The days were empty, unsettling, and, above all else, long.

Or so Lucia was growing increasingly certain. The sun seemed to hang in the sky far too long at noon. At first, she thought was simply overthinking things or that her weary mind was playing tricks on her. But eventually she decided to trust her instincts and count. The sun lingered at it's zenith for at least thirty minutes longer than it should have. She tried to tell August Flamet about her finding—Flamet seemed to be the only member of the company with any sort of intellectual interest about this land—but as soon as she tried Arquen snapped at her to be silent. Flamet offered a sympathetic smile, but no support.

The was a cruel point, but perhaps a valid one. The sun was an interesting curiosity, to be sure, but they were in the Dragon Land, and there were far more pressing fears to mind.

The Stygian Vow kept far from any road or path, trekking deep into virgin forests and untamed jungle. They crossed rolling mountains mantled in green mist and skittered dizzying cliffs overlooking rifts with black, discernible depths, lost to the memory of man, mer and light. They saw blooming orchids of fourteen colors and trees with boughs so tall they parted the low lying clouds. They passed seams of raw jade glimmering in the sunlight and strange blue pebbles that gave an eerie glow well into the early hours of the morning. All that, and more.

But they never, ever passed anything resembling civilization. That was the plan.

Hides-His-Heart scouted ahead of the group, usually out of sight for hours at a time. But inevitably he'd slip back into sight, returning to report silently to Arquen, pointing in one direction or another. Sometimes these directions seemed to send them far off course and out into the hinterlands. There as a logic to it. The longer they kept out of the eyes of the Akaviri, the longer they could move relatively harassed. But it made for a very large and very tamed land, full of mysteries that it kept to itself—and perhaps they would never go answered.

But for all the ways the country was different, there was some familiarity. Lucia had to take relief in what rare familiarities presented themselves to her. The feeling of cool dew in the morning after a half-night's rest. The weight of her pack on her shoulders as she tried to balance to load. The sting of a blister on her foot. These were the same in Akavir, as well as Tamriel.

Two weeks had passed, and the Vow found themselves ever deeper in the wilds, with only Arquen knowing where they could be, assuming her arrogance was not a mask. Master Caecus was still at large. And as the sun hung long in the sky, all five of them knew the armies of Akavir grew ever larger, readying for that terrifying conflict they dare not fathom occurring.

Early afternoon. The sky was a cheerful blue, though what few clouds lingered above were dark and plump. The sun vanished and reappeared behind them at regular intervals, and light smatterings of rain left as soon as they came. The whole effect was more refreshing than dampening.

Lucia stood before a nameless, swift flowing river. Several makeshift fishing poles had their handles buried deep on the shoreline, their lines cast out trying to entice fat golden carp to the lure. Meanwhile, it fell to Lucia to wash the Vow's clothing: Arquen's orders. She hadn't expected cleanliness to be a top priority of an assassin—when she brought herself to ask why the Speaker called her a fool and to follow her orders. As she scrubbed, it made more sense. She was washing away their scent were they to be tracked. The task was repetitive and monotonous, but Lucia's training had been worse.

"Hey, girl!"

Lucia turned around. Sauntering down the sandy banks towards her was Ruma Camoran. Ruma carried a long staff polished from a branch she had hacked off a tree some days before—tied up to the end of it was a bundle of cloth. Lucia waved from the river. "Hello," she said with a wave, and started to say a name—'Miss Camoran', perhaps, or maybe 'Ruma'—but swallowed it before speaking.

Ruma didn't respond immediately. As she closed in on the waters, she tossed the clothing on the shore before Lucia. "I've got some more for you."

"Right," said Lucia, wading out of the shallows, "Thank you for bringing it."

"Didn't want to risk you forgetting," said Ruma, resting the staff on her shoulder.

It was an unnecessarily aggressive, if not unexpected, response. Lucia gave her a small, melancholic smile. "I wouldn't forget, but... Thank you all the same."

The thanks didn't seem to please Ruma, who tilted her chin up and looked down at Lucia with those imperious, amber eyes. "Just get it done."

"I will," said Lucia, leaning down to pick up the clothing, "Just let me know if you need anything else."

Ruma began to turn, but stopped in midstride. "What did you just say?" she asked, deliberately, her face in profile.

What had she said? What question was that? Lucia felt her cheeks flush in embarrassment and nervousness and something else. "I... Said to let me know if you needed anything."

Silence, but for the rapids of the river. Ruma's face, once detached, gave a wicked smile. She turned towards Lucia. The gesture confused her. "That's an awfully big word—'anything'," Ruma said, taking a step towards the novitiate, "Did you consider that before you said it?"Of course she hadn't. It was just something people say. Wasn't it? Ruma took a step closer. There was a kind of vicious elegance to it—no so different from a mountain lion stalking her prey. Prey of some kind, certainly. Ruma was now close, too close. "I asked you a question, girl," she said, her voice dropping an octave, enticingly soft but dangerously coiled, like a silken noose, "Did you really mean what you said? That I should let you know if I needed anything?"

Again, Lucia could find no immediate answer. She had no experience for this. She hoped from something, anything, clarifying from Ruma. And then, she got it.

Ruma swung the staff, straight at her head.

Lucia's body moved before her mind did.

In less than a second her knees buckled and her torso bent backwards, and her body was parallel to the earth and sky. Then, her hands pushed off the rapidly approaching ground, and she rolled backwards into a defensive posture. Lucia's eyes, until then wide in an instinctual and automatic glaze, sharpened in realization. Ruma had attacked her. Her assailant smirked. "Your reflexes are faster than I'd thought. I guess the Moth Priests' reputation is well founded after all."

Lucia's mind was too busy with questions. "But you—Why?"

Ruma spun her makeshift staff and bent into an aggressive posture. "Need to ask? We're in an enemy land. We could be attacked at any time. And when we are, I want to see how much you'll slow me down."

Before Lucia could respond, Ruma pushed off her heels, readying another strike. It was easy enough for Lucia to dodge the weapon moving towards her face. She noticed Ruma's arm stiffening—it was a feint, and one Lucia had no trouble reading. The staff moved mid-swing downwards in an attempt to trip, but Lucia was able to grab it before it struck her. Ruma's smile didn't leave her face. "You are fast. Did your precious Master Caecus teach you all this?"

Lucia pushed off the staff, her feet hopping once-twice-thrice across the ground. She adopted a defensive stance, her left hand stretched before her body, her right cocked and ready to strike, if needed. Or, at least, it should be able to. Her hand briefly quivered. It was an embarrassing display of irresolution. Ruma Camoran is a threat to this world, she chided herself, Ruma Camoran tried to offer the empire up to the tides of Oblivion.

But just as she had told herself similar truths about her erstwhile master, she wasn't sure if she could bring herself to actually strike a surely obvious foe.

Ruma tapped the ground with the club and launched another strike. This time she went first for the chest, which was easily parried, but then zigged down in an attack towards her thighs. Lucia felt her blood surge and countered, sloppily. Ruma deflected the attack, and Lucia soon was face to face with an increasingly confident assailant. "I see it in your eyes," Ruma said, her staff blocked on Lucia's forearms, but pushing close to her forehead, "You don't think you can do it. Assassinate the man who trained you. Raised you. Can you?"

Lucia scowled. "Could you?"

Suddenly, Ruma's strength faltered, and Lucia pushed her abruptly aside. But she could already tell something was wrong. Ruma's viciously playful demeanor hardened. "You have no idea what I'm capable of." Lucia, in a pinprick of horror, realized she was right.

Ruma came at her again, quickly quickly this time, the staff flaring upwards, then downwards in half-executed, sudden jabs. It was all easily displayed, easily countered. Perhaps, Lucia figured, Ruma had indulged too deeply in anger, and had lost mastery over herself. No—hopefulness and foolishness on her part. The staff had been dropped a moment before. Ruma extended a palm, and a jet of fire shot forth faster than Lucia thought possible. She spun and landed in a half-pirouette, feeling the breeze of heat warm her face. The hem of her shirt was singed."Ruma!" she cried, out "You could've really hurt—"

"Don't you think I wouldn't!" snapped Ruma, her eyes burning as her hands did.

"What?" Cool fear worked it's way down Lucia's face, chilling her hot and weary body. "Kill me?"

At first Ruma didn't respond. She looked at Lucia with such hate, such rage, that Lucia knew it couldn't actually be for her. Then, with a blink, Ruma seemed to realize where she was. She took a deep breath in and dropped her hands to her side. "You..." She took another sigh, shook her head, and slapped a facsimile of a smile on her face. "You seem to be able to take care of yourself in a fight. To be honest, I'm a little surprised, girl."

Lucia kept frowning. Ruma's bluster was now thoroughly unconvincing. In that moment, Lucia realized she had a choice. She could turn around, then and there, and leave Ruma Camoran to plaster over her barely contained pain. Or, she could reach out and ask this woman what caused her such torment. Perhaps even soothe it, in whatever way she could. Perhaps Ruma would open herself up to her. Perhaps she would try to burn her alive. A lesson long-locked into her soul emerged, unbidden. You are the master of the unspoken word, her master had said, a lifetime ago, but the moment you utter it, it belongs to the world.

An hour later, Lucia was once more standing before the river, watching the carp swim upstream. Why didn't I ask her? In the moment, esacpe seemed the prudent thing to do. But as she replayed the scene over and over in her mind, it struck her as cowardice.

The half-washed garments wrinkled in the sun. Ruma had left, back into the woods and hopefully towards camp. The once proud lion was stricken, off to lick its wounds, alone. In a way, each member of the Stygian Vow was alone, an island to themselves, allowing no one in, always on guard against what this accursed land might throw at them. Arquen, Ruma, Hides-His-Heart, and even August Flamet. These people were not her friends. She didn't understand them. They understood her in ways she wished they didn't.

Crouching down, she looked into the water. Her reflection looked back to her. It was a funny thing—she had spent such little time examining it as an aesthete novitiate that it hardly seemed her own. Perhaps she didn't even understand herself, let alone the others.

If only this were a journey of self discovery. But it was not. Survival cared little for her identity, and moments later she forced herself away from the river, and back towards camp.

They were on the move again the next day, deep in a humid jungle. Brilliant birds with feathers the color of well-polished lapis watched Lucia with eyes so curious she nearly thought they glinted with true intellect. At twilight, they called out into the night, their cries plaintive and haunting. And as night approached, something called back out of the forest's mists. Something loud, deep, and old.

Arquen immediately commanded the Stygian Vow to move travel out of the forests and to shore after that.

Ruma Camoran couldn't resist the chance to nettle her. "Noises in the trees got you running, Speaker? Give me an hour out there. I've faced worse." She hadn't spoken about what happened at the river, or acknowledge Lucia, for that matter.

The boasts did little but annoy Arquen, and Ruma soon found herself on duty to stay close to the group, and to kill the birds. Mystical as they were, there was nothing about them that could survive a sudden bolt of fire.

Lucia bit into one's roasted thigh. It tasted just like quail. If she closed her eyes and took in a deep breath, the smell could transport her back to a frosty evening in the White Gold Tower, furtively cooking some poultry a fellow novitiate had snatched up from the royal stores. Their greatest fear then was that a prelate would catch them, and they'd spend the rest of the month cleaning chamberpots.

She opened her eyes. The campfire crackled before her, with three more of the birds blackening above it. The realities of camp—the smells, the dirt, the soot—wiped away the memory. August Flamet picked a skewer from the flames and took a seat next to her. "In some ways, we're quite lucky. These are fine birds. They remind me of the warblers I used to hunt, as a much younger man."

Lucia leaned back on her hands, looking up. "I don't hear you talk much of your youth."

Flamet offered a well crafted laugh in return. "Well, there's quite little to say that gives it distinction. Youth is an easy thing to love, but all happy childhoods are similar, in their own way. I'd be loath to bore you with the details."

It was a nonanswer, as usual. "Haven't you already eaten?" said Lucia.

"I've had my share, yes. But Ruma still caters for Hides-His-Heart, and I'd hate for good meat to go waste. Would you like to split it?"

Lucia frowned. Only she and Ruma still put out food for the Argonian at this point. Flamet, though, had said a little more than he had intended to. A moment passed as Lucia wondered whether or not to ask her question. Then, she did. "You... You know why he never eats, don't you Mr. Flamet?"

Flamet arced a brow in a manufactured breach of decorum. "Now Lucia, it's not proper to gossip about one's traveling companions," said Flamet, breaking the roasted foul in half at the spine, "And you need to keep your strength up."

That answer. His evasiveness. His patronizing. Once these traits merely cowed her. But more and more often they infuriated her. She dug her fingers into the dirt. "You could just tell me."

Flamet didn't immediately respond. The fire snapped and cracked. His brow wrinkled in a light surprise, although he did not seem offended. "Whatever do you mean?"

"You know. I know you know. You know all these things, and yet whenever I ask, you—"

She wished to yell at him. You always look down on me as though I were a child. You dodge the question, usually artlessly. You're endlessly pleased to talk history or poetry or botany, but when it's about the dangerous people who surround me, you are silent. But Lucia realized, once again, she was the master of her unspoken word, and that none of this would help her.

Flamet looked on, his expression unchanging. He, too, knew there was still that unspoken word in her. Lucia took in a deep breath though her nose. "We're friends, aren't we? Friends are supposed to tell each other the truth."

Another snap from the fire. Flamet's expression remained unchanged for several long seconds. Then he closed his eyes, tilted his head down, and gave an almost guilty smile. "Friends telling friends the truth. It's a noble sentiment, Lucia. It's also a naive one."

Lucia pursed her lips. She hadn't expected such explicit pushback. Flamet spoken on. "I tell you that which is good for you. And protect you otherwise. That's my duty to you, as your friend."

Part of her wished Flamet would've kept lying. This half-honesty felt little better. "Do you think I can't handle the truth?"

"I think you have little idea of what you are asking for, Miss Lucia." That firmness to his voice remained.

She had struck some sort of nerve. Flamet found himself comfortable talking. His tone, for once, seemed forthright. "When one has a fresh mind and untarnished ideals, yes, the truth seems a beautiful and flawless thing. It's a form of idolatry, to be sure, but one that even the wisest of men somehow fall victim to. It seems a natural and virtuous thing to set forth chasing dangerous truths rather than accept and enjoy the better, constructed reality which they have. The only people who can think this way are the young and the foolish. Once you drink too deep from the fount of 'truth' do you understand its true nature."

He closed his eyes. Lucia found that she had leaned forward, no longer grasping the ground. "And you have?"

"Yes," Flamet said. He opened his eyes, and in them the flames of the campfire danced alongside shadows of regret. "Yes. Once you cross that threshold, Lucia, you realize something about the wicked nature of our world. The truth is monstrous. Monstrous. Something to be forgotten, renounced, and rejected. It will tempt you as the flame tempts a moth, and deliver you to the same fate. You ask for the truth, Lucia? Have you considered what it could actually be? I did not—or, I chose not to until there was no other choice left to me. The world is filled with horrors I would not recount for you, for any reason. I would hide them from anyone. The only ones who can handle these are those born with the will to see them—a will I would wish upon no one. Do you hear me clearly, Lucia? No one."

Silence. Flamet and Lucia sat, without speaking, for a length of time. Seconds, minutes—it didn't matter. Flamet's words brought out a passion she had long thought withered in the man, but it must've always been there, carefully concealed beneath the surface. A truth she hadn't expected.

And she knew that Flamet had only revealed what he had willed, and that darker truth still lay hidden, locked safely away from her. Perhaps, for the cynic, for the best.

August Flamet gave a shake of his head before standing. "... My apologies, Miss Lucia. I dishonor myself, and you, with such words. Patience is as rare a resource as anything else on this continent."

"You don't need to apologize," said Lucia, quietly.

"I do, and I did," replied Flamet, "Please... Understand that I am doing my very best to look out for you, here. Few hold your best interests to heart. But I will. Please, trust me, Lucia.

A man who asks for your trust knows in his heart he hasn't earned it. Master Caecus' lesson, again. But she trusted her master, implicitly, and what had that gotten her? "You ask me to—"

He thrust the roasted bird to her hand. "Please. Eat. Regain your strength. For tomorrow, we march."

With that, Flamet stood, and left, leaving Lucia alone before the fire. He was a liar. That much she knew. But what could drive a man to lie, and to call it virtue—several reason came to mind, but each was less pleasant of a possibility than the last. She shook her head and bit into her second dinner. Akavir was a dangerous enough place by itself. But even here, her heart was more troubled by her companions than the land.