Raglar ran down the forest like a crazed man. Before him lay the treacherous ravines of battlefield and behind him abyssal vales, yet he did not see any of this, his gaze was trained intently between the moon wisp in his hands and the burning braziers of the southern Drugan camp.

From the distance the scent of blood permeated through the forest and reached the battalion grounds. The two soldiers at the entrance eyed the drenched, frantic Raglar with suspicion and swung their swords, blocking his path.

“ Identify yourself!”

Raglar blinked in surprise, taking a moment to understand that he had indeed reached the southern camp and these were not soldiers sent by Araya to assassinate him. He hastily shoved the weeping moon wisp into his jacket and pried out an imperial seal given to him by the crown prince himself.


The soldiers shared a doubtful  glance then wiped the blood away from the silver seal and held it against the light of an opal lamp. A bridge of a seven coloured rainbow stretched within the seal and reflected off the bronze shields in a pattern of entwined dragons. Amidst it engraved in emerald writing was Raglar’s name.


“ Please wait till the commander is informed of your arrival, sir. . . Raglar”


Still skeptical of this man’s battered appearance, one solider ran towards the commander’s tent while the other kept watch. Just as the commander’s adjutant Lyall stepped out from the tent he ran into the frantic soldier.

“ Adjutant Lyall” The soldier saluted, “ Sir Raglar the imperial emissary has arrived and his appearance is . . . suspicious”


Inside the tent, The crown prince and his sister, the first princess, Alara were having tea. She had come down to the garrisons to keep watch while Lucen was away playing warrior. Having heard the conversation, Lucen lifted his gaze from the reading glasses.

“ Raglar’s arrived?”

Lyall stepped aside and gestured the man to enter the tent. As the soldier reported the situation to Lucen, Lyall observed a trail of blood circling the entrance of the camp. He drew his sword and as he turned around to get permission to investigate, Lucen lazily hung an arm over his shoulder and flicked his head towards the gates.

The commander was evidently annoyed, ever since his arrival from the winter games and shaking off the mask of the Drugan warrior, the crown prince’s behaviour had been rather odd. He had requested a book of Nimyen alphabet and spent the entire evening studying letters and books.The news of Ahsara’s conquest and his impending betrothal seemingly insignificant in the face of this newfound interest. And now he did not seem too thrilled to be disturbed during said studies.

When they approached the gates, the soldier on duty had escorted  Raglar into a temporary holding tent a little distance away. Lucen’s brows knitted in irritation,  there was a horrible stench of blood, fresh and unfamiliar,  permeating the night air.


“ Clean this up” He instructed the soldier that had brought them the news and ducked into the tent.

Within, to one side stood a grim faced soldier whose sword was still drawn. And on the other side stood the imperial emissary, trembling in excitement as he squeezed something in his hands.  Upon seeing Lucen enter, Raglar fell to his knees and as if offering a sacred treasure, lifted his arms and  held the moon wisp above his head. 


Irritated Lucen looked at the bloody ground and his gaze flickered past the bleeding arms of the emissary. He had seen the latter wearing these very same robes albeit unstained a day before at the Araya winter games. Now there were  clear imprints of bloody handprints and nail marks scattered and embedded deeply into Raglar’s arms. As if he had returned from the battlefield.

What a lunatic. . .

What had this loathsome man gotten himself into in Araya? Lucen’s eyes trailed distastefully over the emissary’s figure and paused. . . upon a soft white wisp held in Raglar’s wounded hands.

 A scent of chamomile. . . 

Lucen jolted forward, breath knocked out of his chest. He gripped Lyall’s shoulder tightly.

“ What…is that?”


Raglar’s eyes glimmered and his hands trembled in excitement as the wisp fell limply onto Lucen’s palm. The call of the wisp strained against the cold night. Lucen prodded it lightly with a finger. His heart hurt a bit. It looked too familiar to the little thing that had accompanied him during the winter games. 

“ The blue moon wisp your highness, this humble servant retrieved it in most haste”


Lucen’s smile faltered, and he looked up.  how was it possible for Raglar to retrieve so easily the thing that had plunged the lands of Araya and Drugar into a terrible war?

“ And how sure are you about that?” He asked nonchalantly slipping the little thing into his inner pocket.The tiny cold body curled up against his chest and whimpered as if in pain  “ And what’s with all that blood?’ Lucen rolled his eyes in  disgust.


“ Answering your highness! This humble servant had to fight off the second prince to retrieve the blue moon wisp”


Lucen’s gaze froze. He traced a finger over his robes, feeling the weight of the trembling wisp grow colder in his chest.

“ And where is the second prince now?”


Raglar gestured wildly, “ Do not worry your highness, that prince will not come looking for his core anymore. A Nimye without ones’ core cannot live. He lay dead in the boundary forest as we speak”


The cold northern boundary forest was silent and unmoving. It’s looming darkness stretched across to the Drugan camp and encircled it in a dense fog.

“ You attacked the second prince in the boundary forest?” 

Raglar continued enthusiastically, “ Yes your highness, this humble servant attacked the second prince with poison while escorting him to the northern monastery. I was able to kill him and pry away the moon wisp!”

Lucen turned away slowly and  left the holding tent. He did not turn back towards the camp but stood by its boundary and listened. The forest was quiet, frighteningly so.

“ Prepare the horses and the shadow guard. . .”  He instructed to Lyall who had followed him outside. 

Lucen felt cold, his bloodless fingers gripped the reins tightly as they waded through the forest. He pried away the byway vines and tore at the branches with the weakening resolve of a madman. Lyall followed him wordlessly, and they walked for a long while in search of something unknown. 

Suddenly a whistle resonated through the forest.


“ Commander” Called Lyall, “  they seemed to have found . . . something in the forest”


Lucen’s blood shot eyes turned and he raced into the dark night. A group of soldiers held long poles of opal lamps and lit the forest clearing. And at first it was quite difficult to see what they were looking at it. Puddles of crimson flowed akin to rivers along the sloping ground,  he saw it on the trees, the overarching boughs, everywhere his eyes caught onto was bathed in blood. 

Had Raglar done this? Where was the Nimyen prince? Lyall had heard and seen the death of Nimyi, within a few hours the white mist of death would devour their bodies and they would dissipate to air, leaving no trace of life or form, could it be that the prince had already dissipated? Would this not lead to war and massacre?

A little distance away, up a lonely hill, there was a large willow tree in the middle of a forest clearing. Under the opal lamps, the leaves and flowers, the fingerprint scattered trunk with the hilt of arrows still lodged in it, and its blood soaked roots came to light. And hanging from the tree’s broken boughs was a half torn outer robe.

Lucen slowly walked towards it and stared at the ground. The sound of the raging wind cloaked his ears and the scent of blood crawled into his lungs. It was as if an impenetrable darkness had overtaken his senses. Blood. . . was all he could see.  The willow swayed gently in the cold wind and blood dripped thickly onto his hands.

He followed a trail of crimson, gathering in pools on wet foliage and trickling down along vines and flowers, myrtle and willow. Every now and then he would see pieces of silk, embroidered snowflakes and dew drops soaked red and brown with drying blood. The trail travelled deep into the forest, until a long silver string tangled among vines caught his eyes. Yet when he touched it, he found that it was not string but rather a long strand of braided white hair. Soft and fleeting. 

His heart trembled, with a shaking hand he untangled the hair and held it in his hands but the wind soon scattered it into the night leaving behind a white powder that curled past his fingers. A faint scent of chamomile wafted towards him and a pained whimper came from within his robes. 

How long had it been? 

Lucen’s voice broke, “ Search. . . search the entire forest, he could still be here”