Who knew that each side had a secret? Secrets that could change the tides of war in an instant. They played against the balance--the push and pull of power--invisible to all as the Kinsmen continued to push forward.
Two years had passed since that f...
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Perhaps running off through an unknown town wasn't the best idea Nagan's ever had, but from what he knew, this town was harmless. At the very least, when the platoon waiting along the outskirts inevitably made a sweep of the town, they would find his body. Not the most comforting thought, but better than some of the other musings he's had.
It was easy enough to track the signature, the person making no moves to conceal their trail. A good sign; they were unlikely to have any combat experience. And the trail stayed near larger roads, so it was also unlikely to be a trap. That did stop Nagan from giving himself a mental check-over, assessing how much magic he had regained from the past hour. It wasn't much, but it was enough for him to cast a time spell. That was all he needed to get away.
Found you. The figure turned around the corner out of sight, but Nagan was too close for them to slip away again. When Nagan rounded the corner, the person the signature belonged to was mere yards away.
They didn't get a chance to run. As soon as they heard sprinting footsteps, Nagan already crossed the distance, grabbing them and twisting their arm behind them.
"Wait—Wait! There's been a misunderstanding!" The person stumbled to the side as Nagan backed them into a wall. A man with dark hair and eyes. The man stared back at Nagan in fear as Nagan—graciously—released him and took a step back, but it was clear he had nowhere to go with Nagan standing just beyond reach. The man gulped. "Please, I meant no harm."
"Then what did you mean?" Nagan asked, giving the man a once-over.
The man couldn't have been any older than forty, arms toned from manual labor and the stubble of a patchy beard. Nagan supposed the man could possibly take him in a fight if he managed to grapple him, but judging by the stammer and pleas, he was sure the man had no intentions of doing so. It was a wonder that Nagan could still understand the rushed Hecat, a tongue he hadn't heard and spoken in what felt like ages.
"I was just—I shouldn't have, but I needed to know if..."
Nagan waited patiently for the man to continue. When it was clear Nagan wouldn't leave without an answer, the man gave a tired sigh. Nagan could almost see the light drain out of his eyes, sending a fleeting wave of panic through him as if he were witnessing a man die.
"Please...I just want to get my family out of here," the man explained, his tone drained. "It always...it'll always..."
"Sir?" Nagan tentatively took a step forward, laying a hand on the man's shoulder. He inwardly scoffed at his accent. "I am a lieutenant. If anyone is in danger—if someone is planning an attack or if us being here is raising tensions too high—I need to know so I can try avoiding conflict. We are not here to hurt anyone, we just wish to negotiate terms of...continuing now that you are free from the Kinsmen."
The man only shook his head, setting a defeated gaze upon Nagan.
"That's not how we see it. That is just not..." The man gave another sigh. "I am actually a mage. The first in my family. When I attended Atens, I only stayed for a few years because I felt like...I felt like I didn't belong. And I have seen many things since then about the Council of Thirds. Why, as a mediocre-run mine, must we supply to mages, many have asked. Do not get me wrong, we were happy with this, but after years and years, and especially these last few years from the start of the war, things...are not the same."
