The first thing Danadrian could remember was falling.

  That, in and of itself, wasn’t a bad thing. The shrill cries of avian beasts, the wind brushing against his cheeks, the feeling of almost peaceful weightlessness, he relished it. It was a gift scarce few would experience in their lives, to see the skies not as a distant prospect, but as home to one’s nature. His mouth curled into a smile, and he let out a sigh of bliss. What more was there to life?

  To be an Angelica, a servant of the Light, was more than to be comfortable in this plane; it was to make it yours. It was to bask in the eternal radiance of Mayare herself, to feel the wind behind your wings, the faint wetness of the clouds on your face.

  He was falling lower now, through their grey expanse. He could feel the patter of their droplets on his skin and made to wipe them away with a few of his six arms.

  Huh? Strange, only two were visible. Had his goddess cast an illusion on him for secrecy? Had he? As a matter of fact, he couldn’t feel the weight of his wings on his back, and those were needed for obvious reasons.

  What was his mission again? He reached into his mind to grasp the thoughts and found… nothing. Like sand, whatever he was searching for slipped between his fingers. Why couldn’t he remember?

  As his descent continued, the cloud bank above fully covered the sky from him, blocking the Sun from view. He was now cast in eternal darkness, the memory of the Light only a fleeting dream, a distant memory. At least, that was what he assumed, but then he thought hard on it and realised.

  That too, he had forgotten.

  Rain spat in his eyes, and with it came awareness. As if he had been living in a half-dreaming state, finally, he woke up, and pieces began to move into place. Not a memory, per se, but a fleeting image. A gathering of brethren around him, a decree from the mouth of the Goddess of the Light, a single thought.

  A scream ripped out of his mouth, as a single truth reared its head.

  He was falling.

  He had Fallen.

  That blissful feeling of weightlessness vanished, and he felt his boy plummeting towards the earth below. The winds beat him, slamming into his face and making sight impossible. The pressure was unbearable. Leaves and twigs were like knives, cutting away his skin. Drops of blood flew around him. He couldn’t think. He tried to move his weight and found himself facing the ground. The ground that was approaching faster and faster, green, brown, colours filling his vision as he fell faster than he could even think-

  His eyes snapped open.

  He looked up at a grey sky through trees’ branches. He felt the warm dirt beneath his fingers, the roots protruding from the earth, the soft dripping of rain on his face. His ears picked up sounds. Birds chirping overhead. The pattering of the rain. His sobbing.

  Only then did he feel the tears running down his cheeks. His arms and legs could barely move, but he forced one up to rub his face. He was alive, Light bless him, he was alive. And yet, a stray thought had hoped for another fate.

  Something soft brushed against his cheek. He turned. It was a feather. Another followed, and then another, and another, and another. The wind brought them down from the sky and guided them to the ground beside him.

  Those are… familiar.

  Another part of him wanted to continue lying there, perhaps forever. The trees would grow old, the moss and vines would overcome him, and yet there he would still lie, staring up at the sky. The sky was so distant. The clouds that covered the light…

  There was a rumbling in the air, and the rain increased from a trickle to a steady flow. He was lying in a ditch, and before long, that ditch would become a puddle. It seemed life was not done with him yet. He forced his body up, though it moaned and ached in protest. He tried to walk forward, then stumbled back and promptly fell back down on his backside. His body felt… unnaturally light. All his life had borne the wings of the Angelica, and now without them… there was a lot less weight to deal with. It felt like he was tripping face forward constantly.

  He took in his surroundings. He was in a forest, filled with tall, thick trees, and roots that could be larger than men, at least he assumed. Besides the birds, he heard croaking frogs and a faint buzzing over the rumbling storm overhead. As far as he could see, there were no torches or signs of Human life, but his eyes had trouble adjusting, and the rain wasn't making it any easier.

  Trying not to trip over either the ground or his own feet, he began wandering in no particular direction. His bearings were completely non-existent. As an Angelica, he should have been able to approximate his location. The Light was their weapon, tool, and guide, and it saw all. That was one of their primary teachings, and yet he couldn't feel it. His internal compass was completely missing, so he couldn’t even begin to guess where on Andwelm he was.

  It's because I am Fallen.

  Fallen. He didn't even want to utter the words aloud. To do so was to entertain the idea that he had broken his oaths, disobeyed his Queen and Goddess, his creator and mother. Those who did were cast out, Fallen beings no longer worthy of either the Light or her blessings. No, he would not, he could not.

  For what reason would I break my pact, my sole purpose for existence?

  As he leapt over a root, slowly becoming more accustomed to his new weight, he tried again to think back to before. Before he had found himself alone, falling out of the sky. But he came up blank. There was no memory there. No words to remember, no scene in the deepest part of his mind. The knowledge was just… missing.

  His world began to spin. A root knocked him to the ground. He fell again, his face splashing into a murky puddle. Why? Where? WHY? What were these holes he felt in his brain? Those faces he should have known were nothing but blank and emotionless, like a child had scribbled over them.

  He pulled himself up and rubbed his face. His robes were white and gold, or at least they should have been. They were now tattered and torn from his fall, smeared with mud and wet from the rain. They looked less like robes now and more like rags in all honesty.

  The rain fell harder; his vision flashed as lightning filled the sky. The wrath of a God, some Humans called it, as if they would ever truly understand a God as he had.

  Or had he really? What a natural response that had been, and yet, where was the evidence to provide? Following the trail in his mind just led him to a sheer cliff face. Who was he to judge them lesser? Had he not Fallen from grace?

  Who was he really?

  No. He discarded the thought from his mind and tried in vain to focus on his surroundings and ground himself in the present. Water poured down his back, along his skin and through his ragged clothes. His vision began to blur, and his legs shook unsteadily. He had assumed his body uninjured from the fall, but he barely understood this body. He felt light without the weight of wings, but somehow the ground felt… closer. He felt drawn to it in a way he wasn’t used to.

  How long was he going to stay here, wallowing in his own despair, as nature itself took its aim at him? The rational part of his mind kept his body moving forward, still lacking purpose or direction, but it was all he needed right now. To move forward. One step at a time, he pushed his body forward, bare feet screaming in protest as they were forced to tread upon mud, rocks, roots, and grass in equal measure.

  Then he heard it. A tremor in the earth. A snorting and grunting sound loud enough to overcome the rain and lightning. And then…what was that?

  He froze as the noises grew louder. A dark shape moved between the trees, a towering form of a beast. Its head was close to the ground, at least that’s what he assumed was its head, and it took him precious time to realise what he was doing. It was sniffing? Sniffing, yes. Why would it be…

  His eyes began to widen as the sniffing stopped, and the beast trudged closer, turning in his direction. He instinctively tried to remember what sort of monster or animal it was, but found his mind blank on it as well. Naturally. Finally, it came into view, and his breath caught at the back of his throat.

  It was twice as tall as he was. The upper half of its body was covered in dirty white fur, with a massive, light-pink belly. It looked like a boar, which he did know, but unlike any he presumed he must have seen at some point or another. Even if you ignored its size, there were aspects that were decidedly ‘un-boarish.’ For one, however large boar tusks could grow, he was certain that growing that long wasn’t common. And it had hard horns, long ones that curled atop its head.

  It turned in his direction, and its grunting turned into a squeal. He noted the sharp teeth and reflexively closed his eyes. Naturally, it was a carnivore.

  His body found the energy to start running.

  He turned his aimless stumble into an aimless sprint as the giant boar-creature squealed behind him and began to pick up its pace. He wasn’t entirely sure how fast it was, but judging by its size and what little he could remember about boars, his luck might be in short supply. Still, he ran, dodging roots and pushing himself off trees, and he searched for somewhere, anywhere, that could shelter him from the rapidly approaching monster. It was picking up speed, and he swore he could hear it crunching through the trees and roots themselves in its advance.

  His eyes were darting around now. The trees? He might try and knock them down, or worse yet, climb up the trunks. There weren’t any lakes or ponds in sight, just insignificant puddles. That left looking for a steep hill, or other higher elevation, but the land here was relatively flat, and when he did see it begin to climb upwards, it was subtle and easily traversable.

  The squealing grew louder, and he knew he was running out of time. Desperately looking around for perhaps a low-hanging tree, he instead saw a hole in the earth. Dug by some animal, perhaps, but he wasn’t going to question it now. With the beast barely seconds behind, he pulled himself into the dirt, crawling as far in as he could. Then the earth shook, and the not-quite-a-boar was trying to shovel its way into the hole. He held his breath and closed his eyes. As the darkness enveloped him and the shaking reverberated through his body, he tried to reach out to the power of the Light, the magic…

  He felt his mana pull, coalesce around him, but then…nothing. Like a bird, the power slipped from his grasp, and he was left alone on the ground as it took to the skies. Darkness remained as the beast continued in vain to get to him. It might give up soon and search for easier prey. That was what he hoped, as against his mind’s protests his body began to give out. And beneath trickling dirt and monstrous grunts and squeals, Danadrian slipped out of consciousness, ending his first day as a Fallen Angelica.

  .   .   .

  Thankfully, he wasn’t eaten during his sleep. He woke up covered in dirt, half the burrow having collapsed on him, but with no boar-monster in sight. He coughed as he dusted himself off and climbed out into the open air. The clouds still hovered above him, so he wasn’t entirely sure how much time had passed, or if it was the same day or the next. The light drizzle helped wake him up.

  He did a quick analysis. His clothes were rags that only just kept him looking decent; he had no boots or shoes to speak of, no real source of food, and there was a monster, possibly more of them, that could and would eat him if given the chance. He was also dirty, sticky, and all around feeling physically uncomfortable.

  Not the best scenario.

  He started walking, carefully and hoping to avoid the white boar, in hopes of finding a river or freshwater spring he could use to clean himself off and drink something other than dribbles of rainwater. As he did, he began to think. The Light, the ultimate power that all Angelica were intrinsically linked to, was… beyond his reach. He did, however, have some semblance of his mana.

  Mana. He searched through what he now knew to be his empty hole of a mind to see how much he remembered.

  “Mana, a form of energy possessed by all, but only manipulable by some, dubbed those with an aptitude for magic. Magic, when you bend and manifest the mana with you to perform and produce mystical and nature-bending effects. Used in… in…” The rest of his line of thought slipped away from him. He gritted his teeth in frustration, every thought and argument led to that eventually, like walking alone a cobbled road and watching it slowly fall apart until only dirt patches remained.

  He had mana, he understood mana. He understood the concept of magic. And yet…he had no knowledge of how to use it, only that it was possible. And the form that came most naturally to him-

  Or at least, I assume it comes most naturally to me.

  -Light Magic, was now stripped away and beyond his reach. He could not call upon the Light to aid him. He was alone, outcasted and Fallen. He didn’t even know if he could call himself an Angelica anymore. When they fell, were they reformed into mortal beings? How much of himself, besides his own memories, had he lost? What was he?

  He shook his head, speaking aloud, “If… if I dwell on those thoughts long enough, I will either lose my sanity, or starve to death.”

  Eventually, he found a small pond that at least didn’t look too stagnant. Resting there, he drank as much as he could before washing himself and his clothes as best as he could. After resting his feet again, he moved onto a more pressing issue: he was starting to get hungry. With no weapon to speak of, hunting seemed to be entirely out of the picture. Plantlife then? Vegetables?

  He ran a hand over the trees beside him and shook his head. “None of these are fruit trees, and even if they were, it doesn’t seem to be the season for them.” A rainy season in this land, perhaps? He had no understanding of the climate or its tropospheric conditions, but based on the temperature, he guessed it was a ‘Summer Year.’ Perhaps near the springtime, if these were spring rains, which meant his likelihood of-

  He froze.

  How do I… know all that? Ignoring the fact that its knowledge I’ve not lost somehow, it hardly sounds like the sort of information an Angelica would have on ready access to.

  Just… what sort of Angelica was I?

  The Angelica were the servants of Mayare, the Goddess of Light. They were beings born from the Light and acted as the Goddess’s agents and arbiters across Andwelm. That was what he knew, and he had not thought to think any deeper. There were…gaps in his understanding of even this. A completed puzzle was laid out before him, but even now, he watched pieces of it disappear, warping the picture. There was more to Angelica than he knew, and yet… he knew nothing.

  He shook his head. At any rate, I seem to have more than passing knowledge of the environment. Perhaps…

  He leaned down to inspect the ground. Mud, grass, tree roots, nothing he could eat. This was an ecosystem, so there had to be something here. He continued forward, practically crawling on the ground at this point, pushing aside mud and dirt, undoing the effort he had put in to cleaning his ragged clothes. He found a patch of warm dirt, where the rest was damp and cold. He pushed it aside gently and fond lots of worms and grubs hiding inside it.

  “Not the best, not the worst, but I would need a fire in case of parasites. The last thing I need is indigestion.” He murmured to himself.

  After another hour of searching, his stomach was aching in its desire for food, and he was considering eating the worms, raw or not, when he found it. Sprouts that he recognised in an open clearing covered in grass. He dashed towards them, then pulled them up by the stems and almost began salivating then and there.

  Wild Carrots.

  The clearing was covered in them, as he checked another and another. They were thin and dirty, but at this point, they might as well be a banquet to him. He pulled out a dozen, as many as he could carry, before quickly heading back in the direction of the pond. His body, finally aware of a source of nutrition, gave him a burst of energy as he nearly fell into the pond.

  After carefully washing the carrots, he began to feast. He wolfed down the first carrot, leaves and all, before moving onto another, and then another. Of the twelve he’d brought back, nine were eaten before he felt sated. The final three he saved for when he needed them, and he made a mental note of the patch where he’d found them for future reference.

  Food, check. Water, check.

  That was half of his problems solved. Well, not even close to half, but at least half of his immediately threatening issues. The next was that he was currently standing in the hunting grounds of the beast that had almost speared him, he had no weapons, magic, or alternative method to fending him off bar running, and he was in the middle of a forest he had no recollection of, and the Light only knew how many leagues he was from even a settlement.

  He trekked back to the hole he had sheltered in, doing so slowly, keeping his eyes and ears peeled on his surroundings so he would not be caught off guard again. When he finally made it there, the clouds overhead were rumbling again, and the trickling rain might very well return to a torrent within the hour. The hole was definitely a burrow of some large creature, though much of it had been destroyed in the white-boar’s attempts to eat him. It provided adequate shelter, and its angle in the incline meant he would not be drowned beneath incoming water. But it was hardly a suitable living space for any mortal.

  He paused. Am I mortal now? He had no idea what happened to those who had Fallen, they were advised not to ask or interact with them. That much he did remember, though the details and aspects he might have once had access to were gone. The last Angelica to fall had been… He blanked again. It was becoming common now, and yet it refused to get easier for his mind to cope with. He shook his head and tried to focus. The burrow would only be temporary. He needed to find people, civilisation, a way to get his bearings.

  That meant picking a direction and walking, which had not gone so well last time. He was in that beast's domain, and besides that, he didn’t relish the feeling of walking Gods knew how long barefoot and in a storm. He would not get far anyway.

  The conclusion was simple and yet improbable. He needed to deal with the boar-monster.

  “Incapacitate or kill it.” He muttered, “But that’s just… impossible. Even if I survived being speared by those tusks as soon as I was within range, I have no weapons, nothing remotely sharp to cut it with. I could find a stick, but bludgeoning it would take time. Time that I’m frankly afraid I would not have in an engagement. Craft a spear?”

  He sat down beside the hole and thought on it for a while. Blessedly, the rain remained light for several hours, washing away the sweat he had gathered once more from walking. Now and again, he would idly chew at one of his carrots.

  “I need to find his den, that’s as good a start as any.”

  He might see or smell me immediately, but that’s a risk I need to take.

  “Now, how to do that?” He took another bite of the wild carrot as he stood up. A giant boar like that was bound to leave tracks, so he looked around the burrow, hoping the rain hadn’t washed away any of the traces.

  Thankfully, the large beast left equally large footprints, and the rain had found it hard to wipe away the traces of his passage. As he followed them, he saw more telltale signs of ripped-up bark and broken trees, so that even when the footprints were obscured or disappeared in areas, there was still a clear trail to follow. It made sense, a big monster would probably trade in stealth for strength and speed.

  Still, it took longer than he expected, close to two hours, before the pattering of rain was drowned out by grunting and snoring. He followed the noise to the top of a hill, whereupon he peeked just his head over the crest to find the source. And there it was. As large as he remembered, part of him had wondered if his delirium had overexaggerated the monster’s size, and thankfully asleep.

  The top of the hill was barren of trees, and the grass had been kicked up and chewed on to the point where there was mostly dirt and mud. The white boar lay there, snoring in competition with the clouds above, beside a pile of animal bones, skin, and…

  Human bones. Perhaps hunters tasked with killing it who got too cocky, or just unlucky.

  A carnivore through and through, then. As heartless as he felt, his eyes did not linger on the bones of the poor souls who had passed here; he would mourn them later. No, his gaze was caught by the thin object that lay beside their remains, a sharp end glinting in the light.

  A spear.

  “I need that” was all that passed through his mind before he found himself creeping across the dirt on all fours. The boar monster shifted and grunted in its sleep. He moved around the pile of bones, carefully making sure he didn’t knock into any of them, before he was within arm’s reach. He stretched his arm forward as far as he could, getting a grip on the shaft and gently pulling it towards him. He barely spared a thought to breathe as he gripped it against his body, and slowly but surely retreated back the way he came. He brushed against the dirt and grass as he lay down at the edge of the hill once more. And only there did he let out a long, controlled breath.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  He inspected it closely. The tip was at least iron and might’ve been good quality once too. Not in perfect condition now, but he wasn’t in a position to complain. With a weapon secured, that left but one last problem to be dealt with.

  He peeked over the edge of the hill again to look at the sleeping form. At least it was alone, a part of him had begun worrying that it had a mate or might live in a group. And while he hadn’t fully disqualified the idea that he may run into more of them, it seemed that they were lone creatures, or at least this one was. If another was nearby, no doubt they would be contesting each other for the territory.

  It's asleep now, there’s no better opportunity.

  Every moment the beast prowled awake was a moment he was in danger, and now he was given the prime opportunity to strike him while he slept. The question was, could he?

  It’s got nothing to do with morality; this thing tried to and will kill me. But… where do I strike it? The back of the head? Guess where its heart may be? I wouldn’t be surprised if it's somewhere I can hardly imagine. If I choose wrong, I lose the element of surprise. And what if the spear isn’t able to pierce it? Those hunters lost for a reason.

  He was mulling over his decisions, very conscious of the passing time, when he heard it. Not the falling rain, the singing birds, or his own breathing. The snoring. It had stopped. And the mound began to shift. It began to sniff. And then, turn. His heart caught in his mouth as he met the red eyes of the beast. He felt silly, celebrating his achievement of finding a spear.

  And then, for the second time, he ran as fast as his feet could manage.

  The forest blurred around him as the stampeding monster gave chase. His throat was already hoarse from panting. His body was moving in the direction of the burrow, but he doubted it would provide the same safety as before. And that was if he even got there before he was squashed or eaten. The beast squealed. He still held the spear in his hand and wondered if he should throw it in a vain attempt to do damage. No, the chance of him even breaking the skin was low if he didn’t get a chance to aim, and then he would be without any defence.

  “Light that hears, sees, and protects all, hear my words as an Angelica of your Goddess. Grant me strength when I have none, and courage to not fail or falter in your name. Bless it be.”

  Could it hear him? Were his words reaching the ears of those who mattered?

  Is anyone listening?

  His foot caught a root, and he fell to the ground, his fall cushioned by grass. He scrambled but tripped himself again and hit his chin on the ground. It was wasted time he didn’t have. The monster would be on him any second, and it would be over. Again.

  Seconds passed, and yet… nothing? It should be right behind him, and certainly faster.

  He spun around. The monster was facing away from him, grunting and stamping its feet as it looked off at something else. Its attention was captured, and he couldn’t for the life of him see why, before suddenly, without warning, there was a –

  THWUMP!

  -and an arrow was sticking out of the white boar’s unfurred belly. It screamed, a disconcerting sound, before charging forward as another arrow struck its fur. Danadrian stared as he pulled himself to his feet, and heard, for the first time he could remember, other voices shouting in the distance.

  Humans?

  Hunters.

  He stared down at the spear in his hand. He could run now, that would be the safest option, but if he wasn’t able to find them again, he would miss his one shot at finding civilisation and figuring out just where he was. Then he thought of the giant beast and what sounded like only two of three voices, and the bones of the last hunters to try and slay him. If luck was not on their side today…

  His body lurched forward, and he scrambled in the direction of the fighting, where he could still hear the boar squealing and screaming, the voices of the Humans growing louder. Ducking behind a tree, he got a perfect view of the situation.

  There were three hunters, each garbed in leather and cloth. His eyes snapped onto their faces immediately, for far from what he had expected, their faces were grey like smoke, tattooed with colour. Of the three, one stood the farthest away with his bow drawn, the other two tentatively advancing with long spears out. The white not-quite-a-boar monster was kicking its feet on the grass and seemed to be deliberating between the two closer targets, or the one that had shot it.

  It decided on the former and charged forward at the two hunters. The tallest shoved the other aside as they dodged the incoming charge and tried to spear the beast. The first got a good stab on the belly, but was thrown aside, and the other barely got a chance before retreating from the tusks. The hunter, thrown to the ground, pulled his bare hand up, and a ball of flames formed, sizzling in the light drizzle, and he flung it at the furred hide.

  The beast reared its head in a scream as part of its fur was charred black. It turned to skewer the man before another arrow struck its head, missing its eyes. It burst with rage and charged with reckless abandon at the archer, who miss-stepped and backed himself against a tree. His eyes widened as the tusks aimed to split him through the middle.

  Danadrian flung himself into him.

  He knocked him aside as the boar demolished the tree in its charge. They floundered in the dirt, the hunter looking dazed and confused, and Danadrian thought that the fall might have concussed him, which was its own issue.

  “What? Who are-”

  He didn’t have time. The beast had continued rampaging through several trees before turning itself. The other hunters were advancing forward again, and another bolt of fire hit the hide, but did as little damage as the first. He looked down at his spear, then cast it aside and grabbed the archer’s bow, which already had another arrow lying next to it.

  I have no idea if I’ve ever used one of these.

  No better time to figure out. He held up the bow and placed the arrow. It was difficult to keep it steady, and his arms were already shaking. His muscles flexed as he drew it back, aiming for the boar’s head. He loosed it.

  The arrow flew wide and struck the beast’s torso. It squealed but barely stopped to acknowledge it. He felt the urge to swear under his breath as he looked for another arrow, when he heard a voice.

  “Eyes… you need to hit its head, that’s the weak… spot.” The archer muttered, his eyes slightly unfocused, but he handed him another arrow.

  Wordlessly, he nocked the second arrow… and then something changed.

  His breathing steadied, and his arms stopped shaking. The world felt like it was slowing as he followed the movements of the white boar-beast's head, and when he charged again, he aimed slightly ahead, with his eyes pinpointed on the boar’s. He drew in his breath and loosed.

  THWUMP!

  The arrow whistled through the air and struck it directly in its right eye. The beast screamed and toppled over, still very much alive but writhing in pain. The other hunters advanced quickly, taking their spears and skewering the back of its neck and beneath its belly, likely at the heart. Then, the last convulsions of the monster ceased, and it went still, blood dripping from its wounds.

  Danadrian breathed out and lowered the bow. His arms and legs felt shaky again, so he lowered himself to the ground and inspected the collapsed archer. His grey face was covered with swirling, yellow tattoos, and his eyes were like amethysts. He seemed to be focusing up again.

  “Not concussed then.” He muttered, “Good shot.”

  “I got lucky.”

  The man looked at the destroyed tree beside them. “So did I, it seems. I’m in your debt, stranger.”

  “Danadrian.” He offered him a hand and pulled him up. “You’re hunters, I assume?”

  He nodded, and then shook his head and slapped his cheeks, as if waking himself up. “That’s right, the Company hired us to deal with a tuffhorn causing problems in the area.”

  His companions walked over, having finished their systematic execution of the…tuffhorn? The oldest, by the looks of it, was a rather gruff-looking man who had tossed fire at the beast. He gave Danadrian a suspicious look. “Now what’s your story, lad? What’s a man like you doing in tuffhorn territory?” He looked him over. “And looking like you just got robbed and left for dead.”

  He looked down at his own robes, which were back to being muddied brown and ripped, his only reprieve being that they kept him looking decent. He reached for his spear. “I found this in that tuffhorn’s den, along with some Human bodies. Hunters like yourselves, I presume?”

  The youngest of the group looked concerned. “The Company said that a group down for the job hadn’t returned.”

  The gruff man grunted. “At least we now know why. That wasn’t a half bad shot, lad.”

  “I just got lucky. That boar almost killed me twice before.”

  “Been here a while then?”

  “Only-” He paused. “-Only a few days. My party and I were travelling around these parts and were beset upon by the beast. I was separated from them.”

  It sounded like a fine reason. Perhaps lying came easily to him, as bad as that may sound.

  The archer’s eyes narrowed. “The roads are less than a day’s trek from here. If the tuffhorns are expanding their territory, we’ll have to report it.”

  “Uh-huh” The gruff man looked less impressed by his excuse. “I’m impressed you survived as long as you did, lad. Most foreigners get eaten by tuffhorns quickly.”

  He attempted a grin, but wasn’t sure if he succeeded. “I got lucky, I guess.”

  “You say that a lot, huh?”

  He felt sweat building on the back of his head-

  Okay, maybe not good at lying.

  -before the archer raised a hand. “Now, now, don’t interrogate him too hard, Cuthlan. Without him, you’d be burying me under right about now.” He looked back at Danadrian. “Name’s Lethandirr, a pleasure. This gruff fellow is Cuthlan, and the young one’s Jerakun.”

  “A pleasure to meet you all.” He lowered his head in a quick bow. Before he could say more, and perhaps improve his faux tale, the constant trickle of water that had been present throughout the fight noticeably grew in strength, and the rumble of thunder sounded overhead.

  “Blood and Chaos.” Cuthlan swore, “Jerakun, where’d this storm come from anyway?”

  “It must be a stray we didn’t see coming. Perhaps a large one from the Sirelene-”

  “A stray? What’re storms to you, wild horses?”

  “Be easy on him now, he’s only young. The weather has always been a fickle and temperamental force, and predicting it even more so.” Lethandirr gazed at the sky. “And besides, I’d rather we get moving as quickly as possible, rather than drown out here.” There was no argument against that, and the three of them began pulling up their cloaks to guard against the rain. Lethandirr fumbled around in his backpack for a minute before turning back to him and tossing a grey mass at him, “You can keep that, I’ve got enough spares as it is. It’s a bit of a trek back to our cart, so we’d best hurry.” He looked down at his bare feet. “Sorry, I don’t pack spare boots with me, too much weight.”

  He shook his head. “No, please, this is courtesy enough. And you are… allowing me to accompany you?”

  Cuthlan chuckled, “We’d be poor men indeed to leave someone as destitute as you in the wilds.”

  His companion sighed at the comment, “We’ll take you back to Fordain with us, that’s the town we’ve been operating from. If nothing else, you’ll be back with civilised folk. I doubt the birds and beasts have been talkative company.” He started striding forward. “Alright, let’s get moving, that tuffhorn is beginning to stink.”

  They moved at a brisk pace through the forest, Lethandirr leading them whilst Cuthlan stayed at the rear, eyes on the watch for any threats that may appear. That left Danadrian walking in the company of the youngest, Jerakun, who thankfully seemed unbothered and more than willing to answer his questions.

  “Why don’t we harvest the tuffhorn’s body for meat?” He laughed at the question, though not in a mocking manner. “Besides the fact that they probably taste horrible, their meat’s poisonous. Not even carrion birds will feast on them.”

  “Wha- why would such a monster exist? Surely the environment would act against it, especially the other animals and fauna. A creature that adds nothing but death to the natural order would be purged.”

  He had a fragment of an inkling of who might create such a beast. His memories told him that whenever one found a creature that acted against the natural order, that stood out in a certain way, you could be sure that the mark of Melgos, the God of Evil, was upon it, and his was a touch of corruption and deviance, a sinful being.

  Jerakun looked impressed by his analysis. “You’ll be happy to learn, then, that the Company and the Kingdom as a whole agrees with you. Policy is that all tuffhorns are to be killed on sight, if you are able, and reliable sources say that yes, even bears and large birds-of-prey will slaughter one of them if given the chance.”

  “Are they native to this land?”

  He shook his head. “No, they came from farther into the continent, but they’ve been here so long they might as well be. Migrated in… when did the tuffhorns migrate here, Lethandirr?”

  “End of the Second Age, they reckon.” He shouted back.

  Jerakun looked back at him. “End of the Second Age, probably start of the Third, then. So that’s about seven hundred years or so, give or take.”

  He mulled over that as he continued walking. The Third Age? That made this… the South and West of Loromire. He wished he knew how much time had passed since his last foray into the region, but dates were, naturally, completely lost to him and his memory.

  They trekked for several hours, the skies worsening, if that were possible, and the heavy rain turning into a complete downpour. More than once he slipped on a wet rock and had to be helped up, and even Lethandirr had nothing but distain for the storm. Lightning thundered above and despite being told it should be around late afternoon, it was dark enough that it could be evening already.

  At one point, when conversation had entirely died down, Cuthlan paused to stare at the sky before raising his hand and launching a bright ball of fire into the sky. It flew high above their heads to meet the storm itself, before flashing and exploding in a burst of bright yellow.

  When Danadrian looked at him for answers, the man just grunted, “Had to signal our driver, so he’s ready to leave as soon as we get there.”

  He couldn’t really find anything else to say on that, besides, “That’s smart.”

  Eventually, the trees began to thin out slightly, and then, without warning, he was on a road, a dirt wide dirt path that was well-kept, stretching farther than he could see in both directions. Resting on it was a tarp-covered cart with a horse hitched to it, both being buffeted by the heavy wind and rain. The horse in particular stamped its hooves and raised its head to the sky, clearly unsettled by the weather. He always saw what looked like the outline of a driver, holding onto his steed’s reins, but most of his figure was obscured by a heavily wrapped cloak.

  Cuthlan strode forward and slammed a fist against the rather rickety cart. “Velandus! We’re here, now are you ready to get a move on or not? We’ve got a storm to outrun.”

  “As if there’s any way we could outrun it,” Lethandirr muttered as he pulled the tarp covering the back of the cart aside.

  He saw the driver respond, but whatever he said was lost to the wind, and only Cuthlan deigned to reply.

  “Listen, old man, do you want me to empty my boots of rainwater all over your precious cart? Now let’s get moving!”

  Not waiting for a response, he flung himself first into the cart, quickly followed by Lethandirr and the rest. The inside was not large at all, with just enough room to fit all four of them plus their backpacks, but with the rain buffeting the tarp outside, and the joyous feeling of being dry and free of the assault of the wind, it felt almost like the Land of the Gods to him.

  He expected what came next, and yet that made it feel worse. The Land of the Gods, his home, and yet he remembered nothing, no image, no memory, nor even an idea. Just a name, and a warm feeling in his heart when he muttered them aloud to himself. That…that would have to do for now.

  They were all silent in the cart, not one deciding to start a conversation. Jerakun, in fact, was already nodding off where he sat, and any adrenaline that had kept them moving now faded away as the cart began to roll away down the long dirt road.

  Danadrian let out a single sigh, the only one he could afford at this time, and snuggled himself into an unoccupied corner of the cart. Taking a blanket offered to him, he wrapped himself up as best he could and slowly began to nod off into sleep. Proper, almost comfortable, sleep.

  A part of him expected nightmares. Dark dreams of falling from the sky, of giant pig-like monsters and cold, terrifying storms. The other part of him hoped for it.

  But that night, he dreamt of nothing.

  .   .   .

  When he woke, innumerable hours later, the storm still blanketed the sky, but the rain and winds had lessened quite a bit. The cart rode as fast as it could along the bumpy pathway, swerving, he was told, to avoid bent trees and branches that sometimes stretched onto the road. They gave him dried meat to eat, and if the carrots he’d found were like a banquet to him, this could be nothing but the true ascension of the soul to his stomach.

  As time rolled on, he engaged in middling conversation with his companions. Lethandirr left the cart often, presumably to scout or talk with the driver, and Cuthlan was less… welcoming than his peers. He thought the best word to describe him would be ‘distrustful.’

  “Looks like some nobleman’s son.” He muttered to Lethandirr when they thought Danadrian was napping.

  “I don’t know why you’re so insistent-”

  “Oh come on now, Lethandirr, don’t be daft. Traveller in the middle of nowhere wearing garbs like that? They’re dirty now, but look at the colour. He’s highborn and I’d bet my left hand on it, might even be one of those lightskinned bastards that nobles sire-”

  “-Keep your prejudices to yourself. And either way, what does it matter? Gonna leave him for dead just cause of his skin colour?”

  “I’m just saying, there’s a lot more going on inside that head of his than we know, and a liar’s the last person to trust.”

  Ironically, he was both right and wrong in that regard.

  He didn’t hold it against the man; if anything, he respected it. He had beliefs and convictions he was ready to act upon, and that was admirable. Although he wished he weren’t displaying them against him.

  Jerakun proved to be the most open to conversation and the nicest to talk to of the three. He had already graciously gifted him a spare pair of boots, and through him he gained insight into the land in which he found himself and the people that resided in it, but most useful of all was the small map he carried.

  “Here’s where we are, roughly, and there’s Fordain, which is the town we’re heading to.” He indicated the map, which was of middling quality, but had suitable enough dimensions for him to understand.

  “And this is all… the Kingdom of Carathiliar, correct?”

  “That’s right. Everything from this forest all the way down to the plains east of us. This is the Tandrian Domain.”

  He nodded. “I see.” The younger man was less overtly distrustful than Cuthlan, and perhaps not as… insightful as Lethandirr. He seemed more than willing to talk and explain to him things any regular person should have reasonably known, but that he naturally lacked any knowledge of. “This Domain is a province of sorts, then?”

  He nodded. “That’s right, though it’s unfortunate you had to come here by way of the Great Southern Road, the Royal Domain and other regions are particularly beautiful this time of the year.”

  “I am not sure I follow.”

  He looked flustered for a second. “Well, the Tandrian Domain isn’t as well off as the others in a sense-”

  “It’s a bloody backwater, is what he means.” Cuthlan interrupted, before chomping down on an apple.

  “-Yeah, it kind of is. We don’t get much in the way of economic intervention from the crown.”

  “I… see.” He looked back down at the map. “How come? There’s the Great Southern Road running through here, and judging by the name, that would be a source of traders and income to the region. That would surely incentivise interest in the region.” He wasn’t entirely sure where he was drawing that knowledge from, so in a way, he surprised even himself when it came out. “You have the resources of an entire forest at your disposal, and according to you, it is the only large forest under the kingdom’s aegis.”

  Cuthlan just grunted and spat out part of his apple. “You’re either incredibly ill-informed or just plain daft, so I won’t spell it out for you.”

  He frowned, then looked to Jerakun.

  All he received was the shake of a head, “I’m sorry we… we don’t talk about it. It’s bad luck.”

  Luck?

  What did luck have to do with anything? The fate and matters of the world were up to Creation and the will of the Light, not an arbitrary concept like luck. He… wasn’t sure how to respond.

  “Sorry, I don’t think I quite understand.”

  The young man began to look increasingly uncomfortable as he spluttered for a response. While he did, Danadrian looked down at the map and focused on the western portion, which was almost entirely blank save for brief indentations along the riverline. That made him even more confused, as the trade route would naturally move in that direction.

  “On that topic, then, why does the map end at the Parentheil River? Is it undocumented?”

  Then both men locked up entirely, and Jerakun just shook his head vigorously instead of responding. Cuthlan saw him, then gave Danadrian the darkest look he’d received all day. “Lad, why don’t you go bother Velandus with your questions. He’s more of the sort to tolerate them.”

  The message was clear enough.

  He acquiesced, rising from his ‘seat’ and stumbling slightly as they crossed a rocky patch of road. His last thought as he turned from them was simple.

  There is something off about these Carathiliar.

  But then again, he had no one to compare them to. Just a stereotyped, base idea of what he believed people should act like. A correct way, yes, but not the way these people seemed to believe it.

  He pulled back the tarp between the front of the cart and the waggoneer. Clearing his throat, he tapped the back of the quiet man leading the horse. “I hope you do not mind, but could I sit out here with you? It’s starting to feel a little stuffy.”

  The man they named Velandus turned to him. He was an old fellow, with most of his hair greying and wrinkles distinct on his face. He wore mostly cloth, and his head was covered by a large, hooded cloak to combat the rain. What was immediately obvious to him, however, was his pale skin that declared him not a Carathiliarian Human, and therefore a fellow foreigner.

  “No problem at all.” He shifted to the side, giving Danadrian enough room to sit down next to him. As he did, he felt light flicks of water hit his cheek.

  How quickly am I going to regret this?

  “Velandus, was it?”

  The old man nodded. “That’s me. Velandus Lurvastus, at your service.” He reached an unoccupied hand across to shake his. “And you are Danadrian, the runaway noble or the priestly traveller? Cuthlan was never clear.”

  He spluttered as he let go of his hand. “I- that is not what I- what I mean to say is-” He trailed off as he caught what looked like humour in the other man’s eyes.

  “I jest, I jest. I try not to take him at his word for much, and trust me, your business is your own, and of no concern to me.”

  “Thank you.” He wasn’t sure what sort of liar he was, but it seemed like he was quick to fake and just as quick to break under any sort of pressure. He took that as the sign of a good and honest Angelican servant.

  “I must say, I am surprised to see someone of your complexion out here.”

  The old man shrugged. “We’re not uncommon. Traders from the coastal kingdoms, immigrants from the Kingdom of Moren across the mountains, Carathiliar is not such a bad place, and you can make a living here if you want.”

  “And which of those are you?”

  “Oh, I come from a land far South of here. I am somewhat of a traveller.”

  He cast an eye at the horse. “I could never have guessed.”

  That got a laugh out of him, and Danadrian found him to be the first person he actually enjoyed talking to. A drop of water landed again on his shoulder. “I could do without this rain.” He muttered.

  Velandus smirked. “You think this is bad, I’ve been to enough places that I could live without another storm for the rest of my life, and some years longer.”

  “Has it been that bad before?”

  “You have no idea. Imagine this but spanning an entire country.”

  They chatted with one another as the clouds rolled on, otherwise choosing to dwell in comfortable silence. Lethandirr would check on them now and again, before resting in the cart or running ahead again, and finally he began to see the edge of what he had begun to assume was an endless cloud bank. It drizzled now and again, but it finally seemed he was leaving behind the storm that had tormented him so since he… fell.

  He wished he could say he sometimes forgot or even let that sit in the background of his mind, but that was not the case. As he talked with Velandus, squinted to see where the Sun was, or graciously ate food that was handed to him, it was always there. Unlike everything else in his mind, it was a constant he could never forget.

  Fallen.

  Angelica.

  Oathbreaker. That was what it meant.

  In the forest, he’d thought only of his essential needs. Find food and water. Find a weapon. Try not to get killed by the tuffhorn. With that gone now…what was his purpose anymore? For that matter, why was he here? What did this land have to do with him? Why was it decided he should fall here? Was it simply random, or was there a greater design going on? He assumed so.

  No, that wasn’t right. He hoped so. Because it opened up the idea of…

  No. Don’t say it. If you say it now, you’ll give yourself hope.

  “You’ve got an odd look on your face.” Velandus’ words pulled him out of his thoughts.

  “Sorry?” He asked, shaking his head.

  “You started looking sort of distant there, almost lost even. You okay?”

  He forced a smile onto his face. “Sorry, just a little tired.”

  That wasn’t what he wanted to say, but the words got stuck in his mouth. The older man gave him a long look before responding.

  “What are you doing here, Danadrian?” That made him shift a little, but he clarified, “I don’t mean whatever reason you have for being here. I meant, why are you here?”

  “I don’t know.” He had to whisper it.

  A silence settled in. The final droplets of rain finished their descent as the wind blew against the tarp covering. The hunters were either napping or in quiet conversation. How much farther was it to Fordain? What did that matter, even?

  “What do you think it means to be lost?” He asked.

  The old man tapped his chin. “A fine question. How about simply being unsure of where you are in the present tense.”

  “But I am aware of where I am now, and yet still feel lost.”

  “Then perhaps to be metaphorically lost is to be unsure of where you are beyond the literal sense. Insecurity in one’s own emotional position.”

  He nodded. “How about instead it could broadly be described as a fogbank around oneself, both in the physical plane and the mental. Insecurity in one’s position in both cases.”

  “Well said, Danadrian.”

  He paused before asking, “Do you know how that feels?”

  Velandus nodded without hesitation, “I know the feeling, by her grace I know the feeling.”

  For the first time, he noticed the old man’s eyes. They were pale orange, and when he looked in them, he saw an aged sadness. What sort of sorrows had this man seen? What sort of things did one experience in such a long lifespan?

  How many of those experiences were now lost to him?

  How old was he?

  It was an instinctual motion. He put his hand to his chest before using his fingers, crossing three lines and a circle before resting it on his heart. A prayer to Mayare. He expected no response, but he still hoped. A small thing.

  “Take a look, we’ve almost hit the Great Road.”

  Indeed, a grey, cobbled surface came into view, cutting through the brush and coverage of the treeline. In contrast to the rough-beaten dirt path they had been following, you could almost call the presence of stone luxurious.

  “Only a couple more hours until we reach Fordain,” Velandus told him.

  There, he would no longer be lost in the woods. But what came next was more frightening to him than a dozen tuffhorns. To be lost in one’s own mind, lacking in purpose and only holding onto a tiny shred of hope, hope that was just as fleeting.

  That scared him most of all.