimulate a reaction from him, yet he remained silent.
The man smirked as he leaned one arm against the tree. “What’s wrong? Scared?”
“You really should be more cautious with your words around a Guardian.” Kircheis was careful to keep his tone as controlled as possible. His eyes were darting everywhere, taking in every detail of the other’s stance, measuring each and every movement; because rogues like this, he knew, were the most dangerous creatures of all.
The man snorted in amusement before straightening up again and taking a step forward. The moment his foot hit the floor, however, he froze. His eyes fell to the ground. “W-what have you done?”
Kircheis watched as he dropped to his foot, fumbling with the laces of his boot in an attempt to pull it free from his foot; yet a few seconds later, he stopped, only to place a hand on his lower leg. “What—”
“One of the first steps in battle is to assess your opponent’s abilities,” said the water vampire coldly.
The man was panicking by now, his fingers clasping at his knee, then his thigh. It was as if something were creeping slowly up his flesh.
“That sensation you can feel right now is the freezing of your bodily fluids. Blood, sweat… Everything that you are will soon be ice by my hand.”
Indeed, it was true: the more the man struggled, the more he realised just how futile it was. The feeling had engulfed both legs by now and continued to creep up his torso, solidifying matter into a stone-like consistency as it went.
And now it was Kircheis’ turn to smile. Yet it was not a sadistic notion; rather, it was the smile of someone who has beaten a game, or triumphed over a chess board. Slowly, he stretched out his hand, where an object, long and thin, began to materialise between his fingers.
The man watched amid his desperate struggles. Like shards of glass, the pieces seemed to appear from the air itself, shining with an ethereal glow as they were drawn to the singular mass in the vampire’s hand. Then, once finished, the light faded, and he was finally able to see what had formed.
It was a spear, weighted at its base and as tall as its owner. At first glance, one might have thought it to be made of steel or some other sturdy metal, but it soon became obvious that its sculpted sides were constructed from ice, and because of this, the vampire was able to wield it as easily as if it were made from glass.
“My body was frozen for forty years,” Kircheis continued. “When I broke out, this spear was formed from the leftover shards of ice around me.”
He took a few seconds to regard the figure in front of him. The freezing had taken its full effect by now, leaving its victim motionless, like a statue between the trees. What a pity, Kircheis thought, to defile such a beautiful forest with something so unnatural… Yet what had to be done would stand.
Kircheis raised the spear in both hands and lunged towards the figure. The sharpened tip pierced the man’s ribcage. Then, in one fluid movement, he wrenched it upwards, shattering through flesh and bone as he did so; and the figure, like broken glass, began to collapse in on itself, until it fell, finally, to the ground in shards.

*

Justice cried out as he was knocked back, arms flailing until he hit the ground below. He barely had time to regain his balance before he was forced to roll to the side, just as the tip of a blade buried itself into the mud beside him.
He leaped to his feet and backed into the nearest tree trunk. His immediate opponent, a woman with wine-red hair, stood before him, clutching a knife in each hand. Somewhere behind, he knew, the one holding his sword was still recovering from his broken wrist, though it wouldn’t be long until he was able to move again. Justice had seconds to act.
The female pounced again. One blade slashed Justice’s side, but he was able to catch the other and tear it from her grip. The wound on his hand reopened and began to spout fresh blood, coating fingers that were already wet with mud. Still, he gritted his teeth and brought his knee up into the other’s stomach. A low hiss of a moan escaped her chest. Then, as quickly as he could, he swung his elbow around and drove it into the side of her head, knocking her to the ground, unconscious.
Justice was shocked at his own efforts. Rendering a vampire unconscious was no simple feat; but then again, he hadn’t been holding back any strength this time. He was just about to turn away, when all of a sudden, something slammed into his shoulder. Pain spread across his upper arm like fire, and it was only when he looked down that he realised he had been struck deeply by some kind of blade.
Behind him stood the vampire from earlier, and in his hands he clutched the Schwarzschild Sword. Justice was able to dodge just fast enough to avoid a second blow, though failed to notice the foot until it had hooked around his boot and dragged him to the ground. The figure descended upon him at once. Desperately, Justice tried to claw himself to his feet, but it was useless – the man’s knee was already against his chest, crushing him into the ground.
“I wonder,” snarled the vampire. “How would it feel if I were to gut you with your own sword?”
He raised the blade high, and Justice clenched his eyes shut. This was it… For several seconds, he remained rigid, yet nothing happened. Was the man deliberately holding back? He frowned, then slowly opened his eyes.
What he saw, however, was enough to make his stomach lurch.
The vampire was still on top of him, his head pulled cleanly from his shoulders. His body swayed for a few moments before falling forwards. Justice cried out – blood splashed onto his collar area like thick ink, staining clothes and skin alike. Panting, he managed to push it to the side, just as a shadow fell over his legs.
Justice’s eyes lifted to see a figure standing before him. The darkness and his own disorientation made it difficult to see properly, but gradually, he was able to pick out certain features – black clothes, black hair… And a face that seemed strangely familiar, despite the fact he was certain he had never seen it before. A hand extended before him – he took it gratefully.
Once on his feet again, Justice staggered to the nearest tree and dug his fingers into the bark for support. His shoulder burned from where it had been struck, but apart from that, the remainder of his discomfort was mental. He took a deep breath to steady himself, then turned, gradually, to the figure behind.
And froze.
“Who are you?” The words were little above a whisper on Justice’s lips. Because at last, he could see the man’s eyes.
They were red.
Slowly, the man took a step forward, but stopped when he saw the other flinch. He raised a pale hand, speaking for the first time in a low, controlled voice. “My name is Dreizehn Schwarzschild. I’m your father, Justice.”

30: Chapter XXIX: Der König der Dunkelheit

Chapter XXIX
Der König der Dunkelheit

“M-my father…” Justice fell to his knees. What was going on? Once again, he looked up at the figure, unable to believe what his eyes were screaming at him. Was he dead? It would make sense – if the vampire had, indeed, succeeded in his attack, then he was in death already.
But if he was dead, then why could he still feel the pain that racked his body? No, he was alive – that much was for sure. Yet how could this be possible?
Justice’s shoulders were trembling as he knelt before the king. Somehow, he could sense a great aura from the figure, and whilst he knew that he should probably feel frightened, it filled him with a strange kind of warmth. Even when the man reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder, he couldn’t bring himself to flinch again.
“Justice…” The king seemed somewhat lost for words. “Where are we?”
But the man just shook his head. How could he answer? Words were beyond him now – he just wanted to… He just…
The first tear stung as it slid down his face, hot as fire against his frozen skin. Suddenly taken by embarrassment, he wiped it away, then stood up. His legs ached, though that meant little to him now.
“My father.”
He allowed himself to be swallowed up in Dreizehn’s arms, to feel the warmth that he had lived his whole life without engulf him. Mud clung to his clothes, but the king didn’t seem to care.
“Are you alone?”
Justice shook his head. “The Guardians are here as well.”
“The Guardians… Do you mean the Knights?” All of a sudden, Dreizehn’s tone fell to a new level of seriousness. He pulled back to stare at his son. “All of them? Are they hurt?”
Perhaps it was the change in Justice’s expression that confirmed it, but the king appeared to understand. Sighing softly, he bent down and picked up the sword lying in the dirt. His eyes slid over the metal with a longing depth to them. “One might think that a hundred and fifty years trapped within this object may make me loathe it, but I owe my life to this sword; because without it, my foolishness may have swallowed me completely, and I would not be here to speak to you today.” His eyes flicked upwards sharply. “My time on the throne has passed, Justice – it is up to you now to take over what I left behind. But before that, you must fight.”
As Justice took the sword into his hands, he couldn’t help but feel daunted by how heavy it felt. He looked up at his father to see him eyeing him with a soft expression.
“I will,” said Justice. Almost instinctively, his fingers tightened around the handle. The movement was decisive, a confirmation of the will within himself. Fight… Yes, he would fight; because this was more than his battle now. Dreizehn, the king, was alive, and if the Guardians were still fighting, then there was no doubt that they would need his help as well. His mind flicked back to the vampire earlier, how the king had managed to remove his head in seconds; and then there was the wound on his shoulder, which hadn’t yet begun to heal itself.
It didn’t take long for Justice to join up the dots: he was holding, in his hands, the only weapon aside from Gideon’s that could harm vampires.
And he was going to drive it straight through Gideon’s heart.
Slowly, Dreizehn took a step back, as if to admire his son. The darkness folded around him, an extension of the cloak that sat upon his shoulders. “You have become a fine man, Justice – more than worthy of succeeding my crown.” His tone sped up slightly. “Now go. I shall remain close.”
Justice nodded firmly before taking a step back and finally turning. He could still feel the king’s eyes on his back, though the sensation was not an unpleasant one – rather, he felt comforted by the fact that he was being watched over. Yet when he glanced over his shoulder into the trees, the man was gone, lost to the darkness of the forest.
Justice was feeling slightly numb as he made his way forward. Again and again his mind rolled over what had just happened, even leading to doubts as to whether he had imagined the whole meeting. Yet was it not as the legends said? The Schwarzschild Sword had been pulled from the ground; thus, the power had been restored. King Dreizehn had been raised from within its depths…
He had to tell the Guardians!
As he broke the line of trees into the open, however, a shocking sight met him. He had come out onto the thick verge of land before the earth fell away into cliff, and about a hundred yards away was Rafaga, surrounded by four other vampires, who swarmed him like flies. And as if to make matters worse, the Guardian appeared to be losing.
The first vampire turned just in time for Justice to swing the flat of his sword into his head, knocking him to the ground. Another leaped forward, only to be knocked back again. Rafaga took the distraction to free himself. In one fluid movement, he swung around and flashed his hands outwards, sending another two backwards on a funnel of air.
“Justice, the sword—!”
The man raised it, ready to counter any more resistance should it arise. His blow to the first had been enough to render him unconscious, but the second appeared more than capable of picking himself off the floor again.
Rafaga’s voice sounded frantically: “I passed Carbuncle earlier. He needs help—”
“Go!” shouted Justice. Within moments, the second vampire was at his throat again, tearing at his chest despite his efforts to hold him back. He tried not to distract himself with the sight of Rafaga running towards the trees as he struggled against the other. Eventually, though, he managed to throw him off.
Justice stepped back. The sword was heavy in his fingers – he had to use two hands to support it, what with his wounded shoulder. It was becoming ever-more obvious just how inexperienced he was with the weapon; and what’s more, the vampires seemed to recognise it as well. There were three of them remaining – two dark-haired and another with pale red locks who barely looked as if he had passed from childhood. A small distance away, the fourth lay on the ground, still unmoving, though there was no saying how long he would remain so. The man would have to put his trust in his father’s words.
It was only when his heel handed in softer ground that Justice realised he had reached the cliff edge. He slipped a glance behind to see the field continue for one or two yards more before it fell away into a sheer drop. He swallowed nervously. The vampires were closing in on him now; and this time, it was the redhead who lashed out with his dagger. The metal hit his sword with an audible clang. A foot buried itself in Justice’s stomach, knocking him back; yet just before he handed, he managed to take hold of someone’s forearm and drag them down with him. The figure hissed and kicked. One hand wound in his hair and wrenched his head back, just as something piercingly sharp – blade, teeth or nails, he didn’t know – bit down into his shoulder.
All of a sudden, the ground beneath him lurched. At first, Justice merely put it down as his imagination, a result of his own disorientation, but the second time, the whole earth began to shudder. The others seemed to notice it as well, pausing their assault to look down at the ground around them. Then the redhead’s eyes widened and he leaped forward.
Justice managed to catch hold of the ledge just as the earth fell away below him. Frantically, he dug his fingers into the soft soil, finally latching onto a large rock embedded in the ground. The other vampires didn’t seem to have fared so luckily, however: two had already fallen, and the one that had jumped, was struggling in keeping himself attached to the ledge. Eventually, though, he joined the others as the ground slipped from between his fingers and he was claimed by the earth.
A harsh wind rose behind Justice, lashing at his back and open wounds like a whip. The strain on his shoulder was agony – if he turned to look now, he knew that his fear would take a hold of him, and he would slip.
Summoning all the strength he could, Justice dug his boot into the cliff face and stretched out with one hand for some sort of solid object – another rock, perhaps – that he would be able to use as a hold, but his fingers only clutched at wet grass. He cursed loudly. Surely he could find a way to pull himself up? Because there was no guarantee that this ground wouldn’t fall away below him all of a sudden, just as the other section had before. He was hanging on a thread.
Just then, as if to confirm his thoughts in some ironic twist, Justice felt his foot fall from its hold in the mud. The sudden strain was too much for his injured arm, and his fingers slid from the slippery surface of the rock. For a moment, he was weightless, frozen as his heart stopped in his chest, but then his fingers caught hold of something – a hand – and he latched on tight. He hung there for several seconds, staring down at the nauseating drop, before his senses took over and he was able to use the stranger’s help to haul himself up and over the ledge.
Once he felt firm ground beneath him at last, Justice crawled several paces away and collapsed onto his front, exhausted. The pain had faded now that his arm was no longer taut, though it still lingered, like poison. When he lifted his panting head, he noticed the sword a few feet away from where he’d dropped it. His hand reached out to take it, only to fall flat against the ground.
“Thank me when you feel up to it,” said a mildly sarcastic, but familiar voice.
Justice had almost forgotten about the one who had saved him. Slowly, he rolled onto his back to see a figure staring down at him with inquisitive eyes.
“Wilderness!”
The Guardian raised an eyebrow as he ran his eyes up and down the man’s form. “You look awful.”
Indeed, Justice could only imagine how he must have looked in the other’s eyes, what with his torn clothes and blood-soaked front. He pulled himself to his feet. Deep breaths continued to shake his chest, but they were fading now, allowing himself to face the Guardian properly for the first time.
Wilderness hadn’t changed in the slightest – even his outfit was the same mottled amber and black leather he had originally worn at the meeting. He stared at Justice for a moment before his gaze flicked to the sword at the ground and back again. When he opened his mouth to speak, he seemed uncomfortable – embarrassed, almost. “Justice, I…” Then he shook his head, his words taking on a more demanding tone. “Where are the other Guardians? Are they alive?”
It was only when Justice considered the question that he realised with horror he did not know the answer.
“They're fighting,” he answered. “I saw Rafaga a while ago, but the others are still in the forest.”
Wilderness nodded. “And what of my servants? Where are Whiteley and Blanche?”
Justice's heart shuddered at the mention of Blanche's name. How could he tell Wilderness what had happened? He was just about to open his mouth, when all of a sudden, a desperate voice called his name. He froze before turning his head to the forest, where he saw a figure running towards him.
Blanche.
At first, he thought his eyes were deceiving him, but there was no mistaking it – Blanche was alive. Black material clung to her as she sprinted forward, bare feet hard against the ground. However, there appeared to be something different that Justice was unable to place exactly.
Wilderness took hold of Justice's collar at once and pulled him straight. “You...” he snarled. “What the hell have you done to her?”
The sudden aggression caught the man off-guard, so much so that he barely fought back as Wilderness' knuckled dug into his chin. The Guardian's eyes were alive with rage.
“No!” A figure slammed into the side of the two men, knocking them to the ground. Justice was send sprawling in the mud. He saw the sword by his side, snatched it up and struggled to his feet. Of course, it was not within his intentions to harm Wilderness, though the Guardian didn't seem to realise this.
Yet before Justice could move, the figure stepped in front of him. One arm shot to the side, as if to act as a shield.
“Stop it, Master – His Majesty has done nothing wrong,” said Blanche. Conviction was heavy in her tone.
The shock was beginning to fade from Justice now. One part of him wanted to leap in front of the girl as protection, though he doubted Wilderness would go so far as to strike her, despite his anger. It was difficult to see through her hair, but the wound on her neck from where Gideon's blade had entered appeared to be gone. Almost as if it had healed itself over…
The thought hit him like a rock.
No, how could that be? Blood had to be exchanged in order for one to pass into vampirism, and he was unable to remember one time when such a thing could have been carried out. Had one of the Guardians done it? What held him back the most was that he’d watched her die – he'd felt the life leave her body; and yet he could hear her heartbeat in front of him, as clearly as if it were his own.
It was the heartbeat of a vampire.
Wilderness' expression was that of fury. “You would choose him over me? Defend the monster that did this to you?”
“This is not a case of choice, Master. Justice has done nothing but protect me these past few days. I won't let you touch him.”
Some of the anger faded from Wilderness' face, only to be replaced with a deep betrayal. He placed a hand against the side of his forehead – for a moment, Justice thought that he might even break out into tears. “Blanche...” His voice sounded weak all of a sudden. “How could you let—”
His words came to an abrupt stop as something split the air nearby. Justice’s head snapped around just in time to see an arrow slice past his face. He stood for a moment, stunned, before turning to the woods where it had come from. A figure stood there, looking onwards with bow in hand.
“Judas!” The word was more of an exclamation of surprise than anything else. The man wasn't far away – two hundred yards, at most. Trees covered the area behind. Yet something was wrong. Justice had known the man for years, and if there was one thing he had picked up, it was that Judas’ accuracy with a bow was higher than that. The miss had been deliberate. Something else was at play here.
A low growl ripped from Wilderness’ chest. He tore towards Judas, despite Justice's desperate shouts not to. Cursing to himself, Justice sprinted after him, but it was no use – the Guardian was just too fast. To Wilderness, this was the man who had slaughtered Kircheis' army, the one who had brought such misery to them all – and now he was going to pay.
Justice saw the scene before it happened, saw Gideon step from the trees, knife brandished. Wilderness had a moment to stop, but then the blade was inside him. His eyes grew wide. All over, his body began to twitch, just as the first spot of blood expanded across his clothing.
The next few seconds seemed to pass in slow motion for Justice. Helplessly, he watched as the knife was pushed further into Wilderness’ stomach, right up to its hilt. The Guardian’s mouth hung open, but no sound came out.
A triumphant smile crept across Gideon's lips. Then, in one move, he brought his leg up and kicked forward with his boot, sending the vampire staggering to the ground.
Blanche’s shriek pierced the night. Before she could bend down at her master's side, however, Gideon’s foot was at her shoulder, knocking her away. Justice considered pausing to help her, but continued forward instead. Roaring, he swung at Gideon. The sword hit the tree trunk with an audible thunk, though he was able to pull it out easily. He raised it again.
“It's useless, Justice.” To the man’s surprise, it was Judas who spoke. “Do you think you have even the slightest chance against us? You, the bastard son of a king, and a servant girl?” Each word was spat like venom.
Justice tried to ignore the conviction in his words. Rage bubbled through his expression, teeth gritted in hatred; and still Judas went on. “I hired Gideon as the one who had worked with my parents as assassins – the only vampire I knew who would be capable of stopping you.” His face darkened all of a sudden. “Do you remember my parents, Justice? The ones you murdered?”
On the final word, Judas raised his bow to strike at the black-haired man, but something knocked him back into the trees. Never before had Justice seen Blanche move with such ferocity. She growled as she fought against the man, allowing Justice to turn, finally, to Gideon.
The vampire was standing against a nearby tree, his eyes fixed upon the scene. The bloodied knife hung at his side. Justice couldn’t help but wonder why he hadn’t taken the opportunity to attack him whilst his attention was on Judas, but the answer wasn’t difficult to see. He was waiting.
Because this was no longer a simple case of raw victory – it was about pride; and Gideon knew that as much as he did.
Slowly, the vampire straightened to his full height and began to walk through the trees – not directly towards Justice, but making sure to keep him in his sights at all times. “So, how about it, Justice? It's as Judas said – we’re evenly matched. Two vampires, both sons of kings... What’s holding you back?”
Justice knew his words were for the simple purpose of taunting him – or perhaps angering him enough to lash out. He glanced to his left, but Blanche and Judas were nowhere to be seen, lost to the trees. The board was set. It was king against king now.
Gideon was the first to strike. Normally, the move would have caught Justice by surprise, but he was able to parry it just before the blade reached his head. The weight of the sword felt clumsy in his hands. One of his leads in battle was the ability to control his every movement, though that was impossible now. He stepped back as Gideon swung again, this time at his chest. The angle caught him off-guard, leaving him with a shallow cut across his collar.
He had to get away. The trees around him restricted movement and made fighting an almost impossible task. Desperately, he stumbled back, relieved at last to find himself in a slightly more open area. When Gideon struck this time, Justice’s hand flew up as defence. The blade hit the soft flesh between his second and middle finger. Pain twisted through his wrist at once. Even with a normal knife, the feeling would have been agony, but this was Gideon's own creation, a weapon forged for the specific purpose of harming vampires. Justice’s hand felt as though it were being scalded.
In one sharp movement, he pushed forward, sending the other reeling a few steps. The distraction gave Justice the opportunity to leap up, catch the nearest branch and swing his foot into Gideon’s chin, knocking him backwards. Gideon collapsed against a tree trunk. His knife fell from his hand, but Justice kicked it away, placing his own sword against the side of his neck.
Justice’s eyes glowed blood-red. His teeth were gritted as he stared down at the one before him. Even now, it seemed that Gideon couldn’t hold back the slightest traces of a smirk. Perhaps he still regarded the whole matter as a game, the man reasoned; or maybe he didn’t realise just how close Justice was to killing him.
“You handled that well, then, I see,” he said – not to Justice, but to a figure approaching from behind. In his rage, Justice hadn’t noticed Blanche emerging from the forest. Exhausted breaths shook her frame, though to the man's relief, she appeared unharmed.
The girl said nothing for a few seconds; when she spoke, her voice was low and controlled. “What is wrong with you?”
Gideon merely pushed back his head and fixed her with taunting eyes. Justice felt his grip on the sword handle tighten. “I assure you, my dear, that there is nothing wrong with me.” He paused. “Or is it that you're still angry about my killing your master?”
Blanche’s whole body tensed. “Wilderness isn't dead. He's a vampire – he'll recover.” Even without looking at her expression, Justice could sense her hesitancy.
A small laugh escaped Gideon’s lips. “Oh, so you do not know I am capable of? Did no-one tell you? That's very cruel of you, Justice.”
At once, Blanche turned to the black-haired man. Her eyes were dominated with the deepest of pain – the pain of uncertainty. “W-what does he mean, Your Majesty?”
Yet Justice was silent, unable to do anything but stand and stare – it was as if he had been rendered speechless. He watched as her eyes travelled to his chest area, where they hovered over the open cut that gaped through his clothes. It hadn’t started healing yet. And if that was so, then why should Wilderness’?
Justice thought Blanche was going to say something, when all of a sudden, a movement caught his attention. His body snapped around just in time to see Gideon leap to his feet and snatch up the knife. With a roar, he stabbed it down towards the man’s head, but Justice caught his wrist before it could reach. Then Gideon stopped. And looked down.
The sword protruded from his chest, straight through his ribcage and into his heart. He stared at it with wide eyes. In one final move, Justice took the hilt with both hands and drove it into the bark of the tree immediately behind. Blanche drew closer to him, and together they watched the scene before them.
Blood was beginning to seep across Gideon’s clothing, staining his robes an even darker shade of black. Gasping, he gripped the blade on either side in an attempt to pull it from his body, but it was wedged too deeply into the tree; and even if he did somehow manage, it was too late now. Finished. He opened his mouth to cough. Blood spewed from his lips. Then, slowly, he turned his eyes upwards. Justice was unable to work out whether the final look on his face was closer to rage or amusement; though perhaps he never would, as at that moment, Gideon’s body slumped against the tree, the remnants of his last joke still lingering on his face.
Overhead, the skies opened. It had started to rain.

31: Chapter XXX: Tears

Chapter XXX
Tears

The first droplets were just beginning to fall as Justice stared, wide-eyed, at the figure. Gideon was completely still, motionless aside from the thin stream of blood that continued to creep down his jaw and drip from his chin. The man was half-expecting him to suddenly move again, to lash out with his knife and take them both by surprise, but nothing happened.

He had done it.

He had actually done it.

Slowly, Justice reached out a trembling hand and wrenched the sword from the tree, watching as the body fell to the floor in a heap. Gideon's hair fell over his frozen face – a face which even in death held the slightest of smirks. As long as he lived, Justice would be satisfied if he never saw that face again. He tutted in disgust as he bent down and picked up the double-bladed knife that had dropped to the ground.

“What are you going to do with it, Your Majesty?” asked Blanche.

Justice turned the hated weapon over in his hands before burying it deep in the ground at Gideon's feet. “Who knows?” he said dryly. “Maybe someone will find it one day and pull it out.”

It was difficult for Justice to feel anything as he looked down at the figure propped against the tree. Relief, perhaps, though there was no satisfaction in the scene, no feelings of triumph, like when he'd removed the sword for the first time. All he wanted to do was leave this place as quickly as he could.

The next word that fell from Blanche's mouth was enough to make him do just that. “Wilderness.”

Justice’s eyes widened – he'd almost forgotten about the Guardian. With one last look at Gideon, he picked up the sword and allowed Blanche to lead him away from the forest.

The rain was at full strength now, the thin branches of the trees providing little cover against the heavy droplets that pounded the ground. As his adrenaline faded, Justice became aware once again of the pain in his shoulder and chest. What's more, his back had begun to sting again – he must have re-opened the wound during the fight. Either way, he tried to push them to the back of his mind as he pressed forward and broke the line of trees.

Wilderness was lying on his back in the open ground, a single figure blurred by the rain. When Justice first saw him, his heart leaped in his chest, fearing the worst; but as he drew closer, he was relieved to see his chest moving gently. There was a heartbeat as well – weak, but still detectable amid the rain.

Blanche fell to her knees beside him, taking his hand between his own and hugging it to her chest. Slowly, Wilderness allowed his eyes to ease open. He turned them to her. “B-Blanche,” he whispered through quivering lips. His eyes travelled to Justice, who had just knelt down beside the girl. Then he snapped them shut and winced in pain.

Justice scanned his body up and down, pausing when he reached the bloody area around his stomach. As carefully as he could, he pulled back the material to reveal the knife wound, as raw as if it had been made within the minute. The Guardian gasped in agony as it was exposed directly to the rain, his hand tightening into a fist by his side.

“You’re so beautiful, Blanche,” he mumbled between pained breaths. His hand slid through hers to stroke against her jaw with the tips of his fingers. “I was selfish… I’m sorry…”

“No!” When she spoke, Blanche’s voice was weak, as if she were on the verge of tears. “You have done nothing but good for me, Master. You’re going to get through this.”

A small laugh escaped Wilderness – a laugh which quickly broke apart into coughing. For the second time, he turned his eyes to the black-haired man. “You'll look after her, w-won't you?”

Justice longed to leap up, to tell Wilderness that he would be there to oversee it himself, but he had learnt long ago that there was no use in fooling oneself with fruitless hope, so he merely nodded in response. The rain pulled his hair together in thick clumps over his face, though he paid little attention to it now.

Seemingly satisfied, Wilderness lay his head back in the mud and closed his eyes. “You will make a magnificent king,” he said. “I-I'm so sorry, Justice…”

His words were cut off as his body lurched all of a sudden. His mouth fell open, but only a strangled gasp came out. For several moments, he remained twitching on the ground, before his eyes eased shut and he fell still at last.

“M-Master?” whimpered Blanche. When no reply came, she repeated it. Justice knew that her words were falling upon deaf ears, but couldn't bring himself to say anything. The numbing feeling that had pulled at him when he'd killed Gideon was spreading fast, as though his insides were being swallowed up by it.

A muffled shriek brought his attention back to Blanche. The girl's face was pressed into the Guardian's chest, her hands clutching at the amber folds of his clothing. Agonised sobs shook her shoulders – the sound was enough to make Justice shudder. His mind flicked back to the moment in the field, the moment he'd watched Gideon plunge his knife into Wilderness' body, then thrust him aside as if he were a piece of dirt clinging to the blade. If only he had been able to catch him in time – maybe then, he would not be in this position…

Justice’s fingers tightened into fists. Even in death, Gideon was able to cause so much pain. It sickened him.

“No.”

The word was solitary, definitive. How could Justice let this happen? Like a flickering candle, his mind flashed through the sword, his father's words – Fight! – and Blanche. He had stood and watched as Gideon stole her away from him, done nothing as she was murdered in front of his eyes.

Well, this time would be different. He wasn't going to stand by whilst another person died. Not this time.

With a new sense of urgency to drive him, Justice bent over his wrist and dug his teeth into the flesh. Pain stung him, but he took no notice of it, tearing deeper and deeper with his fangs until he could taste blood, thick and fast. Blanche raised her head to stare at him with wide eyes, pulling back so that he could hover his wrist over the Guardian's face.

“This is the blood of Schwarzschild.” Justice watched as the red liquid dripped from the wound into Wilderness' mouth. When nothing happened, he slipped a hand beneath his head and forced his wrist against his lips. “My blood contains the original elixir of all vampires, the blood of my father, and you will drink it! Damn you!”

The aggression in his own words took Justice aback slightly, but he cared little, pushing down hard so as to transfer as much blood as he could into Wilderness' mouth before the wound closed. For a moment, he thought he felt lips twitching against his skin. He pulled back slightly, only to see the Guardian as still as he was before.

Yet there it was again. Something moist brushed lightly against his wrist, as though it were lapping up the blood accumulating there. Then, slowly, Wilderness' lips closed around the wound.

“Yes, that's right.” Justice's heart was pounding as he eased his hand into a more accessible angle. A low noise, halfway between a sigh and a moan, made its way from Wilderness' chest, his whole mouth sucking at the cut with every degree of strength he could summon.

There was a silence that seemed to draw on for hours. The rain was finer now, falling like a thin mist over the field; a droplet slid off Justice's nose and onto his hand, making him shiver, yet still he carried on. All the time, his attention remained on Wilderness' heartbeat, a low, irregular pulse – weak, but still alive.

Then, slowly, Wilderness' eyes flickered to life.

For a few moments, he just lay there, staring up at the sky. Then he shifted position slightly, so that he was able to prop himself up on one elbow.

A whimper escaped Blanche's lips, and she dove forward to wrap her arms around the Guardian's shoulders; when she cried this time, her sobs were those of joy. It was impossible for Justice, too, to deny the sense of relief that flooded him. Slowly, he cleaned away the remaining blood from his wrist with a loose piece of clothing and eased himself to his feet. His eyes scanned the field. The rain blurred the environment, making seeing anything a task within itself, yet he was able to pick out the outlines of two figures a short distance away. He regarded them briefly, when something caught hold of his ankle. He looked down to see Wilderness staring up at him, a weak smile upon his face.

“Thank you.”

Justice's expression softened as he knelt down beside Wilderness. The Guardian's hand lifted to his level, and he took it firmly. Through their joined hands, Justice could feel the gentle pulse of blood through the vampire's vessels – his blood. The thought was somewhat of a comfort to him, to know that after a lifetime of taking lives, he had finally been able to give something back. And Wilderness… He would be able to live on, because of him.

Justice allowed his eyes to catch the Guardian's. For a moment, he thought that Wilderness was going to say something, but it was only then that he realised no words were needed – the exchange of looks was enough. Chuckling softly, Justice gave the Guardian's hand a gentle squeeze before straightening up and turning to Blanche. “You'll look after him, won't you?”

The girl paused, then nodded, a small smile lighting her face. “Of course, Your Majesty.”

Justice nodded slowly in response. The rain was beginning to slow now, the droplets thinning against his face. His eyes ran along the field again until they latched onto the vague figures; then, gathering the sword in his hands, he began to walk.

What he saw, however, was enough to make his heart leap in his chest.

Carbuncle stood in the mist, and before him was a slightly taller figure, dressed all in black – Dreizehn. The king had one hand on the other's shoulder, and looked as if he were speaking, though the deep tones of his voice were too soft for the man to detect.

Justice could hear the sound of his own heartbeat as he approached. What he must have looked like he didn't know: mud-soaked, bloody and drenched with rain from head to foot. He'd neglected to take notice of it before, but now that he was standing, he began to realise just how cold he really was; truly, it was as if the water had managed to sink beneath his skin and seep through to his core.

Dreizehn turned to him as he approached, eyes glowing the faintest shade of red. Even when he dropped into a bow, Justice could feel them piercing him.

“Or perhaps it is I who should be bowing to you.”

The words shocked Justice somewhat, so much so that he was forced to look up. Dreizehn's lips were pulled into a tight line, yet despite that, his expression was soft, and once again the man felt the unfamiliar jolt of his heart at the sight. He shot a brief glance at Carbuncle, who was standing a few steps away: whether it was from the ever-thinning rain or his own tears, Justice couldn't tell, but the fire vampire's pale complexion was broken up with patches of raw pink beneath large, moist eyes. Either way, it wasn't difficult to tell that any tears shed were those of joy.

“I have been selfish, Justice,” said Dreizehn. “All the years I spent dormant were ones I neglected my kingdom, and it is only now that I realise how much of a mistake I have made.” He shook his head slowly. “And that is why I am leaving my throne to you, my son.”

Justice spoke out immediately. “But Father, you're alive now! Surely you can step up again? Marthiel needs you…”

Yet Dreizehn only shook his head again. For a moment, Justice thought he saw the slightest hint of a smile pull at the king's lips, but if such a thing did appear, then it quickly faded as he placed a warm hand on his son's shoulder and stared straight into his eyes. “My time on the throne has passed, Justice. I would not leave it to you if I did not believe you capable of taking on something so profound.” He paused for a moment to turn his head slightly. “That is, of course, if you wish to.”

Justice considered the idea. A whole kingdom under his name, the role of watching over Marthiel as its ruler… Surely he would have accepted right away, but something held him back. Was Dreizehn really prepared to hand him everything so quickly? Truly, the king was no fool, yet the whole idea daunted him to the point that nothing else could.

Despite everything, though, the words that fell from his mouth were final, definitive. “I do.”

This time, the smile that graced Dreizehn’s lips was warm, his hand gently caressing his son's shoulder. “You will have the Knights to look over you.” Then, to the fire vampire, he added, “Look after your cousin, Carbuncle. Guide him well.”

'Cousin'? For a moment, Justice thought he had misheard his father, but as he looked at the fire vampire, he began to recognise similarities. The shape of the nose, the eyes, the jawline… There was no mistaking the likenesses between Carbuncle and Dreizehn's faces – his face. How it had taken him so long to realise it he didn't know.

All of a sudden, Justice was pulled from his thoughts as Dreizehn leaned forward and took him up into his arms, just like he had back in the forest. The king's robes wrapped around him like a blanket, warming his frozen body, comforting him to his core.

“And now,” whispered Dreizehn, “I shall become your sword.”

Justice allowed his eyes to slide closed as he soaked up the warmth that enveloped him. Dreizehn's heartbeat was pressed against his own, though he could feel it fading, as if he were falling into a deep sleep. Still, he didn't fight the sensation – if he were to choose, then he would remain here in his father's arms for as long as the night would allow.

Yet when he opened his eyes, Dreizehn was gone.

It was an odd sensation, but somehow, Justice could almost feel his father's arms around him still as he stood. Slowly, his eyes settled upon Carbuncle: the fire vampire wiped his cheek with his thumb, and when he looked up, his lips held the smallest of smiles. Justice had never seen him smile before, but now, he could see what a beautiful expression it was, how it softened every inch of his face.

Cousin… All at once, Justice felt a strong pull towards the fire vampire. He watched as he bent down, picked up the sword from the ground and held it in his hands for several seconds. He ran his fingers lovingly over the tip before stepping forward and holding it in front of the man.

Only when Justice took it into his hands did he realise it was glowing.

The illumination was brief, like the fading heat of metal once it has been tempered, but the sight of it brought comfort to Justice. This was his father's legacy – or rather, he was now. He sighed and gripped the blade tightly as he looked up at Carbuncle. For a moment, he considered saying something out loud, but in the end, decided simply to allow the silence to continue.

Because after all that had happened, words were irrelevant.

*

Judas awoke with a start.

A dull pain spread through his head, making him wince. Slowly, he raised a hand and pressed it to his temple, just as the memories came flooding back to him. Hadn't he been with Gideon whilst he faced up to Justice? And then… His hands clenched into fists by his side. That girl had left him here. A quick check told him he hadn't received any significant injuries, though his bow was missing, and his muscles ached.

Grunting to himself, he sat up and studied his surroundings. The forest stood on his left, and to his right and front was the field. A thick mist hung over the ground, evidently born of the rain that had soaked his whole body whilst he laid unconscious. He shivered. Where was Gideon? If he were to take a guess, the vampire would still be in the forest now – it was just the case of finding him that posed the greatest issue.

Judas was just about to stand up, when all of a sudden, three figures emerged from the mist. At first, he thought that they were Gideon's men coming to retrieve him, but as they drew closer, he began to pick out details: the movement of the garments, the outlines that were far beyond the simple cloaks worn by his comrades. These were no normal beings by any means – and Judas realised, with a shiver, that he might just know who they were after all.

“Well, well, well,” said the middle one in melodic, sliding tones. “Look who it is – the rat that escaped the fire.”

The angle at which they stood obscured their faces to a certain extent, though Judas knew he was in danger. When he tried to back away, however, the hard sole of a boot landed upon his lower leg, crushing it into the ground.

“Please,” he begged, “You can't do this. Please... Ah!”

His words were cut off as the pressure on his leg intensified, causing his face to contort in pain. When the voice sounded this time, it was from the figure on the right – a redhead, by the looks of it. “What do you think, Rafaga? He did say please, after all.”

“Hmm, perhaps.” As he spoke, the central vampire, Rafaga, continued to bear down upon the man's leg with his boot. Judas' eyes were watering with the agony, a low, tortured moan sounding from his lips. Surely his bone couldn't take much more of this – if the pressure increased any further, then he was certain that it would snap.

Desperately, Judas turned to the figure on the left, the only one who hadn't spoken yet. He was a small man, with blue clothing and blond hair – perhaps he would be the one to see some sense in the situation.

“Y-you're Guardians, aren't you?” Judas stammered. “You don't drink blood. You can't hurt me!” The revelation probably would have been enough to make him laugh with relief if it were not for the pain. Yes, that was right: he knew enough about the Guardians to be aware of their commitments. He would not die here… That much was sure to him.

“Indeed, it is true,” mumbled the blond. “We must stand by our word, as nobles of the vampire hierarchy.”

A small laugh escaped Rafaga's lips. Judas could have just mistaken it as a trick of the moonlight, but he thought he saw his eyes glisten in the darkness. “Yet then again, no-one else is around. Surely it wouldn't hurt to make one exception to the rule…”

The blond returned with a smile. “Precisely.”

Judas' heart was in his throat. He watched, horrified, as Rafaga leaned towards him – slowly, as if his purpose were to taunt. His hand reached out to push him away, but was seized by the blond. His grip was mechanical, crushing the hand of the thrashing man until the knuckles cracked against bone, and blood was running down his arm.

The sound of screaming continued long into the night.

*

The rain had completely passed as Justice sat down, finally, at the edge of the forest. The canopy had provided little protection against the weather, and thus the ground was sodden all over, though the man had managed to locate a small patch of drier ground beneath a particularly thick set of bushes, and it was there where he had decided to rest for the time being.

Carefully, he sat back and rubbed at his shoulder. The wound still stung in the cold air, though the pain was merely a dull throb at the bottom of his mind now, and like his back, he was sure it would begin to heal in time. The blade had split his clothes in several places. No doubt he would have to invest in some new outfits the next time he visited a trading town – a tunic, perhaps, or maybe something more elaborate. Because despite his new role as king, Justice was certain that he would always remain true to the simpler aspects of life, just as he had before.

It wasn’t long before he was joined by a second figure. Blanche looked exhausted as she made her way through the field towards him. Once sitting, she let out a small sigh before turning to the man by her side. “Wilderness is with Whiteley and Rakina right now – they’re helping him back to the others. Apart from him, nobody has been seriously hurt.”

Justice nodded slowly. “What about the vampires? Gideon’s men?”

“Fled, Your Majesty – every last one of them.”

The man couldn’t help but smile triumphantly like that. Indeed, they had won – there was no doubt about it. The way the news was worded as well led him to wonder just how true to their master the soldiers were – surely a loyal servant would stand and fight until the very end? Either way, it was no worry to him now. It was over.

He almost jumped, however, when Blanche wrapped her arms around his chest. For a moment, he merely sat there, but then he returned the gesture by draping his arm over her shoulder and holding her tightly. Despite the temperature, her body was warm against his own.

“Did Gideon do this to you?”

Blanche seemed to know at once what he was talking about. At this distance, it was no difficulty for Justice to pick out the subtle change in scent, the way the wounds on her neck had healed to leave the skin pale and flawless – an ability possessed only by a vampire.

“No,” she said simply. “I did it to myself.”

“What?” Justice turned so that he could lock eyes with Blanche. In his mind, he began to run through all the times he had been present with her in the past.

Surely he would have noticed if she had passed into vampirism?

The girl’s eyes widened in shock, and her words were rushed as she stammered, “I-it was in the tavern, whilst you were unconscious. I know I shouldn’t have, but I stole some of your blood whilst you were sleeping. And then, when Gideon took my blood in the clearing…”

“He completed it.” Justice finished the sentence for her.

Blanche stared at him, an anxious expression on her face. “You’re not angry, are you?”

Angry? No, of course he wasn’t… In fact, it was difficult for Justice to put his finger on exactly what emotions he could feel. Gradually, he looked back at Blanche, and was surprised to see that her eyes were moist with tears.

“I know it was selfish and deceitful of me,” she said softly. “But when I saw your wounds – what Gideon had done to you… I’d been watching you, ever since the moment you came out of the castle with the Guardians by your side, and I knew at that moment that I would do anything I could to protect you. Because I know it’s only been a few days, but…” She paused. “But I can’t imagine a life without you, Your Majesty.”

Justice was shocked, struck frozen by her words. His mind flicked back to the shed outside Briar’s End, where he had watched in helplessness as Blanche was torn away from him, and then again in the clearing. For as long as he lived, he never wanted to experience something like that again.

And that was when he realised how fast his heart was beating.

It was a strange concept for him to grasp, but he felt himself repeating the girl’s words in his head as though they were his own. In just a few days, he had been through so much, stared death in the face so many times he had lost count – if it were not for Blanche, he would most likely be dead by now. Truly, he couldn’t imagine continuing without her. The idea was so simple to him now.

Because I love you.

Slowly, Justice leaned forward and placed his mouth against her cheek, catching the taste from the tears that clung there. He remained still for a few moments before gently sliding down and capturing her lips with his own. Blanche froze, a time that seemed to draw out into an eternity, but then her shoulders softened, and she allowed herself to melt into the embrace. Justice’s eyes closed. His land lifted to caress the girl’s jawline and draw her closer. The sound of her heartbeat resonated through him as clearly as if it were his own, as though the two of them had become one in that moment.

When the time finally came for them to break apart, Justice made sure to keep his hand in place against Blanche’s cheek. Her eyes were soft as she stared into his, the slightest hint of a smile pulling at her lips. “Your Ma—”

“You needn’t call me that.”

For a moment, she was silent, but then her expression fell apart, and this time she really did smile. “Justice.”

It was a word the man had grown up with, heard countless times, yet the sound of it on Blanche’s lips was enough to send shivers down his back. Chuckling softly to himself, he allowed the girl to brush the curtain of hair from his eyes before pulling her forward for another kiss.

All around, the mist was beginning to clear, giving a new light to the field and forest it bordered. If seen like this, one might think it to be quite beautiful, a strange sort of contrast to the battlefield it had been before. Or perhaps it had always been that way. Because this was a world without order, a world where creatures of the night roamed free. This world needed a king.

At the man’s side, the sword began to glow, anticipating the moment when it would be raised again in the name of a new ruler.

In the name of Justice.

32: Epilogue: Rosenstrauss

Epilogue
Rosenstrauss

It is a little past midnight, and a single figure sits amongst the stars. Before her, the expanse of the country she has come to love over the years rolls out like a map, the plains stretching far until they are whipped up into forests and mountains in the distance. She has never seen the land from such a height; but then again, this is the first time she had sat atop this part of the castle.

A slight breeze shakes the air around her, and she pulls her shawl tighter around her shoulders. A small part of her resents the decision not to wear something heavier, though she has always been fond of this dress. Something about it seems to relax her, if such a thing is possible.

She smiles as she says, “You’ve been a while.”

Dark material, like a blanket, wraps around her frame. The very feel of it against her skin is enough to warm her to her core, just as a face buries itself into the soft curve of her shoulder. The figure is silent for several seconds, as if pausing a moment to take in the scent, before speaking in soft tones. “I apologise for that.”
But the woman only smiles again. Carefully, she moves so that her back was pressed up against the figure, and the cloak can surround her completely. Dreizehn's hair falls like soft feathers against her shoulders as he hugs her close.

A small sigh escapes Rosalie's lips. “Sometimes I forget that this country is no longer yours.”

“And does that sadden you?”

The woman shakes her head. “Perhaps if it were another – but no... I will forever have faith in our son.”

The thought is enough to make Dreizehn smile, even if it is only the smallest of smiles. Slowly, he draws his arms around Rosalie and hugs her tighter. It has been too long since he has felt this sensation, felt the warmth of his lover's body against his own. Never again will he be so foolish as to even think about leaving; because truly, he would be satisfied if he could remain alongside this feeling for the remainder of his life – an eternity, in fact.

Sighing softly, Rosalie turns her eyes downwards, to the gardens that lay at the foot of the castle. The sun-coloured primroses lay scattered across the beds, interspersed amongst patches of Sedum aizoon that cluster the borders – if she closes her eyes, she can almost detect their delicate scent rising up to meet her. Two flowers, with such beautiful shades of yellow... It seems strange that despite that, they would both be so different in form.
 

“Dreizehn, I've been thinking back to that night – the night you told me about the rose.”

The king responds with a small, “Hmm?”

“You asked me whether I would rather tell someone about a rose's thorns and destroy its initial beauty, or let them find out themselves. And, well...” She glances at the flowers again before continuing. “There is no answer to that question. Perhaps... Perhaps thorns aren't so bad after all.”

As Rosalie finishes speaking, the breeze from earlier picks up again. But it is not a harsh wind; rather, it wraps around the couple, caressing their figures like a soft embrace. For a moment, Dreizehn considers the words. Then he falls into a smile again and turns his head to the east, where a pink glow hangs over the horizon. He should be scared at the sight, but rather, he welcomes it, looking forward to the sunrise that will bring light to the skies and plunge the land of Marthiel into a new day.