Convergence

"If I may ask, Barion…" Fusala spoke up, "Do you still make use of the Demon Detecting Stone?"

"Not really." He answered, "With how many of them there are running around these days, it's almost impossible to use. And I can already sense when they're nearby, so I mostly rely on that."

"You can… sense Demons?" Pale joined the conversation, "Have you always been able to do that?"

"Ever since I was a child." He replied, "Just a perk of being the Hero, I suppose."

"Were there many Demons in Tor by the time you were born?"

"Actually, I was raised here, in the Steppe." He looked towards the bare horizon, "I grew up with a tribe of Felidkin, near the western coast. At that point, it was almost impossible to live a normal life so close to Hena."

"You were a Steppe child?" Pale's ears twitched with interest, "But… you're a human."

"I'm not certain who my real parents were, but the couple who raised me were Felidkin." He explained, "They found me one day, swaddled and abandoned in a thin woodland, near the base of a tree. It was a miracle I hadn't been eaten alive by something."

"That explains how you can understand our tongue." She noted, "You don't have much of an accent, however."

"Well, spending most of the last few centuries in human lands made it difficult to keep it."

"Were you a hunter, then? What was your rite of passage?"

"No. And, I had to sever a hookvine's blade."

"Were you successful?"

"No." He answered truthfully, "Ended up with a nasty gash in my stomach for it."

"Oh?" Pale crossed her arms, "I wouldn't expect that from a Hero."

"I wasn't a warrior. My father and I were woodcutters."

"Is that so…" She muttered, "I must apologise for constantly bombarding you with our ways when we first met. It's likely you already understood most of what I was talking about."

"Well, I won't blame you for assuming a human didn't know anything about Beastkin."

"But if your childhood was spent here, then what inspired you to leave?"

"Nothing." Barion replied, "The entire tribe--or, most of it, at least, was killed by a Demon when I was a young man. The Demon King's influence was spreading, and we'd already been pushed as far west as we could possibly go. It was only a matter of time."

"And you were the sole survivor?"

"As far as I know. Or, well… I am now, at least." He paused, "I just ran away."

"I see…"

"You aren't going to call me a coward?"

"Would you have survived, if you stood and fought?"

"No."

"Then I will not, because that is not cowardice." Pale declared, "I'm sure that the warriors of your tribe laid their lives low to ensure your survival. Had they refused to fight, this world would have been dominated by Demonkind long ago. Their spirits are at rest knowing that sacrifice was not in vain."

"I hope that's true." He agreed hopefully, "Afterwards, I skirted along the mountain ridges to the south and crossed into Tor. It took months, and I couldn't speak a lick of the common tongue when I finally happened upon a village, but it was in a nearby chapel where I first spoke to the Goddess of Light."

"-And that's how your journey to defeat the Demon King began?"

"Something like that." He finished, "That's enough reminiscing for now. We need to be on the lookout for Demons."

"Barion, we should be approaching the border to Tor within the next fifteen minutes." Fusala reported, "Would you-"

Falling silent, the shadow girl's attention quickly moved to the horizon. Following her gaze, Barion squinted his eyes to spot anything out of the ordinary.

"Do you see something?" He asked.

"Yes. It looks to be…" Her expression became conflicted, "...A stagecoach?"

…

..

.

The pedigreed axles of the stagecoach were never intended for the rocky, uneven terrain on the outskirts of Tor. The carriage was made for light-hearted drives through the lush countryside on sunny days, not hard-going treks along the steep ridges leading towards the wastelands of the Henklomeon Steppe. Dorma quickly gripped the brim of her hat as the carriage suffered yet another harsh bump along the underdeveloped road.

"Have you never reigned a horse before, Manyu?" She asked, "You're liable to get us killed at this rate."

"I can't help it if this dainty coach doesn't take well to climbing hills, my fair lady." The ex-Demon King joked, "These aren't exactly the cobblestone-laden highways I'm sure you've become accustomed to being ferried along on the weekends."

"Only promise me you won't tip the whole thing over. All of our supplies are in the coach."

After passing through Gria on their return trip from Anjima, the duo had parted with Din and wasted no time in proceeding onto the Henklomeon Steppe. As they approached the thick mountain ranges serving as a border between the two countries, progress had been slowed considerably as the carriage struggled to contend with the shifting terrain.

"It was a shame Her Majesty wasn't present when we returned. I'm sure you would have liked to meet her." Dorma lamented.

"If she's anything like her father, I would have preferred not to."

"I'll have you know that she's quite level-headed compared to Barion."

"You're absolutely certain he's in the Steppe? I wouldn't like to return this way empty-handed." Manyu complained, "And how are we going to track him down, if so? It's nothing but dusty plains and grasslands up here."

"Now that I've had a chance to restock, I'll have no trouble at all narrowing down his location using magic." She replied confidently, "Once night falls, we'll prepare a magic circle and use some high-level divination to see where he's wandered to."

"You are aware that I'm not talented in the ways of traditional sorcery, aren't you?"

"Can't you use dark magic?"

"I didn't think you'd be allowing that."

"As long as it's not my life on the line, I could care less how anyone endangers themselves." She replied, "Think of it like an act of penance for giving us trouble all those years ago."

Dark magic was known to few and practised by even fewer. Incredible knowledge of magical particles and their intrinsic abilities was necessary to even theorise the existence of it, let alone invoke it. By carefully using one's own body as a focus, it was possible to command the particles as a single 'swarm', allowing for a degree of control orders of magnitude above that attained by crystals or magic circles. However, prolonged exposure to dark magic would eventually afflict the wielder with a kind of wasting sickness--the phenomenon known to the ancient Aelvens as the plague of Mu'un.

"You'll no doubt be disappointed to hear that I've mastered such arts." Manyu replied, "With the terrible truths I've unearthed regarding the sorry state of this world, I know that the controllable force of this so-called 'Mu'un' is far from dangerous in the right hands."

"Do tell." Dorma requested.

"I'm sure you'd like that. But no." He shook his head, "None of you are ready to understand it quite yet. But if the stars align, a day may very well arrive when you will be."

The mountain pass separating Tor's border from the Steppe's was fraught with landslides and difficult terrain. A consequence of the latter's refusal to join the Holy Alliance meant that no measures had been taken to ensure safe passage between the two countries despite their closeness. As the stagecoach wheels rattled above the harsh soil, the long and unforgiving plains of the Steppe could be seen sprawling towards the far horizon.

"...Hm?"

Dorma blinked. As her gaze fell upon the sun-scorched wasteland, she spotted something in the distance--not a beast or a Demon, but a carriage of some sort. It was a strange sight on the Steppe, where such things were rarer than rare. Traders and travellers rarely ran the risk of becoming lost within its expanses.

"How strange." Manyu commented, "A wagon this far north?"

"Hang on a moment…" Dorma squinted her eyes, "I recognise that wagon! Hop into the coach and hand me a telescope!"

"I'm not doing that while we're moving. I'll break my neck. And--you packed a telescope?" He asked, "Why would you need to-"

"Stop speaking like an old man and hurry it up!"

"So demanding… never thought I would be taking orders from you, of all people…"

It was true that jumping from the driver's seat to the carriage was no real task for a former Demon King. Reluctantly, he handed the reins over to Dorma and shimmied his way over to the passenger cabin, retrieving an old naval spyglass from her rucksack.

"Who did you steal this from?" He asked while returning to the driver's seat, "Shilahi?"

"She was ever so kind to lend it to me. A shame we wouldn't see each other again for over 500 years and counting." She answered, taking the spyglass in her hand, "If I'm not mistaken, that's Barion's wagon…"

"Here's hoping. It would certainly save us the hassle of finding him."

As Dorma peered into the telescope, the blurry lens could just barely reveal the wagon's occupants, of which there were visibly two. Although imperfect, she could pick out a number of familiar features on one of them, but struggled to even comprehend the form of whatever the passenger was.

"...Well, that's him, I believe." She frowned, "But what's that strange thing sitting next to him? It looks human, but…"

"No doubt that's his Homunculus friend." Manyu interrupted.

"A Homunculus!?" Dorma exclaimed, "You never mentioned anything like that!"