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The great hall of the palace of High Eyrie were abuzz with life and music as the highborn from the many noble houses of Avolon gathered together. Arranged among long dining tables decorated with soft white cloth bearing gold trimming, with a plethora of exotic dishes arranged artfully across its length. Between each dish stood a brass candelabra, providing light to the alluring feast that awaited the attendees. High above the gathered crowds, flying from the pillars, the flags of Avolon hung, adding their brilliant colours to the ball with the purple cross upon the white background, and at its center, the crimson crest bearing the Lo'Raven family sigil of the black wings and the golden crown.

At the far end of the room opposite the main doors, atop a marble dais, rested two ornately carved thrones of mahogany, decorated with gold and enamel along with the finest cushions for the comfort of the two who sat within them. On the right, the ruler of Avolon himself- King Christopher Lo'Raven II, dressed in his regal red attire with dark blue trousers lined with a thick red ribbon on the inside and out, and a vibrant red cloak worn about his shoulders decorated with fine white trimming.

At the side of the king, his beautiful wife and Queen of Avolon, Queen Annabelle. While her husband was of the raven species, Annabelle was a hoopoe. She had orange feathers in contrast to her husband, with a crest of feathers tipped with red forming a ridge over the top of her head. The bright colour of her feathers held her bright blue eyes stand out as she stared across the hall to the crowds gathered, hands resting against the front of her white dress. She reached out to take her husband's hand as they watched their guests enjoy themselves, the male raven smiling back at her.

Amidst the crowd was one who was the very image of both. Bearing the black feathers, yellow eyes and a similar fashion sense to his father but sharing the red-tipped crest of his mother -as well as preferring a longer style in the coat he wore- Avogadro was easily picked among the crowd. Still, he introduced himself to the guests, shaking hands with lords and lightly pecking the extended hands of their wives and daughters, he welcomed them all to the palace of High Eyrie.

As he wandered amongst the crowd, occasionally dodging a passing servant hurriedly moving to replenish the emptied plates and wine pitchers, Avogadro eventually managed to find a clear spot where he could move freely, and there he saw a figure that caught his eye. Standing by one of the support columns of the great hall, a red and gold female avian. He would have mistaken her for a hawk if not for her vibrant colours and the long antennae-like crest she bore, staring as one before splitting in two as it arched over the top of her head. She had sharp blue eyes that bore a kind, relaxed expression as she spoke with two other guests.

Though it was not her colour or crest that made her stand out, but her attire, for it was like none other worn in that room. She wore a long, crimson dress, cut above the chest to expose the shoulders and neck-barring the left, over which she wore a sash with a plaid pattern, arranged thus so as not to hinder the wings growing from the open back of the dress.

The guest to whom she spoke, Avogadro recognized. Lord Louise Mondiale of the House of Mondiale, located in the Garden District. What stood out about him from other avians was his lack of wings -Avogadro knew this was because of Lord Louise being, like the female he spoke to, a phoenix, but of the earth element. He had dark green feathers with a brown undertone, chestnut brown eyes and bore a lean figure telling of one more accustomed to politics. He wore a long, regal blue coat, open at the front to expose a pale shirt with gold, flowery patterns beneath and a white kerchief at his neck. Black trousers and snug-fitting white calf sleeves covered his legs.

At the side of Lord Louise was a girl of identical colourations to himself -and also lacking in wings. Avogadro was aware his lordship had fathered three daughters -two of which he had met before, though this one was newer to him. She had a bored look about her face, but she wore a stunning dark blue, form-fitting dress, low cut and suspended by a thread around the back of her neck. She wore two gold manacles over her wrists, but otherwise her arms were bare.

Louise looked up as Avogadro approached, beaming brightly as he saw the Prince. "Ah, Madame Ambassador, permit me the genuine pleasure of introducing his royal highness, crown Prince Avogadro," he said with a flamboyant tone, placing his arm around the red avian and gently turning her to face the prince.

"I have met him before, Lord Mondiale, but it is always a pleasure to see you my prince," the red avian - Degra of the MacAingeal Clan from the MacAingeal Peninsula, said to the prince, holding out her hand to him.

Avogadro gently reached forward, taking the ambassador's hand and lightly pecking the top of it. "The pleasure is mine, Madame Ambassador. I am pleased you could attend."

"And allow me to also introduce, your highness," Louise piped up once again, bringing forth the girl at his side. "My youngest daughter, Tsume. This is her first time at one of the grand balls -the silly girl prefers the woods to the splendor of your home! Can you imagine?"

Tsume respectfully lifted her gaze to meet that of Avogadro, who, without missing a beat replied to the nobleman. "Perhaps she feels more comfortable being around something more familiar?" He asked. "Your daughter looks as lush as the trees and as delicate as the flowers, yet deceivingly strong as an oak. The beauty of nature, and so too is the outdoors."

The young earth phoenix watched him with mild astonishment as he took her hand, leaning forward slowly and pecking the top of it, before lowering it back to her side. Louise watched him at every step, and when Avogadro regained his posture, the nobleman spoke again. "Your words bear a ring of truth, your highness," he said. "You're right -Avolon is a beautiful island. I should be more appreciative that my daughter loves that beauty so." He put his arm around Tsume's shoulders.

"Begging your pardon, Lord Mondiale," Degra spoke up. "Do you mind if I speak with the prince alone for a moment?"

"Not at all, Madame Ambassador," the nobleman returned, bowing respectfully before excusing himself and leading his daughter away. She stared back at Avory briefly, giving him a smile before turning her eyes forward to watch where she was walking.

Degra turned to Avory, folding her hands across her belly and bowing her head to him. "I must express my deepest gratitude to you, Prince Avogadro, for repealing my son's suspension from duty the other day. He wanted me to thank you on his behalf as well. Being allowed to return to duty was such a relief for him."

The Prince smiled at her, bowing his head lightly in return. "Thank you for your appreciation, but please, you did not have to worry. I did not choose my position in this world, I was simply born in it. So, I feel it is my duty to use the power I have been granted for something meaningful, just as your son did that night." He paused for a moment, letting his words sink in before he turned to Degra again.

"I know your son did not start that fire and there is fact to prove he didn't," Avory went on, affirmation in his voice. "It is a shame that our city is still so primitive and dismissing of other cultures if they cannot make money from them. This is something that I hope, one day, I will be able to correct."

Degra smiled warmly at him. "You shall make a fine king then, young prince," she said.

"Indeed, he shall."

The two turned, looking up to see a figure neither recognized stepping closer to them. The being, garbed in a golden bell dress with silvery lacing around the lower hem, the end of the long sleeves and around the collar blanketed her form, with a matching headdress resting atop her head between her ears. Ink-black flowing hair, combed straight and bearing a healthy shine to them, flowed out from beneath the headdress like water flowing around a stone, laying about her shoulders and on her back.

Though this was his first time laying eyes upon her, Avogadro knew immediately who he was speaking to. "Hello! You must be the Lycanthrian Ambassador," he said in a welcoming voice.

"I am," the wolfess returned before she proceeded to bow courteously, gripping the seams of her dress and lifting them as she lowered her head to the prince. "Asya Boleslav at your service, my prince. I represent the honorable Tsar Dobrilo Sergeyev."

As she rose, Avogadro and Degra both found themselves caught by her gaze, staring into those unusual, yet oddly alluring ruby red eyes of hers. They could read nothing about the woman from her expression or her gaze, yet both sensed hidden meaning behind those eyes. Avory felt a light chill creeping up his back and was thankful for the long sleeves of his coat, else the Lycanthrian Ambassador might see his feathers standing on end. Degra, however, seemed unmoved.

"A thousand apologies for my eavesdropping," the canid woman said. "I could not help overhearing the conversation," she turned to Degra, "or noticing that you bear a striking resemblance to an avian whom I met upon my arrival in Avolon."

"You must have met my son then," returned the MacAingeal ambassador. "A member of the Avolon Security Forces."

"I did," the wolf female replied. "If he was on suspension it is well that Prince Avogadro repealed it, for I may very well not be here today if he hadn't. Some assassins attacked us in the city and he was instrumental in repelling them."

Avogadro blinked at Asya, leaning forward. "A group of assassins? How terrible! Why would anyone target you?" He questioned, wearing a worried expression.

Asya shook her head. "Not I specifically, my prince," she returned. "But Lycanthria has made many enemies, I am sorry to say. It is likely these are remnants of a kingdom we fought in the past that learned of the coming of a Lycanthrian diplomat to the city. Perhaps they sought vengeance for a past defeat. I know no more than that."

"Oh no. I would hope that those 'remnants' do not cause you any more harm. But I must ask, which kingdom do you believe they were from?" He inquired. "My knowledge of Lycanthria is minimal, I confess, though I hope to correct that with your stay here."

Asya nodded in understanding before proceeding to answer Avogadro's question. "It is only a guess, but based upon their vulpine heritage, it is possible that they are from the city of Anapol," she suggested. "A few years ago, before my time as an ambassador, there was a dispute between our two kingdoms. Unfortunately, it escalated into conflict." She averted her gaze, putting a paw over her heart. "A most terrible thing, what my people did to that city. It is a small wonder that they would hate my people so."

Avogadro took a step forward. "I do apologize for asking," he said. "But what is written in the past cannot be changed -instead we must look to the future with forgiveness."

Asya smiled and nodded to him. "Of course, my prince," she said pleasantly. "Now, if you would excuse me, I believe I will sample some of that Avolonian wine. I have heard it is quite..." She trailed off, pausing mid-sentence and rolling her eyes aside. "Dear me, I seem to have lost the word I was looking for. No matter -it will come to me." She bowed to the prince and phoenix ambassador, before turning and making her way over to the dining table where pitchers of wine lay waiting.

Degra finally spoke up after several moments of silence, leaning closer to Avogadro and speaking low to him once she felt certain Asya was out of earshot. "If I may say so, your highness," he said, "I would keep my distance from that one."

"Why so, Madame MacAingeal?" Avogadro inquired, turning to her.

"I consider myself to be a fair judge of character," Degra began, "but from that woman, I can read nothing. No one is that unreadable unless they are deliberately trying to be so." She turned her eyes to Avory, her expression stern. "It may be nothing, but I trust my instincts. Please, be cautious."

Avogadro remained silent only for a moment before he nodded to her. "I will trust in your judgement. Thank you."

She bowed her head respectfully to him, excusing herself and leaving his side to resume meeting the guests and enjoying the ball. Avogadro returned to doing the same, subtly making his way across the hall as he greeted more guests, stopping once to sample the hors d'oeuvres at the table.

As the evening slowly passed, Avogadro went to the thrones, approaching his parents and informing them that he was feeling light-headed from the night's events. With his mother's leave, he turned to make his way out. He crossed the great hall, dodging around the crowding nobles, servants and other guests until his hand was finally able to grasp the door, exiting the room and stepping out into the corridor. The sounds of the many voices became muddled as he shut the door behind him, leaving him in the comfortable silence.

With a relieved sigh, he began to make his way down the hall to his left, to make his way to his bedchamber. As he rounded the corner, he looked back towards the great hall, having seen a flicker of something bright in colour pass across his peripheral vision. But he saw no one there and continued following the corridor to his room.

In the great hall, a few nobles began to inquire the whereabouts of the prince. One of them approaching Degra, having seen her with him moments before. "Pardon me, Madame Ambassador. Did you see where Prince Avogadro went? I was hoping to introduce him to my daughter," the nobleman asked.

"I believe he left," she replied. "Perhaps he went to rest."

The regally dressed avian let out a sigh. "Oh, bother," he said. "Next time, I suppose. Good evening, madame," he bade her before excusing himself and allowing her to return to the festivities.

~~~~~

Three days later...

As the recruits were led out into the yard, the sound of applause filled their ears, and they were welcomed by the sight of countless veteran Avolonian guards, scouts and civilians alike who were there to bear witness to the next generation to serve Avolon's needs and ensure her security for generations to come.

Third from the front of the line, Pavan marched along in tandem with his fellow recruits, holding his head high and maintaining a professional posture as he followed the avians ahead of him to the yard. The group began to form rows, five columns deep and ten columns wide, gathered before a podium whereupon stood the headmaster of the Avolonian Military Academy -a middle-aged red kite known by rank only as the recruits were not allowed to speak his name while on academy grounds.

To the left of the podium stood a collective of officials. There was a captain from the Security Forces, an admiral from the Royal Navy, a member of the King's Guard and the captain of the Scout Regiment. There were bureau representative from Avolon's Secret Intelligence Service -a covert segment of the Avolon military, who though were known to most Avolonians, very little about the organization itself was made public, as their purpose was to protect Avolon from infiltration and espionage. Even their members could not be made publicly known, and so having a representative there was a formality -if they recruited anyone from this semester's graduates, only they and the said graduates would know of it.

Lastly, and the newest addition to the military lineup, the first -and currently only commander of the Avolon Sky Fleet. The Sky Fleet was a new addition to the Avolon military, serving mostly for transportation and working closely with the Scout Regiment was the reconnaissance flight, for patrolling outside of the city walls from the air. There were rumours that the Sky Fleet would be adding its own ground assault unit, but such had yet to be confirmed.

Amidst the crowd that had arrived to attend the graduation, Pavan saw the red-feathered form of his friend Volcan among the crowd. Pavan gave him a wave, letting him know he could see him. Volcan waved back, nodding in his direction, and watched the ceremony proceeded.

"Soldiers and citizens of Avolon," began the headmaster, reciting a well-practiced speech that he gave at every graduation. "Today we introduce the newest graduates to join the ranks of Avolon's protectors. The finest recruits of the semester, we expect great things from all of them, and have the greatest confidence in their abilities."

Lifting a sheet of paper from the podium before him, he began to call out the names of each recruit, followed by their designated positions in the Avolon Security Forces. Among the fifty graduates only two of the names called were followed by "The King's Guard," which was answered with a roar of applause as the two recruits in question saluted the crowd and marched over to stand with the representative from the guard whom they also saluted before falling in behind him. To be brought into the King's Guard was considered the highest honour in Avolon -short of knighthood, and the two recruits bore gleeful expressions at their appointment.

Twenty to the Avolon Security Forces, six to the Sky Fleet, twelve to the Royal Navy Marines and finally the remaining ten were announced as scouts. Among those was Pavan, who following the salute proceeded to join his fellow scouts. Even though he showed all of the skills of a scout, he was glad he was chosen for it in the end, worried he'd have been enlisted somewhere he didn't want.

"And we have now reached the conclusion to this semester's graduation. Thank you all for coming to this special occasion. Long life to Avolon!"

"Long life to the King and Queen!" The crowd responded before applause rose from the crowd once more as all of the recruits gave one final salute.

Thus ended the graduation ceremony. The new recruits received congratulations from their families or left with their new fellows. Pavan, seeing no sign of his father in the crowd, approached Volcan, who shook hands warmly with him.

"Congratulations, Pavan," he said. "You made it into the scouts, just as you hoped."

Pavan smiled and nodded. "I did! I mean, I knew I would but still, I'm glad I didn't get sent into a different unit -not that I'd have minded working with you in the Security Forces, but just imagining going out beyond the walls! It's exciting!" Volcan was about to speak, but Pavan was off on a tangent before the phoenix could get a word out, his words jumping between how much he loved to fly outside the city to the things he would find -even making mention of finding approaching enemies and being the heroic scout who would warn the city of an invasion.

"Pavan," Volcan said sharply to get the Wind Phoenix's attention. "You're getting ahead of yourself. You haven't even gotten your uniform yet."

"Apologies. I am simply excited," Pavan returned.

"Obviously," Volcan returned in a glib tone. "Just remember what it is you're supposed to do -focus has never been your strength, so you will have to learn in the field. Do as your commander tells you, but never put your life in harm's way if it can be avoi- are you listening?"

Pavan's gaze had drifted away from Volcan, staring past his friend until the Fire Phoenix called him out, snapping back to attention. He then lifted his arm and pointed behind the fire phoenix. "Sorry, I thought I saw your captain over there."

Volcan turned, peering over his shoulder to where Pavan was pointing. To his surprise, it was indeed Gregory, making his way over to them. "Now what could he be doing here?" Volcan asked aloud before turning from Pavan and facing the captain, greeting him with a salute.

"Captain," he said.

"At ease," Gregory returned, raising his hand in dismissal. "I'm off duty today."

"Yet you're still in uniform?" Volcan inquired.

"Force of habit," returned Gregory with a helpless shrug before he turned to Pavan. "So, I believe I heard you have been drafted into the Scouts, is that correct?"

"Yes sir," Pavan returned.

"Well done," said Gregory. "The Scout Regiment are Avolon's first line of defense -we are only able to respond to approaching threats through their vigilance. I know you will do well."

Volcan looked back at Pavan, who was beaming at the compliment. Volcan turned back to Gregory. "And I was just critiquing his over-enthusiasm so that he would not lose focus. You have undone my work, Captain."

"I have done no such thing," Gregory returned. "Enthusiasm is a powerful motivator -so long as it is tempered with a good instinct and concentration."

"My point exactly," Volcan said.

"I am still standing here," Pavan piped up.

The three of them laughed heartily for a brief moment before Gregory's expression turned to a more serious tone. "Pavan, do you mind if I talk with Volcan alone for a moment?"

"Certainly. I should probably be returning home regardless -let my father know the good news when he gets home from the shop."

With that, Volcan and Pavan said goodbye, the younger phoenix taking flight to make his way home. Volcan turned to Gregory, who suggested they walk together and left the academy grounds, finding a mostly empty street to follow where they could talk in private.

"Is this about what I think it is?" Volcan asked as he walked at the captain's side.

"Indeed," Gregory replied, making one last check to ensure no one would be listening in on their conversation. "Unfortunately, we have not uncovered much from the investigation. No witnesses have come forth to give any insight -as if the creature simply appeared and then was gone. We enlisted the help of a physician and a zoologist to study the bodies and try to learn more, but they could not tell us anything definitive. As I saw myself, the wounds the Anapolian suffered were fatal -all of them, but neither he or the zoologist could identify what killed them."

Volcan scoffed. "Even I know that no beast on this island could've caused that massacre," the phoenix said. "Nor could it have walked away unscathed -most of those sailors were armed and in a confined space. Nothing could have walked out of there without injury."

"Agreed," returned Gregory. "The largest beast on this island is a common brown bear, yet even if one could get this far into the city unnoticed -which is impossible, it would have been cut to ribbons by those sailors." He shook his head. "The zoologist could not identify the creature responsible, and I am certain they could identify a bear attack."

"And what does Captain Beauregard think?" Volcan asked.

"He merely wants to label it an animal attack -a dangerous creature the Anapolians may have been transporting illegally and broke free, even though there is no evidence to support it."

Volcan let out a sigh of exasperation before voicing his next question. "What of the Anapolians we captured? Have they said anything?"

"They only speak their native language," Gregory answered. "They respond neither to common or Avolonian. I suspect only the merchants they arrived with spoke other languages -who now are unfortunately lying in the morgue under autopsy."

Volcan let out an exasperated sigh, disappointed. He had hoped that an investigation might have turned up some information by now -anything would have been helpful. He turned back to the captain, and asked, "what will you do, then?"

"I will continue the investigation -the truth is out there, waiting to be found. Go about your shifts as usual, and I will keep you informed if we should learn anything," returned Gregory, before putting out his arm to stop Volcan as. "Hold a moment."

Volcan paused and noticed their walk had brought them to the main road. To their left, a company of the King's Guard were marching up the street, their heads and spears held high as they walked. Volcan pondered what the King's Guard were doing in the Little Sparrow district, as it was outside of their usual patrol routes, when he saw someone following them.

Behind the first column of King's guard, an avian with stark white feathers walked in their steps. At his back, a second column of guardsmen, rifles brought to bear as if ready to impale him upon their fixed bayonets. The avian was young -perhaps no older than Volcan- and fit of body with eyes of ice blue, resting within dark blue that made them stand out like white balls floating in a pool of dark water. He wore nothing on his torso but wore black trousers on his legs and his hands were bound by iron manacles.

The white avian looked in their direction as he was led past, his gaze fixing upon Volcan briefly. Their eyes met, studying each other, as though both sensed there was something different about the other. Volcan felt a cold feeling coursing through him, not brought by the weather for it was a sunny late summer day with naught a cloud to be seen in the sky. His dominant hand twitched, as if urging him to grasp his sword and bring it to bear against this avian, even though he was shackled and seemingly harmless. The phoenix resisted, knowing that doing so would be an act of aggression and the King's Guard would arrest him -if not cut him down.

They held that gaze for some time until the white avian received a gentle push from the guard behind him, breaking him out of the trance-like state. He glanced back at the guard who pushed him briefly, before staring ahead again as he was led on, the marching King's Guard urging him to increase his pace and continuing towards the Palace in the distance. He did not glance back in Volcan's direction again.

Both Volcan and Gregory stood in silence for a moment, until the phoenix asked, "Who was that?"

"I do not know. I have never seen his like before," Gregory answered. "He seemed to know you, though. But you have not met him?"

"I have never seen his like before," Volcan replied, not wanting to mention the feeling that had crept over him when his eyes had met the white avian, as though the sight of them had stirred something within him, though he could not understand what or why. "Why was he being escorted by the King's Guard?"

Once again, Gregory could offer no explanation to the unusual event they had witnessed. With a grimace to mark his displeasure, he sighed and laid a hand upon Volcan's shoulder. "Off home, Corporal. You should be ready for your shift this evening. I'll keep you notified of what I find out."

"Yes sir," Volcan returned, saluting Gregory before he turned and started off in the direction of Hawkton, his mind drifting back to that mysterious white avian, wondering who he was... and why seeing him had left him feeling so edgy.

~~~~~

After Volcan's relief arrived that morning, he was quickly on his way back to the First Division Barracks. His shift had gone by without incident, making for a slow night, and the day was not over yet, for it was the first Wesday of the month and that meant training day was at hand. After such a boring night, he was looking forward to relieving some tension with a little sword-fighting practice with his fellow Avolonian soldiers. Despite how combat should have been anything but relaxing, a good spar always seemed to calm him in the end.

More of my MacAingeal blood, I suppose, he always thought.

He landed outside of the barracks, and as if cued by his earlier thought a passing couple -by their clothes and the tray of freshly baked buns in their hands, he guessed they were bakers- looked up in alarm, stopping in their tracks as though they thought he were going to attack them. A milkman leading an ox-drawn cart, filled to the brim with corked bottles of milk, stopped both himself and his wagon, daring not move while the phoenix was nearby

Volcan avoided their gazes but still felt a sting in his chest as he walked around to the yard behind the barracks. As he walked around to the yard, he found a group gathered there already. This struck him as odd -he was only there at this time because of his night patrol ending, but training still did not start for another few hours. One of them looked up as Volcan entered the yard, pointing him out to the others.

"Ask the Corporal -maybe he will know," they said.

One of the avians, a young hawk, broke away from the group and strode over to Volcan, clutching something in his hand. "Corporal!" He exclaimed. "There's something you need to see."

"What is the concern, soldier?" Volcan asked.

"I found this aboard that ship where those Anapolians were killed," he explained, showing Volcan the item clutched in his hand.

Volcan stared down at the hawk's opened talon, seeing a yellowed, curving tooth resting on his palm. The tooth was as long as Volcan's middle finger, curved like a saber and bearing several chips and cracks along its wide top where it had been separated from its host.

Volcan reached out to pick up the tooth, clenching it between his thumb and index finger as he raised it to his eyes to study it. "Where was this?" He asked.

"Near the very back of the ship in the storage closet," the hawk answered truthfully. "It was near where one of the bodies was recovered.

"How did _this_get missed?" Volcan demanded angrily, before he turned to the hawk. "Excellent find, trooper. I'll see to it this is added to the evidence we've collected and make sure the captain knows you found it. What is your name?"

"Cooper, sir. Private First Class," he returned.

Volcan nodded and clapped the hawk on the shoulder. "Return to your post for now, Private Cooper, and well done."

"Thank you, Corporal," the hawk returned, saluting Volcan before he turned and left the yard.

Volcan turned to the other soldiers in the yard. "Is the Captain in yet?" He asked.

"Not yet, sir -he usually arrives at seven o'clock," one answered.

"Captain Vinson enlisted the aid of a Zoologist to identify the creature that attacked the Anapol's Memory. Does anyone know who that was?"

"Dr. Henry Quill, sir," another replied. "He's from Rook & Raven."

"Send him a summons -ask him to come to First Division Barracks as quickly as possible. We need to identify this tooth," Volcan instructed. "And someone, find me the investigators who were supposed to be collecting evidence on that ship," he added sourly as he marched towards the entrance of the barracks. "I'll let the Captain deal with them."

~~~~~

Volcan wasn't certain he had ever seen the Captain as angry as he was now while addressing the lead investigator -an owl of forty summers, only a few years younger than the captain himself.

"You said you searched the whole ship!" Gregory told him sharply. "Yet you did not uncover what may have been the most important piece of evidence?"

"I was certain my team and I searched the whole ship, Captain," the owl replied. "Perhaps one of my aids dropped the tooth as we were leaving."

"Did you catalogue every piece?" Gregory asked.

"Of course."

"Well your report," Gregory went on, pointing at his desk. "Makes no mention of you or your assistants finding a tooth. This one was located by," he looked back at Volcan.

"Private First-Class Cooper, sir," Volcan returned. "One of the guards stationed to watch the ship."

"A _Private._With no investigative training whatsoever," Gregory concluded, facing the owl again. "If I were you, Investigator, I would be ashamed."

"I'm..." The owl began to say but was unable to find words to defend himself. Eventually, he had no choice but to lower his head in shame. "I am sorry, Captain."

"See to it that in the future, Chief Investigator, you leave nothing unturned or left behind. There is no room in the Avolon Security Forces for second-rate," Gregory stated before dismissing the investigator.

The owl left the room hurriedly as if he were about to lose his job. With one of the other Captains, he might have. Volcan watched the investigator run out before turning back to the captain.

"What happens now?" The phoenix asked.

"We wait for Dr. Quill to analyze this tooth," replied Gregory, walking back to his desk and sitting down. "When he is finished, we will know where the tooth came from and continue from there."

Volcan nodded. "I suppose I should head to the training yard, then, and get my practice for this week."

"Let the lieutenants know I'll be out shortly," Gregory called after him as the phoenix left the room.

As Volcan wandered down the hall, he noticed another avian coming his way with haste. He stepped aside as he realized he was no the one this avian sought, but the colour of their robes caught his eye. Robes of purple -identical to that of the cross on the Avalonian flag. Such colours were worn only by official representatives of the crown, such as judges or emissaries or those associated with them. He happened to spot a sheet of paper in the hand of the avian as he turned to enter Gregory's office.

'Must be a judge's associate, dropping off a warrant,' Volcan thought, shrugging it off and continuing his trek out of the barracks.

Turning down the next hallway to the secondary exit, he emerged into the training yard. The sky was cloudy, and the air had become cool and crisp. An itch felt beneath his feathers warned him of dampness in the air and as he breathed in through his nostrils he detected the scent of dew thick on the morning air.

_ _ Much to his chagrin he knew it meant only one thing. 'Bollocks... it's going to rain,' he thought. Training would have to be short today.

Within the yard and observed the other recruits, partnered up and spaced accordingly to allow ample room for sparring while the rest waited on the sidelines beneath the overhang protruding from the walls of the building. Across from him, he saw one of the Lieutenants -a red kite by the name of James Alden. But it didn't take long for Volcan to notice that another face was absent from the rally.

Curious, he made his way around to Alden, saluting the superior officer as he approached. "Lieutenant Alden, sir," he said, standing at attention and speaking over the ringing of clashing steel.

"Corporal," the kite returned.

"I do not see Lieutenant Alvertos here today," Volcan commented.

"I was beginning to wonder that myself," admitted the lieutenant. "The weekly training regiment is mandatory even for senior officers -he should be here." He turned to Volcan. "Speaking of, have you seen the Captain?"

"He is inside. He will be out shortly," Volcan returned. Then, as if cued, he saw the blue hawk emerge from the side entrance. "Ah, there he is."

Gregory stepped into the yard, looking about for a moment until his eyes found Volcan and Lieutenant Alden. He followed the stone walkway around to them, the two of them saluting him as he approached. "At ease," he said. "Alden. Where is Alvertos?"

"I have not seen him. The Corporal here was just asking about him as well."

"Of all the days..." Gregory said with a growl. "We just got an arrest warrant for Creighton Durward."

Volcan tilted his head curiously. "Who is that?"

"A thief, who has been eluding the law for some time now," replied Alden.

"An informant we had watching the market finally caught him in the act," added Gregory. "Word has passed to the judge and we have at last acquired a warrant for his arrest."

Volcan visibly brightened at that and turned to Gregory again. "So, you're going to arrest him?"

"I'll have to," replied Gregory. "I was going to send Alvertos to do it but as it seems he has not come in today, another will have to do it. This is not the first time this month he has been late for duty either."

"If you will it, Captain, I will go apprehend him," offered Alden.

Gregory considered the offer momentarily before shaking his head. "That won't be necessary," he returned, before turning to Volcan. "I will leave it to the Corporal here."

"Me?" Volcan asked, shocked. "But sir, I'm too low rank for a warrant arrest."

"You are correct. As a Corporal, you would not be permitted to make such an arrest unless you caught him in the act," Gregory agreed before adding, "unless accompanied by an officer who already holds such a rank."

"Captain, are you doing what I think you are?" Alden asked.

Gregory turned to the kite. "What would that be?"

"You are accompanying the corporal on an arrest to test his level-headedness and the manner which he carries out an arrest," Alden stated, "just as you did for me before I reached the rank of sergeant."

"Very astute, Lieutenant," Gregory complimented.

Volcan turned to Gregory, eyes wide. "You are... making me a Sergeant?" He asked.

"Do not get ahead of yourself," stated the hawk firmly and fixing Volcan with a stern gaze and prompting Volcan to correct himself, standing up straight with hands at his sides as Gregory continued. "I am considering it, but whether or not you qualify is still in question."

"Captain. May I remind you," began Alden, "Corporal MacAingeal has three breaches one his record in the past year alone -all of them under the penalty of acting without authority. Surely such impulsiveness cannot be overlooked."

"And they shan't be, Alden," assured Gregory. "I am considering Volcan for his other qualifications. Diligence, calmness under pressure, finesse, observant and dependable -the lattermost, our own absent Lieutenant Alvertos is showing he lacks as of late."

"If I may be so bold, sir, any other Corporal here could claim such qualities," Alden added.

"True, but only Volcan has displayed leadership skills," Gregory went on. "Based on a full report by Private Jolina regarding his actions at the Anapol's Memory, where he recognized a crime scene and responded accordingly, even going so far as to coordinate securing the area while waiting for myself and Captain Beauregard. He has never secured a crime scene before, yet his response to it was on point. None of our other Corporals can claim this."

"That is why I wish to test Volcan on this arrest. There is also the matter of the aforementioned breaches," he turned to Volcan as he continued. "you still have much to do to make up for those. You will not be making sergeant today, Volcan, but if you pass this test you will be on the path. If Alvertos does not clean up his act, and with the position of sergeant in first division vacant, Alden and I will be overburdened. You, and the other Corporals, shall all be tested in the coming days."

"Understood, Captain," said Volcan.

"As you say, sir," Alden added, yielding to the Captain's wisdom.

"Lieutenant, you have the barracks until I come back," Gregory said to Alden, followed by, "come. Let's be off," to the young phoenix.

Volcan followed the hawk captain out of the yard, casting a glance back at the other trainees to see if any were watching him. Some were, but the rest remained focused on their exercises. He wondered what those watching him were thinking, seeing him leave in the company of their captain.

Out to the street, they walked, making a right turn and marching towards the main road that would take them to the market -Volcan had no idea where they were going but Gregory seemed to, so he followed.

At that moment, Volcan decided to bring up another topic with the captain. "Did you get the chance to speak with Ambassador Boleslav about acting as an interpretor?" He inquired.

"I did not," replied Gregory. "When I went to the Diplomat's Manse yesterday, she was not in. I meant to leave a message with her bodyguard, but he was not there either."

Volcan cursed under his breath, disappointed but having nothing more to add.

The two were on the road towards the Marketplace, but two blocks from the collection of stalls and shops they made a left turn onto another street. They passed a blacksmith shop, hearing the smith's hammer striking the anvil at their forge in the back and the smell of burning hot coal that heated the fire that made the steel weapons and tools of the city.

As expected, Volcan received many wary looks from passing townsfolk, though not as many as when he walked alone. He supposed Gregory, a known guard captain being in his company was the reason for that. Having a guard captain walking with him made it clear that they were on official business. Through the city blocks they marched, until they left the borough of Central Avolon, and entered another.

They stepped through an opening in the wall and seemed to have gone to another community entirely -from the neatly arranged wooden or brick houses and stone walls of the city, to a collection of shacks and rundown stilt shanties sitting over the canals. The Seagull Wharf -an older part of the city, originally part of the North Harbour, now a filth-ridden, impoverished slum -appropriately nicknamed the 'Gull Slums'.

Volcan had learned a little of the city's history during his time attending public school, with the Gull Slums a frequent topic. Over a hundred years ago, it had been the city's main port, with more gold than the students could imagine flowing through every day. Now it looked as though it had not seen a single coin in decades. The buildings were in disrepair, tightly packed and barely stable -especially the stilt-homes resting precariously over the canals, seeming like they might give way at any moment and dam the waters. Beggars sat on their knees on every corner as the two guards followed the grimy street until it turned to a boardwalk, ignored by the two guards.

As they approached a rickety wooden crossing that led to the far side of the district where they needed to go, Volcan paused, eyeing the water that flowed beneath the rickety wooden bridge hanging over the shore on wooden poles. He did not trust what passed for engineering in this district, and the bridge to him to did not appear to be the least bit safe -though that may have been his own fear of the death-bringing waves below.

Gregory looked back at him, and then at the water. "Oh, yes," he said in realization. "Let's walk around."

"N-No, it's fine, captain," Volcan assured. "I just need to stay away from the edge." And hope to the ancestors this scrap wood thing doesn't collapse under me, he added warily in his mind.

Much to the relief of the Phoenix, they did not have to remain on the boardwalk for long. It simply shortened the trek to their destination. Nevertheless, Volcan found himself studying his surroundings in detail, seeing the shabby homes and the desperate townsfolk that were forced to live here. This was the one place in Avolon where one could find races other than avians, including canids, mariners and reptilians of various species. Some of them met his gaze. In their eyes, he could see desperation, and felt it course through him like a snake's venom. Some of them were young -younger than himself, even. Forced to live out of sight of a society that did not want them.

Just like him...

"Volcan?" Gregory called back to him. "You look distressed."

"Sorry sir," Volcan replied. "I have never been here before. It is... disturbing."

"I understand what you mean," Gregory assured. "This is a disheartening place. But stay focused -we have arrived."

The captain did _not_understand, Volcan felt. How could he? He was not born an outcast in Avolon as Volcan was. As these people around him were now. He did not doubt Gregory's knowledge, only his experience on the matter.

Back on dry land, they stood before a shanty hut looming at the water's edge. "This is Durward's residence," the Captain stated.

"How shall I proceed?" Volcan asked.

"When he answers the door, you show him the warrant," explained Gregory. "Tell him that he is being placed under arrest. The rest, just adhere to your training as you do when you capture a thief in the act. Seek compliance and so forth, but show no aggression."

Volcan nodded in understanding, taking the warrant from the captain and approaching the door, fingering the pommel of his sword as he stepped up to the door and raised his hand to deliver three heavy-handed knocks on the door.

The door opened shortly after the knocks. Through the door, a male eagle with deep brown eyes appeared, revealing only half of himself behind the wooden barricade. He eyed Volcan intensely.

"What do you want?" The eagle asked sharply.

"That's him," Gregory informed Volcan.

"Creighton Durward, I have a warrant for your arrest," the phoenix said, showing him the paper. "You are wanted for crimes against the city of Avolon, and -"

The phoenix trailed off as the door opened fully, and his eyes spotted the sheathed knife on the belt of the eagle. Volcan's body tensed, and immediately he dropped the warrant, hand reaching for his sword. "Weapon!" He exclaimed.

The eagle, startled, put up his hands defensively and backed into the wall behind the door. "Wait, stop! I was not going to resist!" He exclaimed.

"Volcan!" Gregory scolded, reaching to the Phoenix and grasping his shoulder, pulling him back. "What are you thinking?!"

"He has a weapon," Volcan returned in an incredulous tone.

"Is it in his hand?" Gregory asked.

"Well... no, but..." Volcan began, until the hawk gave him a stern look that silenced him. He backed away, and Gregory took over with an annoyed sigh, turning to the eagle while picking up the warrant Volcan had dropped.

"Creighton Durward, you are wanted for crimes against the city of Avolon. We have a warrant for your arrest, under the charges of theft, breaking & entering and the fencing of stolen goods," Gregory recited with practiced expertise. You are to come with us at once."

Durward was compliant, surrendering his weapon and allowing Volcan to hold his arms securely behind his back while Gregory led the two back to the barracks.

Though the training day had ended, Volcan was told to remain in the yard and await the arrival of the captain, standing in the middle with not a soul in sight while Gregory handled their prisoner. Volcan, frustrated as he thought back to the arrest wondering what he had done wrong -he had made arrests before but what had been different this time?

For what felt like an eternity he waited there in the yard, studying the billowing gray clouds above that had grown thicker since earlier that morning. The crisp air had chilled further in the hour that had passed, causing the phoenix to feel itch beneath his feathers. Absently he scratched his dominant arm with his off-hand, wondering how such a turn in the weather could occur in the middle of summer. It was beginning to feel like autumn, but the season was not due for weeks yet.

Volcan tried to ignore the change in weather, but it was beginning to agitate him. "Damn this chill... where is this coming from?"

Finally, the door to the barracks opened. Gregory stepped into the yard, approaching the young phoenix who stood waiting for them. "Now, Volcan," Gregory began.

"Yes Captain?" Volcan asked, casually.

"At attention, soldier!" Gregory barked sharply.

Volcan snapped to posture, hands slapping against his sides in a start, stunned by the Captain's manner. His upright jerking motion was so sharp and sudden he was certain his height had increased by an inch, his wings becoming stiff and his body rigid. "Sir!"

"What do you think you did wrong on that arrest?" Gregory asked, beginning to walk in a slow, deliberate circle around the young phoenix.

"I... I don't know what you mean, sir." Volcan replied, honestly. "I did everything as I always have."

"Wrong!" Gregory said sharply. "You acted without cause!"

"C-Captain?" Volcan asked.

"You took one look at Durward, and you went for your sword!" Gregory went on.

"Captain, he was armed!" Volcan protested.

"Was the weapon in his hand?"

"N-No, but..."

"No buts!" Gregory yelled in his ear, causing the phoenix to reel in shock. "What you did was an act of aggression -the very thing I told you to not do before you approached the door! Never, under any circumstance can a guardsman be the aggressor!"

"Sir, every arrest I've made was done with my sword in my hand," Volcan returned. "What makes this situation different?"

"When you perform an arrest when you catch a criminal in the act, they have already made their intentions clear," Gregory explained. "Under that circumstance, you bring your weapon into your hand to make your intentions clear -to bring them to justice and to induce compliance in the target." He stood before Volcan, facing him again. "But on a warranted arrest, you must not show any act of aggression or they will run -you are fortunate that he was confined in a house or we might have lost him. And, that he doesn't know his civilian rights."

Volcan blinked. "Rights, sir?"

"Of course. All civilians have rights," Gregory stated. "And one of those rights, is protection from aggressive officers. If he had exercised his rights, a jury could have him back on the streets. Fortunately, he's not a fighter, so he's willing to face his sentence."

"Captain... I didn't know," Volcan said, apologetically.

"This should have been covered back at the academy," stated Gregory. "Officer codes and conduct, chapter six of your textbook."

"Captain, I do not possess a photographic memory of everything I read," replied Volcan.

Gregory let out a sigh. "Regardless, the moment you put your hand on your sword against a man who has given no sign of aggression, you did what we must never do. The moment we start turning to violence as our first response, the line between us and the villains we seek to capture become blurred."

"With all due respect, sir, a knife can be drawn faster than a longsword," Volcan stated. "He could've drawn that blade long before I could have, and it would have been helpless." For a moment, the captain offered no response, but Volcan knew a look disappointment when he saw one. "Volcan, draw your sword," commanded Gregory.

"S-Sir," Volcan began, slowly drawing forth his longblade. "May I ask why?"

"You're going to stab me with it," Gregory returned, much to the shock of Volcan.

"W-What?" Volcan demanded, shocked.

"Do it!" Gregory commanded.

Volcan hesitantly took his sword into both hands, facing the captain. He wanted to follow Gregory's directions, but he was hesitant, fearing that he might wound the Captain. But with another command from the hawk, Volcan charged forward, angling his blade and thrusting it forward. Gregory made no motion for his own sword, raising only his hands. He did not have on any gloves, only his bracers. Was he planning to catch the blade? Without something to protect his fingers the edge would slice them to ribbons.

Still, Gregory raised only his hands, and at the last second, angled his arm, letting the tip hit the steel bracer. With a flick of his wrist, Volcan's blade veered off course, throwing him off balance. Stars exploded across his eyes as Gregory's other hand snapped forward and struck him across the face, sending the phoenix careening to the ground, barely registering what had transpired in but a single second.

"Get up," Gregory commanded.

Once the stars had left his vision, Volcan was able to easily get back on his feet. He turned to face the Captain. "Again," Gregory commanded.

Volcan turned to face him, bringing his sword to bear again. "Captain, I think you made your point. I'm still seeing..."

"Again!" Gregory barked.

Volcan recoiled from Gregory's outburst, swallowing nervously before he stepped forward, this time with a slash. Gregory once more lunged forward, blocking the strike with the bracer of his off-hand, before sharply turning on his heel, drawing forth his saber, but not to cut. With a snapping motion of his arm he struck Volcan's hip with the round pommel of his captain's saber, causing the phoenix to lose feeling in his leg and drop to his knee, before the hawk brought his blade fully out of its scabbard, holding it at Volcan's neck.

"An Avolon guardsman. Is never. Helpless. You have been trained in the same defensive techniques as I, and I have seen you employ them with my own eyes." He took his blade away from Volcan's neck and returned it to his scabbard. "If you can't draw your sword, give yourself the chance. If you can't bring it all the way out, use it another way. I have displayed both to you in but a minute. But never reach for your weapon if you have no cause to, or as I said, you will blur the line between us and the criminals -and in turn, damage your own standing with the people."

"Y-Yes captain," Volcan stated, returning to his feet and sliding it back into its scabbard. "I-I am sorry, that I failed you."

"You failed a test, nothing more," replied Gregory, shaking his head. "If anything, see it as a failure for yourself, and learn from the experience -as I know that is how you learn best." He cleared his throat. "Nevertheless... it was still a failure, and it affects my final verdict on whether or not you are ready -I must remember you are still young and prone to impulse. My belief in that you qualify for the position has not changed though -all you need do is earn it. Hence, I intend to keep testing you -as I shall the other corporals."

"What tests should I expect, sir?" Volcan asked.

"You will know," replied Gregory. "For now, return home for the day, Corporal. I must go see Dr. Quill about that tooth the young private brought back. Let us hope it sheds some light on this investigation."

Volcan nodded. "Of that, Captain, we are agreed," he said, before he was dismissed and left the yard, spending the walk home recollecting on the days events.

He understood that he still had much to learn but could still not shake his own shame at his foolish act during the arrest. It was less about him, and more the disappointment he had seen in Gregory, who had shown to have much faith in the phoenix. He wanted to serve in a way the hawk could be proud of, even if it did not win him the confidence of the people -at the very least, he did not want to fail the man who he considered to be the only father figure he had ever known...

~~~~~

Avogadro covered his beak with his talon attempting to suppress a yawn, his eyes sore from the many hours of study in the library, studying a stack of tomes since the early morning. He turned to look at the clock on the wall, gauging the time. "Six o'clock," he muttered to himself, turning back to the tome again before placing his bookmark into between the pages and closing it.

'I'll resume this after dinner,' he decided, rising from his chair and stretching out his arms and wings.

The door to the library opened. Through them stepped Owlfred -the butler to the Lo'Raven family and Avory's appointed assistant. A white-feathered owl into his middle years, dressed in regal attire. "Mein herr," he called. "Are you ready for dinner?"

"Yes, Owlfred," returned Avogadro, refolding his wings. "I am definitely ready to get out of this library too. I could hear a pin drop in the silence in here."

"Is that not the point of a library?"

"I don't like it -least of all for the hours I spend in here. It deafens me and makes it hard to concentrate."

"Oh. My apologies," returned the owl. "Shall we return to the palace?"

"Of course," returned the prince, joining his servant at the door.

The ever-dutiful owl held the door ajar for the Prince, letting him step through first before closing the door behind them, shivering as the cold air struck him. He fell in at Avory's side, matching his pace as they left the library to return home.

"I beg your pardon, my prince, but why do you not study at the royal library? It would certainly save you the walk," Owlfred asked as they walked onto the King's Road, following it back to the palace.

"The Victoria Library has more material to choose from," Avogadro replied. "It has been standing since before the palace was built, and houses thousands of texts dating back to the old city -to the earliest days of Avolon. For instance, Owlfred, it is believed that an ancient race of snake-like beings dwelled here long before we avians did, harnessing magic able to turn night into day and day into night, or even share a psychic link with others. It is so very fascinating."

Owlfred rolled his eyes. "My prince, the snake-folk's existence is a fairy tale. A heroic avian hatchling climbing the mountain into the snake's lair to defeat it, saving the village and its people from it's terror." he said. "Avolon has always belonged to avians, from our origins as primitive tribes to our ascension into the mighty nation we are now."

Avogadro shook his head. "We may believe for it to only be fiction, Owlfred, but what if it was true to some extent?" he said with a confidence that earned a curious look from the owl. "The ruins on Mt. Avian are proof that there was civilization here long ago -I have seen them myself. No avian crafted those stone temples, and the snake-like beings are depicted on every wall! Where they went remains one of the great mysteries of today and these old tales could provide a theory until we get some hard evidence."

Owlfred did not seem convinced but kept quite not wishing to challenge the prince only to see a figure in the road ahead. "Oh? Is that Lord Endicott?"

Avogadro turned his gaze ahead, following Owlfred's gaze until his eyes found the nobleman, following the road towards them, accompanied by a single bodyguard in Balistine armour. "It is. I wonder what he is doing here? My father had no appointments today." He approached the nobleman, elevating his voice to catch the noble's attention. "Lord Endicott, hello!"

The eagle looked up upon hearing his name being called, beaming at the sight of the Prince. "Ah, the future king himself!" He exclaimed joyously. "It is my greatest pleasure to see you, young Prince!"

"Likewise, Lord Endicott," Avogadro returned. "Tell me, what brings you here this evening?"

"I was visiting the prison. A rather interesting cruious individual was brought in by the King's Guard yesterday -I thought to make him tell us why he was here," Endicott explained.

"What did he say?"

"Very little," replied Endicott. "He said he is from Ragnaross -heard of it?"

Avogadro nodded. "It is an island city like Avolon, though much further north than we. A cold land, mountainous island as I heard it."

"Correct," Endicott confirmed, nodding. "He claims that there is danger coming to Avolon and wishes to see the King." He scoffed. "As if I would ever entertain such a thought."

"You do not think there is merit to what he says?" Avogadro inquired, skeptical.

"Ragnaross is a miserable hub of inequity and a home to savages, just like the MacAingeal," returned Endicott, making a dismissive wave in the general direction of the peninsula. "They pose no threat to us and I will not be the one who willingly walked an assassin into the throne room."

"My father is perfectly capable of protecting himself," Avogadro reminded the nobleman. "Nevertheless, this intruder will remain in that cell," stated Endicott. "If the Ragnarosians are foolish enough to wage war on us, it will be _their_undoing." He paused to shiver, crossing his arms over his chest. "Now, if you will excuse me, I must get out of this ungodly weather." He bowed respectfully to the prince. "Good evening, your highness."

"Farewell, Lord Endicott."

With that, the nobleman walked around the prince, resuming his trek down the street with his bodyguard at his side.

"Well, shall we continue?" Owlfred inquired.

"Not just yet," replied Avogadro, leaving the main road and onto the street from which Endicott had come. "I wish to make a stop."

"Mein herr! You're not thinking of going to the jailhouse, are you?" Owlfred asked, shocked.

"You know me well, old friend," Avogadro called back to him as he made a brisk walk in the direction Lord Endicott had previous come from.

The pale avian wore a grave expression upon his face as he stood in the middle of his cell staring through the bars of his single, small window. He could see down the ridge to the Merchant's Channel below, staring in silence. Never once did to guards outside of the small, stone room here him make a sound since his fruitless meeting with the avian noble who had left moments before, leaving only these two guards to watch the mysterious visitor as he stared out the window. To them he seemed as a white marble statue, unmoving, lifeless and silent. It unnerved them more than a little.

Still the white avian offered no reaction as the door to the jailhouse opened and footsteps approached his cell. His eyes moved to the floor as shadows were cast into his cell by the oil-filled lamps hanging on the wall opposite his cell, but still did not move. Silent, he waited for his visitor to speak first, if indeed they had come to do so.

So it would seem, as he heard a voice behind him. "Since Lord Endicott was able to speak to you, I assume you speak the merchant's tongue -or 'common' as it is called," the voice asked.

"I do," the avian returned.

"My name is Avogadro. I am the crown prince of Avolon," the newcomer introduced himself. "By what name would I know you, sir?"

Still the avian offered silence for a time, before slowly turning and looking at the prince, the light of the lanterns reflecting in his ice blue eyes, the pupils contracting in response to the light. "My name is Vinge of Ragnaross," he answered, stepping closer to the bars slowly and cautiously, studying the male raven curiously but saying nothing else, leaving Avogadro to continue the conversation.

"Lord Endicott says you claim there is danger coming to Avolon," began Avogadro, his tone firm so as not to betray his feelings in this avian's presence, sensing he was more than he appeared. "What have you come to warn us about?"

The avian took in a breath, as if relieved, before he began his explanation. "A small army of Ragnarosian marauders is on their way here to Avolon," began Vinge. "They intend to pillage your home, and they will be here soon."

"Let us say I believe you," began Avogadro, "our city is well-defended."

Slowly, Vinge raised one of his hands, lifting it and holding it between the bars with the palm upright. Owlfred grasped Avogadro by his shoulders to pull him back, in case the avian meant harm, but Avogadro stood firm and unmoving, watching with deep curiosity as the avian continued.

"Not from what is coming." He said as his eyes glowed.

At that moment, before the eyes on Avogadro and Owlfred, a sphere formed above the avian's palm. It was small, no larger than a bead, before rapidly expanding to the size of a shotput, eliciting a light crackling sound like the crunching of ice confined within itself. The sphere started out white before turning to a light blue.

The sphere levitated out to Avogadro, before falling out of midair. Instinctively, the prince caught it in his hands to stop its fall. A deathly chill coursed from his palm into his fingers, startling him and causing him to drop the sphere in surprise. It struck the floor with a heavy thunk, before rolling back into the bars with nary a chip in its smooth surface.

"My prince, what is wrong?" Owlfred asked.

"It was... cold," replied Avogadro, until his eyes widened in realization and slowly he raised his gaze to look at the white avian. "Like ice. Are you some kind of phoenix?"

"I am," replied Vinge. "As is the one who is coming to attack your city. His name is Njall, Bringer of the Red Winter, an ancient Ice Phoenix -more powerful than you can imagine."

"Ragnaross is not ruled by phoenixes," Owlfred commented.

Vinge cast a glance at the butler. "It is, now," corrected Vinge. "Years ago, Njall overthrew the High King and claimed lordship over Ragnaross. The king's subjects were wiped out to the last, and the sons of Njall usurped control of the city, all but enslaving the populace under a militaristic regime. If you are not prepared for his coming, many sons and daughters of Avolon will suffer."

Avogadro stared into the eyes of the ice phoenix, seeing the determination within them and hearing the firmness in his voice. But one question yet remained. "You are of Ragnaross. Why betray them?"

Vinge scoffed, turning away abruptly. "I was born there. But I will not serve Njall," he said, his tone as cold as the ice he conjured. "He is a phoenix without conscience, without conduct or morales -he lives only to destroy and snuff out the lives of those he views as inferior. There is no honour in serving one such as that."

Avogadro posed another question, having seen what Vinge could do. "I presume you did not show Endicott your abilities as he would know all too well that you could easily break free from this prison and evade capture. How can I know to trust you?"

Vinge did not answer immediately. Instead, he turned his back on Avogadro, walking back over to the window. "When I met with this 'Endicott' I knew he would not be the one to heed my warning, which is why I asked to see the King, but he refused me. I don't blame him, but with him already being distrustful of me, the situation would have only been made worse had I revealed my true heritage to him."

A brief silence fell over the ice phoenix for a moment, until he turned back to the Prince and continued. "I cannot give you any true reason to trust me. Rightly, you should not, but consider -as you yourself said, I could have escaped any time that I chose. Know only that my words are true -that Njall is coming, soon, and that I will serve his cause no longer. That, I vow on my life."

Avogadro considered the words of the ice phoenix for a moment, slipping into deep thought. After a long moment, he turned back to Owlfred. "We must go see my father at once."

"Y-Yes my Prince," Owlfred returned, hot on Avogadro's heels as the raven turned and began to make his way towards the exit.

"You will know his coming," Vinge called after them, bringing the prince to pause and listen, "when the snow begins to fall. This cold weather you are experiencing is only the beginning."

As they left the jailhouse, Owlfred cast a wary glance back towards the door they had come through as it shut behind them, and then turned to Avogadro. "One phoenix could not be powerful enough to change the very weather itself, could they?"

"Do not underestimate them, old friend," Avogadro returned, his eyes remaining locked on the palace as he walked, briskly, towards the main gate to the castle ground. "Phoenixes are, by definition, a force of nature."

_ _"You believe that the Ragnarosian speaks truly, then?" Owlfred asked.

"A better question. Can we take the risk that he isn't?" Avogadro returned, turning his gaze towards the sky. "This is rather unusual weather for this time of year, is it not?"

Owlfred stared in wonder at the young prince, ever awed by his youthful intuition. Slowly, he too turned his gaze towards the sky, seeing the billowing gray clouds forming overhead, yet no scent of rain filled the air. A crisp, cool air caused his feathers to stand on end, his breath visible as it left his beak.

Out of the corner of his eye, the owl was certain he had also noticed a snowflake descending from the sky.

In the grand dining hall of High Eyrie, King Christopher and Queen Annabelle seated themselves at the head of the table, with their honoured guests -the ambassadors, Degra MacAingeal and Asya Boleslav, finding their own seats as they waited for dinner to be served -and for the arrival of Prince Avogadro, who was already overdue to join them.

They passed the time by sharing the events of their day. Asya spoke of the tour she had been given through Avolon -courtesy of the commander of the King's Guard. She marvelled about the city, how its very design resembled a work of art, from the architecture of the buildings throughout, to the canals that rain like lifeblood veins through the city. The grandeur of the Palace she admitted had taken her breath away when she had first seen it, and the great Dandolo Tower -as high as the six towers of High Eyrie yet standing alone on Elizabeth's ridge, where the mage's council made their home, studying their magical craft day and night.

She expressed interest in the city's agriculture -particularly of the Rosefruit -a fruit grown across the isle that came in the colours of red or purple, useful for making dyes. She mentioned that purple was an uncommon colour in other places she visited, unable to name any other city that used it off the top of her head. She also made mention at the ingenuity of the hydroponic gardens and the natural beauty of the northern reaches within the walls.

As the King and Queen listened to the Lycanthrian ambassador regale about their city, the doors to the dining hall opened abruptly. They looked up with some alarm to see their son entering the room, fleet of foot as he approached them with Owlfred struggling to keep up with the young prince.

"Ah, my son has arrived," Christopher spoke up, but noted the expression on Avogadro's face as the prince approached. "Does something trouble you?"

Taking his place beside his father at the head of the table, he did not seem out of breath unlike his servant, but wore a similarly perturbed look to that of the owl. "Yes, father. I've just had audience with a prisoner Lord Endicott had locked away in the jailhouse -an outsider. He bore a very important message for you that the lord did not see fit to allow you to hear."

"What message?" Christopher asked, warily.

"That Avolon needs to prepare for an attack," he announced silencing the room, "he claims to have come from the frozen city of the north, Ragnaross, and that it will soon stage an attack on our, led by a usurper he called 'Njall'."

A sharp gasp rose from across the table, all eyes darting to Ambassador MacAingeal who stared at the prince. She wore a face of utter horror, her eyes so wide it seemed as though they might roll from the sockets of her skull if she could open them any wider. "Njall... you are certain that is the name he used?"

Avogadro nodded to her, "I regret to say that that is the name the messenger used."

The king turned to look at Degra, eyeing her inquisitively. "Do you know something of this 'Njall', Madame Ambassador?"

"I do indeed, your majesty," she returned, a shaken tone in her voice. "He is an ancient ice phoenix and a sworn enemy to my people."

"I too have heard of him," Asya spoke up. "Years ago, it is said that one bearing the name 'Njall' overthrew the high king of Ragnaross and along with his sons, usurped lordship over the city. He has since wreaked havoc across the northern coastal kingdoms, and it is said that the very weather itself alters with his coming."

"The stranger said the same," offered Avogadro, pleased with the consistency of word. "And it fits with the strange weather we have been having."

Asya looked at Degra. "I was not aware he was an enemy to your people though, Gospozha MacAingeal."

"It was long before our time, Miss Boleslav -my own included," replied Degra. "Centuries ago, Njall waged war on my people. My uncle, Lord MacAingeal himself, has faced him in battle many times before. But that is not why we fear and hate him. During one of his invasions of our land, he attacked the nesting grounds and crushed countless eggs. Our people were devastated -many matrons could not bear the loss as entire generations were ended before they could begin."

Queen Annabelle covered her mouth in shock upon hearing the grotesque recollection of Njall's crimes. "How horrible," she said in almost a whisper.

Christopher's features contorted into a frown, tapping his fingers against the table as he considered the gravity of what he had been told. Though it could have been a scare tactic by Ragnaross, the fear in Ambassador MacAingeal's eyes was as clear to him as their blue colour. Such terror could not be overlooked if there was cause for it -he had little to go on, but he had to be sure.

"Avogadro," he began. "Do you believe this messenger speaks truly, and if so, what do you suggest we do?" His tone suggested that he wanted an honest answer from his son.

It was not uncommon for his father to test him like this -to gauge how he responded to certain situations. All part of his objective to forge Avogadro into a worthy successor when his time came. This was but another of those tests, and the young Prince knew it.

He sucked in a breath and began to answer. "Though I believe him, the Ragnarosian's word alone is not sufficient," replied Avogadro, choosing his words carefully. "Therefore, I propose we dispatch scouts to search the islands -anywhere that an enemy may be able to stage an attack from, to confirm that an enemy is out there before we take action."

Christopher nodded his head in acknowledgement. "Well spoken, my son," he stated, before turning to Owlfred. The owl, ever ready to serve when called, often stood by the pillars in earshot where he could be summoned at a second's notice. "Owlfred, come here," he called.

Without hesitation, the owl strode to the king's side. "How may I serve, my king?" He inquired.

"I wish for you to have a message dispatched to the Scout Regiment," explained Christopher. "Tell them I want the islands around Avolon searched -all of them, as quickly as possible, first thing in the morning. Make sure they know we have reason to believe that there is an enemy coming and that we are not going to be caught unaware. Understood?"

"Yes, my liege," replied Owlfred. "I will go at once."

Christopher nodded to him again, turning his attention back to the table, to his family and guests. "Now all we can do is wait," he stated.

"Should we not tell the captains, father?" Avogadro asked.

"Patience, my son," returned Christopher. "We must first confirm the threat before we raise any alarms. From there, we determine our next course of action. To act now when we know little raises the possibility of making the wrong decision." He smiled reassuringly at the prince. "Fear not. We shall find the truth of this matter."

"Yes, father," returned Avogadro.

~~~~~

The warnings of the ice phoenix Vinge seemed to be becoming more believable as the following day in Avolon was colder than the last. Clouds filled the sky, forbidding the sun from spreading its warmth over the city for the second day in a row and crisp, cool winds blowing over the city. Many chimneys belched smoke as the residents across Avolon were forced to light their fireplaces to chase away the unnatural cold weather.

Rare it was that anyone needed to use their supply of firewood in the middle of summer -least of all during the day when every house would be warmed by the summer heat. Many residents were whispering of magic at work. Inquiries were being made to the Mage's Court, ranging from questions of whether magic was the cause, and depending on their answer to that question would lead to accusations of a failed experiment in Dandolo Tower causing a change of climate or the question of what they could do to restore the weather to its natural state. The magi denied any involvement with the weather change but promised to help resolve the situation if magic was indeed involved.

At the crack of dawn, a troupe was gathered at that Scout Barracks for a reconnaissance mission. A group of six from the regiment, standing in a line as they were addressed by their commanding officer, Scout-Captain Henry Northcott. Among them Pavan, freshly adorned in his newly tailored uniform, consisting mostly of a long-sleeved shirt stylized for the scouts and insulated to protect them from the weather, worn under a sleeveless ballistine vest on his torso and a short sword on his belt, and tight-fitting but densely tailored breeches to protect his legs.

He was anxious for his first assignment, the excitement nearly at its boiling point as he screamed in his mind at the Scout Captain for taking so long to send them on their way, but he forced himself to listen. Scout Captain Northcott was known to have a low-tolerance to those who did not pay attention, often punishing them physically to force them back to attention. He was not a large or imposing figure -a light brown falcon with an athletic figure, wearing a uniform like theirs but decorated with stripes on the shoulder in display of his ranking.

The Scout Captain briefed them on their patrol areas. Pavan, and a second scout -a female hawk named Thalia -a senior officer within the regiment. It was the Wind Phoenix's first mission as a member of the Scout Regiment, and he was determined to prove himself.

Their assigned patrol route took them over the eastern waters outside of the city, beyond Guardian Island. The icy winds made the journey difficult, having to wear long-sleeved suede shirts beneath their ballistine vests, protecting their arms from the sharp, icy winds. Their wings would only have their feathers to protect them, thus they had to keep them moving to keep them from freezing.

Avolon was surrounded by fourteen smaller islands, three of which were claimed by Avolon -Grand Harvest Island, Guardian Island and North Island, and one by the MacAingeal Clan known as Ironforge. The other islands remained uninhabited, determined as unsuitable for construction by Avolon engineers. However, many of the islands were forested and large enough to conceal small contingents of soldiers. Spread across the islands in groups, an entire army could potentially hide.

Pavan and Thalia were onto the fourth of the islands, following standard protocol to perform four patrol sweeps over each island to cover as much ground as possible. By the end of their search on the fourth island, Thalia directed Pavan to land on the beach, so they could catch their breath.

Thalia sat on the cold sand and worked to catch her breath and warm herself, curling her wings around her body and rubbing them with her talons while Pavan paced to and fro along the beach -he was far from needing a break, and eager to keep moving. Pavan cleared his throat, as if trying to remind Thalia that he had spoken. When she didn't respond, he spoke again.

"So... how long have you been in the Regiment?" He asked.

"Three years," she answered plainly.

"You like it?"

Thalia looked at him. "Is this conversation relevant to our mission in some way, Private Stevenson?"

"I think it's relevant for co-workers to know each other," Pavan replied, shrugging. "At least that is what Volcan's captain says."

"Volcan? The MacAingeal boy in first division?" Thalia asked.

"Yes. He's a friend of mine."

Thalia scoffed, saying nothing. But she didn't have to -Pavan knew the implications. Pavan frowned. "Don't tell me you are another of those who think Volcan is a savage," he said.

"Let's simply say I do not trust him -nor shall I, until I have reason to," Thalia stated in a tone that suggested her mind was made up.

Pavan nodded but felt a bitterness towards Thalia for her open distrust of Volcan despite having never met him. "You ought to meet him before you pass judgement," he stated.

"Drop the subject, Private," she warned. "Our work is more important."

Pavan shot her a dirty look but she didn't see it, going back to warming herself. As Pavan stood, he stared out towards the rising sun -or as much of it as he could see through the clouds, feeling he wind in his face and -wait a moment, he thought.

"That is unusual," he said aloud.

"What?" Thalia asked, somewhat harshly.

"The wind... it's coming from the east," answered Pavan

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"The wind never blows from the east in this part of the world. It cannot. The air currents only flow from the north or west until you get closer to the mainland."

Thalia looked as though she were about to make a retort but stopped. The sensible side of her mind seemed to win the short battle with her frustration towards the recruit, realizing that he was correct. She had, like anyone else in Avolon, taken her time to watch the foreign sailing vessels that ventured into the Merchant's Channel, docking in the north harbour to offload their goods, and those that left the channel via the western sea gates. Never had they departed through the western gate, as the wind did not ever blow that way.

Nevertheless, she still did not grasp the meaning behind Pavan's claim. "So, the wind is being abnormal -what of it?"

"The Captain said the enemy we're scouting for might be being led by an ice phoenix, correct?" Pavan asked.

"Yes?"

"Ice phoenixes are a hybrid species of wind -like me- and water. If the wind is coming from the wrong direction, maybe it is his doing -therefore if we follow it, we may find him."

Thalia rolled her eyes. "Do you even hear yourself? Even the most powerful of the magi in Dandolo tower cannot manipulate the weather -one phoenix surely cannot-" But her words fell on deaf ears. Pavan had already taken flight and was following the wind towards the east. "Dammit, private!" She called after him before getting to a running start and taking to the air in pursuit.

Pavan soared across the waves, feeling the air growing colder as he travelled. His certainty grew as he flew on, feeling the change in air temperature. He was getting closer to the source, anxious to see his suspicion bear fruit so that he could bring it to the captain.

In his mind he was already envisioning the Scout Captain after submitting his report, praising the wind phoenix for doing something no other scout could.

An island was in his path. The frigid air had grown beyond what he was accustomed to -the sharp winds were as vicious and bone-cutting as the early winters, denying the summer sun its warming light through the thick clouds above. So thick that the light of day was faded, as though night was approaching, though it was still morning. They seemed their thickest over the isle.

That island was the source. He was sure of it.

As he started towards it, he was forced to an abrupt stop as Thalia shot up from below and cut across his path. With a startled cry he reared back, the wind catching his flared wings and bringing him to a jarring halt. He would have plummeted into the frothing waves below had he not managed to right himself and feverishly beat his wings, maintaining a wobbly altitude as Thalia circled back to him, stopping to hover before him.

Over the whooshing sound generated by their wings, both avians had to raise the volume of their voices to communicate -not that Pavan had to try as he was already on the verge of shouting.

"What is your blooming damage?" He demanded. "Are you that desperate to not let a rookie be the one who finds something?"

"Are you daft?" She retorted. "We had a search pattern to follow -you are completely off course and breaking protocol!"

"Why bother? The enemy is right down there!" Pagan retorted, pointing past her to the island.

"And you're certain of this?" She asked.

"Of course I am!"

"Then why are you flying straight at the island?" She asked. "Did you learn nothing at the academy?"

"What are you talking about?" Pagan asked.

Thalia scoffed. "This is not the time or place for giving lessons," she said annoyedly. "Just follow me and pray to whatever gods you follow we have not been seen."

"But..."

"Follow. Me. Private."

With those three words spoken with short pauses between them, Pavan knew he shouId not press his luck any further with Thalia. Without another word of complaint, he did as instructed, following Thalia as she flew back the w ay they had come.

Touching down onto the beach, the two scouts faced each other. Thalia spoke evenly as she began her explanation to the wind phoenix. "Do you know the reasons for our patrol routes -why they are so elaborate?"

"I thought they were meant to be timely and thorough," answered Pavan.

"They are. But strategically so," Thalia explained. "Every island out here, every one of them, has been mapped over the years. We patrol them based on their layouts, the most likely locations of enemy hiding places, and utilize patterns that make our flight paths difficult to read -on the off chance we're being monitored. Subtlety, private. Subtlety, caution and observation. A proper scout must have these things. Remember this," she said firmly. "Now, we have wasted enough time. We will resume our search pattern."

Pavan let her words sink in, understanding her explanation and recalling the similar lessons at the academy -worded differently, but followed the same principle of remaining undetected while scouting from the air. "Understood." Pavan returned, trying to sound as serious as he could manage,

It was obvious he tried too hard, as Thalia arched an eyebrow at him quizzically. Still, she said nothing, returning to her flight with Pavan in tow to resume their search over the islands.

Their course took them to a collective of smaller islands -bare and dull, as they were, before taking them back in the direction of the island Pavan had been following the wind to before. From this approach the island looked different -he did not recognize it at first until he saw off to the right the isle with the beach they had been resting on earlier.

Thalia's explanation about approaching the islands strategically began to make sense as he saw the rising cliff on the side of the island. By approaching the island at a low altitude, below where any hiding amidst the trees atop the cliff would be able to see them without in turn revealing themselves, they approached the island with minimal risk to discovery -if there was anyone there.

Slowly, they began their first circle of the island. They swerved around towards its eastern shore. Thalia's eyes fell to the beach, widening in surprise. "Look!" She called, pointing down at the sand.

Pavan followed her finger, finding what she was pointing to. His beak fell open at the sight of the ship resting atop the sandy shore. There rested a small, single-masted vessel that boasted a single large sail to catch the wind, with a narrow keel and hull to more easily ride upon the waves. Round battle shields, banded with iron and sporting round iron bosses decorated the ship's hull, lashed to the railing along the port and starboard of the ship. At the bow, an imposing statue carved in the likeness of a horned beast faced forward, mounted upon the upward curve of the keel to serve as a figurehead of the ship.

Though the design was older, it was no mistaking the form of a longship -a ship variant often considered obsolete by the modern sailor but still an effective seafaring vessel. Certainly, smaller and harder to spot than a Galleon -likely the reason for the choice, as it would have little trouble being concealed among the islands.

"Well, well, well, private," Thalia began, speaking up suddenly. "There was something to your suspicion after all. Well done."

"I knew I was onto something," Pavan returned confidently. "But... I expected to find a small fleet."

"There may will still be -hiding among the other islands," answered Thalia. "But that," she pointed to the top of the mast, where a blue flag, bearing two crossed axes and a conical helmet image emblazoned upon it, waving in the cold wind, "was all we needed to see. 'Tis the blue flag of Ragnaross, without question."

"Then... we go back and report?" Pavan asked.

"We do. Swiftly!" Thalia urged. "Come -they may have already see-"

As though her words were a cue, Thalia continued her flight only to have an arrow race past her face, startling her. She fought to maintain her flight, turning her head to the island again. Emerging from the trees were several anthropian folk of various species, each of them carrying wooden bows and a quiver of arrows to shoot from them. Three archers, and a fourth bearing a cross spear -an avian with pale white feathers and wearing leather lamellar armour. The avian took flight, brandishing his spear and soaring in pursuit of the two scouts as the others harassed them with arrows.

"Break away!" Thalia ordered Pavan, spinning to the side to change her trajectory, falling into a brief dive before righting herself again.

Pavan chose to instead fly higher, carrying himself out of range of the arrows. The white avian chose to pursue Thalia, as she was the closer target. Thalia was a falcon by birth, and therefore born with a natural speed and agility in the air that other avians did not possess. Yet, somehow, the white avian was catching up to her, ready to run her through with his spear if he managed to get close enough.

Thinking fast, Pavan dove at the white avian. He made no attempt to draw his sword -he would not need it for what he had planned. As he neared the avian, the wind phoenix plunged towards him with talons forward, ready to kick them from the sky.

But, out of the corner of their eye, the white avian saw the attack coming, turning his weapon about and jabbing it in Pavan's general direction as he dove. Only by summoning an upwards draft with his powers was Pavan able to avoid skewering his leg -or worse, his body -upon the spear. However, his hasty summon caught the white avian in the updraft as well, sending both higher into the air.

Fortunately, the white avian had not anticipated the elemental power of his opponent, mistaking Pavan for an ordinary avian. Pavan dove past him, avoiding the deadly tip of the spear, and caught up to Thalia. They were far enough from the island now that the archers were of no threat to them, though the white avian was still in pursuit once he corrected his flight.

Something fell past him. He heard it land in the water below with a plunk, but shortly following, Thalia let out a sharp, startled cry, reflexively arching herself back in reaction to a pain he did not see the cause of, and she began to drop towards the waves. Instinctively, Pavan reached out and caught her arm, her weight adding to his in the flight and nearly pulling him out of the air.

"Private?" She asked when she realized she had stopped falling.

"I-I have you!" Pavan called back. His voice betrayed his strain as he fought to keep the two of them aloft, beating his wings with feverish abandon to keep from being pulled out of the air and dropping to their death in the icy cold waters below.

Pavan shrieked in agony as he felt white-hot pain shoot up his leg, but by mustering every ounce of willpower he could, he managed to keep his hold on Thalia. Fearing it was the spear of the avian, he instinctively kicked his leg forward, hoping to pull himself from it, but the item remained buried in his leg. Eyes blurred with tears of pain and the sting of the cold, he barely saw where he was going as he fought to keep both himself and Thalia aloft.

He shut his eyes, trying not to think of the avian that was likely only a few paces from burying that spear into his back as he summoned the wind, commanding it to create a jet stream to carry him through the air to safety.

The wind obeyed.

Pavan felt a pressure against his back, and suddenly he was flying much faster. He opened his wings, catching all the air as it swirled around him, creating a forward-driving force to carry him towards the island ahead. He maintained it as best he could until they were close enough to the island to make a landing. He dismissed the wind, going back to his own strength...

And dropped, as Thalia's added weight suddenly ripped him out of the air.

They hit the sandy beach, Thalia landing on her belly as Pavan careened out of control and skidded along the sand as if he were sliding on ice. Cold, hard sand filled his eyes, his mouth and covered his face as he finally came to a halt, plucking his head out of the sand. Coughing and hacking he fought to get the sand out of his mouth and rubbed his eyes in an effort to clear them.

"Private! Are you alright?" Thalia's concerned voice spoke behind him as she rose to her feet.

"I've been hit!" Pavan called out to her, panicked.

Thalia walked over to him, a pained look on her face as she saw the strange diamond-like dart buried in his leg. "I see that," she returned, kneeling at his side and looking at his leg.

"Does that mean I'm going to die?" Pavan asked, frightened.

Thalia scowled at him. "Of course not -it's just a spike. It is not even in that deep," she retorted. "But we need to move -that avian is still coming."

"But my leg..."

"Just grind your beak and move!" Thalia snapped at him, slapping his leg with her hand and causing a jolt of pain to shoot through him.

"That is not helping!" Pavan shouted at her, but nonetheless scrambled to get to his feet. Lightning seemed to course up his leg as he mistakenly put weight upon it, nearly sending him pitching face-first into the ground. Fortunately, Thalia was willing to lend her strength, letting Pavan use her for support as they dragged themselves into the copse of cedar trees where they might have more cover from the avian if he were to continue his pursuit..

Once they were out of sight, Thalia proceeded to lean Pavan against a tree, crouching to his side to examine his hurt leg, eyeing the needle protruding from it with awe. "How could anyone throw a dart like this so accurately in flight?" She asked, grasping the dart between her fingers. "Do not. Scream," she said in warning to the wind phoenix, and it was all the warning he received before she tugged the dart free.

It exited easily enough and did not hurt nearly as much as when it had pierced his flesh, but Pavan still squawked in pain before he clapped both hands over his beak to silence himself. Thalia stood again, studying the needle. "This isn't a dart."

"It isn't?" Pavan asked through his fingers before taking his hands from his beak and using one to rub his hurt leg as he balanced on the foot of his other.

"It is cold, and wet," she replied, before looking at Pavan. "It is... made of ice."

Pavan's eyes widened. "Then that avian was an ice phoenix!"

"Or was a cryomancer," corrected Thalia. "Regardless, he is one of the Ragnarosians -we have found them and must report back."

"Is he following us?"

Boldly, Thalia turned and slowly leaned her head out to look back the way they came, her eyes studying the land at length in search of the scout, but she did not see him. "It does not appear so," she replied. "Still, we should move -find somewhere with more cover."

"Surely you and I can outfly him," Pavan offered.

But Thalia frowned. "Maybe, except I was hit too." She turned her back to him, and he noticed that there was a dark, moist spot on her back, just below the joint where her wing met her back and inconveniently located where the muscle was the densest. "He knew exactly where he was aiming."

"Bollocks," growled Pavan. "You can't fly?"

"I could, but it would be painful -I doubt I could outrun him before he strikes me again," Thalia offered. "But maybe you could get back -your leg was hit but your flight is unaffected."

"And you will do what -stand here and face him?" Pavan asked incredulously. "He will kill you!"

"I am perfectly capable of holding my own in a sword fight," Thalia retorted. "But best case scenario, I won't have to fight -as I said he does not pursue."

Pavan looked at her in shock. "But I..."

"Just do as I say for once without question!" Thalia shot back, before shifting her tone, taking a softer approach as she spoke. "I can go no further, you must continue on to Guardian Tower and let them know what we found. Fear not, I will be safe here."

"I will send someone to find you as soon as I've made my report," Pavan promised her.

She nodded to him in thanks but grasped his arm as he turned to leave. "You... you saved me back on the island, even disobeying my command to do so. That marauder would surely have taken my head if you had not intervened. I thank you for that."

Pavan smiled. "You're welcome."

"Fly swiftly now, scout. Every minute counts," she urged, releasing his arm.

Pavan hastened to the shore, managing a shaky takeoff as he took flight once more and made a hasty journey back to Avolon, leaving Thalia to await retrieval. She lay the borrowed sword across her lap, watching Pavan fly to the west towards Avolon as quickly as his wings could carry him.

As she watched, she saw a flake of snow fall before her eyes. Alarmed, she turned to look up into the sky, and saw more snowflakes cascading down from the sky, carried on the icy cold wind that had increased over the past moment. Such a thing could not be possible to occur naturally, but after seeing two different sub-races of Phoenix using their powers, she was no longer inclined to disbelieve what she saw.

In the city, Prince Avogadro walked out onto his balcony as he saw the snowflakes falling, staring with awe at the skies above. In complete defiance of the seasons, winter had fallen over the city -summer had been taken away in but a few day's time, denied its seasonal dominance by the powers that had summoned this dreary winter.

In his mind, the words of Vinge echoed, reminding him of the prisoner's parting words. "You will know his coming when the snow begins to fall," knowing now that Vinge had been speaking truly he knew that this falling snow meant only one thing.

"He is coming..." Avogadro whispered, narrowing his eyes. "Stay strong, my people."

~~~~~

Having long grown accustomed to the bells of the clock tower ringing throughout the day and the night alike, Volcan could not recall a time when they managed to wake him from deep sleep. Irritated, the phoenix turned over in his bed, waiting until the bells finished their count of the hour so that he might return to sleep.

But the bells didn't stop.

His eyes shot open as his mind became clearer, realizing that the bells he was hearing were different. All clock tower bells had a second of delay between each chime, counting the hours of the day from one to twenty-four. But there was no brief interval between these bells -each chime was high-pitched, sharp and consecutive. The last time he had heard such bells was in his childhood when the city had come under attack by a rival nation.

Now awakened by realization, Volcan sat up in bed, his movement throwing the covers off his body as he turned to look out the window as though he might see the cause of the alarm. He was surprised to find snow falling by the pane of glass, blanketing the streets in moisture and patches of white where it managed to accumulate. He saw a patrol pass his home, spears raised and moving with all due haste towards Central Avolon.

Throwing himself over the side of his bed, he dashed for his service blade and wardrobe on the wall when a knock came at his door. "Come in!" He called.

The door opened, and through it stepped Lighris. "Brother, breakfast is re-" he trailed off, seeing his younger sibling in the process of pulling on his uniform trousers. "Brother, what is it?"

"Do you hear those bells?" Volcan asked. "They are the city's alarm system -we are under attack! I have to go."

"Attack? By who?" Lighris asked.

"I do not know. But it may be best if you and mother go to the palace until it is dealt with -you will be safer there," he suggested as he pulled his ballistine shirt over his head, struggling with the dense, quintuple woven silk before managing to get the open seam around his wings, reaching behind him to button it, but in his haste he was fumbling with it. "Mind helping me?" He asked Lighris.

The blue-feathered avian stepped over to him, fastening the buttons of Volcan's protective shirt behind the small of his back as the younger phoenix slipped on the metal bracers for his forearms, tightening the straps and buckles to secure them to his arm. The next item was the harness for his shoulder plates, slipping his arms through the loops before letting Lighris fasten it on the back.

As Volcan put on his belt with the scabbard for his sword resting against his left hip, Lighris retrieved the young phoenix's service blade, studying the weapon and the few notches in its edges -a number likely to increase if the phoenix was heading into battle as he thought. "I always thought the eldest brother was supposed to fight for the younger," he mused as he turned and passed the blade to Volcan. "Yet here you are."

"The Avolon Security Forces are always looking for new recruits, Lighris," Volcan offered.

But the lightning hawk shook his head. "I could never do such work," he stated. "I despise answering to anyone but myself. So," he smiled, clapping Volcan on the shoulder. "Make your family proud, little brother."

Volcan smiled back and nodded to Lighris. Then, after slipping his longsword into its sheath, he hurried out of his bedroom. He practically leapt down the stairwell as he hastened to the ground floor, finding his mother waiting for him at the bottom, a half-loaf of bread in her hands.

"You will need your strength," she said, offering it to him. She already knew what the bells meant, he realized. "Be careful, my son," she begged.

"I will, mother," replied Volcan, accepting the bread before embracing his mother in his arms in farewell. "I will return soon. For now, please go to the palace as soon as you can."

"We will," she promised. "Now, go. The city needs you."

Volcan hesitated briefly, remembering the words his mother had spoken to him only days before, after the fire that had broken out in Hawkton. She had told him that one day, the people of Avolon would need him. That one day, his power -normally feared by the Avolonians, would one day save them from a threat they were not prepared to face. Could this be the moment she had spoken of?

"Volcan," Degra spoke suddenly as he turned to the door. "I heard the King talking about this enemy the night before. A prisoner come to warn us about them. It is Njall."

Volcan's wings stiffened, and his back became rigid at the mention of the name, remembering it from the many stories his mother had shared with him about his uncle Lord Boswell MacAingeal, and the horrors that had followed the one bearing that hated name. He turned to look at his mother. "The Egg-Breaker is here?" He demanded.

"If the prisoner is to be believed, he is," Degra went on. "You are not yet ready to face such a being, my son. If Njall should appear, you must do everything you can to escape. If escape is not an option, I pray you do not face him alone."

Volcan could only nod an answer, unable to find words that might offer him comfort. From within, he felt a heat rising within his chest, like a burning anger erupting as if from his very soul. Njall was a hated enemy to the MacAingeal -bringing the deaths of hundreds of children, by his own hands. Sons and daughters that were denied to their rightful parents, who would curse him henceforth to the end of their lives. That hatred seemed to carry through the bloodlines, down to himself, and he could feel the rage of those who had come before him flowing through him now, the souls of those denied their life crying out for the blood of the one who had taken them from the world.

How Volcan longed to bring the vengeance his forebears desired, but he was no fool. The bringer of the Red Winter was the rival to Lord Boswell -who himself had the power to reduce cities to ash. He would be no match for the Egg Breaker, not yet...

He looked at Degra. "I will do my best, mother," he said, before turning and running to the door, taking a bite of the bread clutched in one hand while opening the door with the other. A wave of cold hit him as he stepped out the door, causing him a momentary dizziness that nearly sent him face-first to the flagstone street. He held his footing, shaking his head to clear it, blinking away the haze in his eyes, before running out onto the street and making a right towards Central Avolon, as fast as his legs could carry him.

Degra and Lighris approached the door, peering down the road where Volcan had run. Degra clasped her hands together, raising them to eye level and holding them in prayer with her thumbnails rested against her beak. "Ancestors, please watch over my son. I beg of you, protect him."

Volcan tried to adjust to the cold, damp weather that covered Avolon as he ran to the barracks, where he found an organized column had formed among the soldiers who had already come in response to the bells. Avolon guards of each of the city's various avionic populace, arranged in an orderly fashion row by row. As he approached, he could hear words being shared between the soldiers, discussing the sudden alarm and trying to discern what could be the cause of it.

Volcan tapped the shoulder of the nearest guard as he joined the back row. They turned to face him. "What has happened?" He asked.

The guard -a private, recognized Volcan quickly, snapping to attention and saluting him. "Corporal. I have not heard yet -we are still waiting for the captain to make an appearance."

"Understood," Volcan said, taking his place and facing the barracks. He found himself struggling to catch his breath, feeling mild nausea and grogginess all brought on by the cold air, choking his living flame. Damn this miserable weather, coming so suddenly -he'd had no time to adjust to it. He felt weak, and it was difficult even to stand without swaying.

The wait was not long. A moment after he found his place in the second row, the doors to the barracks opened. Gregory stepped out, followed by Lieutenant Alden, both scanning the rows of guardsmen arranged before them, as if counting heads to how many had answered the call to arms.

When Gregory was ready, he began his announcement. "Soldiers of First Division," he called, taking a piece of paper offered to him by Alden. "In my hand here is a report from Scout-Captain Northcott following a reconnaissance ordered directly the king himself."

Murmurs of surprise erupted from the guards. Volcan shared in their surprise, having not heard of the king taking any direct involvement in the current situation -though he found it corroborated with what his mother had told him, about the prisoner that had come to warn the King about Njall's coming. Being the first to know, it was not so surprising to find out King Christopher would order the scouting mission himself.

Gregory rose his voice, calling for order. "Listen, men! We are about to come under attack -the icy city of Ragnaross has come, and by attacking our scouts unprovoked they have made their intentions clear! We are to organize and prepare for battle -the armory has been opened! Arm yourselves and await your orders from Lieutenant Alden!" He looked at the hawk standing at his side. "Take command, Alden -get everyone ready to move."

"Yes Captain," Alden returned.

As Gregory took to the skies, Alden began to direct the troops into the barracks, directing them to the armory at the rear of the barracks. They proceed one row at a time into the barracks, proceeding down the main corridor, past the officer's quarters to the rearmost chamber through a wide doorway.

Every Avolon barracks was designed symmetrically to allow an orderly flow of soldiers to walk through it as they were now, with a single rounding corridor that lead to every part of the building -whether going left or right, the hall would pass every door in the building at least once.

The armory was designed to fit with this flow. Situated at the back of the barracks and with a table in the middle for the soldiers to circle, passing the racks of weapons where they could quickly choose their gear and exit. This arrangement allowed the column of guards to enter and exit the building quickly and emerge battle ready, as time was usually a luxury the Avolonians could not afford when such situations occurred.

The guardsmen remained in their orderly line as they proceeded to the weapon rack, each one taking a spear, and then a helmet. Some also exchanged their cudgels for crossbows or tomahawks. A few had to stop to make sure they had picked a helmet that fit them, holding up the line for only a few seconds until they found one and resumed the march out of the armory, through the barracks again and back out to the street, reforming their line.

As the first line emerged, it was time for the second line to enter. The process repeated, and within minutes they emerged in full armour. A third row entered, before finally it was time for the fourth row, where Volcan stood. But as Volcan took a step forward, he felt a hand on his shoulder, and turned to see Alden standing at his side as the other guards began to enter the barracks.

"Corporal," he began. "I know well of your aversion to this sort of weather. Can you tolerate it?"

"Sir," Volcan returned, standing at attention. "My duty is to Avolon. I will not let this weather prevent me from carrying it out."

Alden measured the phoenix's response for a moment, holding his gaze until he responded with a nod, releasing Volcan's shoulder and letting him enter the barracks as the last of the fourth line ventured within, taking a spot at the back of the line and following it to the armory.

At the armoury entrance, he made room for the leaders of the column to exit, moving his wing aside and watching as they took the roundabout corridor back to the front. As Volcan worked his way to the weapon racks, he reached for a spear, but his eyes drifted to the next rack, falling upon the weapons arranged there. Polearms that ended in narrower spearheads -almost needles by design but had one addition -a reverse crescent-shaped blade with a sharp curve fitted onto the shaft below the spearhead, and a curving pick blade on the back. A halberd, he remembered them being called -designed to replace spears but having failed due to their top-heavier design rendering them unsuitable for air-lancing, as it was harder to control the placement amid a dive.

But to him, it was beautiful. He felt drawn to it, and took the weapon in his grasp, studying it, feeling the heft of it as he lifted it from the rack. It felt perfect to him -almost like it belonged in his hands. He smiled, appreciating the halberd for its design and already picturing the many ways he could use it in the coming battle. Without a second thought, he took the weapon, picked a helmet for himself and made it out of the armoury as the fourth column ventured in to make their own selections.

On his way out, he slipped on his helmet. It fit snugly around his head, pressing the crest above his forehead flat against his scalp. He rested the nasal piece upon the bridge of his beak, feeling the cheek flaps creating a pocket around his face. The hinged metal plates on the back, angled for deflection, lay against the back of his neck leaving all but his beak encased in the metal helm. It was stifling and weighed heavy upon his neck, but it would keep his head safe.

Once he was back outside, Alden took notice of the weapon Volcan was carrying, giving him a quizzical look. "A halberd, Corporal?" He asked.

"Yes sir," replied Volcan, looking at the weapon proudly.

_ "Trying to show off._"

He resisted the urge to look over his shoulder for the source of the voice and pretended not to hear it. He looked to his left and right, but to his chagrin, saw that no one else had chosen the halberd, the spear being the favoured weapon of any Avolonian soldier and the first all recruits mastered. Suddenly, he felt like he had drawn attention to himself again, but made certain not to let his feelings show, and looked up at Alden again who was eyeing him in consideration.

"It may not be the standard," Alden stated, "but, you have the right to it as anyone does. Use it well."

Volcan took some comfort in Alden's praise, and held the weapon firmly in his hand, nodding to the lieutenant.

"Message! Message!"

Alden, Volcan, and all the guards looked up, spotting a falcon -a scout, they knew, passing overhead shouting at the top of his lungs to the rows of guards below. "Ragnarosians are heading to Grand Harvest Island! Marshall Vinson orders all soldiers, report to docks at once! Marshall's orders, report to docks!"

The Marshall was a figure selected among the captains to lead as the high command during a time of crises when there was not a general present. By default, the marshal position fell to First Division's captain -in this case, Gregory Vinson, but if the marshal felt unwilling or was not considered by the other captains to be suitable for the role, they would decide among themselves through a vote to who would receive the position. Captain Vinson was confident in his abilities, though, and no other captain questioned him, having long earned their respect.

With the instructions received, Alden raised his voice for the gathered troopers to hear. "Marching formation!" He directed, prompting the guardsmen into a single, tightly packed column with just enough space for the troopers to hold their spears in an upright position. Three avians wide, more than sixty deep, Alden took his place at the front, drawing his saber and holding it in an upright position like the spears of his troops.

Volcan timed his steps with those of around him, eyes forward and set upon Alden's back between the rows of helmeted heads. He felt stronger, surrounded by so many of his fellow warriors, yet at the same time felt isolated, wondering if it was right for him to be marching into battle with them. The snowflakes descending from above -what few remained long enough to land upon him, sizzled where they touched his feathers. He felt an itch where they melted, sometimes even a prick of pain.

His hands gripped his halberd tightly, his body tense from the neck down. This would be his first real battle in service to Avolon -he had plenty of street fights to his name, had even taken a life before -regretting it to this day, wishing he could have done better. But here, there was no direction to take the enemy alive -this was a real battle, and to spare the enemy would be to put himself at risk... along with his fellow Avolonians.

Was he ready to shoulder that much responsibility, he wondered?

'I suppose I will soon find out.'

Six Avolonian Captains had convened at the docks in preparation to meet the warriors of Ragnaross. Marshall Captain Gregory Vinson of First Division and leader of the guards who patrolled Central Avolon and Hawkton stood at the head of the group. At his left, the red kite Captain James Beauregard of Fifth Division, who headed the patrols through the Central Avolon Market, the Avolon Marina and the North Harbour.

Behind Beauregard, a red-tailed hawk who stood taller than Gregory or Beauregard but was more lithe-figured than they. He was also the only one among them who carried two swords instead of one -twin sabers lay in their scabbards against both of his hips, his arms laying comfortably upon their hilts. This was Nicolosa Taiapetra, Captain of Third Division who led the patrols of the Rook & Raven district, and a legendary swordsmaster among the captains, having won many competitions and duels in his career.

To Gregory's right stood the only female among them. Carolyn Brassington of Second Division, who led the patrols of Little Sparrow, the Seagull Wharf and the Gardens District, stood with her hands folded behind her back. The female falcon was petite in size compared to her fellows- she did not appear overly threatening, and her division was the smallest of the five gathered there. Yet all knew better than to underestimate her, for she had earned her title as Captain' and was second to Captain Vinson in respect and prowess among her peers, for despite her division being the smallest, the level of crime in her district was the lowest in the city.

Standing behind Brassington was a male tawny owl. Liam Southgate, Captain of Fourth Division, who handled security of Grand Harvest Island. An opposite to the female before him, for having so much ground to cover his division possessed the highest number of guards in the city. His men patrolled the sister island's roads and walls and the alike with no other sharing the responsibility. His soldiers were not expected to come to the rally point, preparing for the imminent attack. But he needed to be present for the rally since the battle would be taking place in his jurisdiction -though his unease was obvious as his fingers rapped furiously against the guard of his sword -short of saying it outright, his desire to return to his station was clear.

Last in the circle was the captain of the Scout Regiment, Scout-Captain Maxwell Northcott. Though he did not lead a division as the rest of them did, his scouts would be needed for the battles ahead to provide reconnaissance and, if needed, secure an evacuation of the island's citizens, should the marauders manage to get over the wall. He was a male falcon, slender in form and not as battle-hardened as the rest, but his eyes were ever watchful for the slightest change that occurred around him, spotting even the smallest of discrepancies.

"Here they come," Captain Beauregard announced, prompting the others to follow his gaze to their left, where a column of troops was crossing the bridge from the Market into the North Harbour. Recognizing the divisionary emblems upon their vests, he smiled. "My forces have arrived," he said proudly, as though the arrival of his troops ahead of the others was cause for celebration -despite the fact his barracks was the closest to the harbour, and Northcott's forces had been there from the beginning.

"Captain Brassington!" Another voice called, prompting the five to turn to look to their right as another guardsman, bearing the numeric symbol of Second Division on his sleeves, glided down to them, landing in front of the falcon and saluting her. "I have spoken with Admiral Hargrave at the shipyards as you asked, but he says that his ships won't be able to intercept the Ragnarosians before they hit the island -the waves caused by this easterly wind are slowing them down."

"Damn this weather!" Brassington cursed, glaring up at the sky. "The one day we that wind comes from the east, and it's the one day we cannot have it!"

"It is not the fault of nature, Captain Brassington," Northcott stated. "Scout Stevenson claims that this weather is the work of the enemy."

"Then this shift in weather is the doing of the Ragnarosians, as the King suspected?" Gregory asked Northcott.

"The Prince, actually," corrected Northcott. "But yes. This weather is the work of their leader -an Ice phoenix known as... Nay-all? Something like that."

"One Ice Phoenix is doing this?" Southgate asked in disbelief.

"I cannot say for sure, but that is what the message, delivered directly by the Prince's attendant, suggests," replied Northcott. "That we would know the coming of this 'Nayall' when the snow begins to fall, as it is now."

"Where is the Prince getting information about this?" Gregory inquired, curiously. The other captains, equally curious, leaned in to listen.

"The message did not say."

Though the other captains were dissatisfied by the answer, Gregory had his suspicions. He recalled the day before, when he and Volcan had witnessed a strange white avian being escorted by the King's Guard through Avolon, shackled like a prisoner. Could he have been the source of the Prince's information -a Ragnarosian prisoner, interrogated for information? A defector? Or something more?

He remembered the reaction Volcan had to the sight of the white avian, and the latter in turn with him, when their eyes had met. As though both could see something about the other that Gregory could not. Something beneath the surface that only they could sense -that a mortal like him would miss.

'Could that prisoner be a phoenix as well?' He thought.

During their conversation, Fifth Division's forces had formed rows and stood at attention in a column, awaiting their orders. Shortly after they had formed ranks, another cluster arrived, coming from the north -from the North East -from Little Sparrow, though they were fewer than Captain Beauregard's units.

"Two hundred and fifty from Fifth Division," Beauregard announced.

"One hundred and forty-five from Second Division," Brassington added.

"Here come more," Captain Taiapetra chimed in, pointing to the north west, past the bridge access to the Seagull Wharf district. There, yet another column of soldiers, crossing over from Rook & Raven were arriving. "One-hundred and seventy from my division arrive to join us."

"And it appears First Division has arrived as well," added Brassington, pointing past Taiapetra's approaching forces to the same bridge over which Beauregard's forces had arrived.

At the head, Gregory recognized his trusted Lieutenant leading the marching line of troops. He had done a headcount before he had left the barracks, counting his own forces at exactly two-hundred. He added his count to those of the other Captains, and quickly added up the numbers in his mind. "Counting Northcott's own forces, this brings our number to over eight hundred," he said.

"With six hundred more waiting for us on Grand Harvest Island," Southgate added. "But most of them will be on the walls."

Brassington turned to the ranks of soldiers gathered before them. "Now that we're assembled, we should take flight and make for the island immediately," she suggested.

"I concur," stated Southgate. "I will fly on ahead to rally my forces."

"Best of luck, Captain Southgate," Gregory said.

"Thank you, Captain Vinson," Southgate returned, bowing his head respectfully, before he took flight, leaving the gathered host behind and accompanied by the ten volunteered scouts.

The host formed columns, arranging themselves by order of division -first to fifth, left to right, presenting their armaments and standing at attention as they waited to hear their orders from their captains. Seeing no reason to delay any longer, Gregory looked to his fellow captains, all of whom nodded in return to him, and stepped forward to address the host.

"Avolonians, spread out and prepare for flight!" Gregory commanded, prompting them to part ranks and make as much room between one another as possible before opening their wings.

With a running start, one row at a time as taught at the academy, the Avolonian defenders took flight. The captains and scouts were quick to follow as row upon row left the shores. Within moments, the skies above the Merchant's Channel were filled with Avolon's protectors, turning their course southward to the sister island of Grand Harvest, spears tucked safely against their bodies to reduce drag and maintain their aerodynamics.

Amidst the flock of soldiers, Volcan flew in the middle, staying at a higher altitude to keep as much distance between himself and the death-assuring waters below him. It was at times like this he questioned why his people had chosen to live on an island, let alone a narrow peninsula, with their opposing element practically ready to engulf them at any given moment if the ocean's water level were ever to rise.

'I should ask my mother when next I see her.' He thought.

If I see her again... a dark part of his mind added.

He shook his head to clear it, cursing whatever part of his mind conjured such a grim thought...

The flight across the Merchant's channel to the island did not take long for the host, soon able to see snow-covered ground below them, blanketing the farms, grassland and roads in a sheet of white. The air over the island was colder than over Avolon and filled with a white mist that, upon flying into it, caused Volcan's skin to begin itching as though he had suddenly developed an irritating skin rash. His head throbbed, and he felt nauseous -he was thankful when the captains ordered the flock of defenders to land.

His landing was awkward, slipping as his talons touched ground. Volcan instinctively flailed his arms as he fought to keep his balance, causing some of his fellow Avolonians to jump away from him to avoid the halberd clutched in his dominant hand. He managed to keep himself on his feet, apologizing to his fellows and stepping sheepishly away, silently cursing himself for a for, and then looked up at the wall of mist ahead, wondering how such fog could cover the entire island in such density. No eyes, not even his, could pierce its white veil.

Ahead, the captains regrouped. The guard divisions hastily reformed their columns and stood at attention, this time with Volcan closer to the front and letting him hear the captains as they discussed the host's next course of action.

"The snow and haze is too thick to continue by flying," stated Captain Northcott. "We could pass over the enemy without even seeing them in a mist like this."

Gregory agreed with Northcott's analysis, nodding to him. "Then we will have to continue on foot," said Gregory. "I only hope Captain Southgate can find a way to signal us his position -we do not yet know where the enemy is approaching from."

"According to the last reports of my scouts, the Ragnarosian longships seemed to be veering their course southwards," reported Northcott. "It would stand to reason they'll launch their attack from there -if they have means to penetrate the wall."

"Before we march, I advise we leave a detachment at the harbour, and guard it from an attack," Brassington chimed in. "Just in case the enemy moves far enough inland."

"Dividing our forces so soon, Brassington?" Taiapetra questioned. "We do not yet know the enemy numbers."

Brassington nodded in understanding but continued to make her point. "We don't even know how they plan to get over the wall -if they haven't already. The harbour must have a defense ready until the citizens can be evacuated, should the enemy come this far."

"I am in agreement with Brassington," Gregory stated. "We can spare enough troops to leave guards for the harbour. As for seeing the enemy, I have a solution for that as well." He turned from them, his eyes locating Volcan amongst the soldiers who were still reforming their column to await their orders. "Corporal MacAingeal!" He called, and motioned Volcan over.

Volcan answered the call promptly, striding over the snowy ground and coming to a stop by the captains. "Yes, Captain?" He asked.

Before Gregory could even utter a reply, a groan from Beauregard caught his ear. Gregory shot him a cold look, his yellow eyes fixing upon the red kite in warning. "Is there a problem, Captain Beauregard?" He asked.

"N-No, Captain Vinson, none at all," replied Beauregard, unnerved by the hawk's glare.

"Corporal. Can your infrasight penetrate this mist and snow?" Gregory asked, turning back to Volcan.

"Yes," Volcan confirmed, nodding.

"Then I want you on point. You will guide us through this weather as we make our way southwards," Gregory instructed. "I am granting you full consent to use your powers as required. But try to avoid projecting fire unless absolutely necessary -we must avoid any damage to the farms."

"Yes, Captain." Volcan replied, hiding his nervous swallow as the gravity of the situation fell over him. The host was moving blind, and he was to be its eyes, warning them of any attack that might come out of the mist. He could not afford to be careless in this situation -not that there was a margin for such to begin with.

Steeling himself, he moved to march with the captains. The host formed into a marching column, five soldiers wide -one behind each of the captains who now stood behind Volcan as he led the way across the island to the south. Onlookers from the harbour could only watch as the army of guardsmen slowly vanished into the mist, only the sounds of their marching leaving any indication of where they were, until that too faded into silence...

~~~~~

South Wall, Grand Harvest Island...

His entire body shivered as Captain Southgate finally managed to locate the wall and move in for a landing. The icy mist, blowing snow and chilling air had crept its way through his uniform and the feathers beneath, chilling him to the bone. But the veteran owl soldier was determined to regroup with his men and lead them for the battle that was surely approaching and would not let this weather anomaly stop him from doing so.

He eased his legs forward and angled himself back, using the wind to slow his descent and landing with a jolt upon the wall. All along the parapets stood Avolonian soldiers bearing the sigil of his division, aiming large crossbows out to sea at the lingering Ragnarosian fleet gathering beyond. One of them looked up as they heard him land, and immediately made his presence known to the others

"The captain is here!" He crowed, followed by a welcoming array of cheers.

"At ease, soldiers," Southgate told his men. "Report -what is the situation?"

The nearest soldier -the same one who had announced him, a Sergeant by the emblem on his shoulder, waved his spear out to the open sea beyond the wall. Below, on the surface of the black waters, Southgate could see many of the Ragnarosian longships gathered, holding position well within sight of the wall, leading Southgate to his next question.

"Have you fired upon the ships in my absence?"

"We are having difficulty getting the artillery to function," replied the soldier. "The loading chambers keep sticking from the frost."

"You did not grease the chambers?" Southgate asked, incredulous.

"Sir. This weather happened so suddenly, we never had the chance."

Southgate huffed, suspecting that was more than a coincidence that the cannons would be malfunctioning as an enemy fleet was gathered. "Do we have an estimate of the enemy numbers?" He asked.

"Seventeen longships have appeared so far, with more appearing by the minute. Each one is large enough to hold roughly seventy soldiers, by our estimate," the soldier reported. "The strange thing is, they have no weapons aboard their vessels."

Southgate eyed the soldier oddly. "No weapons?"

"Aside from those held by their occupants, none, sir," the soldier went on. "They have no cannons or any of the sort whatsoever."

Southgate turned a quizzical gaze back out to the enemy fleet, baffled by the lack of preparation. How could they think they would ever get through or over the wall without artillery support to cover their approach?

At that moment, Southgate saw something appearing from the mist. A large shadow, materializing within the white fog. He squinted his large eyes, staring hard into the haze as he tried to discern the source of the shadow, but even his eyes could not pierce the white veil that enshrouded it. Soon, though, he would not have to as another vessel -a ship with square-rigged sails emerged into view. He saw on the main sail, a purple cross dyed into the cotton sails, with an unmistakable familiarity to the captain. Southgate's beak fell open and his eyes widened with shock as he recognized the emblem on the sail.

The ship was an Avolonian Caravel.

"Miserable pirates!" Southgate growled. "They've commandeered one of our ships!"

"That must be the patrol craft my friend at the Kuiper Shipyards said went missing three weeks ago!" He overheard one of his soldiers state.

Southgate knew that caravels carried a few cannons for defense, but they were short-ranged, and Caravels themselves were designed for speed, not for besieging walls. Even with the more advanced armaments on a square-rigged ship, they were still at a disadvantage.

"What are you scheming?" He asked aloud, though did not expect an answer.

The larger vessel moved closer to the walls, the sails being hastily furled by the crew, bringing the ship to a slow crawl. On the deck, Southgate could make out the forms of eight pale avians standing at the bow. They all shared a similar white colour with the faintest hint of blue to their feathers. The seven smaller of the eight wore coats of mail and coned helmets, but the one furthest to the front and the largest of them wore no armour. A helmet was tucked under his arm, but his chest was bare and exposed.

"He's sailing so close. Is he coming to negotiate?" One of the archers suggested.

Captain Southgate was highly doubtful.

The Avolonians watched, silently, as the eight avians formed lines at the railing of their ship, discarding their weapons onto the deck behind them, freeing their hands for whatever purpose they had in mind. The air seemed to grow colder as the eight outstretched their hands, holding them over the railing and becoming still. Southgate saw a glow appearing in their eyes, and saw the same glow appear in their hands.

Then, the glow turned to swirling snow, columns of which fell from their hands and plunged into the sea below. The Avolonians watched in astonishment as a sheet of ice formed over the water's surface surrounding the ship. They were not freezing the water itself -salt water could not be frozen. They were creating a solid mass above the ocean waters, expanding rapidly around the ship and stretching outwards, forming long stretches of ice that seemed to be reaching out to the longboats.

Captain Southgate did not know what they were planning but he was not about to watch them complete it. He drew his saber, raising it high over his head and shouting a command. "Prepare to volley!"

The archers snapped to attention, angling their crossbows towards the enemy ships. At Southgate's command, marked by the falling of his arm, they released their arrows, showering the enemy ships with projectiles. No one managed to hit the eight ice phoenixes, other arrows thinned the numbers on the ships -though only partly. The largest ice phoenix looked in their direction, and seemed to shout something to the others, but no one on the walls could hear him.

By now the ice mass had grown to a crude dock, with wharfs outstretched to each longboat, creating a pier upon which the occupants could leave their ships and begin to make their way to the main stretch. The order came to fire again, and the second volley was released, showering the Ragnarosians with arrows as they left their vessels. Those who could not raise their shields in time fell to the arrow volley. A third volley, and then a fourth thinned the ranks of the invaders.

The ice continued to expand towards the wall, this time beginning to angle itself upward, rising higher and higher from the ocean surface until many of the ships could no longer be seen as an ice dome rapidly took form, shielding them from the next arrow volley.

Cursing, Southgate turned to the sergeant. "Get that artillery working, soldier, and fast!" He commanded. "The rest of you, save your arrows! They will never pierce that ice barrier!"

The sergeant and those closest scrambled to the nearest cannon, hastening to get the artillery operational. They pulled back on the sliding door for the loading compartment, struggling with it, until finally it snapped open with a clang. Reaching for the box of ammunition underneath, the sergeant loaded a round into the chamber, slamming the compartment closed again.

"Angle, forty-five degrees down!" The Sergeant ordered. The private to his left complied, grasping the wheel to control the elevation of the gun while watching the scale lamp that measured said angle until he was at the correct height.

"Something is happening down there!" Another soldier shouted.

Southgate turned back out to the dome, looking for what the soldier was talking about. Then he saw it -the base of the dome, facing the wall of the island, once more alit with that same glow the ice phoenixes had been emitting. He watched in silence as the glow expanded, growing until it was as wide as a house, before finally stopping.

An ear-splitting crack filled the air, and then the ice exploded outward, but it didn't shatter. It was expanding, forming a long extension that stretched towards the walls of Avolon, resembling a serpent lunging towards its prey. The archers watched in stunned amazement at the spectacle as the creature of ice arced towards them.

"Scatter!" He shouted at the top of his lungs before throwing himself to the wall out of the path of the serpent.

The ice serpent slammed into the wall. Most of the avians had jumped clear, but two unfortunate souls had not, and were caught in its attack as it came over the wall. But there was no tremor, no vibration to indicate a massive force had stricken the wall as Southgate was expecting -he thought the attack had been meant to plow directly through the wall, but other than a few crenellations being crushed under its mass the wall was unscathed. The ice serpent seemed to rest itself upon the wall and keep stretching over the other side until reaching ground. Only then did it finally stop, nestling its head upon the snow below, and becoming still.

Southgate, collecting his breath, turned over and looked at the wall of ice now stretched out before him, laying atop the wall. A pair of guards helped him to his feet, and he approached the wall with his saber drawn, stabbing at it with his weapon and leaving only a chip in the hard, blue ice.

"Captain? What are they doing?" The sergeant asked.

"I don't know, soldier," Southgate relaxed, more calmly than he really felt. "I thought they were trying to knock down the wall... but this-" He trailed off, suddenly unable to find the words he wanted.

"Wait," the sergeant said suddenly, stepping closer to the wall. "Do you hear that?"

"What do you hear?" Southgate inquired.

"Sounds like..." The sergeant took another step closer, reaching his hand out to touch the wall, as if to make sure it would not freeze him on contact. Then, slowly, he put his head against the ice, pressing his feather-covered ear against it to listen. "It sounds like marching..."

Curious, Southgate followed his sergeant's example, stepping up to the wall and pressing his ear against it. After a few seconds of listening, he too could hear it -the sound of rhythmic heavy footfalls, emanating from within the ice. His eyes slowly widened as the realization dawned on him, stepping back from the wall as he noticed shadows out of the corner of his eye -shadows in the ice, the marching growing louder as the shadows drew closer.

"This is a tunnel!" Southgate exclaimed.

They could not get through the wall, they were going over it!

"Turn that cannon on this wall -break it down!" He ordered the sergeant, then turned to the next nearby soldier. "Fly over to the other side -tell them to stand clear! That shell will surely punch through."

The soldier complied, taking flight to deliver the captain's message, while the sergeant and the engineers rotated the artillery cannon they had previously loaded to face the ice wall, readjusting the gun's elevation and taking aim. The sergeant took it upon himself to give the order to fire, the engineer to his right pulling back the lever that controlled the firing mechanism, calling out a warning and then pressed the release.

Nothing happened, save for a sickening thunk from inside the cannon.

"Misfire!" The engineer cried in dismay.

The sergeant, frustrated, pulled open the loading chamber, checking the primer on the artillery shell inside. Unmarked, indicating that the firing mechanism had jammed. He could see to the point of the flint, hovering just inches from where it was meant to strike the primer and ignite the powder in the shell. "Can we jar that loose?" He asked, shutting the compartment again.

"I'll try the lever again," the engineer offered.

Once more, he pulled the lever back until the mechanism was in place. Uttering a silent prayer, the engineer hit the release, and this time, the cannon did what it was supposed to.

An explosion erupted from the barrel, the shell launching towards the ice faster than even avian eyes could follow. The soldiers around the cannon were left momentarily deafened by the cannon's discharge, their eyes clenched shut until the ringing in their ears ceased and they looked upon the effects of their cannons.

The wall was still standing. They saw the bronze-coloured back of the shell, imbedded deeply into the ice -buried up to its full length. But it had not pierced the ice, not even caused it to crack. The wall was intact.

"Th-That's impossible!" The engineer protested.

Southgate agreed with the engineer. In all his years, never had he encountered a naturally occurring substance that could withstand the penetrating power of an artillery shell, let alone at such close range as this -the shell had travelled barely ten paces, and would have not lost a smidgen of velocity over such a minute distance. Yet the wall stood, virtually unharmed. Was it being strengthened by magic? Were the ice phoenixes on the ship so powerful that they could create ice stronger than nature herself?

He had no time to think about it. He looked at the Sergeant, who was in the process of reloading the cannon for another shot. But Southgate stopped him. "Forget it," he said. "We cannot stop them from reaching the end of the tunnel -all we can do now is stop them from taking the island. Order everyone to make for ground level -we'll bottleneck them at the mouth of the passage! It's their only way in. They think they have us, but we'll turn their own trick against them!"

"Yes sir!" The sergeant returned, spreading the Captain's orders to the other guards before flying over the ice tunnel to inform the rest.

With the order received, the Avolonians hurried over the back of the wall, gliding down to the mouth of the tunnel as Southgate had directed. They hurried to form a line before the tunnel, crossbows forming two flanking columns on either side while swords and spears formed a staggered line in the middle, with their Captain taking the lead at the front, saber clenched tightly in his hand.

The heavy steps of the approaching enemy grew louder, every marching footfall in unison amplified by the tunnel. Southgate, with his light-enhancing vision, saw clearly into the dimly lit ice passage, seeing the approaching warriors -garbed in matching, conical helmets hauberks of mail or cuirasses of overlapping leather plates, carrying spears, swords, axes and shields. Most surprising of all was the variety of species in the approaching force -canids of both lupine and vulpine birth, small-framed felines, and a few avians -the avians seen on the caravel before.

The large unarmoured Avian Southgate had seen before was at the lead of his invasion force. He now wore a helmet, leather bracers and thick cotton trousers, but his torso was still bare, and now that he was closer Southgate could see the feathers on his body that should have been white, but were marked with several discoloured locations -rustic, brown patches like a white linen shirt stained with blood and being washed multiple times. His deep, ice blue eyes stood out like stars in the night sky in contrast to his feathers, due in part to the black colouring of the sockets.

But it was the blood-thirst that they bore that made Southgate's spine tingle.

He was powerfully built, with thick corded muscles like one would expect from a miner or a blacksmith, each hand bearing a short handled but thick bladed war axe. Two additional axes rested from leather thongs on his belt, one more for each hand. Cold mist seemed to emanate from his body, and every step he took was slow and menacing, like a lion stalking its prey.

Southgate felt his body shake -not enough for his men to notice but enough for him to be aware of it. Some part of his mind was screaming at him, telling him to run for his very life -to flee back to his barracks, lock himself in his office and hide for eternity. Only his soldier's determination allowed him to stay his ground, silencing his base instincts in favour of duty. His grip on his saber tightened, his other hand gripping the officer's pistol holstered on his left hip, ready to draw.

He could sense that his men were just as afraid of this avian as he, and that made it more important for him to remain -if he were to turn and flee now, the line would break and the Ragnarosian marauders would venture into the precious crop fields unchallenged. As their leader, he had to be the source of their strength -if he showed no fear, they would not let theirs control them.

The Ragnarosians began to elicit battle cries, which soon turned into a full roar of battle fury as they surged forth, their leader still at the front as they erupted from the mouth of the tunnel and charged the line of Avolonians, axes held at the ready.

Southgate raised his saber, stepping forward to meet the enemy leader with a screech of fury as the battle began...

~~~~~

It was as if Vinge had not moved once from his spot since Avogadro had last visited him in the jailhouse. He was standing exactly as he had the previous day, in the middle of the cell with his gaze turned out the window towards the south, hands folded behind his back as he stared wordlessly through the bars.

Avogadro waited for the ice phoenix to acknowledge his presence as he walked up to the bars, but Vinge made no move or spoke a word no matter how long he stood there. Eventually, it was the prince who spoke first, leaning a hand on the bars as he addressed Vinge with a sarcastic tone. "Do you freeze yourself in place to pass the time in here?" He asked.

Vinge looked over his shoulder at Avogadro quizzically. "Pardon?"

"Nothing. Merely a jest," replied the prince, before his expression hardened. "You were right. He has come -my people have gone to the island to stop his attack."

Vinge looked back out the window again. "I fear they may not be prepared," stated Vinge.

"What does Njall want here?" Avogadro asked. "Does he wish to conquer Avolon?"

Vinge turned to Avogadro finally, their eyes meeting as the ice phoenix faced him. "No," he replied. "At least, not yet. What he seeks now are your resources -your crops, namely."

"Our crops?" Avogadro repeated.

"Ragnaross is a cold, mountainous place, as I'm sure you know -farming is nearly impossible. The growth season is too short to grow more than a grain and potatoes, but fertile land is too limited to feed the city." He turned to face the window again. "And what he can't load onto his ships, he'll leave buried under the snow to wilt, driving Avolon into famine."

"But why? If he gets what he wants, why go further than that?" Avogadro asked.

"Because he knows he can," replied Vinge, glowering. "That is his way -to act without consequence. There is no one to oppose him, therefore he fears no repercussion."

"And your people follow a cruel being like that?" Avogadro asked, aghast.

Vinge looked at him squarely. "Not of our own choosing," he replied. "He and his sons control the food in Ragnaross -they control all of it. Only those who fight can feed their families -those who refuse to fight are of no value to him and must rely on the kindness of others to survive." He turned his gaze back out the window. "Or perish, forgotten."

A long silence hung over the two for a while as Vinge stared out the window to the gray clouds in the distance, knowing what they meant and who had brought it to Avolon. Avogadro could sense pain in the ice phoenix -though outwardly Vinge hid his emotions well, his tone of voice gave away his true feelings.

He hated Njall. Hated him with every fibre of his being- Avogadro could feel it with the venom of his words. Njall disgusted him to no end, and the Prince could sense that Vinge would welcome the day he could see the warlord hang for his crimes.

Avogadro watched him for a long moment. Before he could think of anything else to say, he heard the front door to the jail open abruptly, and someone calling his name. He turned as the familiar form of his aid stumbled into view, nearly tripping as he turned to face Avogadro, panting for breath. He had been running, Avogadro could see -his face was flushed beneath his feathers.

"My Prince! I just met a guardsman from the Union Gate -he says he has an urgent message," he explained quickly.

"What is the message?" Avogadro asked, wondering what could be so urgent.

"Lord MacAingeal is at the gate," he answered. "He's requesting access to Grand Harvest Island!"

Avogadro narrowed his eyes, wondering why Lord MacAingeal would be coming to Avolon, when suddenly it clicked. "He knows Njall is here," he said.

"What should we do?" Owlfred asked.

Avogadro hesitated to answer. He knew exactly what he wanted to do, knowing what he knew about the foe they now faced. But his father was not going to like it...

"Let's get to the gate -I must speak with Lord MacAingeal," Avogadro stated, casting one more look at Vinge before he turned and strode out of the jailhouse. "And summon the King's Guard!" He added as Owlfred hurried after him, once more leaving Vinge standing alone in the cell, contemplating the turn of events.

"Lord MacAingeal..." He whispered. "Could they mean..." His mind flashed back to the red and gold avian he had seen in the streets the other day, eyes darting to look back out the window once again, a shocked look lingering on his face before hardening to a scowl as he understood now what was about to happen...

"Two mighty forces are about to clash."

~~~~~

The irritating sensation caused by the cold had spread over Volcan's entire body, and the fatigue was beginning to set in. He was panting for breath now as he led the host onward, his glowing eyes searching for heat abnormalities through the heavy white fog that had settled over the island. Despite how tired he was, he was determined to see this task through -only his eyes could pierce this veil and warn them of any danger lurking within.

Using his halberd to support his weight, he climbed a nearby mound to get a view from a better altitude, surveying the area around them as the host marched around it. The land was cold with small pockets of heat from the ground barely visible to his infrasight, making the land seem to be awash in a deep blue with small splotches of red. Far ahead he could make out the cold stone form of the south wall, but he could not yet see any signs of life along its top, and the range of his vision was limited.

Disappointed, he returned to the host, jogging back up to the front of the line to rejoin the Captains. "I still cannot locate Captain Southgate or his division," he reported to Gregory. "They must still be further ahead."

"Then we keep moving," stated Gregory. "If Captain Southgate has encountered the enemy, he may need our help." He raised his saber into the air and motioned for double-time, the pacing of the soldiers behind him increasing slightly as they marched onward.

Then, Volcan stopped, as a sound pierced the low whistle of the wind to reach his ears. The captains, hearing it as well, ordered the host to a halt, ending the march and letting silence settle over the area as they stopped to listen. A moment later, the sound came again, like a loud crack followed by a short, low-pitched whine.

"What is that?" Volcan asked.

"It sounds like a pistol shot," Gregory returned, his brow furrowing.

A third shot was fired, coming from somewhere ahead of their position, and that was all they needed. Gregory ordered the host to resume marching, double-timing it towards where they heard the sound. They expected to also hear the throes of battle, with ringing steel and cries of anguish and pain riding the wind. But there was nothing -no sound that there was an ongoing battle, nor the crack of another pistol shot.

The silence troubled the captains more than a little.

Finally, Volcan's infrasight registered a collective heat signature ahead of their position. "I see something!" He announced to the captains, leading them towards the signature.

As they got closer, Volcan's vision of the heat signatures became clearer, and his heart sank deeper in his chest. He saw a sea of red and orange, dimming in colour -darker than that of the living Avolonians around him, indicating that their internal temperatures were decreasing. He knew before the captains did that they were coming upon a battlefield -one that had ended recently, and dreaded what they were about to find as he blinked away his infrasight, returning his eyes to the regular spectrum.

The mist parted to reveal the waiting pile of bodies ahead. The first and most obvious were Avolonian soldiers, their backs turned to the south as if they had been fleeing, only to find axes and spears imbedded in their backs for their foolish attempt at retreat. Those who had faced the enemy forces lay strewn across the battlefield, entangled with friend and foe alike in a final embrace before the great beyond. Avian soldiers, identified by their Ballistine silk vests, blanketed by the bodies of mail-clad canids and felines alike.

Gregory let out a curse.

"By my fathers..." breathed Brassington.

"We are too late," stated Taiapetra.

"This... cannot be!" Beauregard protested. "How did they get over the wall?!"

"I think they did just that, Captain Beauregard," Lieutenant Alden piped up, pointing to the right of the host, towards a large shape just barely visible through the mist.

The Captains followed where he was pointing and found themselves staring down the mouth of what appeared to be a tunnel, made entirely of ice. The center of its massive bulk sat atop the wall, while the rest of it angled down to the ground and lay there, like a snake draping itself over a fence and sitting with its mouth wide open as though waiting for more prey to just walk right into its waiting jaws.

Gregory scowled at the sight of the tunnel, then turned to the host. "Front row, fan out and search for survivors!" He ordered, looking at Volcan and nodding to him. "The rest of you, stay alert -the enemy may still be nearby!"

Volcan fell in with the twenty soldiers who surveyed the battlefield, while the rest of the host moved to form a protective half-circle around them, watching the tunnel and the open, mist-covered fields warily for any sign of the enemy. While others prodded at the bodies to check for a response, Volcan used his infrasight to find the warmest bodies among them, knowing that any still retaining their body heat would still be among the living. The newly dead were not as easy to pick out as a living person -a living body took hours to become cold. During that time he would still read their body temperature and could easily mistake one who died only minutes ago as someone who was still alive.

Left to right, he searched, carrying stepping over the corpses carefully, until he saw one that stood out to his infrasight -more brilliant in colour than the rest, with a spectrum of yellow from their core, indicating the heat generated by functioning bodily organs. "Over here!" He called out, sprinting over to the body and falling to its side. He closed his eyes, clearing away his infrasight to restore his regular vision before opening again, and gasped when he saw the owl laying before him.

"It's Captain Southgate!" One of the soldiers cried as they ran over, joining Volcan at the owl's side. "Is he alive?"

"Barely," replied Volcan, noticing the pistol in the officer's hand, still hot from a recent discharge. Now he knew who had been firing those shots before, signalling for help.

Gregory and Brassington ran over, motioning Volcan and the other soldiers aside before they knelt by the middle-aged owl, calling his name. Southgate stirred, reacting to his name being called. After a moment, his eyes slowly opened, and he took in a sharp breath of air, his arm clutching his side stained with blood.

"Save your strength, Captain," Gregory instructed. "We'll get you help." He looked at Brassington. "He's losing too much blood. Can you dress his wounds?"

"Not here," she replied. "I have nothing to bandage them with."

"Where's the nearest guard post?" Gregory asked, looking around at the other soldiers.

"Half a mile, back the way we came," one answered.

Gregory cursed, knowing that was too far to risk carrying the wounded owl -he would not last the journey at the rate he was losing blood. Desperate, he turned to look at Volcan. "Corporal. Can you cauterize a wound?" He asked.

Volcan stared in shock at the captain. "You want me to...?" He stuttered.

"You are his only chance right now -if we don't stop the bleeding, he'll die," stated Gregory, drawing a knife and proceeding to cut away the silk vest of the Captain to expose the wound and avoid the risk of melted silk. "Hurry, Corporal!"

Volcan hesitated, uncertain how to respond but saw the desperate look in Gregory's eyes. He steeled himself, passing his halberd to one of the other soldiers before he ran over, lowering himself to one knee. "Keep his feathers parted," he instructed. "And keep him still -this is going to be painful."

Gregory nodded to him, glancing at Brassington who nodded back in understanding. They called for another soldier to hold down the owl's legs while the two captains gripped his arms. Gregory used one hand to part the incision he'd made in the captain's vest, giving Volcan a clear sight on the grotesque wound. He raised his hand, outstretching his index and middle fingers and focused his flaming power into the tips, which glowed red-hot in response. He looked at the wound, placing his fingers against it. He was certain he felt a broken rib underneath the skin as he applied the lightest pressure, and the skin audibly sizzled at his touch.

The owl's eyes shot open, and he elicited a cry of agony, trying to pull away from Volcan. Gregory reaffirmed his grip on the owl, fighting to keep him still. Volcan instinctively pulled his hand back, but Gregory ordered him to keep going. He placed his fingers over the wound again, running along the jagged wound and burning the two sides of the skin together as Southgate continued to scream.

"What're you doing?!" Beauregard's voice screamed from behind him. He moved to seize Volcan, intent on dragging him from the owl, but Captain Taiapetra saw what the phoenix was doing and held the kite back, watching with intrigue.

Finally, Volcan reached the other side of the wound, and the bleeding ceased as a blackened mark sat where the jagged opening had once been. Volcan felt suddenly sick, pulling away and almost doubling over as he was certain he would retch. He had seen grotesque wounds before -even caused some, such as dismembering the hand of the Anapolian he had fought during the attempt on Ambassador Asya Boleslav's life. But never had he caused harm to his fellows in the Avolon Security Forces -even if his actions had possibly saved Southgate's life, he still felt guilty for causing him such agony.

Southgate had grown silent. Brassington lay her head against his chest, listening for a moment and let out a sigh of relief. "He's still breathing. He just passed out from the pain."

"We need to get him proper medical help as soon as we can, but that burn should keep him from losing anymore blood," Gregory stated, looking at Volcan. "Well done, Corporal."

"I did not like doing that," Volcan said, still rubbing his beak. Fortunately, the half-loaf of bread he had eaten had long vanished from his stomach.

"Nor did I. But if it spares him, take that to heart -your actions have saved his life."

"I wish he had remained conscious, though," stated Beauregard. "We still don't know where the enemy is."

"After a battle like this, they could not have gone far," Brassington offered, rubbing her chin in thought. "It took us seven hours to cross the island and make it here," she thought aloud and then turned to Volcan. "Corporal. Were these bodies cold when we stepped up?"

"No, Captain -they were still warm," Volcan answered, grimly.

"Compared to myself?" Brassington asked.

"Colder, of course, but marginally so."

Brassington knelt by one of the corpses nearest to her, fighting back the urge to gag on the smell of blood and feces permeating the air as she lifted the arm, testing it. "Rigor mortis has not set in yet either," she said. "If these bodies are warm, and still moveable, the enemy could be as little as an hour away."

"How could we have not see-?" Beauregard trailed off, realizing the answer to his question was currently engulfing everything in sight. "How could we not have heard them?" He corrected himself.

"With the snow masking the sound of their footsteps, they could have marched around us at a hundred meters and we would be none the wiser," Gregory answered.

"They are using this weather they've conjured to its full advantage," Taiapetra said in a tone that suggested admiration.

"Well this is all very informative, but we still need to find where they went," Beauregard reminded them. "Northcott! Why haven't you dispatched your scouts?"

"I have," Northcott retorted angrily. "They are searching for footprints now."

"The enemy we face are Ice Phoenixes," Volcan spoke up. "They can walk upon the snow as easily as we can on solid ground -they will not have left tracks. They will also have hidden the tracks of their own forces to hide their departure -we must look under the snow for traces -compressed snow or tracks in the mud if it hasn't frozen."

It was only when he finished that Volcan realized all the captains were staring at him, as though he had just spoken blasphemy. He felt a hand on his shoulder, and was turned and faced Gregory, bearing a stern expression.

"How did you know that the enemy were phoenixes?" Gregory asked. "We did not say so before."

"My mother told me," Volcan answered honestly. "I think she was present when his majesty King Christopher was told about them."

The other Captains eyed him expectantly, sharing brief glances with one another before turning their eyes back on Volcan as Gregory voiced his next question. "Is there anything you can tell us about their leader -this 'Njall'?"

"Only stories my mother has told me -none of which are pleasant," replied Volcan. "He is my clan's enemy -our enmity dates back centuries, before our first contact with the predecessors of Avolon. Njall of the Red Winter, second son of the Firstborn."

Beauregard arched an eyebrow. "Second son of the Firstborn?" He repeated. "That does not make sense -are you implying his brother is also his father -that is disgusting!"

"What I mean is, Njall is the second son of the very first Ice Phoenix," Volcan explained.

"The very first?" Brassington echoed. "Just how old is Njall?"

"How do we stop him?" Beauregard pressed.

"How can his father be the first of an entire race?" Taiapetra added.

Gregory cut in and ended the barrage of questions. "Let him speak," he said sharply. "We need only know of Njall himself, not the entire ice phoenix population." He turned back to Volcan. "Carry on Corporal."

"The ice phoenixes are a young race -a hybrid, born of a union between an Aqua Phoenix and a Wind Phoenix," explained Volcan. "A union between separate elements had never been done before, and the result of that union was a new elemental. The Ice Phoenix. The Firstborn I spoke of is Yongvir Winterchild who was born five thousand years ago, and Njall of the Red Winter is his second son."

"And that is all you know?" Beauregard asked.

"I know of Njall's deeds and his atrocities against my people," Volcan answered, venom in his tone. "We know him as the Egg Breaker, for his worst affronts against the MacAingeal. And yes -the title is exactly as it implies."

Brassington's eyes widened. "He... slaughtered children?" She inquired with a suppressed fury that only a mother could have. "Unhatched infants, killed before taking their first breath?"

"He is a monster!" Exclaimed Beauregard. He had no love for the MacAingeal Clan, as made clear by his wariness of Volcan, but even he would never entertain the egregious thought of shattering eggs -he was incubated within one, as were the others around him!

"Of that, Captain Beauregard, my entire clan would agree," Volcan piped up, gratefully.

Gregory was equally as perturbed as Captain Brassington -he too was a parent and felt a sickening twist in his stomach imagining if the eggs of his son and daughter had never hatch -or worse, had been destroyed by someone else. Someone with a grudge against him, taking vengeance for an arrest or the death of someone close to them by taking something of value from him. The hawk captain held back his nausea, turning towards the host, feeling a renewed motivation to bring down the leader of the Ragnarosians.

"Captain Northcott!" One of the scouts shouted. "I found tracks -boot prints, under the snow just as Corporal MacAingeal said!"

"Here too!" Another called.

Northcott followed the voices to their sources, joining them as they brushed aside the snow with their wings, gently to avoid disturbing the evidence underneath, finding subtle impressions in the mud and compressed snow in the shape of hardened boot soles or pawprints. "It looks like they split up," he reported to the captains.

"An unwise choice," stated Beauregard. "We'll have them outnumbered."

"How large of groups?" Gregory asked.

It took Northcott and his scouts a moment of clearing away more snow before he was able to offer a definitive answer. "There are fewer tracks heading north-west," answered Northcott, then turned his gaze north-east. "The larger group headed out that way, towards the cornfields."

"What farms are west of here?" Brassington asked.

"The orchards that produce the flowers used to make dyes," replied Gregory.

"Why would a smaller group be heading for those?" Beauregard asked. "What could these marauders want with red and purple dye?"

"Unless it is not the dye they are after," Taiapetra added.

Gregory's eyes widened. "The South Harbour!"

"That may be their target," Taiapetra acknowledged. "If they destroy the docks, it will stop tradeships from landing here, and we will not be able to ferry the harvest next month to the city before they are rebuilt. Depriving Avolon of three-fifths of its food supply."

"They are trying to make us choose," stated Brassington. "If we let them destroy the harbour and save the crops, we will have no means to carry it to the city. But if we protect the harbour and let them get away, we will have few crops to distribute -many will go hungry."

"How many did they send to the harbour?" Gregory asked Northcott with urgency.

"I cannot tell -a hundred, maybe more."

"Lieutenant Alden!" Gregory called at the top of his lungs.

Hearing his name being called, Alden ran out from the main host and approached the captain, saluting him as he stood before him. "Sir!"

"Take half our division back to the South Harbour and reinforce the guards there," Gregory directed. "The captains and I will pursue the enemy's main host." He turned to Volcan. "Take Corporal MacAingeal with you."

"Sir, won't you need him?" Alden asked.

"Now that we know which way the enemy has gone, we should be able to find them on our own," Gregory replied. "Now go quickly! Every minute counts!"

"Yes sir!" Alden turned on his heel, sprinting back to the host and relaying the orders, gathering a company of a hundred volunteers to take back to the harbour.

"We left fifty at the harbour already," Beauregard reminded. "How large do you think this raiding party will be -can we lose a hundred spears on a hunch?"

"It is no hunch," Gregory returned. "Brassington spoke truly -the enemy is trying to make us choose. But they will not manipulate us. Njall expects us to play by his rules, knowing that inaction in any way will hurt Avolon as a whole, but he does not know with whom he plays his little game."

Volcan heard the strength in Gregory's words, and felt his fatigue vanish momentarily as he felt the strength of those words flow through him, reinvigorating him. He felt determined -eager, even, to fight for this man, and in turn make him proud to have him there.

Swiftly, Volcan fell in among the volunteers of Alden's unit, breaking off from the main host and beginning the hastened trek back to the south harbour.

~~~~~

As the ship slowed, the harbour men barely had time to take the ropes cast to them by the sailors before the ship's gangplank fell to the pier with a loud thud of wood and iron. The beaks of the dock workers fell open as a company of the King's Guard marched from the deck of the ship, bearing spears, rifles fixed with bayonets and towering shields in hand. At the lead, none other than the heir apparent, Prince Avogadro, a delicate colichemarde sword with an ornate hilt and guard dangling at his hip as he walked briskly towards the street.

Ahead, he saw three avians wearing Avolon Security uniforms, speaking to someone on the corner. To his surprise, the person they were speaking with was a canid, wearing a coat of plated chainmail and a full facial helmet that hid his features, save the front of his neck and lower jaw, eyes peering through the slits of his helmet at the avian addressing him. Or, as Avogadro got closer, not him but someone standing next to him, who he could not see past the avians.

Avogadro saw stripes on the arm of the avian -he did not know the details of the ranking system of the Security Forces, but he knew enough to recognize one bearing rank. "Officer!" The prince called.

The avian turned, eyes widening as he saw the Prince approaching. He and the two with him dropped to one knee, bowing their heads. The wolf turned, seeing who was, and stepped aside to reveal a more familiar face and a pair of ruby red eyes stared back at him.

"Madame Ambassador?" Avogadro asked, shocked.

"Your highness," she returned, bowing.

"What the blazes are you doing out here?" Avogadro asked. "The island is under attack!"

Asya tilted her head curiously. "Attack? By who?" She asked. But before Avogadro could answer, a look of realization crossed her features, and she then answered her own question. "Ragnaross?"

"Yes, they are here! The alarm bells were ringing this morning -did you not-" he paused, suddenly remembering he was speaking to an outlander. "Bollocks; never mind. For your own safety, madame, please stay close to your bodyguard and take your ship back to the city as soon as possible."

Her bodyguard turned sharply, not to Avogadro, but away from him. Through the vents on his helmet visor, a sharp intake of breath through the nosepiece. He took a step forward, sniffing the air and putting a hand to his sword and eliciting a low growl. Asya stepped forward, speaking to him in their native dialect. He replied to her in a low tone, but kept his gaze fixed towards the southeast.

"What is it?" Avogadro asked. "What did he say?"

"He smells blood on the wind," answered Asya, bearing an intense look on her face. "It is coming this way."

Avogadro turned where Vadim was looking, but even with his own avian vision, he could not pierce the white wall of mist hovering over the land. Thinking quickly, he turned to the Avolon officer. "You. Name, rank?"

"John Lindson, Third Division Lieutenant, your highness," answered the officer.

"Third?" Avogadro echoed. "Third does not protect this island."

"My men and I were ordered to remain here to guard the harbour from assault. The Captains headed out to rendezvous with Captain Southgate and meet the Ragnarosian aggressors in the field."

"If Master Vadim is correct, that assault they left you here for is about to happen," Avogadro stated. "Get your men ready -fall in with the King's Guard and prepare the defense."

"At once, sire," returned Lindson, departing to carry out the instructions and meeting with the officer leading the King's Guard to coordinate the defense.

Two of the King's Guard remained with Avogadro while the rest prepared for the defense. "If I might be so bold," Asya began. "It may be best for you and I both to step back and let these fine men do the fighting."

"I can defend myself, madame ambassador," assured Avogadro.

"I do not doubt it," she assured him. "But that little sword of yours will not avail you against enemies like this. What do you plan to do if one comes at you with an axe or broadsword?"

Avogadro turned and smiled at her. "This blade is faster than any axe or broadsword," he returned confidently. "Even if they are wearing chainmail, I can go for the neck or eyes."

"And you have tested that theory?"

Avogadro paused, cornered by that. "I am not saying you have to run," the ambassador clarified. "Only that the front lines are for soldiers, not a duelist."

Avogadro did not like it but knew the ambassador's words to be true. His sword -and the discipline surrounding its use, were focused on one-on-one duels. It might protect him from a lone assassin, but against a shield or chainmail it might just as well be a sewing needle.

Avogadro was so started as Vadim suddenly reared back his head and let out a howl that he nearly leapt onto the roof of the shop behind him. He turned, expecting to see the wolf had been hit by an arrow or a thrown spear, but the wolf was unharmed, howling to the sky with all the power of his voice. The howl was deep and chilling, carrying on the wind to be heard across what was surely a vast distance.

"Why is he howling?" Avogadro asked, having to raise his voice over the wolfsong.

"It's a warning call -the enemy is here!" Asya exclaimed.

From the fog, coming from the south east, battle cries filled the air and shadows filled the mist. The lieutenant from before called out a warning -the King's Guard had begun forming a line and hastily closed ranks. But the line was too narrow, and as the enemy burst forth from the fog, they rounded the left flank, closing in. The Avolonian Security troops forming at the rear hurried to close the gap, but not before one of the elite guards suffered an axe to the back.

Vadim let out a growl, looking at Asya. She glanced at the two guards standing protectively with Avogadro, then back to him with a nod. Vadim faced the enemy forces again, stepping forward and drawing his curved sword forth, letting out another howl as nine additional Lycanthrian troops appeared from the fog and moved to join him -the rest of the Ambassador's guard, coming from the ship. All but one fell in with Vadim, that one standing at Asya's side while the rest charged towards the frayed left flank of the Avolon line.

"I thank you for your willingness to aid us, Ambassador," Avogadro said gratuitously to Asya, taking position behind her at the window.

"My men may as well make themselves useful while they are here, no?" Asya returned, looking back and smiling at him.

Bardiche's descended upon the Ragnarosian raiders, bones shattering beneath mail as the heavy poleaxes fell upon them. Avolonian sabers clashed with Ragnarosian longswords and spear thudded against shield as the King's Guard in the front line held their ground against the prodding spears, hewing axes and thrusting swords.

Then, unexpectedly, a large shard of ice arched towards the line from out of the fog, plunging towards a guard in the front. He raised his shield, blocking the shard, but the force with which it landed sent him onto his back. More shards fell out of the mist as a winged figure appeared through the haze, flying over the battle with snow-coloured wings. With every beat of his wings, more shards fell, showering the Avolonians -not lethal, but enough to disrupt their focus and allowing the line to push. Ground was lost as the ice phoenix landed behind the army, brandishing a large iron spear.

Avogadro's hand went to his sword instinctively, drawing it from the sheath as the three guards stepped before him and the ambassador. The avian, obviouslt an ice phoenix for the display of power and how he closely resembled Vinge in feather colour. He was however different in size and eye colour -black sockets and bright white eyes that seemed to scream of bloodthirst/ He wore leather lamellar armour and a visored helmet, with loose-fitting trousers and splinted metal greaves around his legs. At his belt hung a battle axe, and a dagger could be seen resting behind it.

"Is that Njall -the leader?" Asya asked.

"I do not think so," replied Avogadro, studying the minute details of the white avian's face. The smooth angles of his features and the lack of age lines on his beak. "He seems far too young to be an 'ancient' ice phoenix."

"Protect the Prince!" One of the guards yelled, raising his shield and charging at the avian with his spear leading.

The ice phoenix took a hand from his weapon, facing the palm towards the King's Guard and unleashing a torrent of snow that accumulated rapidly around him, the metal of his armour stealing the warmth from his body as the air around him cooled rapidly and he fell to one knee under the weight of the snow and the chill in his blood. He raised his head weakly, and the spear was driven down his throat, and then ripped free again bringing a spray of blood and the clamour of armour as the guard fell.

Avogadro recoiled, feeling a sick twist in his stomach at the sight. Asya covered her mouth with both paws as though she were going to retch. The Lycanthrian guard was next to move, bringing his bardiche around for a mighty swing. Narrowly the ice phoenix ducked to avoid it, angling his weapon in time to parry a thrust from the other guard. He maneuvered his spear fluidly to parry the blows from the King's Guard and ambassador's guard, sparks erupting as the iron tip of his spear scraped across the head of the bardiche before he brought it around and drove the spear into the canid warrior's stomach.

The mail held, but the Lycanthrian soldier fell back several steps. The king's guard lunged forward, shield leading and slamming into the ice phoenix, nearly sending him from his feet. The ice phoenix managed a quick parry of the spear as it was thrust towards his stomach. He then cast another ice flurry at the guard, forcing him to duck behind the shield to avoid perforation by the spray of spikes.

The arrival of the ice phoenix had tipped the scales of the battle. His earlier interference had allowed the Ragnarosians to gain some ground. The King's Guard were holding strong, but many of their number had fallen already, along with the Avolonian troopers who fought to keep their flanks guarded as the enemy attempted to encircle them. Three Lycanthrian troops were mortally wounded and lying on the ground, while their fellows attempted to hold the line.

Though the Ragnarosians had no idea what was coming.

The throes of battle reached the Avolonian reinforcements long before they were in sight of the harbour, followed swiftly by the ring of steel meeting steel, and they knew then that the battle had begun. Alden raised his sabre, ordering the company to take flight and move to reinforce the harbour's guard.

The Avolonian troops, spears in hand, took flight and soared through the cold fog towards the sound of battle, positioning their polearms for air-lancing. The spears were couched under their arms at an angle, one hand forward to aim the tip, the other lower on the shaft for balance. They flew low, hoping to see the enemy through the haze before they would fly into a sea of upturned spears. Alden's plan was counting on the surprise factor of an attack from behind to tip the scales enough for the harbour defenders to gain control of the battle -the Lieutenant didn't know how large the raiding party was but was sure it would outnumber the fifty guards left behind to defend the harbour.

Volcan flew at the lead, angling his halberd for attack as he used his infravision to spot the enemy. He knew the soldiers closest to him were following his lead, each of them aware that he could see where he was going while they could not. Nevertheless, what they were doing was very dangerous -if they pulled up too late, they would crash amongst the enemy at high speed, and if that would not kill them, the enemy would surely cut them down while they were helpless.

Alden let out a cry as he dove towards the enemy line, signalling the rest of the fliers to follow suit. Volcan fell into a dive, angling his halberd towards the closest body he could see with his infrasight. In the back of his mind he hoped that the line before them was the enemy and not their allies, but he felt certain Alden would not order an attack if he was not sure himself. Blinking away his infrasight when he was close enough, he drove his halberd's pointed tip into the back of his target as he pulled up.

Howls and roars of agony filled the air as the entire rear line of Ragnarosians fell to the surprise attack. Spears not dislodged from their bodies were abandoned by their wielders and left imbedded in the backs of those they had slain, forcing the soldiers deprived of them to switch to their swords. Volcan was not one of them, though -the narrow point of his weapon slid free easily, allowing him to continue his flight over the battling armies.

As he passed over the allied lines, something caught his eye. He saw the ornate armour and tabards of the protectors of Avolon's elite, forming the front line of the harbour's defense, shields and spears meeting the enemy ranks that tried to pus through. 'What are the king's guard doing here?' He wondered. And, as though to further his surprise, he saw Lycanthrian troops guarding the protector's left flank, pressing into the enemy from the side. Was the ambassador here as well?

His eyes soon found a lone warrior from the enemy side engaged with two other soldiers -one a member of the King's Guard, the other one an escort of the Lycanthrian Ambassador, clashing weapons with a white-feathered avian. Standing nearby, Volcan could make out the form of Ambassador Boleslav, and...

The_Prince?!_ 'Why the blazes is he here?!' Volcan demanded in his mind.

Worse yet, the King's Guard and Lycanthrian soldier fighting the ice phoenix together seemed to be losing. No sooner did Volcan spot Prince Avogadro did the Lycanthrian let out a howl of agony as he was spit upon the spear of the raider, his armour having finally given way. The last King's Guard charged with his shield only to be met with a blizzard cast from the raider's hand that launched him backward, hitting the wall of a nearby building with bone-jarring force. He then fell limply to the ground and did not stir.

Now the Prince and Ambassador had no protection. Avogadro had his sword in hand, but after seeing his guards fall Volcan doubted that he could fight this raider alone. The phoenix dove in, angling his landing to put him between the Prince and the Ragnarosian raider -this would be his first battle with another Phoenix, he realized... and it was not only his life on the line. He looked desperately back to the host he had flown in with -Lieutenant Alden was leading a counter-offensive against the enemy force, boxing them in between the two lines from which there was no escape. They did not know of danger to the Prince's life, and though the battle would be brought to a swift end, it would be too late.

It was only him to step in. Without a second of hesitation, he circled back and folded his wings as he passed above, landing in the ice phoenixes' path.

The ice phoenix paused his advance, studying his new opponent carefully to size up this new challenger. Outwardly, to Volcan, this phoenix did not seem much older than himself, but that meant little -Ice Phoenixes aging process was slower than even that of Volcan's race.

Now here he was, a fire phoenix of seventeen summers, about to fight a being who for all his knowing might have centuries of battle experience over himself. 'This may not have been my wisest decision,' he thought grimly. He replayed the words his instructor at the academy had imparted to him for this very scenario. 'When fighting a more experienced opponent, always keep a level head -do not let your guard down for an instant or you are finished.'

Volcan heard a heavy footfall to his left. Daring a glance, he saw the ambassador's bodyguard, Vadim, standing by his side, sword and shield in hand. He had left the battlefield to return to his charge of protecting the ambassador and faced the ice phoenix. The wolf exchanged a glance with Volcan, peering through the eyeholes of his mask helmet to meet the young avian's gaze. The two shared a nod and faced the ice phoenix again.

The white-feathered elemental grinned in wicked glee, brandishing his spear. He made the first move, flaring open his wings and hurling a flurry of ice pellets that seemed to erupt from the feathers within. Vadim ducked behind his shield to protect himself, each pellet thudding heavily against it. But Volcan had no such protection -he could only clench his eyes shut and lower his head, letting the top part of his helmet take the shots.

He regretted it immediately, leaving himself too open. He saw the point of a spear being thrust toward him. He could not bring his weapon down on it on time to block it. Fortunately, Vadim was in position to do what he could not, throwing himself into the weapon's path and blocking it with his shield, making a slash at the ice phoenix with his deadly, curved sword, forcing him to step back. The Ragnarosian retreated, jabbing at Vadim with his spear repeatedly to hold him at bay. Each thrust was parried or blocked by Vadim's shield, the Lycanthrian never slowing his advance, and after smacking aside the spear point with a hooked block of his shield, the wolf charged.

Vadim the more experienced of his opponents was not lost on the ice phoenix, who met the charging wolf with the haft of his spear. Metal hit wood, Vadim brought his blade in an overhead chop. The ice phoenix stepped to the side, his weapon upturned as the blade caught the shaft. He jabbed the butt-spike into Vadim's unprotected leg, causing the wolf to growl in pain, backhanding the ice phoenix with his shield. The phoenix retreated, freeing one hand from his weapon to conjure an ice sphere that he hurled at Vadim, thudding into the wolf's helmet and staggering him.

Volcan, heart pounding as adrenaline surged through his muscles, elicited a cry and charged forth, thrusting his halberd at the ice phoenix to bring his attention to himself. Forced to abandon the vulnerable Lycanthrian, the ice phoenix parried Volcan's weapon with his spear and turned it about to bludgeon him with the shaft. Volcan's vision swam, his helmet sparing him most of the blow, allowing him to regain his senses quickly enough to defend himself from another thrust to his chest. He brought up his halberd sharply, sending the spearpoint skyward and then threw himself into his opponent.

The shafts of their two weapons met as the two pressed for advantage. Though the ice phoenix was the more experienced fighter, Volcan proved to be much stronger than anticipated. The ice phoenix skid back, his eyes widening with shock at how he was being overpowered -by an opponent smaller than himself no less! It seemed impossible to him -Volcan was tall and certainly fit, yet the strength of his push seemed to belong to an avian much larger and heavier than himself.

With blood surging into his limbs, Volcan thrust his arms forth and launched the ice phoenix off his feet. He hit the ground, and to his left saw Vadim moving in to deliver the deathblow. He crossed his arms over his face, a barrier of thick blue ice materialized over his arms. Vadim's sword struck the blue hard ice and ricocheted off so violently his hand was numbed by the blow, losing his grip on his vibrating sword. It clattered to the ground.

The ice phoenix's ice shield cracked, and he threw out his arms. The shield became projectiles as Vadim was assailed by the ice chunks, one of them hitting his helmet to hard it knocked his head back and sent the helmet rolling across the street, revealing his face. The ice phoenix then leapt to his feet, turned and threw his spear at Vadim before the wolf could recover. The weapon buried itself in Vadim's stomach and he howled in agony, for this time blood did draw forth from the wound and the wolf was left moaning in pain as he dropped his armaments and curled around the wound.

Now only Volcan was left. The ice phoenix drew his sidearm -a thick-bladed hatchet. He flipped it in his hand, fingers closing around the leather grip of the handle and faced Volcan. The phoenix stood his ground, heart thundering and vision darkening as though he were staring down a tunnel.

Volcan held his ground as the ice phoenix charged with an overhand chop. The younger phoenix put up his weapon defensively. Bone-jarring vibrations coursed through his arms as wood splintered, the shaft of the halberd cracked. He then lunged at Volcan, seizing him by the throat with his free left hand. Volcan instinctively dropped the halberd and clutched at the hand choking him as the ice phoenix pinned him to a wall, studying him.

"You do not fight like these lesser avians," he said in a low voice, speaking in common dialect with a thick, guttural accent. "You are stronger, and..." He looked at his hand, eyes suddenly widening in realization as he felt the heat on his palm.

Volcan's eyes opened. They were glowing, bright yellow -brighter than the undertones of his feathers as he replied in a feral tone, "Because I'm not one of them."

Then, he exhaled.

A cone of red-hot fire exploded from within Volcan's throat. The marauder tilted his head to the side instinctively, but the fire was too wide to avoid. He let go of Volcan immediately and recoiled, screaming in pain as he threw himself out of the fire. Volcan ceased exhaling, the flames ceasing as he took in a breath to replenish what he'd lost. He looked up at the ice phoenix, and felt a sickening sensation wash over him. This time, not caused by the weather, but by the phoenix himself.

The left half of the ice phoenix's face had burned away, seared almost to the bone. His left eye was burned shut and blinded and his left shoulder was blackened. He was still screaming in pain though the fire was out, casting a wave of snow over the burns as if to sooth them.

'Were my flames that hot?' Volcan asked.

No... it wasn't possible. The ice phoenix's leather armour was undamaged -charred, but functional. He had only breathed fire for a second -a young phoenix like him could never have caused such a severe burn in so short a span of time. At most he'd have ignited the feathers, maybe singed the skin underneath but the damage he saw was reminiscent of a one who had fallen into an open flame and was left laying there for several seconds at least. Volcan was not capable of generating such a hot fire.

Suddenly it dawned on him. Ice phoenixes were vulnerable to fire! Heat melted ice, and fire was heat! He faced the ice phoenix again, finding new strength entering his limbs, his sickness forgotten when he understood the advantage he now held. He reached for his sword, drawing it from the scabbard. The ice phoenix heard rasp of the blade being drawn, turning to look at Volcan with his one surviving eye. The fire phoenix's wings were burning, flames dancing along their tops, his eyes retaining their yellow glow as he held his sword out in a ready position, both hands committed to his weapon, and charged.

Axe met sword mid swing, but Volcan had both of his arms while the ice phoenix could only effectively use one. The fire phoenix easily overpowered him, knocking his axe back and landing a cut on the ice phoenix's chest. The leather armour held, and its wearer only stumbled back from the hit. Volcan pressed the attack, relying on heavy swings to overpower the weakened ice phoenix. The axe eventually flew from his hand, but he was not still not defenseless, his wings opening to unleash another flurry of ice projectiles.

Volcan put up his arms defensively and turned his head aside to keep his eyes safe. He realized his mistake -the second time he had made the same mistake- too late as he suddenly felt white-hot pain shoot up his side. He opened his eyes to see a spike of solid ice, gripped in his opponent's hand like a dagger buried in his side, audibly sizzling and causing him immense pain.

Defiantly, Volcan seized the ice phoenix by the feathers of his head, gripping him firmly with his left hand. His opponent tried to pull away but Volcan did not relent as he raised his sword, turned it about and plunged the tip of the blade into his neck, spraying Volcan with blood as vital blood vessels were severed by the razor-sharp edges of his weapon.

The ice phoenix stood there, eye wide with shock and disbelief as he felt his cold life fluid spilling out, soaking his armour. "But... I am the... son of Njall..." He rasped defiantly before his eye rolled back in its socket, and he fell against Volcan lifeless, sending them both crumpling to the ground.

The ice spike that had stabbed Volcan slid from his body as its tip melted around his hot blood, falling free and leaving an opening for the blood to follow. Volcan grasped his side, attempting to slow the loss of the precious life fluid. His sickness returned -he doubled over, the world spinning about him as though he were its axis.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw three figures standing over them. His vision stayed focused long enough for him to recognize them as the Prince, the Ambassador and her bodyguard Vadim, the male wolf clutching his own wound and panting for breath. Volcan had been certain the wolf had been mortally wounded when the spear had pierced his armour, but he felt relieved to see his impromptu comrade had not been as hurt as he seemed.

Volcan's vision cleared for but an instant, focusing on the rows of teeth within Vadim's muzzle. Something was amiss, and it did not take long for him to find it. A broken tooth -one of his canine fangs, broken almost to the root. His mind raced back to the large fang found aboard the Anapol's Memory, studying the intact fang in Vadim's mouth.

"You..." He started to say, but his vision blurred, his voice croaking.

And then he was gone from the world...

~~~~~

Gregory lay, wounded and bleeding on the snowy ground as Captain Taiapetra continued to battle the leader of the enemy marauders, but even one of Avolon's greatest swordsmen did not last long against the vastly stronger and more experienced opponent. Partway through the battle, Njall caught one of Taiapetra's sabers between his bearded axe blades, and with a sharp pull of both, snapped the blade in half. Taiapetra, reeling, received a kick to his chest from Njall as his guard was left open for a single precious second.

The kick carried so much force behind it, Taiapetra was hurled through the air, landing heavily on his back at Gregory's side and losing his broken saber in the process, leaving him only with his off-hand blade. For all the good it would do -he was too winded to stand as Njall advanced on them.

Gregory hastily reached for his pistol. Njall saw him going for the weapon and charged -he would never draw it in time! Before his eyes, Gregory's life seemed to flash before him, images of his wife Catrina, his son Victor and his daughter, Kaitlynn. His beloved family... what would become of them if he fell here? Still his hand reached for the pistol, in a final valiant effort to save himself...

Njall stopped.

Gregory paused.

The ancient ice elemental stood, eyes staring. But they were not on Gregory. They were looking over him, the once cold, toneless face no longer the stoic, unflinching mask they had been before, but long and with eyes widened with disbelief, as though he had seen something he could not believe to be true.

For some reason, Gregory looked behind him -looking away from an enemy poised to end his life was foolish, he knew, but what could Njall be seeing that could horrify him so? As if to further Gregory's confusion, however, there was nothing to see but the wall of fog behind them. Nothing to hear but the continued ring of steel, snap of crossbows and whistle of bolts as the battle carried on around them.

Then, Njall spoke. His voice was low, and his dialect was unknown. "Min sønn," he whispered.

Gregory snapped back to reality, realizing that he had a chance to end this battle. He drew his pistol, took aim. Njall snapped out of his own trance, but it was too late. The pistol fired -blood appeared on Njall's chest and he fell, with not even a holler of agony as the bullet buried itself in his chest.

Gregory let his arm fall. It was finished.

Or so he thought...

Seconds later, Njall stirred again. Gregory stared in horror as the ice phoenix sat up, hissing in pain. He had shot him, center-mass as he had intended -the ice phoenix surely should have been killed, but the wound -and there was one indeed -was shallow, with a spiderweb of cracks around it. Njall growled, and with a shrug of his arms, flakes of ice fell from his body along with a dense piece from around his chest.

The piece of ice in question was reminiscent of a musculata cuirass -a style of armour that had been rendered obsolete centuries ago. It was tinted blue, like that of naturally occurring blue ice and left Njall's chest paler than before it was removed. Gregory watched, his mind reeling as he watched Njall drop one of his axes and lift the free hand to his chest, digging his fingers into his chest where the bullet had struck him and extracted the metal projectile, letting it fall to the snow before retrieving his weapon.

Throughout the battle Gregory had thought Njall had chosen to go unarmoured except for a helmet, which had been knocked off during the battle with the two captains. Two captains that even engaging him simultaneously could not so much as wound him, leading Gregory to suspect Njall believed he did not require armour, mighty as he was. But it seemed he had been protected after all, on the slim chance someone might manage to make it through his defenses.

Njall faced Gregory and began to take a step towards him with axe in hand. Gregory was more convinced than ever that now he was truly about to die, but those thoughts were dashed as a large form fell from above. Gregory saw a pair of huge wings, red with gold undertones wave before him until they folded against the back of their owner, who he at first mistook to be Volcan for the unique colour patterns -specific to the young phoenix's clan.

But the newcomer that stood in Njall's way was far larger than Gregory's young corporal, with a body covered in corded muscles and the scars from many battles, dotting several locations along his arms and exposed lower legs. He wore a crimson kilt with black grid patterns and wore a cuirass of leather lamellar -not in the same fashion as those of the Ragnarosians troopers. The leather was darker and had a different design, a thick middle piece and overlapping leather scales working their way outward and around the body. The armour was bound at the back, under its wearers wings, and his arms were protected by bracers of thick tempered steel. He hefted a large sword over his shoulder, and upon seeing that blade, Njall's expression turned to a mix of shock and anger as though he recognized it.

"Boisel!" He cried.

Gregory's eyes widened. "Boisel?" He asked. "Wait... could he mean... Boswell?" He looked at the phoenix. "Lord Boswell MacAingeal?!"

The large phoenix ignored Grgory, replying instead to the Ragnorosian warlord . He spoke in the language of the raiders, his tone deep and guttural with a roll of his tongue emphasizing his use of the letter 'R' as he spoke. "Længe siden sidst, Njall," he said.

Njall scowled. "Ikke længe nok," he growled picking up his previously dropped axe and bearing both weapons as he faced the phoenix. "Hvad har du gjort med min søn?!"

The fire phoenix tilted his head, as if curious. "Din søn?"

_ _ Njall screamed a retort at him, but his dialect was so thick and hastily spoken, Gregory could not fathom of word of what was being said. But when the fire phoenix -whom Gregory suspected he knew who they were- did not respond, Njall's expression softened as though in realization. "Så det var du ikke?"

"Hvis din søn er død, er det ikke min skyld," Boswell replied, slowly and plainly, lifting his large two-handed sword from his shoulder and holding it at the ready. "Men du vil snart være med ham."

The two clashed rushed at one another. Lord Boswell MacAingeal, the patriarch of the clan of MacAingeal, against the Ragnarosian Warlord, Njall of the Red Winter. As the first ring of their weapons echoed across the battlefield, many had ceased fighting to witness the clash of two powerful elementals. A clash of titans if ever there was one to be had in this era.

Boswell's great sword and Njall's two axes rang noisily over the snow-covered plains. Walls of fire and ice formed around them and seemed to come alive to do their own battle. Six other ice phoenixes appeared behind Njall, looking ready to jump in to assist him, but behind Boswell, eight fire phoenixes -each with colours like the patriarch himself but carrying their own distinct patterns each, leading onlookers to suspect these were his own sons and daughters stood ready to intervene if Njall's followers were to try and interrupt the battle.

Their battle was fierce -a rivalry centuries old, fighting styles with millennia of refining and perfecting. These two had more battle experience than a hundred Avolonian soldiers combined and commanded the very elements themselves. Boswell's swings were fast and powerful despite his sword's incredible size -a testament to his monstrous strength. Njall had no such physical attributes, but he was no less skilled a fighter and knew exactly how to redirect Boswell's attacks. Fire cast from Boswell's hands or wings melted any ice hurled at him, but the flames were snuffed out in process, the fog around them seeming to thicken each time.

Gregory watched the unfolding battle in stunned silence, feeling as if he were watching a battle of gods that had fought each other since the beginning of time, always seeking to outdo the other but never succeeding, for each could read and predict their opponent's attacks as easily as they could predict their own, and he wondered briefly if this battle might go on forever with no victor decided.

But the advantage was becoming clearer as time went on -Njall had been fighting all day, and was fatigued, while Boswell had arrived fresh and ready. Njall's movements began to slow as their fight carried on, and despite managing to make some close hits, eventually it was he who was wounded -he failed to dodge Boswell's sword in time and let out a scream of agony as the blade turned red hot and slashed across his chest, drawing blood and steam from where the blade made its cut. The wound was shallow, but smoldering as he staggered back, laying an arm against the wound to stem the flow of blood.

The Warlord of Ragnaross knew at that moment he could not win. His body was burning -not only from the wound but from the fatigue of his long battle. The fight was not in his favour. Njall barked an order to the six ice phoenixes. They pooled their powers together and cast a wave of snow at Boswell, his sons, and the Avolonians, briefly blinding them as the seven ice phoenixes turned and fled into the fog. Boswell cursed, running after them. Gregory, Taiapetra and the other captains aimed their pistols and fired into the mist but could not tell if they had found their targets. No pained calls filled the air, nor the spray of blood, leaving them only able to assume they had missed.

The Ragnarosian lines, seeing their leaders turn and leave them behind, shattered. Some re-engaged the Avolonians, others fled into the fog. Those that stayed to fight were swiftly cut down by the greater numbers. Those that fled were pursued by the vigorous Avolonians, determined to end the battle with certainty.

The battle was over. Lord Boswell returned, his eyes narrowed into a scowl of disappointment. He spoke, this time in Avolonian, with his tongue rolling any R's he spoke, leaving his speech guttural and rough "Yellow-livered scum. Next time..." He let his words hang, sighing in irritation as he motioned to his children. "Back to the castle, my sons and daughters. We are done 'ere."

~~~~~

Volcan awoke, briefly unaware of where he was as his eyes slowly fluttered open to see the gridlines of stonework above him. He felt terrible, sick and in pain, an ache in his side that seemed to flare with every breath he took. He rolled his head onto its side, seeing an open cell door across from him. He was in a holding cell, he realized -not locked. He knew the design of Avolon prison cells and recognized that he was in one, leading him to suspect that he was not a prisoner, merely put in the cell for the bed it held within.

As his senses returned and the fog of his mind cleared, he remembered what had happened. He remember the battle of the South Harbour -the Ragnarosians, caught in an envelopment. Avolonians to their front and back, Lycanthrians to their right, he was certain they would be summarily cut down at such a disadvantage. But most of all, he remembered the ice phoenix. The one he had fought -that he... had slain... he had defeated an ice phoenix, one older than himself. Yet, he had won -his enemy had not seen Volcan for what he was, though Volcan had known him immediately. His enemy's ignorance had granted Volcan a victory...

"I defeated an ice phoenix," he thought aloud as he tried to sit up, wincing as his wound flared from his movement. He could not hold back a groan, clutching his side where the ice spike had pierced him. It was bandaged, he noticed, blood-soaked linen covering the wound. He knew he shouldn't aggravate it, but he was desperate to know what had happened following his battle.

"Volcan?"

He looked up as a figure stepped into view and was surprised to find Captain Vinson outside the bars of the holding cell. "C-Captain!" He exclaimed, instinctively trying to sit up properly so that he could salute his commander.

"At ease, Corporal -don't aggravate that injury," Gregory urged. "I have someone else for you to meet as well." He stepped aside, allowing another figure to step into view.

Volcan's beak fell open as he saw who stood outside the cell with his commanding officer. "Un-Un-Uncle Boswell?!" He exclaimed.

"Surprised ya recognize me," Boswell commented. "This is the first time ya lain eyes on me, boy."

"My mother has a portrait of you she hangs in the foyer," Volcan pointed out. "She has told me much about you. Still, it is an honour to finally get to meet you."

Gregory pulled open the cell door, allowing himself and Boswell to enter and stand beside Volcan's bed. "Honour nothin' -I am always glad to meet the new generations," Boswell assured him. "It is also good to know that livin' among the Avolonians ain't made ya soft."

"What do you mean?" Volcan asked.

"We heard about your defeat of the ice phoenix leading the enemy," Gregory stated. "Private Stevenson also identified the body as the one that attacked him and Scout Chief Thalia during their reconnaissance. Furthermore, apparently he was the youngest son of the enemy leader."

Volcan frowned. "Yes... he said so as he died," the young phoenix remarked, grimly.

"What's wrong lad? Yer the hero of the day -ya defeated a son of Njall, fought 'im on 'is own terms and walked away!" Boswell chimed in an exhilarated tone. "Ye'd be hero of the clan back home!"

"I know. But I never take any delight in taking lives, Uncle," Volcan informed him. "I only do it when I have to -when it is my own, or someone else's on the line."

"As you were taught," agreed Gregory.

Boswell scoffed at first, but soon shrugged. "I don't see it the same, but I respect yer thoughts." He said with a nod. "Still, ye 'ave made yer clan proud, boy -none have ever faced a Son of Njall but yerself and ye only got one wound to show for it -wear that with pride." His eyes fell to the wound on Volcan's side, and he grunted. "Before I go, let me take care 'o that wound for ya," he said as he knelt at Volcan's side.

"Take care of it how?" Volcan asked.

"Simple. I'm goin' to close it," replied Boswell.

Volcan visibly flinched as he recollected his earlier act of cauterizing Captain Southgate's wound back when they had found the injured officer in the field, near where the Ragnarosians had made their entrance. "Y-You mean cauterize it?" Volcan asked, warily.

Boswell eyed him quizzically. "Cauterize? Ye daft, boy? Yer skin doesn't burn. Now quit fussin' and take these flimsy things off," he said as he brought a talon to the dressings on Volcan's side.

Gregory raised a hand as though to protest, but he froze. What could he say to a clan leader, let alone to someone as imposing as Lord MacAingeal? Before he could find the answer, the dressings were off, and the fresh wound was revealed. It had begun to scab over, but the blood was still dried on the outside.

Boswell huffed again. "He got ye good -I know a water injury when I see it," he said. "When all the feathers are put out and our skin starts to disintegrate on contact with it. Stabbed ye with ice, did he?" He asked, placing his hand gingerly over the wound and taking in a deep breath, not waiting for an answer from Volcan.

A glow formed around his hand. Volcan felt an otherworldly warmth pass through him -not a warmth like heat -his body was always hot, and he could not feel spikes in temperature like other avians could. It was like an inner warmth, the kind he felt when he was happy, followed by a tingling sensation that made him almost want to laugh. In a moment, Boswell's hand stopped glowing, and he pulled it away to uncover the injury -or where it used to be.

It had closed, almost completely -the mark and a layer of scabbing were still visible, but the wound looked as though it had been healing for a week already. A bald spot and spots of dried blood remained, a mild itch but not pain marked its presence.

"There. That should do it -no need for bedrest now, yer as good as new," stated Boswell.

Volcan stared in astonishment as his uncle's work, barely fathoming what had just happened. He knew that phoenix tears had the ability to close most minor wounds -severe ones as well in large quantities. But Boswell had not used any such fluid -he had seemed to do little else than touch the affected area.

Volcan looked up at Boswell, blank and confused. "How did you do that?"

"I shared a little of my own elemental essence with ye, acceleratin' yer healin'," Boswell replied. "It's a gift we elders can share with the young'uns -though I would not try it yerself for a while -it can take a lot out of ye, dependin' on the severity, and don't be tryin' it with other phoenixes besides fire. Now, I need to be gon' back to the homeland. Farewell, son of the clan -ye are well on yer way to makin' a name for us all."

With that, Boswell nodded in goodbye to both Volcan and Gregory, and left the holding cell, leaving just the two of them in the room as he headed for the exit.

When he was gone, Gregory turned to the young phoenix, still aghast by a the healing of his injury -something that would have taken weeks on its own or without the aid of a healer. He too was fascinated, but Gregory shifted his focus to more important matters first. "Now, Volcan," began Gregory. "I sense there is something you wish to discuss?"

As always, Gregory knew when Volcan had something on his mind. No doubt his lack of interaction with Boswell was a giveaway -though this was the first time he laid eyes on the MacAingeal patriarch, Volcan surely should have had more to say to his own uncle. Yet he had been silent through most of it, as if the elder had only been there for a single moment. Only something truly urgent could cause such distress in Volcan and Gregory knew it.

The young phoenix took in a breath, collecting his thoughts and steadying himself before facing Gregory again. "Captain, did Dr. Quill ever give an analysis on that tooth that was found?" He asked.

After a short pause, as if considering the question, Gregory replied. "He did. He said it matched a canine's fang -lupus strain, I think he said it was, which is just another word for 'wolf'. But why do you ask?"

"Because I think I know who it belonged to," replied Volcan. "I know who attacked the Anapol's Memory."

Gregory's eyes widened with surprise. "'Who?' Not what?" He asked. "You mean you know for certain it wasn't a beast?"

Volcan nodded. "I think it was master Alkaev -Lady Boleslav's bodyguard. During the battle with Njall's son, his helmet was knocked off and I happened to catch a glimpse of the inside of his mouth. One of his fangs were broken, and the matching fang on the other side -it looked just like the tooth that was found on the ship."

"You don't think that could have happened during the battle?" Gregory asked.

"I do not," Volcan admitted firmly. "He any I fought side-by-side against Njall's son, but he was never struck in the mouth."

Gregory put a finger to his chin. "But that doesn't make sense," he said. "The damage we saw was clearly caused by something bestial. And yet..." He hummed in thought, thinking back to his earlier analysis of the crime scene -of how the Anapolians had been felled by single fatal blows, each one targeting vital spots of their bodies with precision no feral beast would possess.

"Captain?" Volcan asked.

Gregory shook his head, breaking himself from his train of thought. "It seems we may have to keep our eyes on our Lycanthrian visitors," he said. "You let me handle things from here, Volcan. In the meantime, I have a new assignment for you tomorrow."

"Yes?" Volcan asked.

"The Ragnarosians are still here, scattered about the island. I want you to join the search parties that will be tracking them," explained Gregory. "I was going to send Alden, but Captain Southgate's unit was all but wiped out by Njall's assault. We cannot leave the southern wall unguarded, so I am sending him there to fill in until Southgate recovers and Fifth Division can recover from its substantial losses. I think you will be better suited for tracking down the stragglers."

Volcan nodded to Gregory. "I shall."

"In the mean time, get some rest -Lord MacAingeal may have healed you but it's well into the night and you will need your strength," Gregory directed. "The search parties are being headed by Lieutenant Lindson of Third Division -report to him for assignment when you awake tomorrow. I will let your family know you are safe and may be here for a time."

"Understood," Volcan returned, laying back on the mattress beneath him as Gregory turned to leave. "See you on the morrow, Captain."

"You as well, Corporal," Gregory concluded as he exited the cell, leaving it open so that Volcan could get out in the morning, and left the holding cells to return to the city.

As the Captain left, he thought back to Volcan's words. Momentarily, he considered his earlier suggestion, that Vadim might have lost his tooth in the battle and that Volcan had only seen a lost tooth and no further evidence to connect the two. The tooth had also been huge, much longer than would comfortably fit in the muzzle of one Vadim's size.

He recalled the tales he'd heard over the years, from travelling merchants, wandering soldiers without armies and soldiers of fortune alike, of the existence of Lycanthrians that capable of altering their forms, becoming like giant beasts -a primal abomination that sat between the midway point of a sapient anthropian and their feral cousins. Until that moment, he had dismissed these as nothing more than rumours -propaganda spread to make citizens fear the Lycanthrians and bolster their confidence in their own leaders in hopes they would protect them from the 'monsters' of Lycanthria.

Volcan was also not prone to flights of fancy, despite his youth. He was impulsive, but not stupid -he would not point an accusing finger at Vadim for so heinous a crime if he did not truly believe his own claim that the wolf was responsible. Yet, he could not forget that scene on the Anapol's Memory or the many bodies that lay torn asunder throughout the vessel. The space would be too confined for a beast, but Vadim -though large, was certainly not incapable of doing the deed...

Damn it, he cursed in his mind. There are too many uncertainties here! What Volcan says both makes sense and yet does not at the same time! How could one wolf cause so much devastation? How could a creature get so far into the city unnoticed? What happened on that ship?!'

Perhaps, most importantly of all, 'What dangers does this present to the city, with the Lycanthrians a most obvious suspect, here under diplomatic protection?'

END OF BOOK TWO

This new tale, a product of The Phoenix Library

Characters by:

The Phoenix Quill

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Next in this series:

Volume 3: Hunted

Howls of the beast echo through the night as Prince Avogadro is forced to flee his home at High Eyrie. Under orders from Captain Vinson, Volcan MacAingeal is tasked to guard the Prince and take him beyond the walls of Avolon to a secret hiding place while the city's defense forces track down the killer. But how long can they hide from the nearly invulnerable beast thirsty for the blood of royalty?