Writing Prompts Archive/11/Byleth Silverstorm

**The‌ ‌Silver‌ ‌Witch‌**

The‌ ‌Royal‌ ‌Palace‌ ‌of‌ ‌Ul’dah‌ ‌was‌ ‌among‌ ‌the‌ ‌most‌ ‌secure‌ ‌and‌ ‌well‌ ‌fortified‌ ‌locations‌ ‌in‌ ‌all‌ ‌of‌ ‌Eorzea,‌ ‌with‌ ‌concentric‌ ‌rings‌ ‌of‌ ‌defence‌ ‌placed‌ ‌between‌ ‌any‌ ‌would‌ ‌be‌ ‌invader‌ ‌and‌ ‌the‌ ‌safeguarded‌ ‌property‌ ‌and‌ ‌persons‌ ‌housed‌ ‌within.‌ ‌These‌ ‌protective‌ ‌measures‌ ‌ranged‌ ‌from‌ ‌architectural‌ ‌-‌ ‌internal‌ ‌portcullis‌ ‌that‌ ‌would‌ ‌be‌ ‌lowered‌ ‌to‌ ‌thwart‌ ‌an‌ ‌invading‌ ‌force,‌ ‌a‌ ‌circle‌ ‌of‌ ‌which‌ ‌formed‌ ‌the‌ ‌Royal‌ ‌Promenade‌ ‌before‌ ‌the‌ ‌Fragrant‌ ‌Chamber‌ ‌-‌ ‌to‌ ‌more‌ ‌mundane,‌ ‌with‌ ‌armed‌ ‌guards‌ ‌bristling‌ ‌within‌ ‌every‌ ‌doorway‌ ‌and‌ ‌corridor,‌ ‌ensuring‌ ‌that‌ ‌any‌ ‌who‌ ‌wished‌ ‌the‌ ‌test‌ ‌the‌ ‌palace‌ ‌defences‌ ‌would‌ ‌be‌ ‌forced‌ ‌to‌ ‌fight‌ ‌for‌ ‌every‌ ‌ilm.‌

‌The‌ ‌most‌ ‌famous‌ ‌of‌ ‌these‌ ‌defences‌ ‌measured‌ ‌by‌ ‌far‌ ‌were‌ ‌the‌ ‌Sultansworn.‌ ‌Ul’dah’s‌ ‌white‌ ‌knights,‌ ‌whose‌ ‌tireless‌ ‌vigil‌ ‌over‌ ‌the‌ ‌Sultana‌ ‌and‌ ‌her‌ ‌property‌ ‌was‌ ‌the‌ ‌stuff‌ ‌of‌ ‌folk‌ ‌legends‌ ‌in‌ ‌Thanalan‌ ‌for‌ ‌generations.‌ ‌Seen‌ ‌by‌ ‌some‌ ‌as‌ ‌the‌ ‌gleaming‌ ‌silver‌ ‌line‌ ‌that‌ ‌divided‌ ‌the‌ ‌haves‌ ‌from‌ ‌the‌ ‌have‌ ‌nots,‌ ‌and‌ ‌by‌ ‌others‌ ‌as‌ ‌unwavering‌ ‌symbols‌ ‌of‌ ‌duty‌ ‌and‌ ‌self‌ ‌sacrifice,‌ ‌the‌ ‌Sultansworn‌ ‌were‌ ‌much‌ ‌like‌ ‌everything‌ ‌else‌ ‌in‌ ‌the‌ ‌city‌ ‌-‌ ‌a‌ ‌tale‌ ‌of‌ ‌two‌ ‌sides,‌ ‌depending‌ ‌on‌ ‌who‌ ‌you‌ ‌spoke‌ ‌to.‌

‌But‌ ‌whether‌ ‌beloved‌ ‌or‌ ‌despised,‌ ‌the‌ ‌Sultansworn‌ ‌were‌ ‌certainly‌ ‌impossible‌ ‌to‌ ‌ignore.‌ ‌Their‌ ‌stern‌ ‌countenance‌ ‌watching‌ ‌over‌ ‌all‌ ‌who‌ ‌walked‌ ‌the‌ ‌Royal‌ ‌Promenade‌ ‌and‌ ‌commanding‌ ‌considerable‌ ‌authority‌ ‌when‌ ‌it‌ ‌came‌ ‌to‌ ‌the‌ ‌providing‌ ‌for‌ ‌the‌ ‌security‌ ‌of‌ ‌Ul’dah’s‌ ‌sovereign,‌ ‌royal‌ ‌property‌ ‌and‌ ‌the‌ ‌occasional‌ ‌visiting‌ ‌dignitary.‌ ‌It‌ ‌was‌ ‌a‌ ‌task‌ ‌that‌ ‌the‌ ‌Sultansworn‌ ‌took‌ ‌seriously,‌ ‌as‌ ‌they‌ ‌took‌ ‌all‌ ‌their‌ ‌duties.‌ ‌And‌ ‌it‌ ‌was‌ ‌a‌ ‌capacity‌ ‌in‌ ‌which‌ ‌they‌ ‌rarely‌ ‌failed.‌

‌Rarely.‌ ‌But‌ ‌not‌ ‌never.‌

‌It‌ ‌was‌ ‌a‌ ‌recent‌ ‌failure‌ ‌in‌ ‌this‌ ‌regard‌ ‌that‌ ‌left‌ ‌Ashe‌ ‌Vander‌ ‌uncharacteristically‌ ‌vexed.‌ ‌Under‌ ‌normal‌ ‌circumstances‌ ‌an‌ ‌affable‌ ‌man,‌ ‌the‌ ‌last‌ ‌few‌ ‌weeks‌ ‌had‌ ‌left‌ ‌the‌ ‌young‌ ‌Sultansworn‌ ‌at‌ ‌his‌ ‌wits‌ ‌end‌ ‌as‌ ‌a‌ ‌series‌ ‌of‌ ‌sinister‌ ‌events‌ ‌had‌ ‌cost‌ ‌both‌ ‌him‌ ‌and‌ ‌his‌ ‌companions‌ ‌no‌ ‌small‌ ‌amount‌ ‌of‌ ‌face.‌ ‌At‌ ‌the‌ ‌tender‌ ‌age‌ ‌of‌ ‌twenty‌ ‌six,‌ ‌Ashe‌ ‌was‌ ‌not‌ ‌only‌ ‌among‌ ‌the‌ ‌youngest‌ ‌men‌ ‌to‌ ‌climb‌ ‌to‌ ‌the‌ ‌rank‌ ‌of‌ ‌Sultansworn‌ ‌elite,‌ ‌he‌ ‌was‌ ‌also‌ ‌found‌ ‌himself‌ ‌landed‌ ‌with‌ ‌responding‌ ‌to‌ ‌a‌ ‌currently‌ ‌secretive‌ ‌matter‌ ‌that‌ ‌would‌ ‌be‌ ‌a‌ ‌source‌ ‌of‌ ‌tremendous‌ ‌embarrassment‌ ‌if‌ ‌it‌ ‌became‌ ‌public.‌

‌Four‌ ‌Doman‌ ‌dignitaries‌ ‌had‌ ‌arrived‌ ‌in‌ ‌secret‌ ‌in‌ ‌the‌ ‌port‌ ‌of‌ ‌Vesper‌ ‌Bay‌ ‌one‌ ‌month‌ ‌ago‌ ‌to‌ ‌meet‌ ‌with‌ ‌certain‌ ‌parties‌ ‌within‌ ‌Ul’dah‌ ‌regarding‌ ‌political‌ ‌and‌ ‌economic‌ ‌matters‌ ‌that‌ ‌were‌ ‌not‌ ‌Ashe’s‌ ‌concern;‌ ‌his‌ ‌duty‌ ‌was‌ ‌not‌ ‌to‌ ‌mind‌ ‌the‌ ‌affairs‌ ‌of‌ ‌state‌ ‌but‌ ‌instead‌ ‌to‌ ‌extend‌ ‌the‌ ‌Sultana’s‌ ‌protection‌ ‌to‌ ‌her‌ ‌guests.‌ ‌And‌ ‌yet‌ ‌today,‌ ‌three‌ ‌of‌ ‌these‌ ‌dignitaries‌ ‌were‌ ‌dead‌ ‌and‌ ‌the‌ ‌third‌ ‌forced‌ ‌into‌ ‌protective‌ ‌custody.‌

‌The‌ ‌first‌ ‌had‌ ‌been‌ ‌killed‌ ‌outside‌ ‌of‌ ‌Thanalan‌ ‌at‌ ‌Stray‌ ‌Sheep‌ ‌bar‌ ‌and‌ ‌tavern,‌ ‌traveling‌ ‌without‌ ‌escort‌ ‌under‌ ‌the‌ ‌assumption‌ ‌he‌ ‌would‌ ‌be‌ ‌safe‌ ‌within‌ ‌Alliance‌ ‌territory.‌ ‌The‌ ‌second‌ ‌had‌ ‌been‌ ‌found‌ ‌drowned‌ ‌in‌ ‌the‌ ‌Husting’s‌ ‌fountain,‌ ‌the‌ ‌guards‌ ‌assigned‌ ‌to‌ ‌him‌ ‌not‌ ‌being‌ ‌able‌ ‌to‌ ‌account‌ ‌for‌ ‌when‌ ‌or‌ ‌how‌ ‌he‌ ‌had‌ ‌been‌ ‌taken‌ ‌from‌ ‌under‌ ‌their‌ ‌noses.‌ ‌The‌ ‌third,‌ ‌fearing‌ ‌for‌ ‌his‌ ‌life,‌ ‌had‌ ‌somehow‌ ‌found‌ ‌his‌ ‌way‌ ‌to‌ ‌an‌ ‌aetheryte‌ ‌an‌ ‌expended‌ ‌the‌ ‌enormous‌ ‌quantities‌ ‌of‌ ‌aether‌ ‌required‌ ‌to‌ ‌teleport‌ ‌himself‌ ‌back‌ ‌to‌ ‌Othard;‌ ‌his‌ ‌hunters‌ ‌had‌ ‌caught‌ ‌up‌ ‌with‌ ‌him‌ ‌as‌ ‌he‌ ‌recovered‌ ‌in‌ ‌Shirogane,‌ ‌slipping‌ ‌into‌ ‌his‌ ‌safehouse‌ ‌under‌ ‌the‌ ‌cover‌ ‌of‌ ‌a‌ ‌nearby‌ ‌beach‌ ‌party‌ ‌hosted‌ ‌by‌ ‌the‌ ‌Eternal‌ ‌Sonata‌ ‌casino.‌

‌ ‌That‌ ‌one‌ ‌man‌ ‌had‌ ‌died‌ ‌outside‌ ‌the‌ ‌borders‌ ‌of‌ ‌Ul’dah‌ ‌and‌ ‌that‌ ‌the‌ ‌other‌ ‌had‌ ‌fled‌ ‌of‌ ‌his‌ ‌own‌ ‌volition‌ ‌did‌ ‌nothing‌ ‌to‌ ‌lessen‌ ‌the‌ ‌sting‌ ‌of‌ ‌these‌ ‌failures.‌ ‌And‌ ‌for‌ ‌an‌ ‌organisation‌ ‌that‌ ‌took‌ ‌pride‌ ‌in‌ ‌its‌ ‌reputation‌ ‌for‌ ‌effectiveness,‌ ‌to‌ ‌the‌ ‌Sultansworn‌ ‌the‌ ‌safety‌ ‌of‌ ‌the‌ ‌lone‌ ‌surviving‌ ‌dignitary‌ ‌had‌ ‌become‌ ‌a‌ ‌priority‌ ‌comparable‌ ‌to‌ ‌the‌ ‌safety‌ ‌of‌ ‌the‌ ‌Sultana‌ ‌herself.‌ ‌And‌ ‌it‌ ‌was‌ ‌to‌ ‌Ashe‌ ‌that‌ ‌command‌ ‌of‌ ‌this‌ ‌protective‌ ‌detail‌ ‌had‌ ‌fallen,‌ ‌the‌ ‌consecutive‌ ‌failures‌ ‌of‌ ‌his‌ ‌predecessor‌ ‌having‌ ‌forced‌ ‌the‌ ‌hand‌ ‌of‌ ‌their‌ ‌organisation’s‌ ‌leadership‌ ‌to‌ ‌put‌ ‌fresh‌ ‌blood‌ ‌in‌ ‌charge.‌

‌Under‌ ‌normal‌ ‌circumstances,‌ ‌Ashe‌ ‌would‌ ‌be‌ ‌thrilled‌ ‌at‌ ‌such‌ ‌an‌ ‌honour.‌ ‌Although‌ ‌he‌ ‌had‌ ‌served‌ ‌in‌ ‌protecting‌ ‌details‌ ‌before,‌ ‌he‌ ‌had‌ ‌never‌ ‌before‌ ‌been‌ ‌in‌ ‌charge‌ ‌of‌ ‌one.‌ ‌And‌ ‌with‌ ‌five‌ ‌fellow‌ ‌Sultansworn‌ ‌under‌ ‌his‌ ‌round-the-clock‌ ‌command‌ ‌and‌ ‌the‌ ‌remainder‌ ‌of‌ ‌the‌ ‌order‌ ‌available‌ ‌for‌ ‌additional‌ ‌support,‌ ‌it‌ ‌would‌ ‌represent‌ ‌a‌ ‌considerable‌ ‌promotion‌ ‌were‌ ‌it‌ ‌not‌ ‌for‌ ‌the‌ ‌seemingly‌ ‌cursed‌ ‌nature‌ ‌of‌ ‌the‌ ‌assignment.‌ ‌Ashe‌ ‌was‌ ‌under‌ ‌no‌ ‌illusion‌ ‌that‌ ‌his‌ ‌career‌ ‌could‌ ‌very‌ ‌well‌ ‌be‌ ‌on‌ ‌the‌ ‌line‌ ‌and‌ ‌it‌ ‌was‌ ‌not‌ ‌a‌ ‌challenge‌ ‌he‌ ‌was‌ ‌eager‌ ‌to‌ ‌charge‌ ‌headlong‌ ‌towards.‌

‌But‌ ‌for‌ ‌all‌ ‌that,‌ ‌he‌ ‌was‌ ‌Sultansworn.‌ ‌And‌ ‌he‌ ‌had‌ ‌his‌ ‌duty.‌

‌And‌ ‌so‌ ‌he‌ ‌found‌ ‌himself‌ ‌patrolling‌ ‌the‌ ‌familiar‌ ‌halls‌ ‌and‌ ‌passages‌ ‌of‌ ‌the‌ ‌royal‌ ‌palace,‌ ‌the‌ ‌flickering‌ ‌torchlight‌ ‌dancing‌ ‌a‌ ‌discordant‌ ‌pattern‌ ‌across‌ ‌the‌ ‌reflective‌ ‌gleam‌ ‌of‌ ‌his‌ ‌polished‌ ‌armour.‌ ‌The‌ ‌sun‌ ‌had‌ ‌long‌ ‌since‌ ‌set,‌ ‌yet‌ ‌through‌ ‌the‌ ‌great‌ ‌arched‌ ‌windows‌ ‌that‌ ‌marched‌ ‌in‌ ‌even‌ ‌spacing‌ ‌along‌ ‌the‌ ‌winding‌ ‌exterior‌ ‌corridor‌ ‌of‌ ‌the‌ ‌palace’s‌ ‌domed‌ ‌upper‌ ‌floors,‌ ‌the‌ ‌city‌ ‌beneath‌ ‌remained‌ ‌bright‌ ‌and‌ ‌vibrant.‌ ‌A‌ ‌thousand‌ ‌thousand‌ ‌lights‌ ‌twinkling‌ ‌brighter‌ ‌than‌ ‌the‌ ‌stars‌ ‌as‌ ‌the‌ ‌city‌ ‌of‌ ‌commerce‌ ‌stubbornly‌ ‌refused‌ ‌to‌ ‌slumber.‌

‌ ‌Countless‌ ‌nights,‌ ‌Ashe‌ ‌had‌ ‌stood‌ ‌upon‌ ‌the‌ ‌terraces‌ ‌of‌ ‌the‌ ‌palace‌ ‌to‌ ‌look‌ ‌out‌ ‌over‌ ‌the‌ ‌city‌ ‌of‌ ‌his‌ ‌birth.‌ ‌Its‌ ‌elegant‌ ‌architecture‌ ‌piercing‌ ‌upwards‌ ‌from‌ ‌the‌ ‌desert‌ ‌floor‌ ‌,‌ ‌beating‌ ‌back‌ ‌the‌ ‌encroaching‌ ‌sands‌ ‌in‌ ‌a‌ ‌defiant‌ ‌roar‌ ‌of‌ ‌civilisation.The‌ ‌wind‌ ‌carried‌ ‌the‌ ‌scent‌ ‌of‌ ‌strong‌ ‌spice‌ ‌and‌ ‌alchemical‌ ‌concoctions‌ ‌from‌ ‌the‌ ‌city‌ ‌markets,‌ ‌while‌ ‌the‌ ‌horizon‌ ‌often‌ ‌glimmered‌ ‌with‌ ‌the‌ ‌distant‌ ‌blue‌ ‌of‌ ‌the‌ ‌ocean‌ ‌at‌ ‌the‌ ‌western‌ ‌coastline.‌ ‌The‌ ‌city’s‌ ‌high‌ ‌walls‌ ‌and‌ ‌impressive‌ ‌fortifications‌ ‌usually‌ ‌gave‌ ‌him‌ ‌comfort.‌ ‌But‌ ‌tonight‌ ‌they‌ ‌felt‌ ‌more‌ ‌like‌ ‌the‌ ‌bars‌ ‌of‌ ‌a‌ ‌diving‌ ‌cage,‌ ‌and‌ ‌outside‌ ‌the‌ ‌sharks‌ ‌were‌ ‌circling.‌

‌“Lord‌ ‌Vander?”‌

‌Ashe‌ ‌jumped,‌ ‌his‌ ‌study‌ ‌of‌ ‌the‌ ‌cityscape‌ ‌interrupted‌ ‌as‌ ‌he‌ ‌was‌ ‌dragged‌ ‌sharply‌ ‌back‌ ‌to‌ ‌reality‌ ‌by‌ ‌the‌ ‌voice‌ ‌at‌ ‌his‌ ‌shoulder.‌ ‌His‌ ‌storm-grey‌ ‌eyed‌ ‌came‌ ‌to‌ ‌rest‌ ‌on‌ ‌the‌ ‌man‌ ‌who‌ ‌had‌ ‌been‌ ‌marching‌ ‌in‌ ‌step‌ ‌with‌ ‌him.‌

‌Ashe‌ ‌himself‌ ‌cut‌ ‌every‌ ‌bit‌ ‌the‌ ‌figure‌ ‌of‌ ‌the‌ ‌dashing‌ ‌knight.‌ ‌Just‌ ‌shy‌ ‌of‌ ‌two‌ ‌yalms‌ ‌tall,‌ ‌with‌ ‌broad‌ ‌shoulders‌ ‌and‌ ‌a‌ ‌shock‌ ‌of‌ ‌golden‌ ‌blonde‌ ‌hair,‌ ‌Ashe‌ ‌would‌ ‌be‌ ‌a‌ ‌striking‌ ‌sight‌ ‌even‌ ‌without‌ ‌his‌ ‌well‌ ‌formed,‌ ‌handsome‌ ‌features‌ ‌or‌ ‌his‌ ‌sparkling‌ ‌plate‌ ‌armour.‌ ‌The‌ ‌man‌ ‌who‌ ‌walked‌ ‌beside‌ ‌him‌ ‌was‌ ‌as‌ ‌far‌ ‌removed‌ ‌from‌ ‌Ashe‌ ‌as‌ ‌possible;‌ ‌a‌ ‌full‌ ‌head‌ ‌shorter,‌ ‌with‌ ‌thinning‌ ‌grey‌ ‌hair‌ ‌and‌ ‌a‌ ‌thick‌ ‌moustache‌ ‌that‌ ‌engulfed‌ ‌his‌ ‌upper‌ ‌lip‌ ‌and‌ ‌trailed‌ ‌down‌ ‌his‌ ‌age‌ ‌creased‌ ‌jowls;‌ ‌the‌ ‌moustache‌ ‌retaining‌ ‌some‌ ‌of‌ ‌the‌ ‌black‌ ‌pigment‌ ‌that‌ ‌was‌ ‌no‌ ‌longer‌ ‌evident‌ ‌elsewhere.‌

‌Like‌ ‌Ashe,‌ ‌the‌ ‌man‌ ‌wore‌ ‌the‌ ‌armour‌ ‌of‌ ‌a‌ ‌Sultansworn‌ ‌elite.‌ ‌Yet‌ ‌unlike‌ ‌Ashe‌ ‌the‌ ‌armour‌ ‌had‌ ‌been‌ ‌modified;‌ ‌some‌ ‌of‌ ‌the‌ ‌heavier‌ ‌sections‌ ‌stripped‌ ‌down‌ ‌and‌ ‌reduced‌ ‌in‌ ‌size‌ ‌and‌ ‌weight‌ ‌to‌ ‌accommodate‌ ‌the‌ ‌advanced‌ ‌age‌ ‌of‌ ‌the‌ ‌wearer.‌ ‌Yet‌ ‌the‌ ‌blue‌ ‌eyes‌ ‌that‌ ‌looked‌ ‌back‌ ‌as‌ ‌Ashe‌ ‌were‌ ‌crisp‌ ‌and‌ ‌clear,‌ ‌and‌ ‌he‌ ‌stood‌ ‌straight‌ ‌backed‌ ‌and‌ ‌rigid;‌ ‌old‌ ‌man‌ ‌or‌ ‌not,‌ ‌Ashe‌ ‌had‌ ‌no‌ ‌difficulty‌ ‌whatsoever‌ ‌reminding‌ ‌himself‌ ‌that‌ ‌he‌ ‌was‌ ‌looking‌ ‌at‌ ‌one‌ ‌of‌ ‌the‌ ‌most‌ ‌lethal‌ ‌swordsmen‌ ‌in‌ ‌Eorzea.‌

‌ ‌“The‌ ‌guard‌ ‌is‌ ‌changing,‌ ‌Lord‌ ‌Vander,”‌ ‌the‌ ‌old‌ ‌man‌ ‌spoke‌ ‌again;‌ ‌his‌ ‌voice‌ ‌deep‌ ‌and‌ ‌graveley,‌ ‌hoarse‌ ‌from‌ ‌decades‌ ‌spent‌ ‌shouting‌ ‌orders‌ ‌to‌ ‌soldiers‌ ‌on‌ ‌the‌ ‌battlefield.‌

‌“Yes,‌ ‌of‌ ‌course,”‌ ‌Ashe‌ ‌nodded,‌ ‌finding‌ ‌it‌ ‌more‌ ‌than‌ ‌a‌ ‌little‌ ‌awkward‌ ‌to‌ ‌address‌ ‌a‌ ‌man‌ ‌who‌ ‌only‌ ‌one‌ ‌year‌ ‌ago‌ ‌had‌ ‌been‌ ‌his‌ ‌swordmaster‌ ‌as‌ ‌if‌ ‌he‌ ‌were‌ ‌a‌ ‌subordinate.‌ ‌“My‌ ‌apologies,‌ ‌Master‌ ‌Raimond.”‌

‌ ‌The‌ ‌older‌ ‌man‌ ‌nodded‌ ‌dutifully‌ ‌as‌ ‌Ashe‌ ‌began‌ ‌moving‌ ‌again,‌ ‌falling‌ ‌in‌ ‌lockstep‌ ‌with‌ ‌his‌ ‌commander‌ ‌as‌ ‌Ashe‌ ‌resumed‌ ‌his‌ ‌march‌ ‌towards‌ ‌their‌ ‌destination.‌ ‌As‌ ‌the‌ ‌hour‌ ‌of‌ ‌the‌ ‌changing‌ ‌of‌ ‌the‌ ‌guard‌ ‌approached,‌ ‌Ashe‌ ‌had‌ ‌made‌ ‌it‌ ‌a‌ ‌point‌ ‌to‌ ‌visit‌ ‌the‌ ‌chambers‌ ‌where‌ ‌the‌ ‌last‌ ‌remaining‌ ‌dignitary‌ ‌was‌ ‌being‌ ‌housed‌ ‌to‌ ‌inspect‌ ‌the‌ ‌troops‌ ‌there.‌ ‌At‌ ‌the‌ ‌same‌ ‌hour‌ ‌the‌ ‌palace‌ ‌guards‌ ‌rotated‌ ‌out‌ ‌for‌ ‌a‌ ‌new‌ ‌shift,‌ ‌so‌ ‌too‌ ‌would‌ ‌the‌ ‌pair‌ ‌of‌ ‌Sultansworn‌ ‌stationed‌ ‌outside‌ ‌his‌ ‌charge’s‌ ‌door‌ ‌switch‌ ‌out‌ ‌for‌ ‌another.‌ ‌Allowing‌ ‌a‌ ‌few‌ ‌hours‌ ‌of‌ ‌rest‌ ‌in‌ ‌their‌ ‌constant‌ ‌vigil.‌

‌Although‌ ‌Ashe‌ ‌and‌ ‌Raimond‌ ‌did‌ ‌not‌ ‌stand‌ ‌watch,‌ ‌instead‌ ‌patrolling‌ ‌the‌ ‌halls‌ ‌of‌ ‌this‌ ‌wing‌ ‌of‌ ‌the‌ ‌palace,‌ ‌it‌ ‌was‌ ‌not‌ ‌lost‌ ‌on‌ ‌Ashe‌ ‌that‌ ‌the‌ ‌changing‌ ‌of‌ ‌the‌ ‌guard‌ ‌represented‌ ‌when‌ ‌the‌ ‌palace‌ ‌was‌ ‌at‌ ‌its‌ ‌most‌ ‌vulnerable.‌ ‌And‌ ‌so‌ ‌he‌ ‌made‌ ‌sure‌ ‌to‌ ‌check‌ ‌in‌ ‌and‌ ‌oversee‌ ‌the‌ ‌handover.‌

‌Sure‌ ‌enough,‌ ‌as‌ ‌Ashe‌ ‌ascended‌ ‌the‌ ‌staircase‌ ‌that‌ ‌bridged‌ ‌the‌ ‌gap‌ ‌from‌ ‌the‌ ‌exterior‌ ‌corridor‌ ‌into‌ ‌the‌ ‌residential‌ ‌quarters,‌ ‌he‌ ‌found‌ ‌all‌ ‌four‌ ‌of‌ ‌the‌ ‌remaining‌ ‌Sultansworn‌ ‌under‌ ‌his‌ ‌command‌ ‌congregated‌ ‌outside‌ ‌the‌ ‌protective‌ ‌chambers.‌ ‌Unlike‌ ‌Raimond,‌ ‌the‌ ‌other‌ ‌soldiers‌ ‌under‌ ‌Ashe’s‌ ‌command‌ ‌were‌ ‌young;‌ ‌three‌ ‌men‌ ‌and‌ ‌one‌ ‌woman,‌ ‌all‌ ‌of‌ ‌whom‌ ‌had‌ ‌been‌ ‌Ashe’s‌ ‌peers‌ ‌until‌ ‌recently;‌ ‌and‌ ‌all‌ ‌of‌ ‌whom‌ ‌clearly‌ ‌still‌ ‌saw‌ ‌him‌ ‌as‌ ‌such,‌ ‌as‌ ‌he‌ ‌appearance‌ ‌was‌ ‌met‌ ‌by‌ ‌wide‌ ‌grins‌ ‌rather‌ ‌than‌ ‌salutes.‌

‌Only‌ ‌when‌ ‌Raimand‌ ‌ascended‌ ‌the‌ ‌staircase‌ ‌behind‌ ‌Ashe‌ ‌did‌ ‌the‌ ‌other‌ ‌young‌ ‌Sultansworn‌ ‌snap‌ ‌to‌ ‌attention;‌ ‌the‌ ‌old‌ ‌man’s‌ ‌withering‌ ‌stare‌ ‌making‌ ‌no‌ ‌allowance‌ ‌for‌ ‌camaraderie‌ ‌over‌ ‌rank.‌

‌ ‌“Nothing‌ ‌to‌ ‌report,‌ ‌Sirs,”‌ ‌one‌ ‌of‌ ‌the‌ ‌four‌ ‌barked,‌ ‌snapping‌ ‌his‌ ‌heels‌ ‌as‌ ‌he‌ ‌and‌ ‌his‌ ‌partner‌ ‌assumed‌ ‌their‌ ‌post‌ ‌beside‌ ‌the‌ ‌door.‌

‌ ‌“Good,”‌ ‌Ashe‌ ‌replied‌ ‌with‌ ‌a‌ ‌nod,‌ ‌not‌ ‌breaking‌ ‌his‌ ‌stride‌ ‌as‌ ‌he‌ ‌continued‌ ‌down‌ ‌the‌ ‌corridor‌ ‌past‌ ‌the‌ ‌group;‌ ‌satisfied‌ ‌enough‌ ‌to‌ ‌see‌ ‌the‌ ‌next‌ ‌watch‌ ‌arrive‌ ‌that‌ ‌he‌ ‌didn’t‌ ‌need‌ ‌to‌ ‌linger.‌ ‌“Keep‌ ‌an‌ ‌open‌ ‌link‌ ‌pearl.‌ ‌All‌ ‌being‌ ‌well,‌ ‌I’ll‌ ‌see‌ ‌you‌ ‌in‌ ‌another‌ ‌eight‌ ‌hours.”‌

‌Another‌ ‌change‌ ‌of‌ ‌the‌ ‌guard‌ ‌successful,‌ ‌Ashe‌ ‌heaved‌ ‌an‌ ‌internal‌ ‌sigh‌ ‌of‌ ‌relief‌ ‌as‌ ‌he‌ ‌continued‌ ‌on‌ ‌his‌ ‌way‌ ‌and‌ ‌left‌ ‌the‌ ‌guards‌ ‌to‌ ‌their‌ ‌own‌ ‌devices.‌ ‌That‌ ‌they‌ ‌might‌ ‌spend‌ ‌a‌ ‌few‌ ‌minutes‌ ‌in‌ ‌idle‌ ‌gossip‌ ‌the‌ ‌moment‌ ‌he‌ ‌and‌ ‌Raimand‌ ‌had‌ ‌turned‌ ‌the‌ ‌corner‌ ‌didn’t‌ ‌bother‌ ‌him,‌ ‌and‌ ‌he‌ ‌wasn’t‌ ‌quite‌ ‌so‌ ‌hard‌ ‌a‌ ‌task‌ ‌master‌ ‌that‌ ‌he‌ ‌would‌ ‌demand‌ ‌they‌ ‌pass‌ ‌their‌ ‌watch‌ ‌in‌ ‌silence.‌ ‌He‌ ‌was‌ ‌just‌ ‌glad‌ ‌to‌ ‌see‌ ‌that‌ ‌another‌ ‌dangerous‌ ‌window‌ ‌had‌ ‌passed‌ ‌without‌ ‌incident‌ ‌as,‌ ‌all‌ ‌through‌ ‌the‌ ‌palace,‌ ‌one‌ ‌set‌ ‌of‌ ‌guards‌ ‌rotated‌ ‌out‌ ‌for‌ ‌fresh‌ ‌ones.‌ ‌The‌ ‌same‌ ‌change‌ ‌that‌ ‌occurred‌ ‌every‌ ‌eight‌ ‌hours‌ ‌of‌ ‌every‌ ‌day,‌ ‌like‌ ‌clockwork.‌

‌“It‌ ‌might‌ ‌be‌ ‌advisable‌ ‌to‌ ‌get‌ ‌some‌ ‌sleep,‌ ‌Lord‌ ‌Vander,”‌ ‌Raimond‌ ‌murmured‌ ‌at‌ ‌his‌ ‌shoulder,‌ ‌waiting‌ ‌until‌ ‌they‌ ‌had‌ ‌passed‌ ‌out‌ ‌of‌ ‌earshot‌ ‌of‌ ‌the‌ ‌soldiers‌ ‌before‌ ‌making‌ ‌the‌ ‌suggestion.‌ ‌A‌ ‌commander,‌ ‌after‌ ‌all,‌ ‌must‌ ‌be‌ ‌seen‌ ‌to‌ ‌be‌ ‌indestructible.‌ ‌“Once‌ ‌the‌ ‌shift‌ ‌rotation‌ ‌has‌ ‌settled‌ ‌down,‌ ‌it‌ ‌would‌ ‌be‌ ‌safe‌ ‌to‌ ‌spare‌ ‌a‌ ‌few‌ ‌hours.”‌

‌Ashe‌ ‌looked‌ ‌down‌ ‌at‌ ‌the‌ ‌man‌ ‌with‌ ‌a‌ ‌wry‌ ‌smile,‌ ‌well‌ ‌aware‌ ‌of‌ ‌the‌ ‌dark‌ ‌rings‌ ‌that‌ ‌had‌ ‌formed‌ ‌around‌ ‌his‌ ‌eyes‌ ‌after‌ ‌several‌ ‌days‌ ‌with‌ ‌very‌ ‌little‌ ‌rest.‌ ‌The‌ ‌fact‌ ‌he‌ ‌only‌ ‌had‌ ‌five‌ ‌soldiers‌ ‌under‌ ‌his‌ ‌command‌ ‌didn’t‌ ‌eliminate‌ ‌the‌ ‌need‌ ‌for‌ ‌twenty‌ ‌four‌ ‌hour‌ ‌security,‌ ‌and‌ ‌he‌ ‌had‌ ‌been‌ ‌loath‌ ‌to‌ ‌take‌ ‌more‌ ‌rest‌ ‌than‌ ‌he‌ ‌could‌ ‌allow‌ ‌his‌ ‌subordinates.‌ ‌But‌ ‌having‌ ‌been‌ ‌wandering‌ ‌the‌ ‌palace‌ ‌for‌ ‌the‌ ‌last‌ ‌fourteen‌ ‌hours,‌ ‌he‌ ‌couldn’t‌ ‌deny‌ ‌the‌ ‌wisdom‌ ‌of‌ ‌finding‌ ‌time‌ ‌to‌ ‌sleep.‌ ‌If‌ ‌for‌ ‌no‌ ‌other‌ ‌reason‌ ‌than‌ ‌to‌ ‌avoid‌ ‌collapsing‌ ‌from‌ ‌exhaustion.‌

‌“Alright,”‌ ‌he‌ ‌relented.‌ ‌“But‌ ‌make‌ ‌sure‌ ‌you‌ ‌take‌ ‌your‌ ‌own‌ ‌advice,‌ ‌Master‌ ‌Raimond.‌ ‌We‌ ‌can‌ ‌probably‌ ‌afford‌ ‌two‌ ‌or‌ ‌three‌ ‌hours‌ ‌rest.‌ ‌We’ll‌ ‌wait‌ ‌for‌ ‌the‌ ‌day‌ ‌watch‌ ‌to‌ ‌start‌ ‌before‌ ‌we‌ ‌risk‌ ‌any‌ ‌more‌ ‌than‌ ‌that,‌ ‌though.‌ ‌Things‌ ‌should‌ ‌be‌ ‌safer‌ ‌when‌ ‌the‌ ‌palace‌ ‌is‌ ‌fully-”‌

‌A‌ ‌sharp‌ ‌crackle‌ ‌in‌ ‌his‌ ‌ear,‌ ‌his‌ ‌linkpearl‌ ‌hissing‌ ‌to‌ ‌life‌ ‌before‌ ‌suddenly‌ ‌cutting‌ ‌off,‌ ‌instantly‌ ‌put‌ ‌him‌ ‌on‌ ‌edge.‌ ‌His‌ ‌every‌ ‌muscle‌ ‌stiffened,‌ ‌a‌ ‌finger‌ ‌flying‌ ‌up‌ ‌to‌ ‌the‌ ‌linkpearl‌ ‌tucked‌ ‌behind‌ ‌his‌ ‌earlobe.‌ ‌He‌ ‌stopped‌ ‌dead‌ ‌in‌ ‌his‌ ‌tracks,‌ ‌waiting‌ ‌to‌ ‌see‌ ‌if‌ ‌anything‌ ‌else‌ ‌was‌ ‌forthcoming;‌ ‌but‌ ‌the‌ ‌linkpearl‌ ‌remained‌ ‌dormant‌ ‌save‌ ‌for‌ ‌the‌ ‌hum‌ ‌of‌ ‌static.‌ ‌The‌ ‌channel‌ ‌was‌ ‌still‌ ‌open,‌ ‌but‌ ‌no‌ ‌message‌ ‌came‌ ‌from‌ ‌the‌ ‌other‌ ‌side.‌

‌“Hansal?”‌ ‌he‌ ‌called‌ ‌out‌ ‌the‌ ‌name‌ ‌of‌ ‌one‌ ‌of‌ ‌those‌ ‌who‌ ‌had‌ ‌been‌ ‌on‌ ‌guard;‌ ‌the‌ ‌same‌ ‌man‌ ‌who‌ ‌had‌ ‌spoken‌ ‌when‌ ‌Ashe‌ ‌and‌ ‌Raimond‌ ‌had‌ ‌passed‌ ‌through.‌ ‌“Report‌ ‌in.”‌

‌Beside‌ ‌him,‌ ‌Raimond‌ ‌had‌ ‌also‌ ‌placed‌ ‌a‌ ‌finger‌ ‌to‌ ‌his‌ ‌own‌ ‌linkpearl‌ ‌as‌ ‌he‌ ‌had‌ ‌no‌ ‌doubt‌ ‌heard‌ ‌the‌ ‌same‌ ‌brief‌ ‌sound.‌ ‌The‌ ‌two‌ ‌men‌ ‌exchanged‌ ‌a‌ ‌silent‌ ‌glance‌ ‌that‌ ‌confirmed‌ ‌they‌ ‌were‌ ‌both‌ ‌thinking‌ ‌the‌ ‌same‌ ‌thing;‌ ‌As‌ ‌fallible‌ ‌as‌ ‌linkpearl‌ ‌technology‌ ‌was,‌ ‌this‌ ‌was‌ ‌not‌ ‌the‌ ‌night‌ ‌to‌ ‌assume‌ ‌a‌ ‌malfunction.‌ ‌Though‌ ‌they‌ ‌had‌ ‌left‌ ‌the‌ ‌other‌ ‌Sultansworn‌ ‌behind‌ ‌less‌ ‌than‌ ‌a‌ ‌minute‌ ‌ago,‌ ‌the‌ ‌pair‌ ‌turned‌ ‌on‌ ‌their‌ ‌heels‌ ‌to‌ ‌sprint‌ ‌back‌ ‌up‌ ‌the‌ ‌corridor.‌

‌ ‌As‌ ‌the‌ ‌younger‌ ‌and‌ ‌more‌ ‌vigorous‌ ‌of‌ ‌the‌ ‌two,‌ ‌Ashe‌ ‌quickly‌ ‌overtook‌ ‌Raimond.‌ ‌A‌ ‌sense‌ ‌of‌ ‌gnawing‌ ‌dread‌ ‌building‌ ‌in‌ ‌the‌ ‌pit‌ ‌of‌ ‌his‌ ‌stomach,‌ ‌he‌ ‌couldn’t‌ ‌afford‌ ‌to‌ ‌slow‌ ‌his‌ ‌pace‌ ‌to‌ ‌match‌ ‌the‌ ‌older‌ ‌man.‌ ‌Barreling‌ ‌down‌ ‌the‌ ‌hallway‌ ‌through‌ ‌which‌ ‌they‌ ‌had‌ ‌just‌ ‌passed,‌ ‌he‌ ‌left‌ ‌Raimond‌ ‌behind‌ ‌as‌ ‌he‌ ‌swung‌ ‌around‌ ‌the‌ ‌corner,‌ ‌lowering‌ ‌his‌ ‌posture‌ ‌for‌ ‌a‌ ‌quick‌ ‌turn‌ ‌as‌ ‌he‌ ‌wound‌ ‌his‌ ‌way‌ ‌back‌ ‌into‌ ‌the‌ ‌same‌ ‌corridor‌ ‌as‌ ‌the‌ ‌guarded‌ ‌chamber‌ ‌door.‌

‌Instantly‌ ‌he‌ ‌froze,‌ ‌overcome‌ ‌with‌ ‌a‌ ‌mixture‌ ‌of‌ ‌surprise‌ ‌and‌ ‌horror‌ ‌at‌ ‌what‌ ‌he‌ ‌saw.‌

‌The‌ ‌four‌ ‌Sultansworn‌ ‌he‌ ‌had‌ ‌passed‌ ‌mere‌ ‌moments‌ ‌previously‌ ‌now‌ ‌lay‌ ‌in‌ ‌crumpled‌ ‌heads‌ ‌on‌ ‌the‌ ‌stone‌ ‌floor.‌ ‌Completely‌ ‌motionless,‌ ‌their‌ ‌armoured‌ ‌bodies‌ ‌lay‌ ‌like‌ ‌broken‌ ‌dolls,‌ ‌their‌ ‌limbs‌ ‌splayed‌ ‌in‌ ‌impossible‌ ‌directions,‌ ‌the‌ ‌narrow‌ ‌gaps‌ ‌between‌ ‌the‌ ‌decorated‌ ‌sandstone‌ ‌tiles‌ ‌quickly‌ ‌filling‌ ‌with‌ ‌rich,‌ ‌red‌ ‌liquid.‌ ‌The‌ ‌metallic,‌ ‌coppery‌ ‌scent‌ ‌of‌ ‌blood‌ ‌filled‌ ‌Ashe’s‌ ‌nostrils‌ ‌as‌ ‌he‌ ‌snatched‌ ‌a‌ ‌hand‌ ‌around‌ ‌the‌ ‌hilt‌ ‌of‌ ‌his‌ ‌sword,‌ ‌his‌ ‌horrified‌ ‌gaze‌ ‌moving‌ ‌from‌ ‌his‌ ‌fallen‌ ‌comrades‌ ‌to‌ ‌the‌ ‌two‌ ‌additional‌ ‌that‌ ‌now‌ ‌stood‌ ‌in‌ ‌their‌ ‌midst;‌ ‌the‌ ‌intruder‌ ‌who‌ ‌had‌ ‌cut‌ ‌down‌ ‌four‌ ‌of‌ ‌Ul’dah’s‌ ‌finest‌ ‌in‌ ‌the‌ ‌space‌ ‌of‌ ‌seconds.‌ ‌All‌ ‌without‌ ‌making‌ ‌a‌ ‌sound.‌

‌The‌ ‌sight‌ ‌of‌ ‌the‌ ‌intruder‌ ‌was‌ ‌as‌ ‌stunning‌ ‌to‌ ‌Ashe‌ ‌as‌ ‌what‌ ‌they‌ ‌had‌ ‌achieved.‌ ‌Standing‌ ‌so‌ ‌tall‌ ‌as‌ ‌to‌ ‌utterly‌ ‌dwarf‌ ‌the‌ ‌door‌ ‌beside‌ ‌which‌ ‌they‌ ‌stood,‌ ‌the‌ ‌intruder‌ ‌was‌ ‌clad‌ ‌from‌ ‌head‌ ‌to‌ ‌toe‌ ‌in‌ ‌brass‌ ‌armour;‌ ‌not‌ ‌the‌ ‌thickly‌ ‌padded‌ ‌chainmail‌ ‌of‌ ‌the‌ ‌brass‌ ‌blades,‌ ‌but‌ ‌heavy‌ ‌plates‌ ‌of‌ ‌solid‌ ‌metal;‌ ‌dull‌ ‌and‌ ‌scratched‌ ‌from‌ ‌heavy‌ ‌use‌ ‌but‌ ‌nevertheless‌ ‌transforming‌ ‌their‌ ‌wearer‌ ‌into‌ ‌a‌ ‌veritable‌ ‌fortress‌ ‌of‌ ‌jagged‌ ‌angles‌ ‌and‌ ‌thick‌ ‌metal;‌ ‌concealing‌ ‌the‌ ‌general‌ ‌shape‌ ‌of‌ ‌the‌ ‌warrior‌ ‌clad‌ ‌within.‌

‌A‌ ‌head‌ ‌covered‌ ‌by‌ ‌a‌ ‌heavy‌ ‌metal‌ ‌helmet‌ ‌turned‌ ‌in‌ ‌Ashe’s‌ ‌direction‌ ‌as‌ ‌he‌ ‌rounded‌ ‌the‌ ‌corner;‌ ‌the‌ ‌visor‌ ‌flanked‌ ‌by‌ ‌two‌ ‌dark,‌ ‌curved‌ ‌horns‌ ‌that‌ ‌snaked‌ ‌downward‌ ‌from‌ ‌the‌ ‌helm’s‌ ‌crown.‌ ‌Through‌ ‌the‌ ‌helmet’s‌ ‌narrow‌ ‌eye‌ ‌slits,‌ ‌Ashe‌ ‌felt‌ ‌more‌ ‌than‌ ‌saw‌ ‌the‌ ‌intruder’s‌ ‌gaze‌ ‌fall‌ ‌upon‌ ‌him,‌ ‌flinching‌ ‌involuntarily‌ ‌as‌ ‌a‌ ‌mailed‌ ‌fist‌ ‌hefted‌ ‌a‌ ‌heavy,‌ ‌double‌ ‌edged‌ ‌broadsword;‌ ‌the‌ ‌weapon‌ ‌so‌ ‌massive‌ ‌it‌ ‌would‌ ‌have‌ ‌required‌ ‌to‌ ‌hands‌ ‌for‌ ‌a‌ ‌hyur‌ ‌to‌ ‌wield,‌ ‌yet‌ ‌the‌ ‌enormous‌ ‌intruder‌ ‌held‌ ‌it‌ ‌easily‌ ‌in‌ ‌one.‌

‌Where‌ ‌had‌ ‌this‌ ‌intruder‌ ‌come‌ ‌from?‌ ‌How‌ ‌had‌ ‌someone‌ ‌so‌ ‌massive‌ ‌managed‌ ‌to‌ ‌infiltrate‌ ‌the‌ ‌palace,‌ ‌even‌ ‌with‌ ‌the‌ ‌relative‌ ‌turmoil‌ ‌of‌ ‌the‌ ‌changing‌ ‌of‌ ‌the‌ ‌guard?‌ ‌Ashe‌ ‌was‌ ‌so‌ ‌stunned‌ ‌by‌ ‌the‌ ‌giant’s‌ ‌inexplicable‌ ‌appearance‌ ‌that‌ ‌he‌ ‌almost‌ ‌failed‌ ‌to‌ ‌notice‌ ‌a‌ ‌second‌ ‌figure‌ ‌standing‌ ‌beside‌ ‌the‌ ‌colossal‌ ‌swordsman.‌

‌In‌ ‌comparison‌ ‌to‌ ‌the‌ ‌giant,‌ ‌the‌ ‌second‌ ‌figure‌ ‌almost‌ ‌seemed‌ ‌to‌ ‌fade‌ ‌into‌ ‌the‌ ‌background.‌ ‌Standing‌ ‌calmly‌ ‌within‌ ‌the‌ ‌carnage,‌ ‌the‌ ‌second‌ ‌figure’s‌ ‌distinctly‌ ‌female‌ ‌frame‌ ‌was‌ ‌clearly‌ ‌visible‌ ‌beneath‌ ‌the‌ ‌tight‌ ‌fit‌ ‌of‌ ‌the‌ ‌pearlescent‌ ‌white‌ ‌long‌ ‌coat‌ ‌that‌ ‌hugged‌ ‌her‌ ‌upper‌ ‌body.‌ ‌Standing‌ ‌with‌ ‌her‌ ‌hands‌ ‌clasped‌ ‌behind‌ ‌her‌ ‌back,‌ ‌the‌ ‌woman‌ ‌appeared‌ ‌diminutive‌ ‌beside‌ ‌the‌ ‌giant‌ ‌at‌ ‌only‌ ‌a‌ ‌few‌ ‌ilms‌ ‌above‌ ‌five‌ ‌feet.‌ ‌She‌ ‌wore‌ ‌no‌ ‌helmet;‌ ‌instead,‌ ‌silver-white‌ ‌hair‌ ‌tumbled‌ ‌around‌ ‌her‌ ‌shoulders‌ ‌and‌ ‌down‌ ‌her‌ ‌back,‌ ‌though‌ ‌her‌ ‌face‌ ‌was‌ ‌hidden‌ ‌behind‌ ‌a‌ ‌featureless,‌ ‌bone‌ ‌white‌ ‌mask‌ ‌that‌ ‌covered‌ ‌all‌ ‌save‌ ‌her‌ ‌eyes.‌

‌ ‌Raimond‌ ‌was‌ ‌only‌ ‌a‌ ‌few‌ ‌paces‌ ‌behind‌ ‌Ashe,‌ ‌and‌ ‌his‌ ‌arrival‌ ‌was‌ ‌enough‌ ‌to‌ ‌rouse‌ ‌the‌ ‌young‌ ‌man‌ ‌from‌ ‌his‌ ‌stunned‌ ‌stupor.‌ ‌Unlike‌ ‌Ashe,‌ ‌the‌ ‌veterna‌ ‌Sultansworn‌ ‌took‌ ‌only‌ ‌a‌ ‌moment‌ ‌to‌ ‌access‌ ‌the‌ ‌situation‌ ‌in‌ ‌front‌ ‌of‌ ‌him‌ ‌and‌ ‌instantly‌ ‌drew‌ ‌his‌ ‌sword‌ ‌as‌ ‌Ashe,‌ ‌roused‌ ‌by‌ ‌his‌ ‌subordinate’s‌ ‌quick‌ ‌action,‌ ‌did‌ ‌the‌ ‌same.‌

‌ ‌“Intruder‌ ‌in‌ ‌the‌ ‌palace,”‌ ‌he‌ ‌shouted,‌ ‌raising‌ ‌his‌ ‌voice‌ ‌as‌ ‌loud‌ ‌as‌ ‌he‌ ‌could‌ ‌to‌ ‌send‌ ‌the‌ ‌alarm‌ ‌echoing‌ ‌down‌ ‌the‌ ‌corridor.‌ ‌Unlike‌ ‌his‌ ‌unfortunate‌ ‌comrades,‌ ‌he‌ ‌had‌ ‌no‌ ‌intention‌ ‌of‌ ‌being‌ ‌felled‌ ‌without‌ ‌raising‌ ‌an‌ ‌alarm.‌

‌The‌ ‌armoured‌ ‌giant‌ ‌-‌ ‌who‌ ‌from‌ ‌their‌ ‌sheer‌ ‌size‌ ‌could‌ ‌not‌ ‌be‌ ‌anything‌ ‌other‌ ‌than‌ ‌a‌ ‌Roegadyn‌ ‌-‌ ‌reacted‌ ‌instantly‌ ‌to‌ ‌Ashe’s‌ ‌shout.‌ ‌Barreling‌ ‌down‌ ‌the‌ ‌corridor‌ ‌at‌ ‌alarming‌ ‌speed,‌ ‌the‌ ‌giant’s‌ ‌armoured‌ ‌body‌ ‌advanced‌ ‌with‌ ‌an‌ ‌eerie‌ ‌soundlessness‌ ‌save‌ ‌for‌ ‌their‌ ‌heavy‌ ‌footfalls;‌ ‌the‌ ‌expected‌ ‌thunder‌ ‌of‌ ‌their‌ ‌heavy‌ ‌armour‌ ‌producing‌ ‌no‌ ‌more‌ ‌a‌ ‌quiet,‌ ‌shuddering‌ ‌tone‌ ‌like‌ ‌the‌ ‌ringing‌ ‌of‌ ‌a‌ ‌sleigh‌ ‌bell.‌ ‌Among‌ ‌the‌ ‌many‌ ‌thoughts‌ ‌that‌ ‌swirled‌ ‌in‌ ‌Ashe’s‌ ‌head‌ ‌as‌ ‌he‌ ‌prepared‌ ‌to‌ ‌meet‌ ‌the‌ ‌charge,‌ ‌he‌ ‌could‌ ‌only‌ ‌imagine‌ ‌that‌ ‌the‌ ‌metal‌ ‌plates‌ ‌were‌ ‌thickly‌ ‌insulated;‌ ‌possibly‌ ‌with‌ ‌quilted‌ ‌wool‌ ‌between‌ ‌them‌ ‌to‌ ‌prevent‌ ‌the‌ ‌clamour‌ ‌that‌ ‌such‌ ‌armour‌ ‌usually‌ ‌produced.‌

‌ ‌It‌ ‌was‌ ‌a‌ ‌suit‌ ‌of‌ ‌armour‌ ‌designed‌ ‌not‌ ‌only‌ ‌for‌ ‌its‌ ‌sturdy‌ ‌protection,‌ ‌but‌ ‌also‌ ‌for‌ ‌quiet‌ ‌movement.‌ ‌A‌ ‌horrifying‌ ‌combination.‌

‌The‌ ‌two‌ ‌knights‌ ‌had‌ ‌no‌ ‌need‌ ‌to‌ ‌exchange‌ ‌words;‌ ‌both‌ ‌Ashe‌ ‌and‌ ‌Raimond‌ ‌had‌ ‌spent‌ ‌almost‌ ‌their‌ ‌entire‌ ‌lives‌ ‌rigorously‌ ‌training‌ ‌as‌ ‌both‌ ‌personal‌ ‌combatants‌ ‌and‌ ‌in‌ ‌the‌ ‌tactics‌ ‌and‌ ‌techniques‌ ‌of‌ ‌the‌ ‌Sultansworn.‌ ‌The‌ ‌instinctively‌ ‌moved‌ ‌to‌ ‌stand‌ ‌further‌ ‌apart,‌ ‌each‌ ‌man‌ ‌taking‌ ‌position‌ ‌near‌ ‌opposite‌ ‌walls‌ ‌of‌ ‌the‌ ‌corridor‌ ‌the‌ ‌divide‌ ‌their‌ ‌foe’s‌ ‌attention,‌ ‌reading‌ ‌their‌ ‌swords‌ ‌in‌ ‌both‌ ‌hands‌ ‌and‌ ‌foregoing‌ ‌the‌ ‌shield’s‌ ‌strapped‌ ‌across‌ ‌their‌ ‌backs;‌ ‌against‌ ‌a‌ ‌weapon‌ ‌of‌ ‌such‌ ‌size‌ ‌and‌ ‌weight,‌ ‌trying‌ ‌to‌ ‌use‌ ‌a‌ ‌shield‌ ‌would‌ ‌only‌ ‌need‌ ‌to‌ ‌a‌ ‌broken‌ ‌arm.‌

‌When‌ ‌the‌ ‌giant’s‌ ‌charge‌ ‌brought‌ ‌it‌ ‌close‌ ‌enough‌ ‌to‌ ‌swing,‌ ‌it‌ ‌was‌ ‌Ashe‌ ‌that‌ ‌found‌ ‌himself‌ ‌the‌ ‌target;‌ ‌standing‌ ‌as‌ ‌he‌ ‌did‌ ‌on‌ ‌the‌ ‌armoured‌ ‌monster’s‌ ‌right‌ ‌side.‌ ‌Rather‌ ‌than‌ ‌try‌ ‌to‌ ‌parry‌ ‌the‌ ‌blow,‌ ‌he‌ ‌instead‌ ‌twisted‌ ‌to‌ ‌one‌ ‌side‌ ‌of‌ ‌it,‌ ‌grimacing‌ ‌as‌ ‌he‌ ‌felt‌ ‌the‌ ‌roaring‌ ‌air‌ ‌pressure‌ ‌from‌ ‌the‌ ‌weapon‌ ‌whistling‌ ‌by‌ ‌mere‌ ‌inches‌ ‌from‌ ‌his‌ ‌head.‌ ‌Plate‌ ‌armour‌ ‌or‌ ‌no‌ ‌plate‌ ‌armour,‌ ‌even‌ ‌a‌ ‌single‌ ‌strike‌ ‌from‌ ‌the‌ ‌colossal‌ ‌sword‌ ‌would‌ ‌break‌ ‌bones‌ ‌and‌ ‌rupture‌ ‌organs.‌

‌ ‌The‌ ‌giant’s‌ ‌swing‌ ‌was‌ ‌not‌ ‌a‌ ‌wild‌ ‌one.‌ ‌Although‌ ‌it‌ ‌would‌ ‌have‌ ‌been‌ ‌easy‌ ‌to‌ ‌expect‌ ‌a‌ ‌brutish‌ ‌brawler‌ ‌from‌ ‌the‌ ‌fighter’s‌ ‌size‌ ‌and‌ ‌armament,‌ ‌it‌ ‌took‌ ‌far‌ ‌more‌ ‌than‌ ‌brute‌ ‌force‌ ‌to‌ ‌fell‌ ‌four‌ ‌Sultansworn.‌ ‌In‌ ‌the‌ ‌giant’s‌ ‌massive‌ ‌fist,‌ ‌the‌ ‌enormous‌ ‌sword‌ ‌almost‌ ‌seemed‌ ‌feather-light,‌ ‌and‌ ‌it‌ ‌took‌ ‌only‌ ‌a‌ ‌sharp‌ ‌turn‌ ‌of‌ ‌the‌ ‌wrist‌ ‌for‌ ‌the‌ ‌giant‌ ‌to‌ ‌reverse‌ ‌the‌ ‌slash‌ ‌almost‌ ‌as‌ ‌soon‌ ‌as‌ ‌it‌ ‌reached‌ ‌the‌ ‌end‌ ‌of‌ ‌one‌ ‌arc‌ ‌to‌ ‌begin‌ ‌a‌ ‌second.‌ ‌Once‌ ‌again,‌ ‌Ashe‌ ‌was‌ ‌forced‌ ‌to‌ ‌move‌ ‌to‌ ‌keep‌ ‌his‌ ‌head‌ ‌attached‌ ‌to‌ ‌his‌ ‌shoulders.‌ ‌This‌ ‌time,‌ ‌however,‌ ‌raised‌ ‌his‌ ‌own‌ ‌sword‌ ‌to‌ ‌catch‌ ‌the‌ ‌very‌ ‌tip‌ ‌of‌ ‌the‌ ‌giant’s‌ ‌blade‌ ‌on‌ ‌the‌ ‌shoulder‌ ‌of‌ ‌his‌ ‌crossguard;‌ ‌the‌ ‌point‌ ‌at‌ ‌which‌ ‌Ashe‌ ‌had‌ ‌the‌ ‌greatest‌ ‌control‌ ‌meeting‌ ‌the‌ ‌point‌ ‌where‌ ‌his‌ ‌opponent‌ ‌had‌ ‌the‌ ‌least,‌ ‌pushing‌ ‌upward‌ ‌to‌ ‌knock‌ ‌the‌ ‌gigantic‌ ‌sword‌ ‌to‌ ‌one‌ ‌side‌ ‌and‌ ‌produce‌ ‌an‌ ‌opening‌ ‌for‌ ‌Raimond‌ ‌and‌ ‌himself‌ ‌to‌ ‌press‌ ‌forward.‌

‌As‌ ‌one,‌ ‌the‌ ‌two‌ ‌went‌ ‌on‌ ‌the‌ ‌offensive‌ ‌and‌ ‌the‌ ‌giant‌ ‌quickly‌ ‌learned‌ ‌that‌ ‌it‌ ‌was‌ ‌dealing‌ ‌with‌ ‌a‌ ‌different‌ ‌breed‌ ‌of‌ ‌Sultansworn.The‌ ‌giant’s‌ ‌armour‌ ‌was‌ ‌thick,‌ ‌yet‌ ‌all‌ ‌armour‌ ‌had‌ ‌the‌ ‌same‌ ‌basic‌ ‌vulnerabilities‌ ‌-‌ ‌the‌ ‌neck,‌ ‌the‌ ‌armpits,‌ ‌the‌ ‌inside‌ ‌of‌ ‌the‌ ‌joints.‌ ‌Every‌ ‌point‌ ‌of‌ ‌flexibility‌ ‌within‌ ‌the‌ ‌metal‌ ‌suit‌ ‌represented‌ ‌a‌ ‌target,‌ ‌and‌ ‌with‌ ‌two‌ ‌elite‌ ‌Sultansworn‌ ‌attacking‌ ‌from‌ ‌either‌ ‌side,‌ ‌the‌ ‌gigantic‌ ‌intruder‌ ‌was‌ ‌forced‌ ‌quickly‌ ‌onto‌ ‌the‌ ‌offensive,‌ ‌half-swording‌ ‌its‌ ‌huge‌ ‌weapon‌ ‌to‌ ‌fend‌ ‌off‌ ‌the‌ ‌lightning‌ ‌fast‌ ‌onslaught‌ ‌from‌ ‌both‌ ‌Ashe‌ ‌and‌ ‌Raimond‌ ‌working‌ ‌in‌ ‌concert.‌

‌Ashe‌ ‌grit‌ ‌his‌ ‌teeth,‌ ‌the‌ ‌sword‌ ‌finding‌ ‌armoured‌ ‌plates‌ ‌more‌ ‌than‌ ‌it‌ ‌found‌ ‌anything‌ ‌softer‌ ‌underneath.‌ ‌Yet‌ ‌with‌ ‌each‌ ‌strike,‌ ‌he‌ ‌and‌ ‌Raimond‌ ‌pushed‌ ‌forward,‌ ‌the‌ ‌two‌ ‌Sultansworn‌ ‌weaving‌ ‌a‌ ‌dazzling‌ ‌web‌ ‌of‌ ‌cuts‌ ‌and‌ ‌thrusts‌ ‌that,‌ ‌for‌ ‌all‌ ‌the‌ ‌giant’s‌ ‌efforts,‌ ‌were‌ ‌landed‌ ‌more‌ ‌often‌ ‌than‌ ‌they‌ ‌were‌ ‌parried.‌ ‌Finally,‌ ‌Ashe‌ ‌felt‌ ‌the‌ ‌tip‌ ‌of‌ ‌his‌ ‌sword‌ ‌find‌ ‌its‌ ‌way‌ ‌past‌ ‌the‌ ‌thick‌ ‌metal‌ ‌of‌ ‌the‌ ‌giant’s‌ ‌breastplate,‌ ‌biting‌ ‌into‌ ‌something‌ ‌that‌ ‌had‌ ‌give.‌ ‌Wrenching‌ ‌his‌ ‌blade‌ ‌sharply‌ ‌to‌ ‌one‌ ‌side,‌ ‌his‌ ‌blade‌ ‌spat‌ ‌a‌ ‌wet‌ ‌splatter‌ ‌of‌ ‌crimson‌ ‌onto‌ ‌the‌ ‌nearby‌ ‌wall‌ ‌as‌ ‌it‌ ‌tore‌ ‌through‌ ‌the‌ ‌layer‌ ‌of‌ ‌boiled‌ ‌leather‌ ‌armour‌ ‌beneath‌ ‌the‌ ‌plates,‌ ‌slicing‌ ‌the‌ ‌flesh‌ ‌of‌ ‌the‌ ‌giant‌ ‌and‌ ‌severing‌ ‌one‌ ‌of‌ ‌the‌ ‌straps‌ ‌that‌ ‌held‌ ‌the‌ ‌two‌ ‌halves‌ ‌of‌ ‌the‌ ‌breastplate‌ ‌together.‌

‌The‌ ‌giant‌ ‌didn’t‌ ‌cry‌ ‌out,‌ ‌but‌ ‌Ashe‌ ‌felt‌ ‌certain‌ ‌he‌ ‌heard‌ ‌a‌ ‌hiss‌ ‌of‌ ‌pain‌ ‌through‌ ‌a‌ ‌clenched‌ ‌jaw;‌ ‌the‌ ‌first‌ ‌indication‌ ‌he‌ ‌had‌ ‌received‌ ‌from‌ ‌the‌ ‌huge‌ ‌warrior‌ ‌that‌ ‌they‌ ‌were‌ ‌even‌ ‌flesh‌ ‌and‌ ‌blood‌ ‌beneath‌ ‌their‌ ‌formidable‌ ‌armour.‌ ‌The‌ ‌giant‌ ‌staggered‌ ‌backwards‌ ‌a‌ ‌few‌ ‌steps,‌ ‌but‌ ‌even‌ ‌in‌ ‌retreat‌ ‌it‌ ‌maintained‌ ‌its‌ ‌composure‌ ‌-‌ ‌grasping‌ ‌both‌ ‌hands‌ ‌around‌ ‌the‌ ‌hilt‌ ‌of‌ ‌its‌ ‌sword‌ ‌for‌ ‌a‌ ‌defensive‌ ‌slash‌ ‌of‌ ‌such‌ ‌power‌ ‌and‌ ‌ferocity‌ ‌that‌ ‌Ashe‌ ‌and‌ ‌Raimond‌ ‌were‌ ‌forced‌ ‌to‌ ‌withdraw‌ ‌themselves‌ ‌rather‌ ‌than‌ ‌press‌ ‌the‌ ‌advantage.‌

‌The‌ ‌giant’s‌ ‌shoulders‌ ‌heaved‌ ‌as‌ ‌it‌ ‌assumed‌ ‌a‌ ‌defensive‌ ‌stance,‌ ‌still‌ ‌holding‌ ‌its‌ ‌sword‌ ‌in‌ ‌both‌ ‌hands.‌ ‌Ashe‌ ‌and‌ ‌Raimond‌ ‌risked‌ ‌a‌ ‌brief‌ ‌exchange‌ ‌of‌ ‌glances,‌ ‌making‌ ‌sure‌ ‌that‌ ‌the‌ ‌other‌ ‌was‌ ‌fine;‌ ‌neither‌ ‌Sultansworn‌ ‌was‌ ‌labouring‌ ‌in‌ ‌their‌ ‌breathing‌ ‌yet.‌ ‌Superbly‌ ‌trained‌ ‌and‌ ‌conditioned,‌ ‌both‌ ‌men‌ ‌knew‌ ‌that‌ ‌a‌ ‌prolonged‌ ‌fight‌ ‌favoured‌ ‌them‌ ‌more‌ ‌than‌ ‌the‌ ‌enemy.‌ ‌Even‌ ‌if‌ ‌Ashe’s‌ ‌shouted‌ ‌alarm‌ ‌had‌ ‌gone‌ ‌unheard,‌ ‌the‌ ‌loud‌ ‌ringing‌ ‌of‌ ‌sword‌ ‌on‌ ‌armour‌ ‌could‌ ‌not‌ ‌be‌ ‌easily‌ ‌missed.‌ ‌They‌ ‌made‌ ‌no‌ ‌move‌ ‌to‌ ‌advance,‌ ‌content‌ ‌to‌ ‌wile‌ ‌away‌ ‌the‌ ‌seconds‌ ‌as‌ ‌the‌ ‌giant‌ ‌-‌ ‌carrying‌ ‌the‌ ‌enormous‌ ‌weight‌ ‌of‌ ‌its‌ ‌armour‌ ‌and‌ ‌weapon‌ ‌-‌ ‌sucked‌ ‌in‌ ‌lungfuls‌ ‌of‌ ‌air.‌

‌“That’s‌ ‌enough.”‌

‌Ashe’s‌ ‌gaze‌ ‌twitched‌ ‌to‌ ‌the‌ ‌corridor‌ ‌behind‌ ‌the‌ ‌giant’s‌ ‌bulky‌ ‌frame,‌ ‌his‌ ‌attention‌ ‌drawn‌ ‌as‌ ‌the‌ ‌smaller‌ ‌of‌ ‌the‌ ‌two‌ ‌figures‌ ‌-‌ ‌who‌ ‌had‌ ‌not‌ ‌moved‌ ‌since‌ ‌the‌ ‌fight‌ ‌had‌ ‌begun‌ ‌-‌ ‌suddenly‌ ‌spoke.‌ ‌As‌ ‌Ashe‌ ‌had‌ ‌suspected‌ ‌from‌ ‌her‌ ‌profile,‌ ‌the‌ ‌voice‌ ‌was‌ ‌indeed‌ ‌that‌ ‌of‌ ‌a‌ ‌woman;‌ ‌husky‌ ‌and‌ ‌rich,‌ ‌laced‌ ‌with‌ ‌the‌ ‌accent‌ ‌of‌ ‌Ul’dah.‌

‌ ‌“Your‌ ‌opponents‌ ‌are‌ ‌Ashe‌ ‌Vander‌ ‌and‌ ‌Mauger‌ ‌Raimond,”‌ ‌she‌ ‌murmured,‌ ‌her‌ ‌voice‌ ‌carrying‌ ‌easily‌ ‌from‌ ‌behind‌ ‌her‌ ‌white‌ ‌mask.‌ ‌“Even‌ ‌you‌ ‌would‌ ‌be‌ ‌hard‌ ‌pressed‌ ‌to‌ ‌win‌ ‌this‌ ‌fight.’‌

‌“It‌ ‌would‌ ‌be‌ ‌better,”‌ ‌she‌ ‌continued,‌ ‌her‌ ‌right‌ ‌hand‌ ‌drifting‌ ‌with‌ ‌deliberate‌ ‌purpose‌ ‌towards‌ ‌the‌ ‌handle‌ ‌of‌ ‌a‌ ‌weapon‌ ‌strapped‌ ‌across‌ ‌her‌ ‌back‌ ‌that‌ ‌Ashe‌ ‌had,‌ ‌until‌ ‌now,‌ ‌not‌ ‌noticed,‌ ‌“if‌ ‌I‌ ‌take‌ ‌care‌ ‌of‌ ‌this.”‌

‌It‌ ‌would‌ ‌be‌ ‌inaccurate‌ ‌to‌ ‌say‌ ‌that‌ ‌Ashe‌ ‌didn’t‌ ‌see‌ ‌the‌ ‌woman‌ ‌move.‌ ‌He‌ ‌certainly‌ ‌‌saw‌ ‌‌it;‌ ‌a‌ ‌swift‌ ‌moving‌ ‌blur‌ ‌of‌ ‌shimmering‌ ‌weight‌ ‌that‌ ‌darted‌ ‌forward,‌ ‌low‌ ‌to‌ ‌the‌ ‌ground‌ ‌and‌ ‌bridging‌ ‌the‌ ‌several‌ ‌yards‌ ‌between‌ ‌her‌ ‌and‌ ‌the‌ ‌Sultansworn‌ ‌in‌ ‌the‌ ‌space‌ ‌of‌ ‌a‌ ‌heartbeat.‌ ‌But‌ ‌his‌ ‌eyes‌ ‌were‌ ‌faster‌ ‌than‌ ‌his‌ ‌body;‌ ‌by‌ ‌the‌ ‌time‌ ‌he‌ ‌turned‌ ‌his‌ ‌head‌ ‌to‌ ‌follow‌ ‌her‌ ‌line‌ ‌of‌ ‌attack,‌ ‌he‌ ‌already‌ ‌felt‌ ‌the‌ ‌warm‌ ‌wetness‌ ‌of‌ ‌Raimond’s‌ ‌blood‌ ‌splattering‌ ‌across‌ ‌his‌ ‌cheek.‌

‌By‌ ‌his‌ ‌side,‌ ‌the‌ ‌older‌ ‌knight‌ ‌almost‌ ‌seemed‌ ‌to‌ ‌wither;‌ ‌his‌ ‌legs‌ ‌buckling‌ ‌as‌ ‌he‌ ‌tilted‌ ‌forward.‌ ‌Deep‌ ‌crimson‌ ‌spurting‌ ‌like‌ ‌a‌ ‌fountain‌ ‌from‌ ‌an‌ ‌opening‌ ‌in‌ ‌his‌ ‌neck‌ ‌as‌ ‌a‌ ‌single‌ ‌well‌ ‌placed‌ ‌strike‌ ‌carved‌ ‌past‌ ‌his‌ ‌defensive‌ ‌posture‌ ‌and‌ ‌found‌ ‌its‌ ‌mark‌ ‌on‌ ‌the‌ ‌single‌ ‌most‌ ‌vulnerable‌ ‌point.‌ ‌Beyond‌ ‌the‌ ‌falling‌ ‌knight,‌ ‌Ashe’s‌ ‌eyes‌ ‌caught‌ ‌up‌ ‌with‌ ‌their‌ ‌attacker.‌ ‌Standing‌ ‌on‌ ‌the‌ ‌opposite‌ ‌side‌ ‌of‌ ‌the‌ ‌elderly‌ ‌warrior,‌ ‌the‌ ‌white-clad‌ ‌woman‌ ‌had‌ ‌already‌ ‌raised‌ ‌her‌ ‌weapon‌ ‌towards‌ ‌him,‌ ‌stretching‌ ‌out‌ ‌an‌ ‌arm‌ ‌over‌ ‌the‌ ‌back‌ ‌of‌ ‌Raimond‌ ‌even‌ ‌as‌ ‌he‌ ‌continued‌ ‌to‌ ‌fall.‌

‌Ashe‌ ‌had‌ ‌only‌ ‌a‌ ‌split‌ ‌second‌ ‌to‌ ‌process‌ ‌the‌ ‌sight‌ ‌of‌ ‌the‌ ‌weapon‌ ‌that‌ ‌was‌ ‌pointed‌ ‌at‌ ‌him.‌ ‌The‌ ‌flickering‌ ‌torch‌ ‌light‌ ‌washed‌ ‌across‌ ‌three‌ ‌full‌ ‌feet‌ ‌of‌ ‌polished‌ ‌metal,‌ ‌a‌ ‌wide,‌ ‌flat,‌ ‌single‌ ‌edged‌ ‌blade‌ ‌nested‌ ‌beneath‌ ‌a‌ ‌long‌ ‌barrel,‌ ‌feeding‌ ‌into‌ ‌a‌ ‌heavy,‌ ‌cylindrical‌ ‌contraption‌ ‌near‌ ‌the‌ ‌curved‌ ‌handle‌ ‌held‌ ‌in‌ ‌the‌ ‌woman’s‌ ‌black‌ ‌gloved‌ ‌fist.‌

‌‘Gunblade!’‌

‌ ‌The‌ ‌word‌ ‌flashed‌ ‌through‌ ‌Ashe’s‌ ‌mind‌ ‌as‌ ‌he‌ ‌realized‌ ‌that‌ ‌the‌ ‌barrel‌ ‌of‌ ‌the‌ ‌weapon‌ ‌was‌ ‌aimed‌ ‌directly‌ ‌for‌ ‌him‌ ‌and‌ ‌he‌ ‌instantly‌ ‌threw‌ ‌his‌ ‌weight‌ ‌to‌ ‌one‌ ‌side;‌ ‌his‌ ‌body‌ ‌tilting‌ ‌sharply‌ ‌to‌ ‌avoid‌ ‌the‌ ‌round‌ ‌that‌ ‌exploded‌ ‌from‌ ‌the‌ ‌weapon’s‌ ‌rotating‌ ‌chamber,‌ ‌up‌ ‌the‌ ‌length‌ ‌of‌ ‌the‌ ‌blade‌ ‌and‌ ‌thundering‌ ‌into‌ ‌the‌ ‌stone‌ ‌wall‌ ‌where,‌ ‌moments‌ ‌earlier,‌ ‌Ashe’s‌ ‌head‌ ‌had‌ ‌been.‌

‌The‌ ‌eruption‌ ‌of‌ ‌light‌ ‌and‌ ‌sound‌ ‌was‌ ‌enough‌ ‌to‌ ‌momentarily‌ ‌stun‌ ‌Ashe;‌ ‌the‌ ‌weapon‌ ‌firing‌ ‌at‌ ‌near‌ ‌point‌ ‌blank‌ ‌range.‌ ‌His‌ ‌ears‌ ‌ringing‌ ‌and‌ ‌his‌ ‌vision‌ ‌blurred,‌ ‌it‌ ‌was‌ ‌all‌ ‌he‌ ‌could‌ ‌do‌ ‌to‌ ‌awkwardly‌ ‌raise‌ ‌his‌ ‌sword‌ ‌as‌ ‌he‌ ‌saw‌ ‌the‌ ‌flash‌ ‌of‌ ‌light‌ ‌against‌ ‌metal‌ ‌hurtling‌ ‌towards‌ ‌him‌ ‌through‌ ‌the‌ ‌haze.‌

‌The‌ ‌gunblade‌ ‌struck‌ ‌his‌ ‌sword‌ ‌and‌ ‌the‌ ‌impact‌ ‌of‌ ‌the‌ ‌blow‌ ‌knocked‌ ‌Ashe‌ ‌backwards,‌ ‌his‌ ‌shoulders‌ ‌striking‌ ‌the‌ ‌wall.‌ ‌He‌ ‌grimaced,‌ ‌his‌ ‌own‌ ‌pulse‌ ‌now‌ ‌the‌ ‌loudest‌ ‌thing‌ ‌he‌ ‌could‌ ‌hear‌ ‌as‌ ‌she‌ ‌shook‌ ‌himself‌ ‌roughly‌ ‌to‌ ‌try‌ ‌and‌ ‌clear‌ ‌his‌ ‌vision,‌ ‌holding‌ ‌his‌ ‌sword‌ ‌hilt‌ ‌tightly‌ ‌to‌ ‌push‌ ‌back‌ ‌against‌ ‌the‌ ‌blade‌ ‌of‌ ‌his‌ ‌opponent.‌

‌As‌ ‌his‌ ‌eyes‌ ‌began‌ ‌to‌ ‌focus‌ ‌once‌ ‌more,‌ ‌he‌ ‌found‌ ‌his‌ ‌opponent‌ ‌holding‌ ‌her‌ ‌gunblade‌ ‌in‌ ‌one‌ ‌hand,‌ ‌the‌ ‌long‌ ‌blade‌ ‌emitting‌ ‌a‌ ‌warm‌ ‌jet‌ ‌of‌ ‌steam‌ ‌and‌ ‌smoke‌ ‌after‌ ‌firing‌ ‌off‌ ‌a‌ ‌round.‌ ‌The‌ ‌two‌ ‌weapons‌ ‌braced‌ ‌against‌ ‌each‌ ‌other,‌ ‌Ashe‌ ‌snarled‌ ‌as‌ ‌he‌ ‌pushed‌ ‌himself‌ ‌away‌ ‌from‌ ‌the‌ ‌wall‌ ‌in‌ ‌an‌ ‌attempt‌ ‌to‌ ‌overpower‌ ‌his‌ ‌far‌ ‌smaller‌ ‌opponent.‌ ‌However‌ ‌the‌ ‌woman‌ ‌smartly‌ ‌sidestepped,‌ ‌a‌ ‌few‌ ‌casual‌ ‌steps‌ ‌taking‌ ‌her‌ ‌out‌ ‌of‌ ‌Ashe’s‌ ‌path‌ ‌as‌ ‌she‌ ‌used‌ ‌the‌ ‌connection‌ ‌between‌ ‌their‌ ‌blades‌ ‌like‌ ‌the‌ ‌central‌ ‌pole‌ ‌of‌ ‌a‌ ‌carousel,‌ ‌the‌ ‌two‌ ‌fights‌ ‌rotating‌ ‌around‌ ‌each;‌ ‌one‌ ‌in‌ ‌a‌ ‌smooth,‌ ‌controlled‌ ‌motion,‌ ‌the‌ ‌other‌ ‌in‌ ‌a‌ ‌lurching,‌ ‌half-controlled‌ ‌charged.‌

‌See-sawing‌ ‌her‌ ‌weapon‌ ‌around‌ ‌the‌ ‌connecting‌ ‌point‌ ‌of‌ ‌the‌ ‌two‌ ‌blades,‌ ‌the‌ ‌woman‌ ‌rammed‌ ‌the‌ ‌weapon’s‌ ‌handle‌ ‌into‌ ‌Ashe’s‌ ‌midriff‌ ‌and‌ ‌he‌ ‌sputtered‌ ‌as‌ ‌the‌ ‌wind‌ ‌was‌ ‌knocked‌ ‌from‌ ‌him.‌ ‌It‌ ‌was‌ ‌a‌ ‌blow‌ ‌delivered‌ ‌by‌ ‌someone‌ ‌who‌ ‌knew‌ ‌exactly‌ ‌where‌ ‌and‌ ‌how‌ ‌to‌ ‌hit,‌ ‌aimed‌ ‌in‌ ‌a‌ ‌precise‌ ‌and‌ ‌surgical‌ ‌manner‌ ‌to‌ ‌find‌ ‌the‌ ‌narrow‌ ‌gap‌ ‌between‌ ‌his‌ ‌breastplate‌ ‌and‌ ‌fauld‌ ‌and‌ ‌strike‌ ‌at‌ ‌his‌ ‌liver.‌ ‌Ashe‌ ‌doubled‌ ‌over‌ ‌in‌ ‌pain,‌ ‌very‌ ‌nearly‌ ‌blacking‌ ‌out‌ ‌as‌ ‌the‌ ‌woman’s‌ ‌empty‌ ‌hand‌ ‌grabbed‌ ‌a‌ ‌handful‌ ‌of‌ ‌his‌ ‌hair‌ ‌and‌ ‌used‌ ‌the‌ ‌momentum‌ ‌of‌ ‌his‌ ‌own‌ ‌charge‌ ‌to‌ ‌send‌ ‌Ashe‌ ‌forehead‌ ‌first‌ ‌into‌ ‌the‌ ‌very‌ ‌wall‌ ‌he‌ ‌had‌ ‌been‌ ‌hoping‌ ‌to‌ ‌drive‌ ‌her‌ ‌against.‌

‌Ashe‌ ‌slumped‌ ‌against‌ ‌the‌ ‌wall,‌ ‌his‌ ‌legs‌ ‌almost‌ ‌surrendering‌ ‌as‌ ‌she‌ ‌struggled‌ ‌to‌ ‌stay‌ ‌upright.‌ ‌He‌ ‌became‌ ‌aware‌ ‌of‌ ‌a‌ ‌warm‌ ‌trickle‌ ‌of‌ ‌blood‌ ‌snaking‌ ‌its‌ ‌way‌ ‌down‌ ‌the‌ ‌bridge‌ ‌of‌ ‌his‌ ‌nose‌ ‌from‌ ‌a‌ ‌gash‌ ‌that‌ ‌had‌ ‌been‌ ‌opened‌ ‌in‌ ‌his‌ ‌forehead,‌ ‌the‌ ‌scent‌ ‌of‌ ‌his‌ ‌own‌ ‌blood‌ ‌filling‌ ‌his‌ ‌nostrils‌ ‌was‌ ‌enough‌ ‌to‌ ‌rouse‌ ‌him,‌ ‌barely,‌ ‌and‌ ‌keep‌ ‌him‌ ‌conscious.‌ ‌Rolling‌ ‌against‌ ‌the‌ ‌wall‌ ‌to‌ ‌face‌ ‌his‌ ‌attacker,‌ ‌he‌ ‌found‌ ‌her‌ ‌standing‌ ‌stock‌ ‌still‌ ‌behind‌ ‌him,‌ ‌both‌ ‌her‌ ‌arms‌ ‌at‌ ‌her‌ ‌side‌ ‌as‌ ‌though‌ ‌waiting‌ ‌for‌ ‌him‌ ‌to‌ ‌respond.‌ ‌Out‌ ‌of‌ ‌the‌ ‌corner‌ ‌of‌ ‌his‌ ‌eye,‌ ‌he‌ ‌could‌ ‌see‌ ‌the‌ ‌enormous‌ ‌shape‌ ‌of‌ ‌the‌ ‌armoured‌ ‌giant,‌ ‌looking‌ ‌on‌ ‌passively.‌

‌He‌ ‌could‌ ‌see‌ ‌her‌ ‌eyes‌ ‌now.‌ ‌Through‌ ‌narrow‌ ‌slits‌ ‌in‌ ‌the‌ ‌white‌ ‌mask,‌ ‌he‌ ‌beheld‌ ‌a‌ ‌pair‌ ‌of‌ ‌pale‌ ‌iris‌ ‌that‌ ‌sparkled‌ ‌in‌ ‌the‌ ‌lamplight.‌ ‌Pinpricks‌ ‌of‌ ‌golden‌ ‌amber‌ ‌that‌ ‌looked‌ ‌on‌ ‌him‌ ‌the‌ ‌same‌ ‌way‌ ‌a‌ ‌hawk‌ ‌might‌ ‌look‌ ‌upon‌ ‌a‌ ‌mouse.‌ ‌Huffing‌ ‌in‌ ‌air,‌ ‌his‌ ‌breastplate‌ ‌feeling‌ ‌unnaturally‌ ‌tight‌ ‌and‌ ‌constrictive‌ ‌as‌ ‌the‌ ‌effects‌ ‌of‌ ‌the‌ ‌liver‌ ‌shot‌ ‌continued‌ ‌to‌ ‌wrack‌ ‌his‌ ‌body,‌ ‌Ashe‌ ‌mustered‌ ‌his‌ ‌strength‌ ‌to‌ ‌attack‌ ‌again.‌

‌Clenching‌ ‌his‌ ‌jaw,‌ ‌he‌ ‌surged‌ ‌forward‌ ‌once‌ ‌more.‌ ‌Swinging‌ ‌his‌ ‌sword‌ ‌in‌ ‌both‌ ‌hands,‌ ‌he‌ ‌carved‌ ‌the‌ ‌weapon‌ ‌in‌ ‌a‌ ‌sweeping‌ ‌figure‌ ‌of‌ ‌eight‌ ‌first‌ ‌low,‌ ‌then‌ ‌high,‌ ‌attempting‌ ‌to‌ ‌open‌ ‌up‌ ‌the‌ ‌woman’s‌ ‌slender‌ ‌body‌ ‌from‌ ‌hip‌ ‌to‌ ‌shoulder.‌ ‌But‌ ‌his‌ ‌white-clad‌ ‌target‌ ‌merely‌ ‌stepped‌ ‌backwards,‌ ‌evading‌ ‌his‌ ‌slashes‌ ‌with‌ ‌the‌ ‌casual‌ ‌grace‌ ‌of‌ ‌a‌ ‌dancer.‌ ‌Ashe‌ ‌continued‌ ‌his‌ ‌advance,‌ ‌bringing‌ ‌his‌ ‌sword‌ ‌overhead‌ ‌for‌ ‌an‌ ‌aggressive‌ ‌downward‌ ‌slash.‌ ‌But‌ ‌no‌ ‌sooner‌ ‌was‌ ‌his‌ ‌sword‌ ‌raised‌ ‌than‌ ‌his‌ ‌opponent‌ ‌stepped‌ ‌forward,‌ ‌raising‌ ‌her‌ ‌gunblade‌ ‌to‌ ‌arrest‌ ‌his‌ ‌sword‌ ‌in‌ ‌place‌ ‌before‌ ‌he‌ ‌could‌ ‌begin‌ ‌his‌ ‌strike‌ ‌as‌ ‌the‌ ‌woman’s‌ ‌free‌ ‌hand‌ ‌darted‌ ‌in-and-out‌ ‌in‌ ‌a‌ ‌lightning‌ ‌fast‌ ‌underarm‌ ‌blow‌ ‌that‌ ‌crunched‌ ‌into‌ ‌the‌ ‌exact‌ ‌same‌ ‌spot‌ ‌she‌ ‌had‌ ‌previously‌ ‌struck‌ ‌him‌ ‌with‌ ‌her‌ ‌weapon‌ ‌handle.‌

‌If‌ ‌the‌ ‌first‌ ‌liver‌ ‌shot‌ ‌had‌ ‌hurt,‌ ‌the‌ ‌second‌ ‌one‌ ‌was‌ ‌blinding.‌ ‌This‌ ‌time,‌ ‌Ashe’s‌ ‌legs‌ ‌did‌ ‌give‌ ‌out‌ ‌and‌ ‌he‌ ‌tumbled‌ ‌to‌ ‌his‌ ‌knees,‌ ‌very‌ ‌nearly‌ ‌sprawling‌ ‌over‌ ‌the‌ ‌top‌ ‌of‌ ‌Raimond,‌ ‌who‌ ‌had‌ ‌not‌ ‌stirred‌ ‌since‌ ‌falling.‌ ‌Ashe’s‌ ‌mouth‌ ‌opened‌ ‌to‌ ‌try‌ ‌and‌ ‌cry‌ ‌out‌ ‌in‌ ‌pain,‌ ‌but‌ ‌he‌ ‌hadn’t‌ ‌the‌ ‌breath‌ ‌in‌ ‌his‌ ‌lungs‌ ‌to‌ ‌do‌ ‌so;‌ ‌instead‌ ‌he‌ ‌merely‌ ‌ejected‌ ‌a‌ ‌few‌ ‌specks‌ ‌of‌ ‌blood‌ ‌from‌ ‌his‌ ‌open‌ ‌mouth‌ ‌onto‌ ‌the‌ ‌polished‌ ‌armour‌ ‌of‌ ‌his‌ ‌fallen‌ ‌companion.‌

‌ ‌This‌ ‌time,‌ ‌there‌ ‌would‌ ‌be‌ ‌no‌ ‌getting‌ ‌up.‌ ‌He‌ ‌doubted‌ ‌he‌ ‌could‌ ‌will‌ ‌his‌ ‌limbs‌ ‌to‌ ‌move,‌ ‌his‌ ‌body‌ ‌on‌ ‌the‌ ‌point‌ ‌of‌ ‌shutting‌ ‌down.‌ ‌Darkness‌ ‌encroached‌ ‌on‌ ‌the‌ ‌edges‌ ‌of‌ ‌his‌ ‌vision‌ ‌as‌ ‌he‌ ‌turned‌ ‌his‌ ‌head‌ ‌to‌ ‌look‌ ‌up‌ ‌at‌ ‌the‌ ‌woman‌ ‌who‌ ‌had‌ ‌felled‌ ‌him,‌ ‌looming‌ ‌overhead‌ ‌and‌ ‌looking‌ ‌down‌ ‌at‌ ‌him‌ ‌with‌ ‌the‌ ‌same‌ ‌predatory,‌ ‌golden‌ ‌eyes.‌

‌ ‌Slowly,‌ ‌deliberately,‌ ‌the‌ ‌woman‌ ‌leveled‌ ‌her‌ ‌gunblade‌ ‌towards‌ ‌him.‌ ‌For‌ ‌the‌ ‌second‌ ‌time,‌ ‌Ashe‌ ‌found‌ ‌himself‌ ‌facing‌ ‌down‌ ‌the‌ ‌weapon’s‌ ‌barrel,‌ ‌and‌ ‌this‌ ‌time‌ ‌he‌ ‌lacked‌ ‌the‌ ‌strength‌ ‌to‌ ‌move‌ ‌out‌ ‌of‌ ‌the‌ ‌way.‌

‌ ‌So‌ ‌this‌ ‌was‌ ‌how‌ ‌he‌ ‌was‌ ‌going‌ ‌to‌ ‌die.‌

‌Second‌ ‌passed,‌ ‌the‌ ‌barrel‌ ‌of‌ ‌the‌ ‌gunblade‌ ‌unwavering.‌ ‌Ashe’s‌ ‌eyes‌ ‌remained‌ ‌focused‌ ‌on‌ ‌those‌ ‌that‌ ‌glared‌ ‌down‌ ‌at‌ ‌him‌ ‌from‌ ‌behind‌ ‌the‌ ‌mask,‌ ‌bracing‌ ‌himself‌ ‌for‌ ‌the‌ ‌lethal‌ ‌blow‌ ‌that‌ ‌its‌ ‌slowly‌ ‌dawned‌ ‌on‌ ‌him‌ ‌was‌ ‌not‌ ‌coming.‌ ‌Though‌ ‌the‌ ‌woman’s‌ ‌finger‌ ‌rested‌ ‌on‌ ‌the‌ ‌trigger,‌ ‌she‌ ‌didn’t‌ ‌fire.‌

‌The‌ ‌distant‌ ‌rattle‌ ‌of‌ ‌armour‌ ‌and‌ ‌the‌ ‌sound‌ ‌of‌ ‌shouting‌ ‌voices‌ ‌echoed‌ ‌down‌ ‌the‌ ‌corridor,‌ ‌and‌ ‌the‌ ‌woman‌ ‌turned‌ ‌away‌ ‌from‌ ‌him‌ ‌for‌ ‌the‌ ‌first‌ ‌time‌ ‌to‌ ‌look‌ ‌towards‌ ‌the‌ ‌sound.‌ ‌Ashe‌ ‌heard‌ ‌it‌ ‌to,‌ ‌and‌ ‌his‌ ‌confusion‌ ‌as‌ ‌to‌ ‌why‌ ‌he‌ ‌was‌ ‌still‌ ‌alive‌ ‌was‌ ‌quickly‌ ‌forgotten‌ ‌as‌ ‌he‌ ‌experienced‌ ‌a‌ ‌rush‌ ‌of‌ ‌relief.‌ ‌His‌ ‌brothers‌ ‌and‌ ‌sisters‌ ‌of‌ ‌the‌ ‌Sultansworn‌ ‌were‌ ‌coming,‌ ‌and‌ ‌by‌ ‌the‌ ‌sound‌ ‌of‌ ‌it‌ ‌they‌ ‌were‌ ‌coming‌ ‌in‌ ‌such‌ ‌numbers‌ ‌that‌ ‌even‌ ‌the‌ ‌two‌ ‌formidable‌ ‌intruders‌ ‌could‌ ‌not‌ ‌possibly‌ ‌fight‌ ‌them‌ ‌all.‌

‌The‌ ‌masked‌ ‌woman‌ ‌appeared‌ ‌to‌ ‌come‌ ‌to‌ ‌the‌ ‌same‌ ‌conclusion,‌ ‌and‌ ‌she‌ ‌quickly‌ ‌lowered‌ ‌her‌ ‌weapon‌ ‌and‌ ‌stepped‌ ‌over‌ ‌Ashe’s‌ ‌prone‌ ‌body,‌ ‌walking‌ ‌swiftly‌ ‌to‌ ‌rejoin‌ ‌her‌ ‌larger‌ ‌companion.‌

‌“We‌ ‌had‌ ‌best‌ ‌withdraw,”‌ ‌she‌ ‌addressed‌ ‌the‌ ‌giant,‌ ‌her‌ ‌footfalls‌ ‌clicking‌ ‌down‌ ‌the‌ ‌corridor‌ ‌away‌ ‌from‌ ‌Ashe,‌ ‌outside‌ ‌of‌ ‌his‌ ‌field‌ ‌of‌ ‌vision‌ ‌as‌ ‌he‌ ‌found‌ ‌himself‌ ‌unable‌ ‌to‌ ‌even‌ ‌turn‌ ‌his‌ ‌head‌ ‌to‌ ‌look.‌ ‌“Unless‌ ‌you‌ ‌think‌ ‌you‌ ‌can‌ ‌break‌ ‌down‌ ‌that‌ ‌door‌ ‌in‌ ‌the‌ ‌next‌ ‌ten‌ ‌seconds.”‌

‌If‌ ‌the‌ ‌giant‌ ‌replied,‌ ‌Ashe‌ ‌didn’t‌ ‌hear‌ ‌it.‌ ‌His‌ ‌head‌ ‌was‌ ‌screaming‌ ‌at‌ ‌him‌ ‌to‌ ‌close‌ ‌his‌ ‌eyes,‌ ‌and‌ ‌he‌ ‌had‌ ‌taken‌ ‌two‌ ‌blows‌ ‌to‌ ‌the‌ ‌liver,‌ ‌either‌ ‌one‌ ‌of‌ ‌which‌ ‌should‌ ‌have‌ ‌been‌ ‌enough‌ ‌to‌ ‌put‌ ‌a‌ ‌man‌ ‌on‌ ‌the‌ ‌ground.‌ ‌The‌ ‌fact‌ ‌he‌ ‌had‌ ‌remained‌ ‌on‌ ‌his‌ ‌feet‌ ‌was‌ ‌more‌ ‌an‌ ‌act‌ ‌of‌ ‌willpower‌ ‌than‌ ‌physical‌ ‌prowess,‌ ‌and‌ ‌now‌ ‌that‌ ‌the‌ ‌intruders‌ ‌were‌ ‌retreating‌ ‌his‌ ‌willpower‌ ‌was‌ ‌starting‌ ‌to‌ ‌fade.‌

‌As‌ ‌his‌ ‌vision‌ ‌faded‌ ‌to‌ ‌black,‌ ‌the‌ ‌last‌ ‌thing‌ ‌he‌ ‌saw‌ ‌was‌ ‌no‌ ‌less‌ ‌than‌ ‌fourteen‌ ‌Sultansworn‌ ‌rumbling‌ ‌around‌ ‌the‌ ‌corner.‌ ‌But‌ ‌by‌ ‌then‌ ‌the‌ ‌intruders‌ ‌were‌ ‌already‌ ‌gone.‌ ‌Slipping‌ ‌away‌ ‌as‌ ‌silently‌ ‌and‌ ‌inexplicably‌ ‌as‌ ‌they‌ ‌had‌ ‌arrived.‌

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