"One of the Ascended's many teachings, is that of putting the needs of your fellows, above your own. We remain humble in the face of temptations, we do not step over our neighbor to progress, we uplift one another, we progress and thrive together. If one of us suffers, so do we all suffer. Self sacrifice is one of the most noble and godly things man can do. When we put our own needs aside for the sake of our fellows, is when we are closest to the Divine.

So spoken were Iasion's teachings, as he traveled the lands and brought succor and his sacred blessings to all around him. That same abundance of his love for mankind was ultimately shown in his own self-sacrifice.

Iasion was said to have torn his very heart from his chest, unleashing the font of the holiest power. In doing so he allowed it to spread his gifts far and wide for mankind to benefit and prosper. The most divine martyrdom, allowing himself to diminish and die, if it meant mankind could take the boon of the world's power and use his teachings as a guide.

Self sacrifice was the purest form of his love.

The site where he performed the ritual was venerated. From his death, came forth the magnificence of a towering tree, ever in bloom. Perfect, and eternal, no matter the season. The ground where it took root, was from then onward consecrated as 'God's Fall'."

-Chronicle of the Ascended, Age of Verdant Grace

Running.

All he could do was run.

All he could ever do was run, it felt like.

His heart beat hard, hammering in his chest as his breath threatened to leave him. He heard his own voice over the thundering sound, yelling himself hoarse as he called back to Lotte and Sinaht. Desperation in his every word, but every word forced out anyway.

"Just run! Just run, hurry up! It isn't far!"

As long as he could hear their footsteps behind him, he was fine. They'd be fine. They were fast, they could make it far enough.They'd be fine. Van could hear Lotte crying amid her shrieking in fear. He could hear Sinaht encouraging her not to trip, reminding her he was holding her hand.

The sound that was making him feel sick in his stomach was that of the horse's thundering hooves hitting the ground, getting closer.

Van didn't want to look back.

He didn't want to look back, but something made him turn as he ran.

Past Sinaht and Lotte, Van's eyes caught sight of that wicked black blade the man in dark armor held angled low. On horseback, he was quickly bridging the distance to them. No matter how hard they ran, there was no way they would outpace him. That was just reality, they could no easier outrun a horse than his mother had been able to outrun arrows.

That his last thoughts would be of her, rather than made up entirely of terror, perhaps, was a cruel mercy.

Then, in an instant, the man was thrown from his saddle as if struck by some unseen gale of wind.

The horse reared in panic, it's rider gone, it circled briefly before diverting entirely, running off to the side. Thankfully, it had not chosen to continue running forward, and thus would not trample the three in it's path. Van knew he should've kept running, but instead, he slowed and stopped. Lotte and Sinaht ran past him, the latter yelling, but the sound of his voice was muffled behind the ringing in Van's ears.

When the rider finally managed to scramble up, he sneered like an agitated animal, whipping his head around to try and decipher how he'd fallen. Van too was trying to figure out how he'd been thrown, truthfully. While he wasn't running now, Van still took a few steps backward all the same. It wasn't until he followed the man's gaze, that he saw what had suddenly made him near spitting in rage.

On slow, purposeful footsteps, the white-clad figure seemed to glide so gracefully in approach. Van could not see their features clearly, only the peek of pallid skin from behind a white mask covering the lower half of their face and piercing green eyes were openly visible. Covered from head to toe, even their hair hidden by a coif, they wore all white.

What gave Van pause, was the fact that the stranger had white antlers protruding from their forehead.

It was a Seer.

Seers had antlers, they were blessed to be alike in image to the Ascended One.

Van had only seen them depicted in Mei Serin's lowly temple altars. They had seemed as distant and impossible as the Ascended One himself. Yet, now one stood before him in the flesh, walking fearlessly toward the black armored man who had been poised to cut down Van and his friends. The boy couldn't have torn his eyes away even if he'd wanted to.

Lifting their hands, in smooth graceful motions they traced symbols in the air before them, a faint green light following their fingers. The man had gathered his sword again, that wicked black blade held at ready. With an angered howl, he rushed for the Seer. This seemed to be a rallying cry as well, for the moment he began to head for the white clad figure, the sound of horses and heavy footsteps resumed. The others were not waiting any longer, and the chaos they brought with them was spilling over as the level of panic was back to a fever pitch.

Van felt a tension in his chest, a slight horror, as he realized quickly the Seer was without a weapon. He was not armored enough from what Van could discern, to withstand any blade slash or piercing strike. Yet, as with any child, there were many things about the ways of the world he simply did not know.

The Seer did not flee, instead he shifted his stance, changing his footing and posture. He waited on the man to get closer. He was calm and patient in the face of a stranger clad in vicious armor wielding a similarly vicious blade. By all accounts, the soldier was akin to the stuff that would haunt nightmares, Van thought, but the Seer did not flinch. When the pair clashed, the soldier put his full power behind every slash of his sword, wishing to end things quickly, but not a single one found purchase. The Seer was too quick, agile, he avoided each pass of the blade meant to maim or cut him down, some narrowly avoided by a hair. He waited for his opening, and when he found it, it was in swift, successive strikes that the Seer disabled the man. Grappling with him despite being more lithe and shorter by about a head than their attacker, he did not look even a hint pressed, those eyes focused and severe. The blade that had looked so dangerous and wicked, fell uselessly to the grass as the Seer put an immense amount of pressure on the man's arm and wrist, causing him to drop the weapon. The tension wrenched him, it was clearly painful judging by the myriad of curses that left the man, but all the same he remained restrained.

A moment later, that pressure was increased, and Van could swear he heard the snapping of bones amid the louder yowl of pain. It meant the Seer had also bent the metal of the man's armor, in order to break the limb, a terrifying realization. The arm too, then, was useless, hanging at the man's side as he cursed and screamed in his agony. The Seer spent all of a moment contemplating the man he'd just crippled, as if considering him. It took but a breath, for him to decide something. In what felt like a flash, the blade was retrieved from the ground and with all the precision of an archer's hawk eyed aim, the Seer took and pierced it through the mobility-necessary gap in the man's armor. Through the under arm, angled just so, a strike through their heart. The screaming was cut off, it was now a gurgling sound as the blood came up in a sickening gush. The Seer held it there, he whispered something Van could not hear, thenpulled the blade out cleanly. Blackened blade tossed down onto the ground, the would-be attacker collapsed like a sack of grain along with it.

It all happened in what felt like the blink of an eye, to Van. He stood there in shock, staring with wide, pale eyes at the Seer.

"Get back, child." Looking to Van, the Seer broke that momentary pause. His voice was serious, low in register but somehow melodic. "Find your fellows, we will handle these men."

As if on cue, another ivory clad figure came up alongside him. Again, this Seer was not easy to identify, beyond a peek of brown skin and green eyes above that mask. The antlers, of course, were the same. Pure white and perfect, graceful peaks and curves that seemed unreal.

"Do you wish for the left or the right, Pyrede?" This Seer was a woman, Van thought, her voice was soft and thoughtful.

A slight scoff escaped her companion.

"As though I would struggle and need to choose a preference. You wound me, Ayleth." He replied, before taking off at a swift run.

The woman gave Van just a little nod, before quickly following suit. Both Seers moved gracefully, but incredibly fast despite being on foot. Van struggled to move, his eyes still glued to them as they headed straight for the charge of those dark-armored men, but he knew he should obey. He managed to tear his attention away, turning to run back toward the caravan, desperate to find the others and hopefully, find them safe.

When Van made it to the side of the road amid others of the caravan, Lotte and Sinaht immediately grabbed his wrists and yanked him down beneath one of the carts with them. Huddled there, the three were dead silent for a long moment, as if trying to let their minds catch up to what was happening, yet again. It was like Lihshara, like Mei Serin, all over again. Again, this was something happening to them that they could not change, but the difference was this interference of the Seers.

It was Van who moved first, shifting to start trying to crawl out from under the cart.

"Van!" Again, the pair grabbed hold of him, desperate to pull him back down to hide as they were. To hide was to be safe, at least, that was the hope they had to cling to.

Squirming, Van managed to wriggle from their grip. "There are Seers out there." He hissed, keeping his voice down, as he crawled low to the ground. Van wanted-no, he needed to bear witness.

Warily, Sinaht and Lotte looked at one another in disbelief, before following him. They crawled on their bellies to get partly out from under the cart, enough to see what was happening across the way where the band of armored men had been poised to run them all down. The three poked their heads out in that morbid curiosity, they could see around the bodies and legs of the adults, all standing in awe of the sight they likely weren't even sure they were seeing.

As swiftly and efficiently as Pyrede had disarmed and dispatched the first armored soldier, subsequent attackers were laid low. The youth moved with a speed that none of them had ever seen. The precision with which he struck meant bringing men heads taller and much broader than him to their knees then ending them with brutal finesse. While he carried no weapon, he needed none, every hit from his hands or strike of a kick landed effortlessly but with an unseen strength behind each blow. Enough to break limbs, to shatter bones, to completely disable them no matter how gruesome a weapon they wielded against him.

Not a single drop of blood that marred his pristine white clothing was likely to be his own.

The woman who accompanied him, moved with the poise and grace of a dancer. Every flourishing motion of hand and twist of her body meant she avoided both projectile and sword swipe intended to wound her. The light that trailed her fingertips grew brighter with every motion, until it became clear the Seer was spellcasting. Whatever incantation or mantra she uttered under her breath came to fruition the moment she dropped to one knee, posed as if in supplication, as if in prayer. As she did so, the very ground beneath the feet of her foes began to rumble.

From deep within the soil, out shot twisting roots to grab and tangle around men and horses alike, rendering them immobile. Subsequent roots were not as discerning, they rose up so quickly and with such force that each pierced either neck or heart of the men. It was so quick, it was unlikely the soldiers had known what had happened before their lives were snuffed out.

And then, it was silent.

Those in the caravan still stared. Some dared to start moving, to try and find their friends or relatives who might've hidden off in the treeline or amid the carts when the chaos began. Despite the arrival of the Seers, there had been soldiers that had been halted only after they'd begun to attack the villagers.

Van got to his feet, watching the backs of the Seers as they conversed with one another. Too far to hear, they stood before the men they'd killed, those same soldiers with dark armor and emblem of the sun. Van could not help the bitter feeling in his heart that edged on happiness at knowing they were dead. Shaking off the thought, he looked over to see Lotte and Sinaht also having risen from the hiding place. The three of them looked at one another anxiously, but relieved.

At least, for a moment.

Lotte covered her mouth with her hand, brow knit with worry. "....Hyuna and Luka and Miss Rosaline." Her voice was so small, a meek whisper of realization.

Sinaht cursed under his breath, looking around. Van did the same, before speaking up.

"They had gone to the stream, they probably hid around-"

The scream that broke above the din of the caravan was enough to make blood run cold if only for a second. The trio rushed toward the sound, but so did others in the caravan. The scream could have meant danger still, but it also could have meant someone was injured and needed help. When they arrived, the sight was not a pretty one.

Hyuna was in near hysterics, a small knife clutched in her shaking hands as she raised them overhead. She swung downward, the dead man offered no resistance as she drove the point of it into his chest. Once. Twice. On and on, her rage unrelenting as the tears from her wild, wide eyes ran down her cheeks. Over and over right into that once-yellow, now bloodied Sun emblazoned on the tabard.

That, she knew, that she recognized the same as anyone else in the caravan.

So panicked and so distraught was the girl that even the three of them did not dare come close to her. They didn't know what to do. The small crowd parted to allow the Seers to come closer, the villagers bowing their heads, avoiding looking at the white-clad pair for too long out of respect. It was the woman, Ayleth, that finally pulled Hyuna free of her frantic stabbing, grabbing her wrists and swiftly disarming her without harm. Hyuna squirmed, spun around and turned to the Seer with such a rage on her young face.

"Play dead. I told Luka to play dead. We played dead just like I played dead before." Hyuna's voice was, for the first time since she'd come to travel with the caravan, loud. It was audible, it was desperate. Those that had been trying to survey the damage and collect what could be salvaged, couldn't avoid hearing her either, no matter how much they tried.

"Just like when they struck Velhi and she fell atop me, she said to play dead." Her voice was starting to hitch again, amid the sobs, every word was dragged out of her with as much pain as if they were briars in her throat. "She was bleeding and heavy but she said to lie still and play dead, to shut my eyes and be quiet. She said be quiet so I was quiet until the men left."

Bit by bit, the shroud was lifted over Hyuna's relative silence thus far. Everyone had assumed how she came to be wandering alone, that was not a new tale. But, the details, oh the details that had been kept tight to the girl's chest now came spilling free.

"Velhi died."

Hyuna was shaking like a leaf, she twisted her wrists away from the Seer, who did not force her hold upon them. She looked at her bloodied hands, staring, but as if she didn't see the mess upon them.

"I let Miss Rosaline wash Velhi's blood off." Hyuna said, voice quivering. "It's all I had left of Velhi and I let her wash it off and now Miss Rosaline's blood is all Luka has left of her." Hyuna lifted her gaze, staring up at the Seer with such agony in her gray eyes. "He's going to have to wash it off himself."

Agony, the idea that Luka wouldn't have someone as kind as Rosaline to gently wash the blood away hurt the girl's heart. Luka, who found her laying along the side of the road. Luka, who found her staring at crickets and waiting to die after having walked so far from where her sister lay dead. He helped her up, brought her to the caravan without a second thought, and had now lost someone too. Ayleth listened to her, gently rubbing the girl's back, letting her speak amid her continued tears.

"The Ascended teaches us to look out for our fellows. We will help Luka cleanse the blood, we will bury her, rites will be performed for her spirit to find rest."Ayleth's voice was serene, but not without empathy. She spoke so quietly, as if every word was carefully said just for Hyuna.

Hyuna was trembling visibly, still.

Ayleth inclined her head, still speaking gently. "Where are they, dear heart?"

The girl hiccuped, sniffling all over again, before lifting a hand to point toward the stream. On the other side of it, Luka was sitting on the ground, hands pressed tightly on the fatal wound that had nearly gutted his aunt. It was like he was frozen there, as if, were he to keep his hands just as they were, he would somehow prevent the reality of the wound. They were both bloodied, Hyuna and Luka, and from the girl's explanation, they had survived by virtue of Rosaline. They'd played dead. Rosaline's final act had been to protect Luka and Hyuna alike.

Ayleth exhaled gently, and moved to stand upright. A glance to Pyrede, and without a word said, something was communicated. Pyrede turned to the adults in the small crowd.

"There is daylight still left to us. Kindly, look to your fellows if they require aid. I would ask some of you to please assist myself and Sister Ayleth. We must attend to any wounded and any of yours who have fallen." Pyrede spoke sternly, but calmly, controlled.

From the sound of his voice and the size of him, he and Ayleth could not have been more than 16 years but every adult present hung on his every word. Young or not, these two were of blessed blood, they were due respect.

In the end, the caravan had lost a handful of refugees, Rosaline among them. With utmost care, each was buried near a clearing by the treeline along the side of the main road. True to her word, Ayleth had helped wash the blood from Luka and Hyuna, the pair had stood alongside her as she said a prayer over the deceased.

"Ascended One, we release these souls into your mercy. May they find their way through the roots of the trees, up to the boughs, and return to your celestial grace. From seed to sprout, to grow and flourish, to wither and die. Such is man a part of the cycle, to begin anew come the spring. Ascended One guide them, keep them, return them to the flow of the cycle."

Ayleth's voice was poised and serene, every word flowed from her like the most gentle caress. Along with the prayer, seeds from a pouch at the woman's belt were scattered over where the bodies lay buried, covered then with handfuls of soil. Hands outstretched, Ayleth's very being seemed to glow as she traced another incantation into the air before them, all in attendance watching her in awe. Moments later, small saplings began to sprout from each grave.

The villagers whispered among themselves at having been allowed such a sight. Funerary rites all across Vrokruin included prayer and burial, even in small villages like theirs. The planting of seeds, or saplings for the wealthy, was common but it was unheard of not only for a Seer to perform the ritual instead of a village monk, but to use their spellcraft to coax a seed to so rapidly sprout. It was immaculate to behold, a near miracle of nature and their blessed gifts.

Ayleth leaned down to Luka and Hyuna, a hand on each child's shoulder.

"Remember of the Ascended One, dear hearts." Ayleth spoke gently, ever so softly. "Self sacrifice is an act of love. She thought not of herself, but of you two, though it cost the breath of her life. Live well to repay her sacrifice, in doing so, you honor her memory."

Without waiting for a word of response, Ayleth gingerly drew the pair to her in an embrace, letting them cry against her shoulders.

Pyrede was silent a moment, observing his companion, before turning toward a group mostly consisting of the men of the caravan. Clearly, Ayleth was the one better equipped to deal with that part, the part that required a gentle hand. He lowered his voice, but Van managed to hear him while his friends were still glued to the wonder of Ayleth's ritual or in Hyuna and Luka's case, glued to Ayleth herself.

"From the fallen, take what you can use or what you can sell. We will not be burying them." Pyrede said with a level of disdain in his voice. "Those who sin, also return to the soil, after a fashion. First, however, their penance. They will feed the beasts and the crows, their souls will be left to wander without following amid the roots of a new sapling tree to return to the Ascended. Until he has decided they're permitted back into his grace, they will linger. No longer are they your concern nor your burden, their souls are for the Ascended to weigh."

A sweeping motion of his hand, then, as he continued. With such a flourish, it was likely public speaking was a strength of his, or perhaps, a strength of all Seers.

"Sister Ayleth and I will be guiding your procession. The Serpent Run is not far from here, those heretics and any like them would not dare cross the river lest they desperately wish to invite the steel of the Citadel to their own foolish throats." This, he said with the faintest narrowing of his eyes, as if, behind his mask he was smiling. The comment brought a few scattered, gruff scoffs of amusement amid murmurs of agreement. "Thus, fear not. We will see you all safely across."

Where they went from there, apparently, was their own choice, Van realized. It was not appropriate to question their judgment, obviously, but he couldn't help but wish that such guidance would extend all the way to the outskirts of Aiseryn at least. Suddenly, though, he felt guilty. Selfish, even, for wanting more from the Seers who had saved them. It would be enough to get them across the Serpent Run, after that, like Pyrede had said, there would be the presence of the Capital's guardian legion patrolling more avidly. Unlike the villages that only had local militia, Aiseryn had organized military strength spread out from the capital into the city and outskirts.

A sigh, from Pyrede. He tipped his head, clasping his hands together.

"Would that we could shepard you beyond. Alas, I must ask you to understand that we are entering a precarious time. Sister Ayleth and I, as well as others of our order, were dispatched the moment the Voice of the Ascended heard the first rustlings of these black-armored heretics. Vrokruin's territory is large, and we must gather an accurate picture of the situation as it stands for the nation's commonfolk. Rest assured, it will be dealt with. We are guided by the grace and benevolence of the Ascended One, as well as his Divine hand of judgment."

Again, scattered voices, assurances to the Seer they understood, that they were thankful for their aid. When the chatter finally quieted down, the men slowly moved to split off and do as Pyrede had instructed. The way the Seer had so easily spoken of such things almost gave Van a feeling of tension up his spine, but mixed with a vague admiration. Pyrede had been controlled, calm, and efficient throughout. Not once had they flinched, not once had they turned to run or shown an ounce of fear. The Seers had protected them, though they were only villagers, as if they'd been nobles. Perhaps it was like his mother had said, ages ago, that those carrying the Blessed Blood saw every life as equal.

Pyrede stood quietly, watching the men recede before he apparently felt Van's eyes on him.

"I am not going to disappear if you take your eyes off me, child." Pyrede said, arms now folded over his chest, still observing the progress of the men as they went to relieve the dead of anything valuable.

Van flinched, startled, and took a step back.

"I'm sorry." He said it in a voice much meeker than he'd intended, but how else do you speak to someone like a Seer? It wasn't like asking his questions to the temple monk back in Mei Serin, that was for sure.

As Pyrede turned to look back at Van, the boy immediately dropped his gaze.

Another long moment of silence. Pyrede looked at Van as if trying to gauge something from him, discern something unspoken.

"It is as Sister Ayleth said, child. Honor the lives lost and sacrifices made, by moving forward and living well." Pyrede said quietly, stepping closer to Van. A hand came to rest atop his dark hair for a moment, as if some sort of slight, makeshift blessing. "Go to your fellows, now. They are like to have need of you."

Pyrede pulled his hand away, then. As kind of a gesture as it had been, there was the stiffness to it. Pyrede was good at speaking in front of grown adults, but seemed to waver if only by an imperceptible degree with children. Van lifted his gaze, looking up at the Seer. In the waning sunlight, it cast a halo about Pyrede's head. Wordlessly, he nodded, and turned to do as told. He would go find his friends. They would sleep easier that night, with the Seers present. They would have their guidance until they reached the Serpent Run.

They would move forward. They would move forward, because there certainly was no going back.