Morians were regarded as the best travellers among all races, not only for their ability to trudge through snow, but also for their resistance against harsh conditions, and a general need for progress.
They could spend up to twelve hours walking around tall mountains or through dense bushes. Their legs were used to being a means of transportation, and no matter where they found themselves, they'd make it out, usually with a scratch or two. Some morians preferred riding horses, even if for short distances. Undoubtedly, they could easily make it from point A to point B, but some were too lazy to care, or too old to work as well as they used to.
That being said, they were naturally faster than the other races. They could cross the distance between Shimori and Wendigo in roughly two days, with one break for the night (as evident by Morio and Jyuzou), but a paladian would take four, maybe even five.
No matter what method they chose, they always managed to scale each cliff, sparing only one part of Errarion: the underground. No morian dared to step into this rocky realm with no real path to follow.
Some made it inside, but never came out, losing themselves in its various mazes, tight corridors and uneven roads. Others would escape, but they'd vow never to step in again. Young morians were warned not to wander around entrances and taught to avoid them at all costs.
All except for one. Bancho was well-versed in everything concerning the Mainland. He learned to tread through the darkness as if it were his own house, finding the path for his horse, among the ever-changing landscape.
After leaving Lisa's house, he stepped down from the many traces of snow surrounding the mountains and coniferous copses, and went into the caves of Cirim via a well-known passage in the Whiteburn Mountains.
After all, he knew the way from Shimori to Malikan like the back of his hand.
Firstly, he moved through a rather large opening. Well, it would be big if it weren't obstructed by many stalactites hanging from the ceiling. The morian knew the road well, but always lit up a torch, just in case something was to show up. The caves all around, be it Mirillis or Cirim, were known to be hosts of the strangest of creatures. There were lots of centuras that stepped in to hide from the cold, sleeping in until things changed, while others rumoured that the underground was the goblins' home, and some came back, telling stories that they managed to find their small, orange-lit hideout.
Some told of cavemen, described as people or animals, which fused with stones, hiding in plain sight, while anyone else could mention the thousands of other species, way deeper down. Remnants of clowingers, harpies, Malikan orcs or even those mythical dragons.
Most importantly, if one were to take the wrong path, they'd end up in a demon's realm, with virtually no other way out. Bancho knew that, however. Quiet and uneventful were only a few words he'd use to describe its rather meandering corridors. There and back again, he always said, carrying something neat he found on his journey.
...and eventually, the rocks changed into oval cliffs, which led into the waters below. Bancho trod alongside the mossy stones, and Pearl stopped as if making sure the path was safe. Sometimes, light barely shone from the small cracks in the rubble. The green colours faded, as they changed into massive overhangs, tilted at an angle, creating a pattern.
As the hue appeared in the form of tufts, splattered around in uneven places, below the bows of rocks, such led to an ever-expanding murk above, with some stalactites present. Soon, they changed into moss, then leaves, and finally the valleys sitting atop, next to the Aburn Lake.
Bancho was nearing his destination. Following an emerald river, the weary underground changed into the expanding highlands. Dark green, tall trees dotted around the exit, hills and valleys, coated all the same.
Although in Yule, it was of a much darker shade. The leaves appeared halfway through the season, and now that Herbes was knocking on the door, things looked more lively than before. It wasn't in its prime, certainly not, but well on its way.
The water he stepped around carried downwards, erecting a massive river, which flowed into the fog, splitting somewhere around the Empty Fields. Bancho took a minute to breathe in the different air before gazing at a well-known view.
Thousands of huts stood, etched into the side of the Orange Mountains. Steep as ever, opposing the Whiteburn passages on the other side.
In the year 476 A.F.W, Hakh-Nivena remained nothing but half a ghost town. When the Second War ended, most of the population disappeared overnight, only to return as half-demons the next day. Then, a large portion of people were killed, leaving empty houses and unfinished business all around.
Even glancing up from down here led to Bancho tightening his grip around the rope. An uneasy atmosphere loomed in the air, as per usual.
There were many erans on the street, going on about their daily errands, such as tending to the few, barren farms hidden behind clay structures or running their modest businesses. On the other side were half-demons, doing most of the same to some degree.
Hakh-Nivena was a sort of haven for such if they've been rejected elsewhere. Half-demons, in most cases, were still a tacky subject, and even if they claimed to have had good intentions, they had been rejected from other towns for specific reasons.
It was cramped, to say the least, and words of poverty or struggle could be used to describe the ever-growing mess on the one long path leading towards all the other structures, neatly packed together. The further one went in, the less light they'd see as hanging carpets, lines of cloth, or virtually anything that made the Hakh markets consisted of tight views just to fit those problems in.
Spare the brawls here and there, and one might find something stunning, much like in every other town. Bancho, being the generally positive person he was, always complimented the views from above, where fountains met balconies and wooden bridges connected to the half-demon part of town. He'd look out and spot the glorious mountain scenes, extending far into the blacks and whites.
...and despite all of these differences, Hakh-Nivena remained a religious town. After the fall of Exeter, erans moved to either Fort Apharel or here, carrying their beliefs into town. On some cloudless nights, when standing on the tallest mountain in Talin of Saphrith, one would swear they'd see a thin, translucent line moving from one white peak at the top of Hakh-Nivena towards those hills near Exeter.
Erans believed in Pasto, the three hands of Errarion, each responsible for creating a part of the world. One brought water and life, the other, harm and injustice, and the third, a balance among those two, in the form of one human, who was rumoured to become all the other deities since.
Pasto was what carried most of those struggling years up. Even the hesitant half-demons began praying in its name, and the church obscured by all those markets was the exact reason Bancho showed up in the first place.
The morian stepped down from Pearl, tying her to a nearby fence, before treading uphill. After minutes of glances, here and there, Bancho stopped near a storefront, with a careful glimpse at the products below.
"Huh?" The seller turned his head before stepping up from a stool and walking towards him. "What business brings you here?" he squinted, rubbing his demonic horn.
"Just visiting a friend, as usual." Bancho beamed. "Although I spotted that a new shop opened on the way. I figured I'd gander."
"Really? Stopping your stride for some jam?" he asked, making a sour face.
"Morian food is kind of boring. This jam seems more to my liking," he chuckled, stuffing his thumb into his palm.
The half-demon furrowed his shaggy brows before packing another jar full of the product. Bancho nodded in his direction, keeping a thick smile present, though that didn't seem to change much.
Most people here despised morians. There could've been many reasons, such as the world's sudden focus on the race, though the most important one talked of a hidden town in the nearby mountains.
The mightiest of erans used to reside there, with rumours of the three god hands coming down from the sky. Over the years, however, erans struggled to make ends meet and were forced to move elsewhere, with the town becoming even less accessible.
However, it was a common rumour that dying morians were brought there by some deity, further denying their land. It was none of what half-demons should've concerned themselves with, but as it turned out, spiteful words spread more easily.
"Seven Silver for a jar," he spoke, brushing his head.
In the following years, Hakh-Nivena was to become a town much like Mistwick, with no real economy, as the prices only trickled.
"Isn't that too little? Worth a pretty penny for a jar with such nice patterns on the side," he giggled.
"Seven Silver," he repeated.
Bancho took out ten Silver coins, placed them in his hand and took a jar of purple jam from the table. The half-demon huffed before going back inside the adjacent building.
"I don't need your pity."
The morian continued treading upwards before the roads started getting steeper and tighter. He breathed in before climbing up the many stairs. Some had handrails, some didn't. Sometimes, he'd have to squeeze through or wait for others to pass around the brown houses, the modest shopfronts or bars. He'd move between buildings, or above wooden extensions serving as the market's ceiling. Finally, though, stepping down from all that commotion, he stood in front of his destination.
Standing under a clay roof, he turned to a fountain, putting his hand on the masonry. In an old Pasto tale, it was said that throwing Silver coins in would bring luck and prosperity if it managed to land inside the deeper dent in the middle. Somehow, even through poverty, there were at least thousands of the said coins, untouched by anyone here.
Before stepping through the closed gates of the stone building, he took out a coin and flicked it, trying his best.
"Tsk," he shook his head, before walking up to a flight of stairs and knocking on the door, expecting to see the same face he always did.
The entrance was opened, with a red-haired man in a black cloak meeting him on the other side.
"Bancho?" his eyes widened.
"Pastor Phillip?" Bancho asked. "Oh, my dear Phillip!" he raised his voice, stepping in, one hand landing on the man's shoulder. The pastor in question nodded, with a light smile. "It's been so long, hasn't it?"
"Five years, precisely," Phillip answered, gently pulling the morian away, and Bancho beamed at his matching expression.
"I'm sorry." Bancho continued. "The whole world has been crumbling down, and I'm sure that someone here knows exactly what I mean," he pointed forward, before venturing inside.
The church's interior was tinted gold, and the floor was checkered; some tiles were dented, and there were people inside, praying towards an image etched into the colourful window above. It wasn't any big, unlike the grandeur one in Fort Apharel, but as he noted, it served its purpose well.
He turned to the throne-like seat, placed on a platform, where he'd usually find a person sitting, with doors on the right, leading to a balcony above and a separate room further in. To his surprise, though, no one was there.
"Is Axel anywhere in town?"
"I'm afraid not." Phillip quickly answered, shaking his head and putting his hands together. "I'm guessing you're searching for him for the same reason as always."
"I wish I had more time to spare," Bancho sighed, turning around. "But I need to confirm a word with Axel."
Phillip chuckled. "Nothing else, then? You only came around to talk with Saint Axel? He's not here." Phillip moved his hand around, ignoring his question. "You can already see yourself out."
"Phillip," Bancho said in a low tone. "Are you mad at me?"
"No." Phillip shook his head, stepping towards the doors. "Just... surprised."
"I've seen you grow over twenty-seven years, and so has Axel. You're as much of a friend to me as he is." Bancho informed, putting a hand on his shoulder, and Phillip felt the leathery material of his glove after a small tremble.
"But things have changed, Mr Bancho." Phillip turned around, shaking his head, hiding a small ring on his finger. Bancho noticed its gleam but decided to continue either way. "You haven't noticed?"
"Well, there is a man selling jam." Bancho signalled with his hand. "I hope it's tasty. You don't get these treats in Shimori."
"Jam?" Phillip asked, chuckling.
"Good old Hakh-Nivena to me, then," he laughed, before turning to the other erans and half-demons in the church. They all stared back, without another word uttered.
Bancho raised his brows before Phillip pushed on his shoulder.
"W-Why don't we go down to the Fox Bar?"
Bancho turned. "I was about to ask you for something along those lines."
As the two stepped out from the church, Bancho once again took a quick gander. The pillars supporting the ceiling were coated in a strange pattern, and the people returned to their quiet prayer. It was strange, that was for certain, but either way, trying to get any info on Axel's whereabouts meant spending time with the pastor.
At the bar, the two took their seats, and while Phillip nervously put his hands together, Bancho enjoyed a nice smoke from a small cigar he held in his hands. The Fox Bar was known for selling an hour of such for only ten Silver. Such concepts were brought over from smaller towns, like the Lignorian Eldham or even bits of Fort Apharel.
Not much was original in Hakh-Nivena, but what they borrowed from others, they added a little spin to it. Bancho and, especially Axel, would always mention that the cigars here specifically did wonders for their old joints, but Phillip refused, citing something about an allergy.
"So, tell me. What's so different?" Bancho asked, glancing over at the man behind the counter, who eyed him from time to time.
Phillip scratched his head and looked around. The bar was empty, save for the two. Even the adjacent streets were either filled with wrecked buildings or people begging for money to survive another day.
Bancho turned to them before fixing his hair and blinking.
"You're certainly bigger than you once were," he put the cigar in his mouth, chuckling, dismissing the other topic. "...and is the robe new?"
"Yes."
"I see. I haven't been to Fort Apharel in quite a while, but I'm pretty sure that your design doesn't match theirs anymore. Pasto's a very interesting religion, I'd say." he nodded. "There's always something to learn about. Axel always told so many stories, and only more keep circling Errarion." he leaned back. "Like, when the moon met the sun, shining a purple right through the church's window, leaving him with a particular scar on his chest."
"I haven't heard anything new." Phillip shook his head.
"Figured. He's kind of private with what he shares." Bancho said.
"No, as I said-"
"Things changed?" Bancho said, mockingly. "He doesn't just run out of stories. Things happen every single day. We're both alike in that matter."
Phillip tapped the side of the table, glancing over at the man behind the counter. Bancho took another, longer hit, before finally bracing himself and asking the question.
"So, where is Axel?"
"Not in town."
"It's a little more than just some visiting, as I said. Do you know where I could find him?"
"He settled into a different church, past the Falklor Mountains."
"Huh." Bancho blinked. "Seems a little foolish. Axel always went on and on about how he needed to protect the people of Hakh-Nivena. A role of the Wise, he said."
Phillip furrowed his eyebrows.
"I'd trust him with decisions, though. I'm sure both of us would understand." Bancho nodded as the bartender eventually circled three tables and made his way to the two.
"It's on the house," he muttered, taking a step back and leaning against one of the grey pillars. Bancho's eyes widened, and he leaned, glancing at a glass that stood in front of him. He tapped it twice with one finger before smiling and nodding to the bartender, who quickly waddled back.
Phillip breathed out, turning to Bancho. "D-Don't drink that."
"Figured that might be best if I still want to ride that horse." Bancho chuckled, but when Phillip didn't respond in the same manner, once more, he turned.
The pastor stood up, biting his nails, and looking out the window. He rubbed some of the dust off its sill, sighing. "So, that's it?" he asked. "Are you going to see Axel now?"
"I don't get why you're trying to hurry me up. I'm trying to make it up to you, Axel."
"It's not about that," he added nervously. "You really haven't noticed? Not heard a single word of something bad moving through Malikan?" he turned, gulping, with his fearful, shaking eyes meeting Phillip's. "Nothing...?"
"I think I get it," Bancho uttered, putting the glass into his hand. "You're too afraid to say it, aren't you?"
Phillip gulped, and Bancho stared right back.
"It's a bad omen. Someone known to carry thousands of stories, stepping into town without the other Wise to protect it."
"What?" Phillip shook his head.
Bancho chuckled. "It's a common rumour, especially about people like us. That's why we keep some of those tales private," he pointed out. "I'm sure Axel has a lot more stories. Maybe a few even revolving around demons..."
"Demons?!" Phillip yelled. "Are you trying to play dumb?!"
"What?" Bancho uttered.
Phillip took a step forward. "I said what I said. You'd never understand everything we have to go through, just because it's demons this, demons that and... how long will this poor excuse of a town last, huh?!"
Bancho glanced around the area. Even the bartender seemed to disappear into its rather warm insides.
"I didn't think that's what you meant. If it's that serious, then-"
"Because it's so easy for you! Thinking that, just a conversation with Axel might solve yet another one of your selfish problems," he shouted.
"I had Axel complaining about lots of things, Phillip. I've always listened, it's just that recently it's been quiet. No birds, letters, or steads sent from-"
"So do you wonder why everything is falling apart?! More half-demons than humans, more crime in the markets and even less and less belief in Pasto... They're treating us worse than demons. Why, why?! Why won't the Gods answer our sorrowful prayers?" he stuck both hands out as if to pray. "And, even when Axel said that if I just believed in it, they're going to save us, they never did. He soon denied those words. No one came to our aid. No one saw us as equals. NOT ONE BLOODY SOUL IN ERRARION HEARD WHAT HAPPENED JUST WEEKS AGO! But... do you know who did?"
Bancho furrowed his brows and rushed towards Phillip, pinning him against the stone wall of the exit.
"You're not going to trust demons now, are you?!"
Phillip ground his teeth, opening one eye. "It was Saint Axel's idea! He thought of it!"
Bancho breathed out as if denying his words. "What the hell did all of you do?!"
All of a sudden, the morian felt a cold blade pressing against the back of his neck. The bartender stood behind him, holding a pocket knife against his skin.
With his eyes turning, Bancho kicked as the weapon flew up. The next move allowed him to catch it midair, before slicing through the man's arm and pushing him to the side.
Phillip slid against the wall, covering his face. "Phillip," Bancho uttered. "What happened?"
Phillip shook his head, breathing in. "Two weeks ago," he answered. "The Kabun Clan ordered the Ainans to wipe us out from the maps," he grasped Bancho's hand. "...Saint Axel swore there was no other way out of this turmoil. He scared them away, with an even bigger demon, who stood by our side."
"He could've fought."
"They were too strong."
"The Kabun Clan would never attack civilians!" Bancho yelled out. "They're amongst the most honourable people in this entire world! I'd know, Phillip!"
"If you knew... why didn't you come to save us?"
Tears swelled in the pastor's eyes. Bancho's grip loosened as thoughts struck back and forth.
Two weeks ago... it was the same moment where everything started coming undone. When threats came back. When Axel's words disappeared from the maps in his mind, and when Morio set out to become a Demonear.
It was when, at least some hope, started fading. It must've been way worse than what he imagined.
It couldn't have been the Kabun Clan. It had to have been demons, in one way or another, with a nagging suspicion at the back of Bancho's mind. He knew Axel, after all.
"Trusting demons is like believing there is light without shadow." The morian fixed his gloves and brushed through his hair, dropping the knife.
"I believe in Saint Axel's word," he spoke through his teeth. "...and I swear, Bancho, all of us do! Those filthy Demonears don't have anything on us!"
"Then, I'll have to hear that word myself," Bancho smirked, stepping out of the Fox Bar and making it out of the tight street. Soon enough, the main path was piled with hundreds of people, guarding the path leading towards the exit.
They held rusty and dull weapons, courtesy of what was left behind, bearing worn-out garments, and staring intensely at the morian. The cloudy sky covered the sun at that moment.
He could finally see it. The town wasn't in ruin, nay, it was merely more broken apart, and that strangely united its citizens. The ruined buildings seemed to match what Hakh-Nivena was to the world. Bancho would've been a liar if he said he didn't treat it the same.
The thing was, he really was one, but a liar who could see the halls of some former glory.
He focused, putting his hand near his sheath. "Enemies and friends are torn all the time. One day, this will all be mended back together. I swear on it," he uttered. "I won't kill any of you. For Axel," he whispered, before pulling on the axe.
He trickled, as people screamed out, attacking him with all they had. They swung their weapons, threw their fists, and Bancho deflected their shots with his weapon. He broke thin blades, crouched and struck their legs with the blunt part of the axe, pushing the crowd further along.
He climbed around their backs before someone grabbed his leg, pulling him towards the ground and kicking his old face, barely missing his nose. He turned, throwing his axe to the sky, as a velvet eye appeared.
A stream of water flew out of its end, spawning endless liquid, which, with each second, grew denser. It started pushing everyone around, alongside Bancho, who swam through without much of a struggle.
Out of the commotion, however, a half-demon sprinted, with a knife below his crotch and a crazed look on his face. He headed towards Pearl, ready to stab the horse's side. Bancho bit his lip, and the axe hurried back into his hand. With a throw, it found itself stuck in the adjacent wooden wall, and the same person screamed, fearfully.
The morian pushed him away, using the axe as a stepping tool and cutting off the line around the fence. He moved, grabbing the weapon and erecting a watery path around those who tried to stop him.
Soon, he made it past the front gate and turned, seeing as all the people waited, and Phillip pushed himself through the crowds.
The two glanced at each other for a moment before Bancho smiled, disappearing around the hill.
The horse trod faster. Bancho knew that the townspeople wouldn't chase any further, but then again, it was a world that refused to stay in one place. Things always continued to surprise him.
Once again, he found himself below the Whiteburn Mountains, glancing at what once was a friendly sight, orange roofs and beige walls, all slowly tilting upwards, with a church at the top. When the sun shone, it cast colourful lights onto Axel's throne, remaining as nothing but an empty memory, much to his frustration.
The morian made his way down through pools of water, as the horse jumped around its shallow ends, treading down dark green paths. Sometimes, the water would stick out from below and reveal itself to those passing above. Its blues, natural and drinkable, would turn sour, and then salty when Bancho found himself closer to the mountains and past the Eggre Valley.
The clouds lowered, creating a fog above a waterfall. The grass grew longer, and eventually, Bancho couldn't see out of it. Pearl stopped before leaping over, as a clearer road appeared, carved between two massive mountainsides. To the right were big and small rocks, and in the far distance, stood a stone building, with a decorated roof above it.
Bancho stopped, breathing in.
He left Pearl near the beige wall, patting her head before stepping to the side, seeing a long staircase leading up to an entrance. The sun shone through the rainy clouds, and as he made his way up, glimpses of a rainbow appeared.
The inside looked as if it had already been there for hundreds of years. Some of the walls were old, and the steps he took led to a mossy square. In the middle was a small garden, featuring a large tree, a few pink bushes, and a fountain. There were many glassless windows, leading to the outside, and another set of stairs digging up from here to the heights of Malikan again.
Most importantly, he spotted the actual structure he was looking for. Pillars separated a dark entrance, and soon, someone stepped out of its hushed insides.
"I knew you'd come." A voice echoed as an old man, with a colourful cloak and a big hat, trod forward.
"I wanted to ask why you didn't receive my letter, but I figured as much already." Bancho turned, with a slight beam.
"You were always bright," Axel answered, in a raspy voice. Unlike Bancho, his accent was softer, much closer to the Manjuno paladians spoke in. "If the world were to turn dark forever, you'd be the light."
"As would all the Wise. I only got a hint when stepping into Hakh-Nivena, but then followed through after a rather... unpleasant meeting with pastor Philip."
"Sana Phillip," Axel muttered. "I see," he stepped back, turning around. "Do come in."
Bancho stepped closer to the entrance as the dimness met both figures. No light came from the inside, and even the sun didn't dare to peek in. The other Wise's figure was soon swallowed by such, while the morian waited for a few seconds, stuffing his axe back into its large sheath.
"Axel."
"Yes?"
"Are we allowed to speak freely?"
"I wouldn't say so."
"Okay." Bancho nodded, breathing out.
"Tell me, Bancho, if you had to put it all on the line to protect the ones you care about, would you do it?"
"Of course." Bancho immediately replied.
"Even abandoning what you had? Letting people tell you that you've gone mad?" Axel looked up.
Bancho didn't answer, only stuffing his thumb between his fist. The other came into view, now slowly nodding, doing as he did.
"Take off your boots and socks, and wash your feet in the fountain. Then, you can step in. It's quite warm, don't worry." Axel said, standing on the doorstep, with his bare feet.
Following his words, he did as he was told, keeping careful glance at everything around. The echoey inside was precisely opposite to everything outside.
The slow sunset illuminated the beige, turning it golden. Though, as for the place where Axel's voice rang, it was silent, still, dark and brooding. He closed his eyes, fixing his glove, and eventually wandered in, with Axel holding his hand, treading a red carpet.
The floor was checkered and had many black and purple tiles spread around. Where the tapestry ended stood a fence, guarding the blackness stretching inside.
"What you're looking at, my dear friend, is a result of faith," Axel said.
"It seems quiet."
"By definition, faith is belief in something," Axel explained. "As you might've learned, it was the Kabun clan who stabbed us in the back." his grip around Bancho's hand tightened. "Their power meant that everyone else in the world was of the same idea. That a place as wretched to the eyes as Hakh-Nivena should've never existed. They don't want half-demons to live in peace amongst erans, and no matter how much we prayed, salvation wouldn't come. Do you know who reached out to us, in the end?"
Bancho furrowed his eyebrows. "He did."
"Demons aren't as different, after all," he added. "They're merciful if you treat them like you're on the same page."
Bancho remained silent, staring upwards.
"He's looking at you."
The morian turned towards the darkness, spotting a pair of shining, purple eyes, greeting him on the other end, with a lowly growl.
Then, turning towards the grasp Axel held, he spotted thin, reddish beams moving across towards the barrier separating him and the rest of the room.
They clearly kept someone here imprisoned.
Bancho closed his eyes.
"There's no such thing as a good demon, Axel," Bancho said. "You'd know better."
"Who writes the rules?" Axel turned his head.
"None of the Wise would be proud of this," Bancho uttered.
"They're dead," Axel said, as his voice echoed. "Cynthia, Darius. They've been dead for hundreds of years. Nothing will change that," he added, in half a whisper.
The demon groaned, and Bancho moved back.
"I was led to this temple, and he offered his companionship against the Kabun. The threats were defeated, and I was bestowed his power. In exchange for that, I'd stay here and watch him grow in strength. Soon, it's going to be him protecting the town of Hakh-Nivena. Not Pasto, or other faith," he beamed. "They understood my pain when nothing else did. We stand on the same level now."
Bancho shook his head, stepping to the side, as his tread echoed inside.
"Bancho," Axel put his hands together. "I still trust your wisdom."
"I trust yours as well," Bancho muttered.
Axel smiled, putting a hand on his shoulder. "We're still the Wise. Remember that."
Bancho turned around. "I know, Axel. I know."
***
In a room above the main hall, Bancho sat on a wooden chair, with the distant sun rays cascading over the faraway mountains.
"Can I call it genius?" the morian snickered, pointing over to the Wise.
"I'd be a little more vague. You saw it, right?" Axel smiled.
"You're giving a lot here. I know I had no reason to doubt you, it just seems... a lot to take in."
"I'm fine, Bancho," he muttered, putting a cup of tea down. "Not the first time I had my strengths with Rottwan."
The morian sighed. "I'm glad it's not what I thought, then, but is it really the best thing you could've done?"
"For the time being. I had to figure something out." he shook his head.
"Look... I'm so sorry I couldn't make it on time. I received nothing."
"I wasn't fast enough either. Don't blame yourself."
"It's hard watching you like this."
"You spared the same chains and protection upon Mistwick, though, haven't you?" he took a sip of his own. "I'm sure your burdens are much bigger," he beamed. "Anything to help you out."
Bancho put his fingers against his temple. "Thank you. You know, with all these rumours going around, I don't know if I'd be able to find the time for something like this."
"Malikan isn't your territory, though..."
"The whole of Errarion is, and I'm already eating enough regrets," he closed his eyes. "I'd be damned to call them rumours. Facts, Axel."
"Right," Axel continued. "A woman was attacked, if I'm not mistaken."
Bancho glanced up.
"It's what the demon reported."
Bancho nodded. "She was a great friend of mine, and now her kid is setting out towards the Demonear test. The fire from that night paved the way to every other thing coming undone, I suppose. Even-"
"Shh, Bancho."
Bancho nodded before taking the cup into his hands.
"I want to reject the idea of Shi Hon having anything to do with what happened then," Bancho said. "But, much like Phillip said. Things have changed."
"They're still changing, as we speak, and unfortunately, it's not that simple." Axel looked down, breathing in.
"What do you mean?" Bancho inched closer.
"Errarion is in some uproar as of late. The Kabun attack was one of the many contributing factors to a never-ending rampage." Axel stood up. "I was more surprised that it was the first time you've heard about it."
"No one said a thing."
"...and then everyone speaks so profoundly that rumours fly around Errarion like witches. t's the silence that makes things happen. The unexpected turns into reality, and history repeats itself, over and over again. Magna has always been a common target for attacks, for example."
"What are you implying?"
Axel shook his head, breathing in, moving closer to whisper.
His jagged fingers slowly let go of the magic he held before pushing his face right against the morian's.
"The last time it happened, it spawned from silence. No one trusted Darius' words, and either way, he ended up as their sacrifice. I could recall those days like all the stones from Saphrith's Soma Area. Back then, it was the-"
"-atmosphere, the uneasiness in sleeping in the dark and the lights which didn't shine as brightly." Bancho finished his words. "The same things that are happening now."
Axel closed his eyes. "It's Rottwan's words."
"If they come out of your mouth, Axel, then I'm willing to trust its message."
"If silence is there to keep everything at bay, hope dies."
"Tell me, Axel." Bancho put his hands together. "Please."
The other Wise turned, before taking the same seat and staring right at Bancho's furrowed brows.
"Demons are going to strike Magna once more. It will happen on the last night of Yule. As said, it was to be the Zimorron dynasty's final hope. They're going to side with the goblins they so seemingly despise."
Something shuffled beneath the church.
"What? But he's..."
"Last ditch effort to prove their strength. I have no clue if Shi Hon is involved, but that's what I've been told. They won't stop at children or women."
"They never did." Bancho shook his head. "I'll have to protect them."
"All alone, at your age?"
"I won't be by myself." Bancho smiled. "I'll have great new Demonears on the side, ready to fight for what they believe in. If I'm fast enough, I might gather the other Demonears," he counted on his fingers. "Tributals like Rowan, or virtually any other amongst their liking. Even Zenon will put everything on the line."
"I wish I could join, Bancho. But that's a great risk with no reward." Axel stood up before putting his ear against the floor. "If I leave this church, he'll escape," he whispered, as Bancho squinted. "I'm sacrificing myself, and vowing to never leave this place until the demon does what it's supposed to do," Axel said aloud. "I succumbed to its strength."
Bancho gulped. "You-" he chuckled,
"I chose this. I believed in this. I know I'm right. So, until then." Axel took out a sabre from its sheath and let go. It dropped to the ground, bouncing off a few times, as the setting sun shone on its blade. "Take it."
"It won't work."
Axel shook his head. "Do you know what's embedded in this weapon?"
"A guardian demon. A creature that swears to protect its wielder."
"Your Khuna, my Julai, they're both Wise. Just like us," he grinned. "Julai will listen to you when you call out its name. Remember when we fought side by side, all those years ago?"
"Water and fire," he added, with a small beam, as a reassuring hand landed on his shoulder.
Axel handed him the weapon. "Let it see the world that I'm restraining myself from."
"Axel," Bancho muttered, clenching his fist around the grip. He slowly nodded as Axel moved back into his seat. The two looked towards the sky, as pinks mixed with a subtle orange, and then moved into the navy blue of the evening. "If I want to make it back to Magna, I can't waste any more time."
"Pass through the passages closer to Mount Aria. It's a direct connection towards the sinkhole. You'll step out at its edge."
"I never trod through these paths. Won't I get lost?"
"Let Julai be the light in the darkness extending through these unsure times," Axel said.
Bancho walked towards the staircase and turned back, glancing at Axel's wrinkled, but wise face. "Are you sure?"
"Yes, Bancho, for the greater good."
The morian scratched his neck. "I've met up with a woman on the way here. She said the same thing you did. That she didn't need to step out, and the comfort of home was right where she was. Could you say the same thing, Axel?"
"The Wise never doubt each other's words. People grow, people live, people die." Axel answered. "Everyone decides how they'll spend the last of their days."
***
Bancho untied Pearl, moving towards a smaller staircase outside. Axel stood atop, eyeing his friend.
"The night sky here seems so much different from that in Shimori. All the stars cumulating together make it just as bright," he noted. "It looks purple. Always has."
"I wish the moon came out more often. It's the biggest star out there, standing among the many more, like a king with its people."
"A king can't rule forever," Bancho added. "Even though they're expected to."
"I wish things could've gone a different way." Axel shook his head, putting his hands together. "Such was for the people of Hakh-Nivena."
"They didn't need to attack me." Bancho chuckled.
"You... you didn't wreck them up that bad, did you, Bancho?" Axel asked, smiling.
"Maybe a little bit, nothing fatal." Bancho snickered. "I suppose the bigger problem might be the Kabun Clan, then."
"No advancements have been made. The people are, presumably, scared to act." Axel raised a brow.
"...but if they do, it might be trouble." Bancho sighed. "I'll figure this out afterwards. Dear old Zhen will have to wait. I'll be seeing you soon, then, Axel."
"I wish so too, Bancho. Be careful out there."
The other nodded.
"You're not wearing your cloak anymore," Axel added, before disappearing around the corner.
The morian patted the horse's head, and she ran towards the mountains. Soon, he found himself on open plains, near a copse, with two massive boulders in front, separating a different river into two, weaving towards the Aburn Lake. He stepped from a hill and wandered into a valley, and as trees turned into small bushes at the mountain's side, a small, pitch-black opening in the very first steps towards Mount Aria was revealed.
Bancho had to put his head down to make it in, and Pearl barely squeezed through. The light from behind guided a short path between sharp stones, but when it disappeared, he took the sabre out from a small strap near the horse.
"Helius," he muttered, catching a breath, before the blade found itself engulfed in flames, from top to bottom. As he swung, it illuminated a road into the caves, which had water dripping from above and into the pools on both sides.
The chambers grew wider, with greyer stones at each turn, then endless, leading down a steep path. The grey of the caves turned into a thick brown. He looked down, spotting many bridges above endless dusk. He wasn't sure if the next step he'd take would lead him towards a certain death, but he didn't stop for a break; he only trudged forward. Bancho trod along the edges, stepping down from Pearl and leading her through a different path if he made sure it'd let both in.
He'd choose a thin bridge above stalagmites, which led to a mossy staircase. Finally, he decided to stop.
"Wait here," he put his hand on the horse's head, and walked away, before finding himself atop what resembled a big compass, pointing to an empty pedestal.
He looked up, seeing a stream of shining blue water, passing into a small river which flowed into the caves, pointing west. He breathed in, closing his eyes.
"A temple?"
Despite what was commonly thought, there were still active ones splattered around Errarion, particularly in the depths of Cirim or Mirillis. The lower one would go, the more there would be, and more demons tended to reside there. If travelling through the grottos, people tended to follow paths that led upwards, rather than downwards.
The caves were thrice as big as all the landmass of Mainland Errarion combined. There were those filled with water, decorated with magma, covered in grass and moss, full of snow, brown, grey, dark, yellow, orange... yet, most of them were never explored.
Some wished that they had never been in the first place. People were afraid of things they couldn't control.
Bancho glanced at what resembled a stone anvil, covered in leaves. He brushed off the excess dirt and looked at the blunt edges of different blades, dotted around the area. He glanced at Saxyo, which rested in its sheath, before continuing down a path, as the weapons grew bigger.
Bancho found himself slumped over a shining crystal, embedded in a thick stone. He reached his hand in, feeling a whisper, travelling into his ear. He squinted his eyes, burying his fingers into the blue material, before ripping it out. A sign appeared, changing into letters he didn't recognise.
Then, a growl echoed through the adjacent corridors. Pearl stepped back, hiding behind a rock, and Bancho turned, with furrowed brows. He dropped the crystal to the ground, and it splattered into a speck of gleaming dust.
He stomped it with his boot before speeding to jump over Pearl's back. "Come on, come on!" he yelled, as the horse neighed, and the two moved.
Following loud footsteps, he pointed Julai forth, as a shadow was cast on the nearby wall. A massive figure, with big, rocky forearms, two long twisting horns which constantly went through the ceilings above, and a massive, matte black blade in its hand, appeared before him. It bellowed, seeing Bancho, and its white eyes pierced the surroundings.
An opening appeared in the front, created by the stalactites falling from above and destroying some of the thinner stones.
"Go, go!" he yelled to Pearl, and accordingly, she sped up.
Bancho ground his teeth, seldom glancing back. Eventually, he turned to some of the navy dust, stuck to his fingertips, which then landed on the sheath, pulling out Saxyo, with Julai in the other hand.
"I took the wrong path," he uttered. "It seemed so unassuming, like it knew it'd attract fear. Because that's what it wants. Fearful blood," he thought.
"Demons aren't as different, after all," he added. "They're merciful if you treat them like you're on the same page."
"Tsk." Bancho huffed, throwing Saxyo forward. It stuck to the ceiling above, creating a thick, watery spear that pierced through the demon's back. He turned, as some of the ground shook, causing the two to fall through the ground. The animal neighed, and a rock hit Bancho's eye.
The demon stood again, and its wrecked back formed into a third arm, extending above its head. It threw the blade upwards, and Bancho pushed onwards, with the demon clearing and obstructing more of the nearby path.
Closer to an opening, he chucked Julai into the air, as its fire spawned at each side. He closed one eye, and a thick black trail moved towards the demon, wrapping around its sharp chest. Bancho managed to create enough distance between the two, but then, something happened that he couldn't predict.
The demon cast magic.
During Demonear tests, it was explained that, very rarely, demons can unlock the hidden potential within their bodies and, at their last breath, manage to chant something otherworldly.
A string of murky light appeared from the sword and dove into the ground, creating massive leaps of small bones, which chipped off the strings holding the demon down. It struck the ground with its fist, sending a shockwave towards Bancho, separating him from his horse, as Pearl flew to the side.
Bancho rolled on the ground, with Julai far from him, finding himself at the edge of a cliff. His nose was bleeding, blood covered his face, and there was a deep wound in his stomach. He sat up, turning his head towards the demon, as it slowly treaded its way.
Bancho gulped, closing his eyes. "I lied, Axel," he muttered. "It's way stronger than I thought it'd be."
Saxyo shook on the edge of the rock before tumbling in. Bancho glanced before squinting his eyes.
"Should've thought twice," he spoke, standing up. "But I'm too stubborn a man to die here."
The demon started speeding up, growling and shaking the adjacent corridors.
Pearl climbed to the side as Bancho put his hands together. "Mann nah kann." he chanted. "Mann nah kann!" he yelled out, as a blue aura, resembling an emblem, surrounded him and enchanted the shadows behind him.
The demon stopped, noticing a change in Bancho's behaviour. He looked down before a smirk appeared on his face.
"I'll finish you off," he pointed. "Someday," he leapt, launching himself into the unknown depths below.