Archibald Yevon awoke shivering. The freezing bite of Frost crept through his bones like a cursed disease, bringing numbness and the faint promise of death. His teeth chattered as he blinked, his vision blurred and distorted. Was he still drunk? Or did his nightly blackouts finally bring him to his doom? Was death's envoy, Thien, finally here to collect his pathetic self?

Archibald shut his eyes, his arms wrapping around his shivering body. While he knew he deserved far worse than such a quick fate, he wanted nothing more than to be rid of the pains that plagued him. That sick, twisting feeling of guilt and loss. It just kept getting worse as time went on, the world around him growing older whilst he still lived.

'Hundred years of this, and it never gets easier.'

He still felt guilty about hiding the truth of his age from Helen. The last thing he wanted was for her to figure out how close he was to his regal bloodline. He also didn't need her to ask questions about such things. Gods knew that woman was insistent when it came to these matters.

It was never any of her business.

A voice, faint as the wind and distant like a storm, whispered in his ears. Archibald froze at its inclusion.

'Get out of my head. You promised to stay out.'

No response came. Yet Archibald could still hear a distant clicking. The sound of a sword's guard shaking against its sheath. Delilah had found her way near him once more.

"Over here," a guardsman's voice called out. "Someone saw him here, mumbling something strange to himself."

"Archibald!" a female voice. Helen? "Caelus' balls, he's freezing out here! Give him your cloak, now!"

Archibald felt warmth encompass him like a blanket, the guardsman's cloak covering his curled-up form. He stopped shivering, his body relaxing as Frost was driven back. He slowly opened his eyes to see the aged woman standing over him, a couple of rookie guardsmen looking down at him with some hesitance.

"H… How?" the elf croaked.

"These dolts found your sword buried in a snow mound nearby," Helen explained as she knelt, her brow scrunched in worry. She looked over his fingers, which all seemed perfectly healthy, before checking his forehead. "Apparently, they didn't bother to look around for you."

"Hey!" one of the men called. "We checked, we swear! He was just well hidden in this cursed alley."

"Rinn found him just fine," Helen growled. "And she wasn't even looking through the alleyway!"

"She's a traveling merchant!" another guard argued. "She has an eye for spotting details!"

"But not for selling wares," the first man muttered. "Not really a good merchant if she doesn't sell."

"Yeah, you're right about that," the other guardsman said as he rubbed his chin. "She don't even buy anything around the marketplace."

"What kind of merchant is that woman?"

"The kind I'll use for replacing green guardsmen like yourselves," Helen shot at them. After glaring at them some more, she turned back to the freezing elf with a softer expression. "Archibald, can you stand?"

"I… I can," Archibald murmured. He struggled to sit upright, his hands pulling the cloak tighter around him. He felt like utter shit, his body feeling as if it was clobbered by some mad orc while his eyes felt as sensitive as sin. The taste of bile on his tongue didn't help much with his urge to vomit once more.

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Just as he began to pick himself up, he caught sight of Delilah's silver hilt on Helen's belt. The rapier began to shake almost immediately, its guard rattling as it did so. Archibald lost his balance out of shock, his ass hitting the stone as he stared at the weapon. It didn't shake after that, but the elf could still feel its presence weighing on his soul.

That thing was cursed. He knew it.

"Are you alright?" Helen quickly asked, kneeling down again.

"I'm fine," Archibald responded quickly. "Just slipped a little."

The guardsmen behind Helen stared at the disheveled elf, their lips moving as they muttered to each other. Unfortunately for Archibald, he could hear them clear as day, thanks to his enhanced hearing.

"This drunk fought alongside the Jarl? Isn't he supposed to be… I don't know, a little more stoic or badass?'

"You're telling me," the other whispered. "I know we're not supposed to expect anything grand, but… Freyja's tits, he's a complete mess."

Helen snapped her gaze back at the two men, a scowl on her lips. Turned out, those men weren't being so subtle with their hushed conversation. Just as she prepared to chew them out, a guardsman ran up to the alleyway they were in. He stopped outside of it, resting his body on the wall as he panted. He was clearly out of breath, his chest heaving as he pointed to the south.

"Ships… lined up!" he panted in desperation.

"Ships?" Helen asked, her hands forming into fists. "Raid?"

The man nodded. "Orcs!"

"Shit!" Helen cursed. She turned to the other two guards, who stared dumbly at her. "Get to the barracks and training grounds immediately! Gather up as many guards as you can! This is a Code Red! Understand?"

They both snapped out of their stupor and nodded quickly before running off. Helen turned to the exhausted man, who had finally seemed to be straightening himself.

"You! Who else have you told?"

"The shaman, Dahlia, and Felix," the guardsman responded. "One of our scout ships saw them as they approached. Silas, the orc leader, was the one who recognized them."

"Are all our ships docked?" Helen asked.

"Yes. Freyja's Revenge's crewmaster, Gruk, is ready to take any of our forces to fight them."

"Go and tell him to pull the longship close to the harbor and to hold off from attacking. We need a plan before charging in recklessly," Helen ordered. The man moved to obey but was stopped once more. "Hold up! Has Wizard Falrick arrived today?"

"Yes, ma'am," the guardsman responded. "He arrived this morning, actually."

"Good, go tell him to come meet us at the docks. I'll give the order myself," Helen said.

"Of course, I'll run to him now."

"Freyja grant you speed, soldier," Helen muttered as the guardsman sprinted off into the streets of Yorktown. She turned to Archibald, who saw the entire encounter. He stared off at the alley's exit, his hands gripping the cloak tightly.

"I'll be going now," Helen muttered, her hand moving to undo the rapier at her belt. She handed Delilah to Archibald, who looked at the weapon with a measure of distrust. The sword seemed to gleam in the gloomy light despite no sun visible in the clouded sky.

"Get yourself somewhere safe. You're not fit to fight today," Helen said as the elf cautiously accepted the cursed sword. With a nod, the veteran ran out of the alleyway, leaving Archibald on his lonesome.

You can't disregard your responsibilities, Son of Yevon.

"Shut up," Archibald hissed at the rapier. He shut his eyes, his grip on the rapier tightening. "You're not real."

Delilah vibrated in his hold, rattling as an inch of silvery steel slid from the scabbard. It reflected the elf, showing a disheveled, dirty face that was paler than it should've been.

Archibald. I am real. As real as the sun's light and the twinkling stars. Real as the wind's breeze and the sway of grass blades. Real as—

"Silence!" Archibald snapped the blade close, the voice of the cursed thing disappearing from his mind. "You are not real! Just a figment of my deteriorating mind. Yes, that's it! I'm insane!"

The sword did not speak to him this time. Archibald stared at it, his hands shaking as he hugged the sheathed weapon. All the while, shouts and yells echoed around the streets outside his alleyway.

"I'm… I'm insane."

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