SUGAR CRUSH.

"It was a dream of mine since I was young. Now I'm a professor, but maybe I'll go back to it someday." It was a life he loved after all.

Mae's yawn echoes in him, and he turns to cover his mouth with a gloved hand. The action quickly turns into a coughing fit that rattles through his chest and wracks his shoulders. He squeezes his eyes shut until it finally passes.

"Ah... haah... I-I'm okay...just a little tired." Yet he knows if he had a bed before him he would pass out right now.

But when his yawn turns to coughing, she blinks. If it was only a cough, she'd blame it on all the smoke, but the intensity of it and the grimace on Rhys's face point to something more.

"Let's," she agrees, leading the way before pausing to turn and look back at the pyre. The black shapes at the heart of the flame have charred into something unrecognizable as people.

People not so different from us, huh...

When Mae's time came, who would be there to see her off? Her loved ones, complete strangers, or no one at all?

Shuddering from more than just the cold, she turns to Rhys.

"If you need any more help with things later, you know who to call!"

He's grateful when she stops herself from referring to them with derogatory names. It's not that they aren't, it's not that they didn't need to be stopped, but they're dead now. Their souls have departed this world and all that remains are their bodies and the anger they've left behind in those they affected.

"It's not all the time," he explains. "There's a time and place for everything. Right now I'm here, doing what I feel I need to do, but if we get caught in another fight, or when we get home and I'm with my partner again, my focus will be where it needs to be. Holding on to negative emotions will wear you down. You need to just feel them, fully. Cry, get angry, whatever you need, and then... let the feelings go." He shrugs. "You'll know when the time is right."

He thinks of that one terrible day and how he had cried then. He had carried that with him for a long time, but they had continued on.

While Mae fidgets beside him, Rhys remains still save for the slight adjustments of his arms to keep his body warm. In a way, he almost feels a little lightheaded.

"Honestly, this month was more taxing than I expected. I haven't marched like this in a long time. I used to be a mercenary. Perhaps I wasn't too unlike these men, in that sense."

One day, he will have his own pyre, or however he's buried.

This is why she doesn't like letting her thoughts stand still. Because once she lets herself get mired down, it starts to feel like she might not ever get going again.

"Orrrrr...you could dodge all those feelings. Keep moving on to the next thing so fast that they can't keep up! That's me, just go go go."

As if getting ready to do just that, Mae reaches her arm up and over her head, then the other, stretching out all the tension she'd been hanging onto during the fight.

"Nah, don't mention it! You're a swell guy, with surprises to boot! Never ever would've pegged you for the mercenary life."

That's when a yawn swells up, and a big one too, eating into the start of Mae's next words.

The pyre's heat is starting to feel oppressive but compared to the harsh winter wind at his back and the snow beneath his boots, it's a welcome feeling. His gaze turns toward the dark misshapen bodies that simmer and burn beneath the blanket.

"I've seen people enslave others and treat them as toys, something for them to break at will. It's a horrible thing to do. But there's no demon that influenced their actions. They're just people who ended up hurting others."

Despite the warmth, he sneezes again, and a sniffle follows. He's going to be so sick when he gets home, but at least he'll be home.

Mae isn't great at sitting still on the best of days. With the consequences of her actions burning, popping, crackling, getting into her lungs and eyes and all the corners of her mind, it's even more difficult. But Rhys's conviction makes her want to stick around.

"You know what?" she tugs up the hem of her glove for the third or fourth time in as many minutes. "After that thing with the guide back in town, I pegged you for a total bleeding heart. I butted in because I thought you were just having a hard time saying no. I didn't wanna see you get swindled."

He'd built the pyres first and now all the bandits, bereft of their goods (which he would leave for the villagers) laid atop it in rows. Their corpses are covered by a cloth. It's crude but all he can manage. At least the wood is dry.

Rhys positions himself before the pile of corpses, lowers his head, and presses his hands together in prayer. He's quiet for a moment, the still winter air hanging between them. And then...

"May you find in death what you lacked in life. Let this fire consume your malice and the wind carry your souls to your gods, who will judge your deeds as they see fit. So let it be."

It takes a moment to light the kindling but once it is, it catches fast, and spreads through the pyre. He steps back beside Mae and watches silently.

"What we did today was right. These people needed to be protected. But we can't forget that these bandits are people too. They have families and loved ones as any of us do. At some point, something in their life went wrong. Wrong enough that they were willing to kill others for their own gain."

He blinks back tears but maintains a steady voice. "Whatever happened, I believe they deserve this much in death. For the people they once were if not for the people they died as."

Back home, back when the Earth Mother's bounty had dried up, leaving the land bare and the people desperate, Mae could only see bandits as villains. After all, times had been tough at their priory too, but they'd stretched what little they had and even found enough to share. Surely the pirates and thieves could have found another way, she'd thought.

No...the truth was that she hadn't thought much about her enemies at all, not then and not now. They were little more than targets to be aimed at, roadblocks to her adventure, badges of honor to be boasted of.

Talk about self-centered. She may be an adult in years, but the weight of Rhys's words make her feel like a ridiculous child playing while others look at reality head-on.

"It's like..."

With the toe of her boot, she draws shapes as she fishes for the words.

"...like you think about the things they did separately from the people they were. I always figured, you know, once a bad guy always a bad guy. But what you said there, about the people they used to be...I kinda can't say I ever thought about it like that before."

Mae can feel sweat beading from the heat of the fire, but she doesn't move to step back. When Rhys hides his face in his cloak, she lets out a laugh tinged with just a little bitterness.

The villager's dead have already been laid to rest, but he could not ask them to bury the men who killed their loved ones. It's a task he takes upon himself. He knows Mae doesn't understand his need to do this so that makes him more than grateful for her assistance.

"Thank you for helping me gather them. I would understand if you'd rather leave me to finish the final part. They need their rites before I start the pyre."

It's been a long journey. He's tired, he feels his body giving in to the winter elements and the exhaustion of the last month. But he has just a bit more to do before he can rest.

After the last brigand fell, Mae's next thoughts were for the survivors. She hadn't spared the corpses so much as a glance. They were just...over and done with. On to the next job at hand.

But seeing Rhys tend to the corpses with care, without any help, made Mae pause long enough for some regret to catch up with her. He made for a looked terribly lonely sight. So Mae had jogged over, hefted the corpse up with him, and together they'd built them a resting place.

"No biggie," she shrugs, her tone still bright but weighed down just a bit, because she's wondering. "Couldn't just leave you to it on your lonesome."

The thought only occurs to her as she catches the boys grief-stricken face.

He was going to learn that sooner or later

Sometimes death is the only mercy you can give an enemy.

But isn't it too much?

She cannot recall her first kill clearly enough to compare it.

But this kind of suffering is far beyond what she had to see.

What is she supposed to do ?

Apologise?

That seems quite stupid no mercy to her foes yet worried about her allies feelings?

If she showed such hesitation in free, she'd be laughed out as too soft.

She spots another enemy ready to remind her this isn't a place for grief.

Her movements have been running sluggish; the chill is finally catching up to her.

She tries to combine her magic and strength once again, but he dodges her just enough that she has to readjust the trajectory mid-swing, blunt edge against his temple.

But even now he had to press on. Because no matter what, a true knight protected the innocent. There were still people that needed help and the few bandits that remained were determined to cause death and chaos even when there was no way left for them to win.

It was difficult to steel his heart. But he could at least steel his mind for what had to be done. Watching as Tine struck one of the remaining brigands harshly, the man prepared himself for a counter attack.

“I.. I won’t let you!” With a shout Ashe swung his lance, further staining his lance with crimson. It was a swooping maneuver, one in which he managed to strike and fly up before giving his enemy the chance to strike back.

Maybe it's the cold getting to him? Yes, Mae decides that must be it.

The enemy that Ashe just laid out looks to be finished, until Mae sees the twitch of a hand, fingers scrabbling over snow.

"Oh, no ya don't," she mutters, lining up the fallen bandit in her sights. This double-barreled lightning spell hasn't failed her yet, so even though it might be overkill, she charges up another blast of twin lightning.

The bandit isn't moving at all after that.

"Ashe! Ashe! Here, here—" tromping through the snow to reach him, she cups her hands together, lighting a handful of something like fire in her palms.

"I heard this spell's great for warming up. One touch and you'll be nice and toasty." Holding out her cupped hands to him. "You're kicking some serious tail out here! There would be way fewer survivors here if you weren't around."

As much as Mae wants to cut down the horrid man before her, before he can sink that axe into anyone else, Ashe is in danger now.

She should feel the cold, a dim corner of her mind notes. With snow up to her shins and wind whipping her face, she should be drawing her colorful scarf up over her nose and hugging herself against the chill.

But the only ice she feels is the sick pit in her stomach in the face of all this sadism.

"Get your nasty mitts off him!"

Her bolt hits the scoundrel before he can reach Ashe. Thank the Mother. The second of this spell's twin bolts fizzles out against the snow, but her target is lying still and smoking, and Ashe is still alive.

Mae brings her still-tingling fingers to her chest, sighing in relief. Behind Ashe and his mount, that nearly-solid lick of snow and wind whips around a farmer, then a young boy, slicing at their nearby attackers.

"Look!" She points at the ghostlike shape. It nearly fades from view at times, nearly gone and then undeniably there. "I thought I was seeing things at first, but...there's definitely something else here to help us. To help them."

moves sluggishly and inaccurately, as if their strings were cut.

She can almost feel pity.

But her mind is as sharp as ever and she knows

That

THey

HAD

Bought

this

upon

themsevlves

She sees the fool laughing, splayed on the cold, frozen ground.

Why are you laughinG?

You left yourself defenseless. You aren't even holding your axe right now?

She picks up the hefty weight, and the searing burn she can scarcely remember is actually cold, proving once again this isnt a game.

She had some experience with axework; she once cut a dummy in half, but how could she be so vain as to assume a torso would split so easily?

So she channels the magic along her strength into a swing.

She goes for the beast's limbs instead.

The weapon falls abandoned as it finally quiets down.

Ashe’s head turns towards the source of the bolt, following the trajectory of the second shot as he met familiar pink. “Tha… Thank you so much, Mae..!” He said through slightly chattering teeth. The arrow in his back might’ve lessened the blood loss, but it still hurt and between that and the bitter chill seeping into his skin, he could feel himself becoming unsteadier.

Still, he listens to her observations and faintly he manages to make out a shape in the blizzard. “Y-You might be right.. I think I s-see it too…!” There was something, someone out there to protect them. Unseen yet acting as a protector all the same. It felt like something right out of a fairytale, like a guardian spirit protecting the people under its care and lending support to those who would come to their aid.

If only he had more time to marvel at it. Because as a boy who loved tales of heroism, this kind of thing would be right up his alley.

But the battle kept raging on, and soon the other girl managed to put a violent end to one of the bandits. Only… he was still alive, even when his life was soaking the snow around him from his gaping abdomen. He reached for his axe, prompting Ashe to stop him.

Yet he did not encounter the rage he saw in the other bandits. Only delirium and weak groans of pain. He would surely die of blood loss. It was a horrific and slow way to die.

Ashe felt a pity for him that the bandit likely hadn’t spared to anyone else. Perhaps that was foolish, perhaps it was too soft of him, yet he felt it all the same. Was it truly so wrong for a knight to have a heart that bleeds so easily?

There was only one thing Ashe could do for him at this point. He couldn’t hesitate now, not anymore. This would be a mercy, at this point. “I’m sorry.” He says again. They’re the only words he’s able to give as he raises his lance…

And brings it straight down into the bandit’s heart.

Mae rests a palm over the page of her own tome, willing another spell to hum to life. It hadn’t occured to her to use the power within it to cause lasting pain or lingering death. And she hadn’t thought of it as a mercy, either. More a means to an end—to bring fights to an end.

But they weren’t like these cutpurses. None of them were here to cause pain for fun. If the brigand lost a limb, then better him than one of the villagers he’d been about to torment the same way.

So while Mae’s gaze lingers on the limb detached from its body with something like wonder, her heart doesn’t waver. Not while these sick fiends are still hunting people down.

“You!” She finds the scoundrel from earlier, the one that cut down a helpless old woman before her eyes. “You’re done, buddy.”

Though he limped much worse than the last time Mae had seen him, he refused to drop that hideous executioner’s axe. It still drips with blood, staining the beautiful white blanket beneath them.

“There’s a good lass,” he leers through a bloody grin. “Been lookin for y—”

Two bolts thud into his chest in quick succession, and his body goes rigid before toppling over. Lingering electricity set his muscles twitching, and then he lay very, very still.

That was the correct choice, she reminds herself; if it struck true, he would plummet out of the sky, leaving them both defenseless.

It makes what she has to do all the more shameful.

"We have to keep pushing."

I'm sorry.

"Let me know if the pain becomes intolerable."

She says maybe sincerely, maybe just to ease her own consciousness.

No time to hesitate as she puts herself between a brigand and another defenless soul far too late.

He isn't dead, but neither is the scoundrel; even as she severs his arm, he still grins at her maniacally, eyes far too wide.

Could this truly be human?

Is Jugdral still in such ruin that this is what constitutes men?

“I… I’ll be okay. Don’t worry about me.” He said through gritted teeth. While his wound hurt immensely, combined with the tear in his clothes which allowed the bitter chill to begin seeping through, it couldn’t compare to the pain in his chest. It hurt more seeing the blood of innocents stain the snow. The boy was glad she didn’t waste time on him and fought back.

As he should be doing too.

The brigand wielding cold infused gauntlets was about to deal the killing blow to one of the villagers, a boy appearing to be the same age as Ashe. His back was exposed, so Ashe rushed forward from atop his Pegasus and delivered a powerful strike with his lance, tearing through both clothing and skin. The brigand screamed at the sudden pain and turned around, hate reflected in his eyes. Both gauntlets at the ready he flung himself at Ashe, but the boy was faster. Both hits were nimbly avoided, and with the brigand still swinging his fist forward he left himself open.

This was his chance. Go for the kill in one hit, and make sure he won’t hurt anyone ever again. This is the duty of a knight, a core part of the creed he’d idolized his entire life.

So why? Why was he still trembling?

Ashe swung his lance again. It would be a clean slice through the brigand’s neck, a certainly fatal blow. The grip on his lance tightened, he couldn’t hesitate.

But then the sound of pathetic bloody gurgles, the image of gore flashes in his mind and his breath hitches. At the last second Ashe angled his lance lower, slashing the man’s shoulder before being stopped by much sturdier bone instead.

Soft. Still too soft.

The brigand staggered back, his shoulder now a bleeding mess. The pain must be unbearable, yet still a murderous rage sparked in his eyes. He must know that death is unavoidable, so now all he could think of was taking the boy that attacked him down with him.

The man rushed towards Ashe screaming, taking the student by surprise. He made a mistake, and he’d be paying for it sooner than expected.

As much as Mae wants to cut down the horrid man before her, before he can sink that axe into anyone else, Ashe is in danger now.

She should feel the cold, a dim corner of her mind notes. With snow up to her shins and wind whipping her face, she should be drawing her colorful scarf up over her nose and hugging herself against the chill.

But the only ice she feels is the sick pit in her stomach in the face of all this sadism.

"Get your nasty mitts off him!"

Her bolt hits the scoundrel before he can reach Ashe. Thank the Mother. The second of this spell's twin bolts fizzles out against the snow, but her target is lying still and smoking, and Ashe is still alive.

Mae brings her still-tingling fingers to her chest, sighing in relief. Behind Ashe and his mount, that nearly-solid lick of snow and wind whips around a farmer, then a young boy, slicing at their nearby attackers.

"Look!" She points at the ghostlike shape. It nearly fades from view at times, nearly gone and then undeniably there. "I thought I was seeing things at first, but...there's definitely something else here to help us. To help them."

Those aren't mere brigand men mainly amused by women and coin, so uncaring of her threats as they massacre their commonfolk.

He laughs at her as if he isn't on his last legs, as if the disadvantage wasn't obvious.

There was a brilliant wind; it bounced back from the enemy when he tried to attack a villager.

Maybe she should focus on defending them?

She can intercept an attack and deal the appropriate punishment.

Why didn't she think of that before people died?

No

No, she can only protect one person at a time; she would still be choosing who lives and who dies.

She trains her gaze again at the foolish beast.

She won't let him breathe.

She won't let him run.

She closes the distance again; even if he already knows what to expect, she's still more agile.

With her whole body, she slams into him, barely escaping the wicked blade as he drops it.

Let him be a fool

let him die in misery.

He chose this death for himself.

Still so fucking smug as the brilliant light within her hands slams into his head.

The snow is further tainted, but the blood oozes weakly.

“Damn it! Shit! The chief’s dead!” One bandit whispered. “What do we do?!” Another cried out. “We do what we do best! Put this whole place to the torch and kill anyone that tries to stop us!!!” The third bellows, all the others shouting in agreement. They rushed to chase after the fleeing villagers, crazed looks in their eyes. Ashe spotted one chasing after a pair of siblings, barely appearing to be older than 10. “Weeeheehee! Keep running! Let me hear you scream, little piggies!!” The man said gleefully.

These people were so monstrous, not even children would be spared?

Ashe couldn’t stand for it. He knew the man was wielding a bow, the bane to all Pegasi… yet he couldn’t leave children so young to die. Lance in hand he rushed forward from atop his Pegasus, standing between the bandit and the youths. “Run!” He shouts towards them.

Then, knowing the bandit would have the advantage from a distance he closed the gap between them, an emerald flame burning in his eyes as he swung his lance, connecting with the man’s thighs, drawing a line of dark blood. “GRAGH! DAMN YOU!” The bandit roared.

Being so close Ashe naively thought there’s no way for the bandit to fire his arrows. What he hadn’t noticed until it was almost too late was that the man had a crossbow on him as well. He took aim and fired, going straight for the Pegasus’ neck.

“No! Stop!” With a sharp yank of the reins Ashe forced his Pegasus to make a sharp turn, the winged animal whinnying in protest. The execution was clumsy however, so they couldn’t turn away completely. As a result, while they avoided a fatal blow to the Pegasus…

The arrow had embedded itself straight into the boy’s back, steel piercing through soft flesh as Ashe let out a sharp cry of pain.

“Wehehehe!! That’s what you get! Now be a good little boy and die!!” The man cackled as he prepared to fire yet another arrow. But before he was able to, Ashe turned around and, ignoring the immense pain, thrust his lance towards the bandit with all the strength he could muster.

It connected soundly, piercing through the bandit’s throat with a spray of blood and gore from the punctured artery. It stained both the white coat and pale skin of steed and rider with specks of red.

Ashe maintained eye contact, through shivering breaths. Was it the cold that caused him to tremble, or was it the horror of what had just happened? Pulling out his lance the bandit fell over, a series of wet gurgles being his last words.

“I’m sorry…” This was a far cry from the first battles the heroes of old had fought, their tales mentioning glory and heroism. At the moment he felt none of that, only a deep and profound emptiness. The man had been a monster, of that there was no doubt… yet Ashe had caused his current state, bleeding out in the snow with a mangled clump of flesh and blood where his neck had once been.

This was the duty of a knight. To protect the innocent, lives had to be lost in battle. But that provided little comfort, a warmth trickling down his cheeks, smudging the blood as he shakily spoke the only words he had to rationalize it.

“But if… if I hesitated, that would’ve been me.”

"Wait...no!! Don't— Come back, everyone!!" Thrown by the sudden mood shift, Mae trundles through the snow one way, then another, as if to herd them back, to keep them all behind her so that she can keep shielding them—but it's no good. They're screaming, running, getting caught.

Some bandits toy with their captives. One grabs their quarry by the collar and slaps them once, then twice. The strange gauntlet on the brigand's hand frosts over before each strike, and that same frost clings to the villager's bruised jaw, creeping down his chest.

Another bandit twirls his axe as he lumbers after an old woman, mocking her cries. She falls even before he lifts his axes, fear taking her legs out from under her. The bandit's heavy, heavy axe makes it quick, at least.

A low cry of disgust and sorrow tears out of Mae. She can taste the blood in the frigid air as she recites her spells, aiming for the lowlife giggling over the poor old woman's body.

"You...!" She aims first for his gut, to immobilize him, and she's not sorry for the surge of pride when the lightning makes him spasm.

"...scumbags!!" Then she targets for his hands, so that his horrible axe won't cut into anyone else. Unfortunately, her second blow collides with his shoulder instead.

The brute isn't down for the count yet, and there are still so many of them.

(Even if that wasn't what horrified her about it.)

But then the cold sinks into her bones.

Her legs nearly knee-deep wading through snow when she hears a commotion ahead.

Another ambush, this time not towards them.

But how could she turn away.

Freeges are ruthless

Deciving

But they aren't cowards.

She dashes ahead of her allies at the man most ornately dressed, most likely to be their leader.

She kicks the snow up, getting up close.

Obstructing her own path and fooling him to expect a melee attack to be hit with concentrated light instead.

The element of surprise is forfeited as it refracts from the snowfall.

"YOU COWARDLY WRETCH!"

She spits out with venom, hoping to focus all the eyes on herself and give her allies one last chance for an ambush.

"Know that a crusader's judgment shall rain down upon you."

Mae’s heart breaks at the sight: crumbling homes, livestock on red snow, peaceful lives in utter ruin. These bandits didn’t intend to leave anything behind for the rightful owners. Not even their lives, judging from the bloodlust in their eyes as they sized up the trembling survivors.

What could excuse such awful destruction? Nothing Mae could think of. And she’s glad to see that Tine is on the same page, wasting no time in leading the charge.

As much as the bandits needed thrashing, the villagers looked to be in no position to defend themselves, without a single weapon between them. Holding up her torch, Mae surveys the villagers as best she can.

“Anyone hurt?!” she calls out. No verbal response, but a trembling young man shakes his head in response. “Good. Just leave the fighting to us, ‘kay?”

That’s when the wind whips up beside him, snowflakes swirling in an odd spiral, thickening as it curls around the villagers, as if the snow itself is cradling a protective arm around them.

“All good over here for now! Let’s take out these creeps!!”

“Why?!” He shouted at their leader. “Why did you come here? Why did you hurt all these people?!” Even now, in all this chaos, he tried to find reason. Understanding. Yet the man only scoffed at him, letting out a hearty laugh afterwards. “BWAHAHA! The lads and I were just in the mood for a bit o’ fun! That’s all!”

“That’s all?! That’s why you’re taking away these people’s homes?! Their lives, everything?! Just… just for a kick?!” The knight aspirant could feel his blood boiling. It ran hot enough that it could almost stave off the chill of the mountain valleys, grip around his lance tightening. That was all he needed to quell the last of his doubts. Following up after the pale haired girl who used magic from a distance, Ashe took the opportunity to strike up close. No longer did he use the flat side of his lance.

His weapon was poised to kill.

The boy harshly struck the bandit leader in the shoulder, causing the man to curse loudly. Using his other arm he tried to swing at Ashe with his sword, but pegasus and rider proved to be much faster. The first hit was dodged completely, the second he intercepted with his lance.

“I won’t forgive you!!” With the blade of his lance catching the chief’s sword, he thrust upwards, making the man lose his balance, creating an opportunity for someone else to follow up the attack.

And since the bandit didn’t show a shred of remorse, that meant Mae didn’t have to either. From where she stood, back beside the villagers, she flipped open her tome and drew upon twin spells, charging up a pair of bolts at the same time so he wouldn’t have time to retaliate.

“You want some fun, huh?! Fine! We’ll play with you!”

The first jolt caught the brigand in his gut. As he doubled over, the second hit him in the knee, bringing his leg out from under him. Her fingers still crackling with electricity, Mae clenched her fist in satisfaction.

Beside her, the strange swirl of snow continued to circle the young man from the village. It drew close enough to brush her elbow, and oddly enough, it didn’t feel cold at all. So something really was here to help.

(Even if that wasn't what horrified her about it.)

But then the cold sinks into her bones.

Her legs nearly knee-deep wading through snow when she hears a commotion ahead.

Another ambush, this time not towards them.

But how could she turn away.

Freeges are ruthless

Deciving

But they aren't cowards.

She dashes ahead of her allies at the man most ornately dressed, most likely to be their leader.

She kicks the snow up, getting up close.

Obstructing her own path and fooling him to expect a melee attack to be hit with concentrated light instead.

The element of surprise is forfeited as it refracts from the snowfall.

"YOU COWARDLY WRETCH!"

She spits out with venom, hoping to focus all the eyes on herself and give her allies one last chance for an ambush.

"Know that a crusader's judgment shall rain down upon you."

Mae’s heart breaks at the sight: crumbling homes, livestock on red snow, peaceful lives in utter ruin. These bandits didn’t intend to leave anything behind for the rightful owners. Not even their lives, judging from the bloodlust in their eyes as they sized up the trembling survivors.

What could excuse such awful destruction? Nothing Mae could think of. And she’s glad to see that Tine is on the same page, wasting no time in leading the charge.

As much as the bandits needed thrashing, the villagers looked to be in no position to defend themselves, without a single weapon between them. Holding up her torch, Mae surveys the villagers as best she can.

“Anyone hurt?!” she calls out. No verbal response, but a trembling young man shakes his head in response. “Good. Just leave the fighting to us, ‘kay?”

That’s when the wind whips up beside him, snowflakes swirling in an odd spiral, thickening as it curls around the villagers, as if the snow itself is cradling a protective arm around them.

“All good over here for now! Let’s take out these creeps!!”

Strange how much lighter he feels after such a simple interaction.

Rhys nods. "It's true, the monastery did pay them a lot to bring us here."

He's always believed that you should help someone simply for the sake of helping them. It's his earnest wish to live in a world built from kindness, despite learning time and again that such a world only exists in his heart.

But the world need not be so cruel either. He can be the kindness he wishes to see reflected in the world, but without putting others in danger too.

"Give me a moment." He inclines his head toward her and then steps back toward Crystal Ball.

"Unfortunately, I can't offer for you to come with us. I do appreciate the help that you provided and I pray that your journey goes well, wherever it takes you." He clasps his hands together, but Crystal Ball's expression became closed off the moment he had started to speak.

"Of course, I couldn't expect anything else." And then he starts away from the two with a stony expression.

And, though she won't say it, she does feel as though she's won a small victory against the people that betrayed them, by hopefully keeping an ally out of their cowardly clutches.

Mae takes the quick retreat as even more evidence that they had underhanded plans. Why else would they scurry off so quickly at the world's most polite 'no'?

"Welp, there he goes. Doesn't seem too mad about it, either." Mae sees them off with her hands on her hips. "You might've been right, but after what happened on the way here, I couldn't just keep quiet you know? Not if it meant us getting walked all over again."

And though Mae knows Rhys can handle himself in a fight, she makes a mental note to keep an eye on him out of combat, too. They might have disagreed this one time, but Rhys's compassion is a trait she thinks the world needs more of, and one she's seen taken advantage of. She won't tolerate anyone trying to turn his kindness against him, not on her watch.

“Woo! Up top!” Mae flings her arms up first in celebration, then holds up her hands for a double high-five.

Rhys draws his staff close to his chest as his hands wring around the oak.

"That's true too. To be honest, I don't think I could convince everyone anyway. Too many of us fell in battle on the way here. We're lucky that everyone is still breathing. No matter their regrets, they still put people in harm's way. If it was...just me..." he laughs softly, "Not that I can do anything on my own."

He looks at Mae earnestly. "What if I just gave him some money instead? Perhaps it would help him find someone else to help."

"We gotta keep a close eye on our coin. Who knows what kinda weirdos are still waiting to grab 'em up."

More importantly (at least in Mae's books), how dare these traitors make such a kind person look so crestfallen? Now they've really done it.

It feels rude to talk about him in front of him. "Give us a moment, please." Rhys inclines his head in a bow and pulls Mae with him a few feet away.

"I know it could be another trap, but what if it's not? Or...what if he was put up to it?" It's a lot of what ifs from both of them.

Rhys sighs. "I know what it's like to be stuck in one place and unable to travel on your own. Maybe all he needs is a fresh start away from a place like this but can't get there on his own."

“Put up to it, huh…I dunno…he went along with their plan for an aaawful long time without so much as a peep otherwise….”

She’s thinking about Zofia’s time of hardship, and the fatally bad sides it brought out in too many. How it bore pirates that nearly starved her island and bandits that preyed on the weak, all unrepentant to their last breaths.

The circumstances in which one is born in can lead to poor choices. Not everyone starts on the same footing.

So his heart genuinely feels for the guide who approaches him with a simple request: he wishes to travel across Jugdral but isn't confident in doing so alone. And if anyone can understand that, it's Rhys. Chronically ill since birth, his constitution weak, but always holding a desire to travel. He wouldn't have made it to Fódlan without Ike and he wouldn't have made it this far through Jugdral without the others.

"Well, I would have to talk with the others first," Rhys starts. This is the guide that went by the name Crystal Ball, a pseudonym he assumes, but the same guide who healed him when he had taken two arrows to his arm. "But I'll see if you can join us."

He doesn't realize that they're standing close to another member of his group that can clearly overhear the conversation.

But how could trusting guides have been a mistake? Isn’t that what travelers do?

Ugh. Shaking her head, trying to rid herself of her uselessly circling questions, Mae steps forward to butt into the conversation. Reaching for Rhys’s sleeve, she tugs on it to get his attention.

“Wait! How do we know it’s not another trap?” she asks him. Then, with a more bitter, sulking edge to her voice, her eyes dart to the Crystal Ball. “Sure, they healed some of us, but…but what if that’s part of their scheme somehow?”