Before the clouds could overtake them, three wanderers found themselves trotting over stone rubble. They had entered the deteriorated domain through a man-made breach in the wall, its large gap of which had not been obvious until they were near its base. Its cavity was foreboding as they lingered into the darkened interior.

Inside they beheld what remained of a garden courtyard long since abandoned and thoroughly unkempt, its hedges deadened like the hollows of its many cracks coursing and aligning themselves with the fractures of an overturned fountain at the center. No water remained in this lifeless place, its ground haunted by withered black stains in various concentrations along the symmetry, the contents of which Sencis feared to surmise.

They were in an abode horrifically torn by conflict, Dane realized, passing the fountain and gazing upward at the decimated battlements. No less dismayed, Neleve could distinguish the planks and wheels of destroyed carriages heaped together in a charred collection as they neared the dilapidated assembly of structures at the west end.

Down the paved path, on the other side of the courtyard, they were flanked by two torn walls: one hosted a series of crumbled arcades on a charred square space just on the other side; the other contained just a hollow, circular room of ash with surrounding marble pillars somehow intact but worn.

Beyond the flanking walls stood a lone sanctum with a series of marble steps. They could see its posterior, but the entrance lay self-sealed by heaps of stone formerly comprising its bell tower. And before the marble steps, they came upon the scattered fragments of the bell.

They granted themselves to understand the ruin they had explored. "A monastery," said Neleve matter-of-factly. "At least it appears all that remains."

"What happened here?" whispered Sencis, a question aimed at thin air.

Dane sauntered up to the dusty steps and placed his hand on the foremost heap of stone covering the entrance. "This can be moved," he claimed.

Through a united exertion, they pressed the prevalent stone aside; which then tumbled loudly down the steps, just missing Sencis' feet. "Careful!" Neleve mumbled through his teeth. Revealed was a hole sizeable enough to crawl through. Though hollow and mysterious, it granted the prospect of shelter. "First into the breach?" said Neleve.

"Assuming my exterior may cram inward," replied Dane. He undid his cloak and handed it to Sencis for temporary safekeeping. He was no less broad with his steel shoulders and gambeson, yet nevertheless squeezed himself into the cavity, quickly passing the entrance and standing upright in what appeared a hollow interior. "'There's room."

After passing Dane his cloak, Sencis crept through the hole—to be followed by Neleve and his dead rabbits. Pitch black darkness clove their vision, yet they warily searched the recesses for a means of making light. They could not see anything, however, including one another. It was a slow gauge of touch as they wandered the room, hoping nothing would make them stumble.

"I believe I feel wax," said Neleve.

"Bring it here!" replied Sencis.

"And where would that be?"

Eventually, the two found each other. "I can feel your plate," said Neleve. Sencis swiped his hand away and took the candle. After raising the flint, she sparked the flame that illuminated their surroundings. "Empty," she observed, a fact quickly disproved once the light fell over several skeletons hibernating in the corners of the abandoned chapel. She recoiled at the sight, caught between fear and curiosity.

"They won't do anything," Neleve said sympathetically. "They're dead." He walked over the decaying corpses, contemplating their previous lives underneath all the fabric.

"I can see they're dead. But you say so too casually. They are not even buried, and that is a tragedy on top of their fate."

Neleve shook his head. "There's no deliberation in such things. The dead lay where they died, but the fear I sense from you is best reserved for true danger. Don't you agree, Dane?"

A heedless Dane inspected the interior, feeling his hand on the rear wall. "Would you bring your light, Sencis?" he beckoned. She approached with candle in hand, allowing their inspection of the wall, its high artistic appeals: Heroic impressions of history with a war waged on two sides by warriors and saints. Yet the imagery was tarnished by time and toil, crevices forming across its length, necessitating their greater concentration. "What is this?"

"A story embedded?" speculated Sencis.

"Is that what it looks like?" he replied, stretching his gaze along the whole.

"Perhaps. I have never laid eyes on anything like this."

"There are missing pieces," he motioned, alluding to several collapsed impressions that conspired a fractured history. Of what remained, a particular patch domineered: one finely detailed warrior wearing a horned helm, his size monumental compared to everything else untarnished. The section to his immediate left was missing. "These walls speak, but not of their own fate."

"What do they depict?" Sencis's cadence underlined a deeper curiosity as the scenery solicited her awe. The art's ambiguity called on her desire to unravel its mysteries. What is missing? Prompt answers could sate her growing curiosity, but a journey—the act of finding those answers—carried greater significance, for it entailed something else: experience. It is the nature of such crafts to retain the consciousness of their creators, however cryptic; but, the unique character of a piece tells a story only the artists knows in a manner anyone can interpret.

"I have no answers," Dane uttered. A loud thud then echoed across the interior. Both he and Sencis turned back to see Neleve building a circle of stone rubble. He had improvised by placing wood on slabs to build a kindling.

With night fallen, Dane, Neeve, and Sencis had gathered around their make-shift camp in the sanctum. None of them said a word as they sat motionless by the kindling ember. Skewered rabbits seared over the heat, hung on their stick by two thick slabs above the fire. Neleve grabbed the skewer and inspected the smoking meat. First, he sniffed, then wrenched it off the stick. Then, drawing a tucked knife, carved out a piece and savored a sample.

"Done!" he stammered. He motioned the stick towards Sencis. "You might not approve, but your sense of taste might." She hesitantly received the skewered rabbit, brought the meat to bear on her lips, and bit. And after an easy swallow, she turned her sanguine gaze over to Dane—whose eyes of snow glittered against the cackling ember.

"Dane," she softly beckoned. Those eyes then subtly shifted in her direction. "You know something about those men, don't you? Those who attacked my home." But instead of answering, he continued staring into the fire. "I know you do," she persisted.

Dane lifted his torso to sit properly. "There is that I know and everything else I do not," he sighed. "What answers do you deek that I can give you?"

"As many answers as possible. What good does ignorance do me?"

"Neleve..." Dane extended his beckoning hand, waiting until Neleve carved a piece of rabbit meat and lay it on his palm. He then sunk his teeth, chewed, and slowly ingested, Sencis observing his every controlled movement. "Your home, it lay along the Consortium's eastern borders," he began. Both his companions began listening intently, perplexed when Dane drew his dagger. "There is Eastern Tyre and everything east. Of what else I can inform, there is little. You lived in the terminus of sanity, a realm bordering Fazoral, and Fazoral is a land of heathens."

"What are your guesses?" she pressed.

"Tyre has its enemies. The sea, being lawless, can secure haven for many. Since before I was born, there's been war on this side of the great sea and the other. But it is an entire sea that lies between us and Azora: the Consortium's greatest enemy. Pirates are a greater danger to the coast."

"You think pirates are responsible? From this nation, Azora?"

"Naught but a guess. Attera is just as capable, though not bitter enough."

"Would make no sense," Neleve added, sounding rather convinced.

Dane stared puzzlingly at Neleve. "What makes you say this?"

"Nothing," he replied, taking another bite of his rabbit. "What about to the north?"

"I only disregard Fazoral because 'tis a quiet country whose people never venture south nor west. Not anymore." Dane allowed himself a moment of pondering pause. "Were I none the wiser, I might consider the Falks a threat."

"Falks? Fazoral?" recited Senis.

"Fazoral is a realm of barbarians," declared Dane. "The wildland bordering Voracia in the north-east feeds the horror of folktales to this day. As for the Falks, Falkren is a realm pacified by The Ecclesia. 'Twas a realm of deep terror before the Creed Campaigns."

"Creed Campaigns?"

"Are my words so new to your ears, Sencis? Pacification through faith. Through war, the Creed Campaigns converted the pagan states. Thereafter, it survived as a realm of peace. Peace..."

"How does a war accomplish that?"

"As I have not witnessed a Creed Campaign, I cannot say," Dane replied somberly. "hearsay, stories of the resulting prosperity, bring hope that there is peace."

Neleve was surprised, for he never heard Dane speak about any subject at length. "I've heard many stories many times," he enjoined. "I have heard Falkren called The Bloodied State; Ihirum's Judgment; The Realm of Strife. Leaves me more confounded then lines of royal succession." Suddenly, his gaze turned into a glare. "'Tread the sleeping forests and evil shall thee beckon!" So tell the traveler's tales. More hearsay. How fanciful? I do not know."

"We speak of a nation that long pivoted between war and peace," continued Dane. "Barbarism was the rule of the realm when Lasican ships first landed. But it is long since pacified, and accounts tell of a remnant kingdom that decries the peace to this day."

"If the Falks are pacified, then how would they travel overseas?" questioned Sencis.

"I did not insinuate that they did." Dane leaned his head in closer above the ember. "I may neither explain nor confirm the plots of factions foreign and domestic. There is conflict along the frontier these days, as you witnessed first-hand, Sencis. I do not imagine the Ecclesia shall remain silent on the matter for long."

"Yet there is no protection along the border towns, as you have witnessed," Sencis replied bitterly.

"Hence," Neleve calmly interrupted, "we best tread carefully!"

"That is to say we are continuing eastward?"

Neleve looked at Dane; Dane laid himself flat on the ground, rolling to face the other direction. "If that is what you wish," he replied, wrapping his cloak around himself.

Neleve felt ready to do the same but stayed awake as Sencis suddenly began unstrapping her armor. From start to finish, he paid attention to how fastidiously she undid the lacings, but only the chest piece and hauberk; she would not bother with the greaves or vambraces.

"Where did you get that armor?" he started. Her sparkling blue eyes fell on him with their probing intensity. "If you do not mind my asking."

"I retrieved it from my mother's room," she answered.

"Who was your mother?"

"A difficult question to answer."

At last, Neleve witnessed the cloak she wrapped around her slender frame; it had been torn on one side entirely. Thus, he untied his own and held it to her.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"I am heavier than you, madam, and warmer. That cloak does not suffice for its purpose, I'm afraid."

"It is still my own." Sencis flapped her cloak and peered regretfully along the tear. "I would not rob you of warmth over a negligible rip."

"You are not."

Sencis took into consideration Neleve's eagerness to please. Thus, little by little, she reached out until he quickly dropped the cloak on her arm. So, Sencis laid her cloak aside and wrapped the larger around herself while Neleve lay on the ground. "Thank you," she said softly, gently laying herself by the dwindling fire.

He would gaze at her still body with musings. "You're welcome," he muttered under his breath before they drifted into their dreams.