Kydin exhaled sharply. Smoke quickly flooded the cave. Any peek of light inside the cave was quickly devoured. Kydin summoned his shades, or Skadu, as they were called in his native tongue, Akans. These shades resembled him while he was veiled in shadows. Even to the trained eye, it was difficult to differentiate. 

Kydin dashed towards the cave entrance; the shades instinctively followed suit. Each shade was spaced apart evenly beside Kydin. He felt movement in the cloud of smoke behind him; the bull thrashed about wildly. Rubble began to crash down from above as the cave rumbled.

Kydin breached the cloud of smoke; the knight stood its ground. Its hand hovering inches from the handle of its sword. Eight shades rushed to escape it. The knight’s feet shifted and its knees bent low. Kydin dropped to the ground and slid. Pale blue moonlight glinted across the blade’s surface, and several of his shades split in half, reforming after the cut. He had doubted the machine would be able to sweep so broadly; the knight just continued to amaze him. 

The knight set its sights on him. A whoosh zipped towards him; he leapt high this time. Narrowly avoiding the sweeping strike. He needed only to get to the river and let himself be swept away in the current. Of course it wouldn’t be that easy. The knight cut his path off, dashing out in front of him. 

He couldn’t fight the machine, partly because he couldn’t risk the thing discovering his identity and, mainly, because he himself wasn’t even sure he could beat the thing. The bull charged forward, pulsating red; it was about to release a shockwave. Wait, it was about to release that shockwave, Kydin smirked. He spun back towards the bull; he had confirmed the countdown today. 

Three, he heard the knight close behind him. 

Two, the bull bellowed loudly. 

One, he sprang into the face of the bull.

Zero.

A resounding boom echoed through the canyon; his ears popped. The blast propelled him backwards; he twisted in the air. The knight hadn’t anticipated such a bold maneuver. Kydin crashed into the Orton River. The current instantly took effect, dragging him downstream. He righted himself as best he could, but the river pulled on his legs. 

Several rocks along the riverbed collided heavily against him as he was swept away. Bouts of air escaped his lungs, but he held firm. All of a sudden, the water felt calm and still. He darted upwards. 

Kydin gasped for air as he surfaced from the cold Farage Sea. He looked back; the knight was thankfully nowhere to be seen. A loud bellow erupted from the canyon. Fortune had favoured the bold, albeit incredibly reckless, on this day. He swept aside his damp, lank hair from his forehead. 

One of the two boats he and his men had travelled here in was anchored west on the shoreline. It would take him approximately ten minutes to reach the shoreline with his enhanced muscles. 

That was far too close for my liking, he thought, reflecting on what had just transpired. Were it not for the bull’s presence, he wouldn’t have been able to escape. He swam as swiftly as he could, wishing to be on dry land as soon as he could manage. 

Swimming had always been something he detested. It reminded him of his childhood and of his cruel home. Sixteen years ago, he had left that place. He had spent half of his life here in Anriel and half in Ariva. That time had shaped him into the man he was today. 

The large boat sat just ahead of him now. The skiff, as he and his crew called it, was a large ship with a broad hull, tall masts, and a singular cabin that housed up to fifteen men. A large flat platform that could be raised or lowered trailed behind the skiff. Oftentimes it was used for transporting cargo, large cargo at that. Smuggling was a lucrative venture after all. 

On this night, that platform happened to be lowered. Kydin grabbed the edge of the platform and raised himself aboard. A few of his men remained; they were to deter any curious individuals. 

Kydin entered the ship’s cabin and strode to his room. The door swung open, revealing his modest quarters. A maroon hammock was strung up beside the small window. Tucked away in the corner was a full-length mirror. He rummaged through a large trunk, fat with pouches of coin. Finally, he captured what he sought—a dry set of clothing. 

Grabbing a rag, he patted down his damp hair. He regarded himself in the mirror; he stroked his beard that obstructed the majority of his jaw. Beards in Ariva were reserved for those who had lived long. It was a display of experience, something Kydin himself had in abundance. 

Snatching a cloak from the trunk he exited his quarters. He hopped off the ship and approached the camp located beside the ship. A fire burnt quietly in the night, and some of his men sat around idly covered in sweat. Others sparred rigorously in a hexagonal ring, half the number of sides of the Kolosseo back home. 

They kept at it, ensuring their skills in combat remained razor sharp. Loba, the warrior who had accompanied Korill in the attack on the Inchydon guardhouse, sat alone away from the rest, as he often did. 

Loba watched the men fight, always learning, always eager to improve. Truly, he was one of the finest men Kydin held in his band. Kydin had hoped Loba could learn something from Korill, but the lad was intent on learning from Kydin himself. 

A shame given the talent Korill possessed. Unlike the majority of Fheitgr warriors, Loba, like Kydin, didn't care for honour or true strength. Kydin sat next to him. Loba turned and nodded. Stone faced as always, Kydin chuckled. The young man’s stoicism always elicited some form of mirth within him. 

“I’m heading into Barakat, Loba; make sure the men remain ready.”

“Very well.”

“I’ll be meeting with the girl; I’ll return later to discuss our next steps.”

“May Aetur bless you,” Loba said, nodding firmly. For a man whose name translated to “to talk,” he certainly didn’t embody his namesake. Truth be told, that was one of the reasons Kydin liked him. He hopped atop one of the few atfur that were held in camp and began his trek towards Barakat.