By The Blood

Should I also spy on her? She appeared with me too, so who knows. Maybe she's part of his group or someone who knows his secret. Aurelian did not discard the possibility that the boy was a saint. But he still needed to remain cautious. The pure demands it.

The vixen remained silent, staring at him. She must be wondering something. What? Is it why I'm not attracted to her? He knew why, of course; he had drunk a potion before coming here. It was among the collections given by the ministry, but that one was not meant to be used during the battle. The potion did not have a label, but what it did was make him very resistant to mental or emotional infiltration.

But as good of a component as it was, Aurelian couldn't help but notice that it was a perfect counter to his Mind Worm abilities. What creature or material did it come from?

The vixen stayed silent for a while before speaking softly. "You also serving the boy?"

Aurelian tensed. She knows? Or is she part of his group and simply asking for my confirmation? Or maybe she isn't but only recently joined and doesn't know her teammates yet? He gave a simple nod—one he felt could be interpreted in any number of ways.

She looked for a few moments, then smiled, gradually lowering her bent knee. She leaned back, bending her arms to support her weight on the bed. "Hmm. Nothing stops bedding between teammates."

"I refuse!" he quickly said, but for some reason, part of him regretted that decision. Was the component working well?

The vixen stared for a while, then shrugged. "So what do you think of the boy... Mas-... Master?" Her face cringed when forcing out the last words.

She's not used to it? Aurelian thought. "He's a person with the potential for white."

"White?" The vixen cocked her head. "Why not red, or black?"

"Red is... unnatural, and black is just wrong," he said simply.

"If you say so," the vixen shrugged, then eyed him and said, "Call me Jean."

Not a noble, Aurelian felt a wave of relief. Not because of some wariness toward nobles, but out of preservation for the empire. If this girl was a noble, it meant that the structure of the very empire had degraded to the point that vixens held such authority.

Jean locked her eye on him. "What role do you play... for the ki—master?"

Trying to grasp my importance? Aurelian looked away, walked to the desk, and sat. "I've been with him." It was an ambiguous statement, meant to be interpreted in many different ways. When did he get like this? So cunning and tongue-fast. Was he changing? Aurelian pondered.

Jean's eyes rolled away. She might have sensed his slithering words. After a few moments, he asked, "What is your role with him?"

Jean stayed silent, her face suddenly wincing, then settling. "He's my... master. My lord, and if possible... my lover."

Aurelian froze. What? Lover? How? This? He was momentarily lost for words. The boy did not seem older than the better part of sixteen, and this woman already wanted to bed him. Was this the brazenness of a vixen, or just her?

The air became awkward after this. Too awkward for Aurelian, so he calmly left the room after some time. There were other reasons, of course, for leaving: one being the uncertainty of when the component would expire. If that occurred, he might wake up having happened upon the vixen.

The mist poured as the door opened, and Aurelian, a bit tense with leaving the girl there, stepped out. It was obvious the boy wasn't coming back tonight. There was also a chance he had gone somewhere else entirely, so for now, Aurelian would move a bit, sleep, and come back tomorrow.

His loss, Jean shrugged. I've already had four tonight. She lay flat on the bed, her eyes staring at the door, up the ascending stairs.

Would the boy be coming tonight? She thought. No. He might already be owning up to his new territory. Which one is it? Thales Market? Or maybe Mason Hotel? She sighed. The Mother has become very active in Her words since that boy, and She has reduced the pain from her brilliant voice. It no longer pains like before. She briefly recalled the pain, it being like snakes slithering around in her skull.

She delved into the pouch hanging around her waist. She took out her diary, backed in black leather, placed it by the bed, and then took out the strange black needle-like bone with bulging protrusions around it.

She trailed it around with her fingers, gently pressing it into the center of her palm. Just then, the memory of Harrison turning into a shriveled corpse snapped in. Quickly, she pulled the finger away.

This is not an item, so it must be part of a sanguine; one that can separate its components? She thought back to the way Harrison died. It seems like it sucked him dry. Vampire? Some kind of leech? Or maybe blood ore components? She shook her head. There were too many sanguine materials and creatures for any one person to even come close to knowing.

She placed the bone back into her pouch, letting it hang around her waist. "The Mother in all Her brilliance is very demanding." She suddenly slapped her mouth. Shut it, Jean!

Then, glancing at the leather-bound diary, she took out a pen from her pouch. It was an antique, or at least that's what Cornelia told her. Used by nobles and did not need to be dipped in ink to write.

Jean winced at the part about it being from nobles. Eventually, she sighed and opened the book. She didn't like writing in it, but being someone from Canen, who had been influenced by its culture, which was influenced by Raoul Andronicus, an ancestor of the royal family, she naturally had an inkling to write down her thoughts. Though she wondered how the royal family had an ancestor...Wasn't the sovereign said to be immortal?

She glanced at a few words and symbols: written in Horn-tongue, as not many could read the language. At some point, she wondered about using Draconis or High Astra, but those languages were too mystical and dangerous to simply be written down nonchalantly.

Imagine writing "I gave him pleasure" in High Astra. What kind of effect would that cause? She focused back on the words but suddenly froze when she saw one: "Dunn still remains dead." She gritted her teeth. Why the black would I be reminding myself of this? She closed the book, kept the pen back, and laid on the bed, closing her eyes.

But at the same time, a watery tear streamed down her face, wetting the bed.

Jean gained consciousness. She was floating in a familiar place; darkness everywhere with specks of white light scattered around like the night sky. Some of these specks were bigger than others, and from here she could see that some were being pulled closer to others.

The astra! she thought, just a bit panicked. It was then she noticed something: a distant star was getting bigger and bigger. No, not getting bigger, she was instead drawing close to it.

Is it the boy's vortex? she thought. But for some reason, she felt this one was smaller than the boy’s. Not knowing what was happening, Jean struggled with her body, trying to escape the pull. She tried to teleport; to burn away in black flames, but strangely she could not feel them—her components!

Before she could do anything else, the white starlight suddenly expanded, blinding her with its light.

Countless scenes played out fast before her.

A battlefield where countless soldiers, tall giants, long-eared women, and many others battled. It was chaos, with countless powers being used, causing explosions on all sides. She saw a huge wolf, towering like the mountains, moving as if it were one with the darkness. The wolf breathed a misty air, when suddenly tendrils of shadows poured out from underneath it, bringing chaos to the battlefield, as many were sunk into the darkness below.

The scene shifted.

A massive gate stood embedded into the side of a mountain. Below this were numerous men, some clad in blood-red armor, some with red wings, but all of them bellowed out a war cry as they stood against an insurmountable army.

The sky was red with dark clouds, but the sun was golden, shining a warm radiance on the world below. There were mountains stretched out on both sides, the ground desolate as soldiers battled with strange powers, steel, and armor.

The scene narrowed.

A majestic, noble-looking figure clad in red armor stood. His face was bloodied, and his white hair dropped in a messy cascade. He had long red wings that had cuts and scars on them. He was kneeling, holding a silver sword in hand while staring at 11 figures floating in the sky.

Around him were similar people, but they were not as majestic as he. He seemed in between being a man and a woman. He gritted his soft pale lips that enhanced his whitish-bleached skin. "Traitors, all of you! Alistair will have your heads for this!"

One of the 11 figures, clad in a white robe, his skin bronze, but his face obscured by white light, said, "Alistair is not here, and before he comes, you will be dead, and we will have become gods."

Another figure from the 11, dressed in dark robes, long hair with mist swirling around him, said, "And don't bother calling for the black priest. He will also be meeting his end soon."

The scene shattered.

Jean's eyes snapped open. Her body was hoisted into the air, floating above the bed. She gritted her teeth, as pain greater than anything surged through her body. She wanted to teleport but found her components were no longer listening to her.

Her eyes began to bulge, feeling as if they were getting bigger within her skull. She screamed, but her voice came out mute. Blood began to drip down her eyes. What's happening? Mother! Great Mother! Help! A deep sense of fatality washed over her body.

Just then, white light shot out from her eyes, her body quivering in frantic motion. The light kept surging out as if something inside her was being forcefully removed. The light suddenly stopped, and her body dropped from the air, landing with a muffled thud on the bed.

Black smoke sizzled from her eye socket, which was now replaced with a darkened, charred hole. Soon, red flesh began to writhe around it.

Dunn took the rag from the still-surviving death runner, pressing it against his bloodied thigh. His shard armor was cracked in that spot. Those damned giants! One would think for a race whose god once prided itself on being the greatest warrior, they would be more honorable. He knew that statement was false: The Warrior god was the greatest in all of Ulshur. But what in the shattered heavens was that? He sighed, dismissing the pale, sickly death runner with his free hand.

He sat on a cliff, one of many that bordered the Waning Forest. The red dust was not as much today. Maybe the Pride Son was not bleeding as much today. The dust was also falling on him, but with the honor in his heart, surely pride and selfishness would not make their way in.

Ahead, or below, was the Waning Forest. Tall trees with golden leaves stretched far, seeming to be bordered ahead by countless mountains, some so big that they seemed to be floating above the sky. Even from here, he could see some mountains, their color seeming like the sheen of polished metal. The Iron Mountains, home of the dwarves.

Some of those mountains puffed ash into the air—volcanoes they were. Likely having many flamestones there.

Despite every dominion having just one major race or at least two, though some conflict would exist, the dwarves and the giants maintained a peaceful union. One makes the weapons and the other uses them. Dunn found honor in their union, but at the same time, he could not dismiss one fact: they were inhuman.