THEY WERE not demons, but humans. Ayden was sure of that. Although he could see a few soldiers here and there, identifiable by their armour, they were mostly civilians. Men, women, nothing very different from his country. No. That was not the point. The problem was that he did not recognise the ethnicity of these individuals. Their features were unknown to him yet strangely familiar because they were like his own, even if they were not identical.

        The blackness of their hair was striking, and Ayden stood there for long moments, barely aware of the passing time, watching the people below again and again. As if the answer would suddenly appear to him. Or maybe it did. Perhaps he already knew it, though he refused to admit it. To accept it. A murmur rose from the street, interrupting his silent contemplation. The festive impulses calmed at a group’s arrival.

        Their attire, made up of dresses with long, wide sleeves, was far more refined than what people here wore. Pale green decorations adorned the collars and edges of the cloth, and Ayden had to squint before he recognised the leaves of the strange trees. All were men, but all had long hair, worn loose or held in a ponytail, and their hairstyles reminded him of Themis. But the swords at their waists or on their backs were not the typical artefacts of a mage.

        Each scabbard seemed to have unique patterns, but Ayden couldn’t see perfectly at this distance, and the thought that Rogan would have could do so flashed through him. His mood darkened immediately before he again had to force himself to focus on the scene before him.

        The locals were polite, respectfully greeting the men who passed by, and they returned the favour. Slouching on the ledge, Ayden cringed a little more than the group arrived at the building where he was hiding. He had suspected from the sight of the individuals, but now that they were right under his nose, Ayden was certain: they were warriors. No matter how they were dressed, there was precision in their gestures and a relaxation in their posture that did not deceive.

        The redhead could boast of having seen many battlefields despite his age, but he had never met this type of fighter. Four of them looked extremely young, around sixteen or seventeen years old, and the one who was the leader looked barely older. Yet, there was a quiet strength about them, and the berserker did not doubt that in a few years—or even less—they would become a power not to be underestimated.

        Ayden sighed, running a hand over his face wearily. He had been in this country for several hours, and the fatigue was weighing on him physically, but especially mentally.

        Looking up at the moon, he finally offered a silent prayer before watching the group leave the city and disappear from his sight. Caution was the better part of valour, and the warrior preferred to wait a little longer before descending from his roof to find solid ground. Until he could learn more about this world, it was better to avoid its inhabitants, especially those so well-armed. And as he went to get his things hidden in some bushes, a thought crossed his mind.

        He didn’t recognise the ethnicity these people were part of… So how did he understand what the good-time girl had said?

~*~

        Why was it that every discovery always brought more questions than answers? The more Ayden thought, the less he understood what was happening to him. And the more he missed the mage. Themis would have known what to do, what to look for, or how to snoop around instead of going in circles as he did. His head almost hurt!

        He found the ruins of an abandoned house near the road and decided to camp there for the rest of the night after making sure no one had been there recently. Tiredness and pain did not help him keep his composure, and if he had found nothing to heal himself, at least he had bandaged his wounds. And now that he was finally settled, alone and more or less sheltered, the exhaustion of the fight and of everything that had happened afterwards fell upon him. There was no fear in his heart, but his worry showed on the drawn features of his face.

        In this lonely silence, he allowed himself to think of his friends. Rogan and Themis had been close by when the light had broken. Had they been caught in it? Were they here? Or not? What about Grodyr and Monica? Ayden had arrived during the night, so perhaps it was the same time where his comrades were. Unless he had been knocked out for a whole dial.

        “That’s enough,” he admonished to himself.

        If he continued to brood like this, he would end up going crazy! And with this mental slap, he allowed sleep to take him, leaning against a wall, his two-handed sword between his arms.

        His rest was patchy, unable to let himself go completely, but when Ayden opened his eyes, nothing disturbed the onyx gaze. Pushing his belongings into a corner, he stood up, weapon in hand, and stepped out of the ruins to survey the surroundings. Nothing had changed, yet there was something unhealthy in the air. Everything was silent. But that stillness was heavy.

        And it was finally broken by mournful, broken wailing. No sound that a human throat could produce. His two-handed sword made a tremendous arc the next moment as he brought the blade down on the creature behind him. The old wood gave way, falling to the ground cleanly cut, while the monster’s head rolled to its feet. Not a drop of blood stained the earth.

        If it was human, it was no longer anymore.

        Ayden had time to see the light in the creature’s sunken eyes go out before his attention was drawn around him, and he raised his weapon gleaming with hunger again. His gaze shone again with that fierce energy, and a smirk broke his dark expression. Ayden charged at the human forms as they leapt towards him.

        Perfect. He just needed to take his mind off things.