“Only two survived?” Arthur asked, “What happened to the rest of them?”
Bob sighed and averted his gaze.
“The Severed Throne has made it their business to hunt down and kill all potential heirs to the emperor.”
Arthur frowned, a shiver creeping up his spine. If there was such danger involved, shouldn’t he run, maybe live a little longer?
He shook the feeling from his mind. The push was clear that this was the path, and he replaced uncertainty with resolve. It was a warm feeling.
“Who are these severants, that they present such a threat? And why then, do we face them alone?” Arthur asked.
Bob stirred the pot of stew, which was still brewing over the flame, and waited a moment before answering.
“The severants are a renegade faction, most of them mages. My order was founded to find and protect the heir, and possible heirs. Still, we are few, and the severants are many.” Bob said.
“Do you have a spirit as well, at least?” He asked the man.
“I do,” Bob said, nodding, “But I am one man. I might be skilled with magic, though I don’t claim to be the best, and severants travel in groups.”
Arthur nodded, looking down at the ground in understanding. He did not feel comforted by the seeker's revelation, but one mage watching over him was better than none, and the push seemed to agree, for it felt at peace in Bob's presence, at least for now.
“What sort of spirit has given you its bond?” he asked, curiously. And Bob glared at him.
“An owl,” he replied shortly, and he took out two wooden bowls, in which he served the stew.

The stew turned out to be made of squirrel, and Arthur ate without asking any further questions. That night he slept under the open sky for the first time.
He realized that whatever magic the artifact had released upon him had changed his life forever, and whether it be for better or for worse, would no doubt become apparent one day very soon. And though he felt great fear and uncertainty, the push calmed him, its presence a reminder that it would guide him to safety.

The next morning, they swiftly moved onwards. Finishing the leftover stew for breakfast, cleaning the pot, and packing up all their belongings, of which they each had but few.
“Do you have any idea how to use that sword, kid?” Bob asked when next they made camp.
“No,” he admitted.
“Then it is high time you learned.” The seeker announced solemnly. The man himself carried a large longsword, which he had strapped to his pack, but for the practice sessions, he picked out straight sticks, cut to size, which would have to do for now.
Bob ran him through many stances and movements, teaching him strikes and thrusts, and how to block and parry. Arthur spent most of his time running through drills, series of movements which, Bob told him, would grind them into his mind, and were meant to turn them into muscle memory.
These movements, over the next few weeks, accompanied him in his anguish and thought of loss, and gave him something to focus on.
As he mastered them, they became his trusted companion, they were a dance, and over time, he felt himself become more and more fluid and elegant in their execution. They became natural to him, a new normal.
In his lone practice sessions, Bob had him use the real sword, he said it was so he would get used to its weight and balance.
It no longer made him feel any different now, in fact, the third time he had picked it up, had been the last time he had felt anything from it.
When sparring with Bob, Arthur could feel the push guiding him, warning of what was to come, but still, The more experienced fighter repeatedly defeated him. No matter how well the push informed him.
He dropped his stick as Bob smacked him on the wrist. He sighed deeply. He had lasted nearly a minute there, a new record.
“Bob?” Arthur started. Looking at the older man. “Did the others have any… magical capacity?”
“Of a sort,” He replied, “The heirs, as I’ve mentioned before, possess an extraordinary luck, which is a thing of magic.”
“Luck?” Arthur asked, carefully.
“Yes, though I’m sure you know more if it than I, or would you claim to know naught of it?”
Luck huh? Arthur thought to himself. That's not what he would have called it.
“So you have known all along?”
Bob shrugged.
“I suspected, or else you wouldn’t be here, and neither would I. I figured you would divulge this information on your own time, but it matters not, for we are on the path to the capital already, which is all I need to know to determine you to be a potential heir.”
Bob paused, stepping closer. “You forget, kid, I am a mage, and I can sense all magical activity occurring near me, unless the caster deliberately conceals it from me. I noticed the power stirring within you the moment we first met. But when you picked up that sword, that is when I knew for certain.”
Arthur frowned, so, he was magical after all? Had he interacted with the artifact somehow?
“What is it really?” Arthur asked, a realization creeping into his mind, “This sword I mean. What happened to me that night?”
Bob smiled slyly, shrugging.
“I was wondering when you would figure it out.” He said, “You see, when I told you it was a magical artifact, I was not being entirely honest with you. Not that it wasn’t magical, mind you. It was, but only in the sense that I infused it with mana, mana which you then absorbed.”
The sword… was not magical? Arthur thought, shock and realization filling his mind. It was.. Just a sword?
He looked to the blade, lying next to their sparring ground, which now seemed incredibly ordinary.
“You tricked me.” He stated.
“A little white lie to confirm our suspicions,” Bob said innocently.
“A white lie implies a partial truth. What you said was just a lie.” Arthur pointed out sardonically.
“You could see it that way, but you must understand that we did what we thought necessary.” The man said, making an appeasing hand gesture.
“To what end?”
Bob sighed and lowered his hands.
“Potential heirs have a dormant ability, we aren’t sure what it is, but, entirely by accident, it was discovered that once such an individual absorbs a small quantity of mana, that magic is fully activated. Magic that may have previously shown itself at times, but now takes center stage in their lives, and drives them towards a single end goal.” Bob said seriously.
“The emperor's sword… it is… driving me towards it,” Arthur said, the truth dawning on him.
Bob nodded.
“Yes.” He said, “And that is also why we must now make haste, for our enemies will surely have identified you, or will soon.”
“The severants,” Arthur said, nodding, understanding, finding him, and they continued onwards.

-=-=-

“How is his healing coming along, Lis?” Lord Cusac asked the girl. She was his cousin, and when he had gotten word of her acceptance of a spirit bond some years ago, he had immediately put her in his employ.
“Emina blesses him, he will live. I wasn’t sure he would. Though I’m afraid the scars are beyond my skill to erase, my lord.”
She certainly had great talent, but she was still young. Fortunately, he knew another water elemental in the capital, that specialized in just that exact thing. Still, he would likely carry the marks for the rest of his life.
“Thank you, Lis, you may go.” He said, dismissing her. He looked to the disfigured remains of his faithful eye. For a moment, he felt guilty for letting him get hurt so, but he quickly dismissed the feeling, all eyes knew what they were getting themselves into when they signed up to join the order. The man was lucky to still be breathing.
He looked to his ward, a boy of sixteen, a prince no less. Xilthan had long made due without such distracting individuals, but the king of Saretia himself had asked him to accept the boy's wardship, and the boy was a signaleer.
Davron G’Zeir, the youth was called.
“Draft a letter for the other grandmasters. The Severed Throne has made its move, and I’ve no doubt they have by now caught up with our aspirant, and the seeker guarding him. The boy must be protected, signal it to them with all due haste, for it is urgent.” Xilthan said, and his ward scribbled away on a piece of parchment, before taking out his signal gems. The art of signaling was one of elemental magic, and therefore, required the appropriate gems, for this element, that meant amethysts.
Lord Cusac went back to his study, a few rooms down from where he had left his eye to heal and rest.
On his desk lay a letter from the steward, scribbled in Davrons messy handwriting. It had arrived earlier that morning. Word was that the kingdom of Cloud, the continent to the west, was plagued by yet another round of invasions by dark creatures. The news shocked him none, as it was a regular occurrence now. The king of Cloud had, of course, petitioned for Esakren aid, stating that the fate of the world was at stake, something he doubted not.
He wondered if the same fate that had befallen Cloud would one day plague them as well, to be destined to fight the hordes of evil for decades on end, waiting for the chosen one to arrive.
Once, he had believed that peace would settle more and more over the world, as the return of Zenithrix approached, but over time, he had come to realize that, the goddess quickly grew tired of peace, and she would not let it be so.
Alas, it seemed their own battle for the fate of the world was fastly approaching.
For once, he understood the severed throne and their fears, though ever would he condemn them for their cowardice.

-=-=-

The road continued ever onwards, but Arthur couldn’t help but feel uneasy, something only made worse by Bob's apparent nervousness. He said nothing, but Arthur thought he could see it in his expression. As if he was expecting trouble.
As they walked, Arthur kept his hand on the pommel of his all too ordinary sword. It still bothered him, he knew the blade had never really been magical, but still, it felt as though he had lost something.
They continued to walk along narrow dirt paths on their way north. The woods had grown denser, and the land more uneven and rugged. At times, when the landscape allowed them to, they could see the Eskaren mountains to the east.
Arthur, who had never seen their like before, was stunned by their beauty and grandeur. The closest to their equal he had seen were the hills of the southern coast, which paled in comparison. They were perpetually covered in dirt and plant growth, these true mountains showed bare rock at their peaks.
It was nearly night when they reached the river Ghȗlen, which marked the border between the kingdoms of Saretia, and Zornia.
At the moment, it was but a narrow creek, but its high banks suggested that it grew far beyond its borders come spring.
There was a wooden bridge built over it, though at its current width, they could easily have crossed the river without it.
Arthur felt a push, directing his attention the the river bank below the bridge, and again. He could almost hear the words.
“Hide!” He said to Bob, who wasted no time asking why.
The space below the bridge was plenty large for the two of them and their packs, and they reached it just in time to hear horses approaching from a distance.
And then, five rides thundered by above their heads, disappearing between the trees on the other side just as quickly as they had come.
“So they have caught up with us then…” Bob sighed in resignation.
“How long do you think it will take before they realize they’ve passed us?” Arthur asked the more experienced man as they climbed up the bank on the other side.
“Not much longer than it will take them to reach the next town,” Bob said, looking down the road. “You must hurry. There is a fork in the road, reach it before they return, in the best case scenario, they will both go down a single road, I’m sure you will know to take whatever path they didn’t.”
“Me?” Arthur asked, astonished. “Aren’t you coming with me?”
Bob shook his head.
“I have to do some reconnaissance, if they do return, I’ll try to return faster.” He paused a moment, “If I should fail,.. Hide.”
It was then that Bob transformed. His appearance seemed to.. Blurr, before reshaping itself. Large white feathers appeared, and mere seconds later, a man-sized white owl stood in front of him.
There was no trace of the man’s clothing, pack, or weapon.
He took off with a swift, silent flap of his wings, and he was off. Arthur had wondered what Kind of mage Bob was, now he knew.

As Bob had said, there was indeed a fork in the road, though he only reached it after spending a night sleeping amongst the leaves. He had walked a ways away from the road and covered himself in foliage lest he be discovered in his slumber.
He hadn’t needed to worry, for he slept little, his thoughts of imminent capture or death keeping him awake, and the ache in his feet keeping him company throughout the night.
He went right, after having stared down either path intently for a while, waiting for a clear sign or a push. What he ended up receiving was less of a push and more of a nudge.
It was night again when he reached signs of life. First of which came in the form of a herd of cows grazing by the side of the road, completely unattended.
A few dozen paces beyond, he saw the first buildings of what looked like a small town.
He continued on hesitantly, for the push had at this point degraded into uncertainty, pulling him in all directions, as if it was still searching for a direction to advise him with.
When he was halfway between the cows and the first building, the Push regained its confidence, and it was confident that he should turn around and make himself scare.
Arthur turned around and left at a brisk walk.
The next push came as a jolt, directing him to his left so strongly that he tripped over his own legs trying to catch up, just in time to see a bolt of energy whizz past him and crash into the ground in front of him, knocking dirt and pebbles up in the process.
He wasted no time, scrambling to his feet and attempting to pull his sword from its scabbard, but in his haste, he failed.
He ran for the trees back whence he came, another bolt of light and magic ringing his ears as it flashed by.
A dared a look over his shoulder, and he saw two figures approaching. One carrying a large, obviously magical crossbow, though still with the same weakness of slowness, judging by the frequency of bolts up to this point.
The other wore a sword on his belt, but had not yet pulled it free.
He could not make out the details of their appearance, since the darkness of the cloaks and the night obscured them.
He made for the herd of cows, hoping for them to lose him between the trees and animals, but before he even reached them, the push sent him another push to the right. This time, he expected it, and he rolled to the side as the bolt crashed by, and hit a tree, scattering bark and splinters around.
Recomposing himself, Arthur was at last able to free his sword, and he slipped between the cows, who ignored him completely.
When the next bolt came, he heard the pained moan of one of the animals, which startled the herd, and they ran off, leaving him alone with his attackers.
He ducked behind a tree, feeling his heart beat in his throat, and he took a deep breath.
Another crash rang his ears, as a bolt struck the tree just behind him. He felt pieces of wood hit the sides of his face, and he almost felt as though the tree would fall over.
“Fight.” The push sent, and he gathered all the courage he could muster.
He stepped out into the open, he attackers were but a few meters away. The crossbowman was still loading his next shot, and Arthur wasted no time, rushing in to close the distance, and swinging his sword.
The other man, who had since pulled his own sword out, stepped in before he could reach them though, and blocked his attack.
Now up close, Arthur noted a large sigil on the mans chest. A painted red circle, with a silver throne in it.
They exchanged blow after blow, Arthur attempting to land even a single hit. The other man expertly blocked his every attempt, chuckling as he did so.
Then it was his turn to retort, and he attacked viciously, pushing Arthur on the defensive. The man attacked quickly, and though the push did its best to aid Arthur, he was unable to keep up.
In his inexperience, he fumbled the block, and he felt a sharp pain as he was struck in the left shoulder.
It wasn’t a fatal wound, but as he readied himself for the finishing blow, the man kicked his legs from under him, and Arthur fell on his back.
Just when he thought it was all over for him, the swordman swore and turned around, looking into the dark of night, just in time to see a large white bird swept down.
Arthur thought he could see the man’s outline blur, just before he was struck by Bob's talons, as he, in dead silence, struck him, and pushed him past Arthur.
A bolt of energy followed them and singed his feathers.
Arthur wasted no time on shock and scrambled to his feet, plunging his sword towards the bowman.
Them man swept his sword away with the bow, but seemed taken aback.
Arthur swung his blade around and brought it down from above.
This time, his blade struck true and entered deep into the man's neck.
The man dropped his crossbow and clutched at the gaping wound, but too late, for his fate was sealed. Blood, black in the depth of night, spurted from it violently, and after but a minute, the man lost consciousness. Arthur trembled, almost dropping his sword. The world seemed to slow down around him as the impact of the last few minutes sank in.
Arthur heard the bestial sounds of a fight to the death between Owl Bob, and a large furry beast, which had once been the swordman.
As the crossbowman died, his eyes flashed pure white light, meaning he had gone to Emina’s realm.
Arthur moved to aid Bob, but the man, bloodied and bruised as he was, walked away from the mans corpse, which had turned back into a human upon his death, and it was clear his help was not needed.

“I’m Fine, kid. My spirit is strong, and I suffered no permanent damage, though I think I will go find an inn and sleep a while.” Bob groaned as Arthur moved to help him.
“You on the other hand, should let me take a look at that shoulder. I’m no water elemental, but I know a thing or two about healing, born of pure necessity.”
Indeed, when the man was done, and he had had a good night's sleep, he felt much better, though the arm was still stiff.

-=-=-

He felt a numbing pain pulsing through his body. He opened his eyes, and light flooded his vision, though, when his vision adjusted, he saw it was no more than a candle.
He was covered in bandages, and he had been laid in burgundy sheets.
The room was a fancy one, filled with neat wooden furniture and several potted plants.
He pushed himself up and felt the pain intensify.
He remembered… fire, and a voice, there had been people, but that was after, or before?
He shook his head, trying to organize his thoughts, but all it achieved was to give him a headache, in addition to all his other pains.
“Ahh, you’re awake,” A voice said from the door opening. “I was just coming to check on you.”
Rory looked, but he had not even noticed the door open.
“My lord.” Rory groaned, trying to reorient himself.
“Calm down, Rory.” Lord Xilthan, the grand eye, said. “My cousin is a most talented water elemental, but I’m afraid even magic has it’s limitations. And it was no ordinary fire which burned you.” The margrave said, sitting down beside him.
“The boy, sir, I…” Rory started, but Lord Xilthan raised his hand.
“I know, I know,” He started. “I have made all the necessary arrangements, the grandmasters have been informed, and it has been confirmed that the seeker is indeed with him. His fate is now in the hands of the goddess alone.”
Rory sighed deeply.
“Somehow that comforts me none.” He said.
“Have faith in the boy, and he who guards him,” Xilthan said, and Rory nodded.

Memories slowly returned, seemingly only making his pain worse. Somehow, even the memory of pain was painful.
As it turned out, Xilthan had arrived a half hour after the Severants had left, and he had somehow managed to stay alive, as his shop burned down around him.
He remembered a presence, a voice.
And flame showed itself to him.
“You forgot me already, huh?” it said, a childlike voice. The flame took the form of a small girl with a large head, and big round eyes like burning coals. He thought she could fit into his hands if he cupped them together.
“Did you forget my name, too? That would be a shame.” The spirit said.
“No,” he said, “I remember now.”