"Getting past the border wasn't that hard after all. What do you think, Macario?" A golden-haired man looked at the imposing walls of Kriemreich's western borders. The gray mix of steel and stone peeked from the cover of aged pines.

  "You did well sneaking in without drawing the guards' attention to you, Master Kiergaard." Something materialized as a film of black and red; its consistency took the form of a pale-faced man clad in a flaming suit of armor. "Those humans looking after the gates were easy to sneak up on and get past. We made great use of hiding under the noise of that flock of birds."

  "Yeah, I guess." Kirk went atop a hillock overlooking the garrison from the right. He laid a stick beside him and sat on the grass watching the needle-peaked foliage sway in the wind. His hand was holding his stomach when he remarked, "Do you have an idea where to buy something to eat here? Rabbits and berries are good, but I'd like the taste of things cooked by someone else for a change."

  "It has been three centuries since I traveled past these lands. I am as lost as you are."

  "Can't blame you for that... it looks like we'll have to be on foot again." Kirk stared at the revenant that followed behind him. "That doesn't sound right. You can float around, and I'm here getting tired and all."

  "We will come across a village or a town in a matter of hours..." The specter paused and tilted his head at the view. "...or days."

  "Thank you for confirming I'm not seeing things because I'm hungry." Kirk stopped in the middle of the road, prodded his stick to the ground before looking at the blurred beyond. "Do you think that family still knows me?"

  "We have been going round and round this topic since we left Grenalium. Is enlisting this country's aid so crucial in your quest to wage war and win?"

  "Grenalium..." Again, Kirk's feet stalled from moving forward; he looked at the calm waters of the river to his left. "Mother and Father wouldn't be happy if they found out I turned around and walked away. I just need to be strong enough, then I'll face them all again. I'll take everything back and gain more when I do."

  "That is quite the bravado coming from you, given that all you have left is a name. No army to rally with, and your sole companion is someone only you can see." Macario's voice quivered in the wind. "I recall that you ran away from those lands for the people to know peace. Are you planning to return and assert your place, as how do you mortals say it? A chosen hero, or a monster?"

  "Hah. You were once human, Macario. You can't push us around just because you've lost your flesh." Kirk's chest deflated; his head shook thrice before he lifted his eyes off the riverbank. "But you're right. I don't even know if I can live a new life if I reclaim that place. Who knows? They won't be the same people I used to know."

  "Do you allow yourself to be dissuaded by that? If your family has had good relations with those people, as you said they did, they will welcome you back as their rightful ruler."

  "I should worry about more immediate matters. I never expected this place to be this big. But why did the king, or whoever is running this place, allow roads that led to nowhere? I swear I am more lost following those paths on the northern edges."

  "There's a reason the country of Kriemreich is an empire, Master Kiergaard."

  This was no easy feat for the traveler. Stretches of trees and the last rays of the sun stared back at him; none of them gave him a welcoming look. If only those large men who visited Grenalium gave a map after participating in that swordsmanship tournament. Kirk heard a gruff voice and a larger, but well-mannered tone from that conversation. It was years ago, yet it played in his mind like yesterday's memory. It was all he had left of the land he grew up in.

  He shook his head when the same memory brought along a night filled with burning houses, the heavy scent of blood, and the cacophony of screams and war cries.

  Kirk went off the road and used the woodland cover in his venture. He lost his sense of time as he passed by the trees that allowed the last lights of the sun to come through. The scent of damp moss was all around him. It was heavy, much too heavy, that he almost tasted the scent forcing its way through his lips.

  The sun was disappearing behind a purplish haze in the sky when he reached a part of the place where the trees were thinner and the old stone road was replaced by a well-paved path. The lights up ahead made him eager to leave the forest cover. He moved in large pacing steps towards the source; windows and rooftops were revealed before his eyes as he drew closer to the vicinity.

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  A lazy atmosphere loomed when Kirk entered the town. People wore simple garments in drab colors, but the traveler would not have noticed any of the brighter hues as the night began embracing the world. There was a mix of lights; some houses burned oil to light up their front doors. Those that were better-built relied on crystalline fixtures that provided a soft white glow.

  His boots made the last two hollow squeaks when Kirk stopped in front of a restaurant. The scent of goat and fowl roasted on a spit squeezed out of a half-open window. Only a few people lined up the crude tables and chairs in the place; some gave him baffled looks behind wrinkled foreheads as the traveler entered.

  "It would be best to prepare their currency to pay for the meals, Master Kiergaard."

  He stared at the revenant and smiled, which in turn elicited surprised looks from the waitresses who were about to begin their shifts. Kirk was the only person around who could see his ghostly companion after all – he would have done worse had he spoken to him. He approached the barman, whose long, beaked nose seemed to size him up from bottom to top.

  "I'd like one of your roasted geese, a salad, and a jug of milk." Kirk took his coins and stacked them before pushing them to the attendant.

  He found a good table for two with a good window view of the outside (although there was nothing much to see aside from the occasional wagon and a few passing people on the streets). The waitress, a young woman in a brown and maroon dress, handed him a bowl of greens, followed by the milk jug. Kirk grabbed the small bottle of oil and poured some onto the vegetables. He brought a mouthful of the greens and began working on them.

  Meat and milk followed soon enough, and all that was left were empty vessels and utensils around the table. Kirk would have ordered more, but the Marks he had were not enough. Perhaps the restaurateurs would take some of his rubies as substitutes, but then he didn't know what the value of the stones was in this country.

  "It's good that you still remember how they speak here." The revenant's voice rang inside Kirk's head.

  "I had a great teacher, of course. I remember almost falling to sleep in those classes, but I'm glad to have kept most of it in memory." Kirk took out his purse again, which jingled heavily as it was cradled in his palm. "I think I'll stay at an inn, get a bath, and buy things for the road. This will be a far walk down south if this place is the only border village around."

  "Agreed, Master Kiergaard." Macario hovered ahead of him. "We can also take the time to find something that can help us move around this vast country more effectively."

  "That can be arranged tomorrow. For now, I'll finally get to sleep on a decent bed for once." The traveler stretched his arms and arched his back. He found the door sign of an inn nearby.

  Kirk relied on the few Marks he was paid with when he parted with a small ruby. He had a small sack of them, but this was all of what was left of the family treasure he had salvaged years before. The room was small, but seeing the actual mattress made the wanderer smile. He slept so much underneath tree roots, caves, and beds of moss that settling his body on something man-made was an experience he was about to cherish.

  His weight dropped on the bed; sleep came to him in a matter of seconds. Kirk saw himself, this time, as a boy, listening to the flourish of trumpets and seeing banners flutter in the wind. There they were: his rotund, curly-bearded father talking to a tall man of muscular build. Not far from them was a girl. Thin, almost willowy, with hair that resembled a gleaming shadow, and eyes that bore the calm sea. Her demeanor was as bright as her skin color. She smiled and waved at him before looking away and watching a procession of flags and fencing suits enter the arena.

  No. She would have never remembered him. He was another face in the crowd that day. This memory was enough for him. That tournament, his parents, and that girl's face dissolved in his mind, bringing Kirk back to a still darkness.

  The uniform darkness moved; his eyelids were warmed by the sun coming through both window and curtain. A hollow, cold whisper went through Kirk's ear, saying:

  "Master Kiergaard sleeps too soundly. Come, it is time to face the morning."

  His head shook while opening his eyes; the sight of the partly-invisible flaming head looked back at him. Kirk sighed, rising to sit on the bed, saying:

  "I'll never get used to you waking me up this way. Yes, I know. I should get my feet on the road again."

  He went downstairs and gave a few more coins to the innkeeper. Kirk should have left before sunrise to avoid paying a daytime fee. He greeted the outside sun with a stretch and a yawn, seeing locals and other travelers pass by. A store was beside the inn, and the traveler did not hesitate to enter.

  He got all he needed: a rucksack with a change of clothes and some food tins. The old cloak had to be demoted to a blanket or bedding layer; too many small holes to be effective in warding off the cold. He replaced it with a woolen black piece: perfect for walking alone at night. Kirk kept his stick: a metal staff almost his height. Though hardy and reliable, he found the need to polish it due to the dirt of years it had acquired. Getting the compound for the task was not in the border town he was in.

  Kirk had bought the most important tool of all, at least in his mind: the map. He spread it open, finding that the closest city to where he was could be reached in two days on foot. That is, if he were not to make any stops. The shortest route was going through the woods, or Antikwald, in the Empire's local language.

  The traveler walked towards the town's edge, facing an earthen road that was almost empty, save for two people working on an old truck's engine. He passed by them, but neither man looked back at him, asking for help. He couldn't be of any help anyway, since he had no idea how to make those horseless carriages work. Pretagne was supposed to catch up on this technology, but the chance to learn it burned away – along with most of his hometown.

  With no other vehicle to hitch a ride in, his foray into the forest was about to begin.