Naomi sat perched upon a stone building, one knee to her chest as the other dangled off the edge of the roof. She watched as the procession of Lukas' men converged into orderly ranks, their iron weapons and armor glinting in the morning shine.

Today was the day they would set out to Ivan's lands, set on retaking the vessel Frostbite. That was the initial plan. Naomi had a feeling that it wouldn't be the sole reason. James was unstable. That much was clear in their interaction the other day. To trust he'd hold himself back was stupid.

'I will need to monitor him throughout the raid, make sure he doesn't try anything rash.'

The last thing she needed was a dead Jarl who'd put all her efforts to waste. Naomi had invested too much into this quest. Either she'd see it through or give up permanently. To do that would condemn her to live out the rest of her accursed life in Azura.

Almost like a bad memory, her left eye itched. She scowled, a hand going over it. Naomi would trade everything to go back to her shitty apartment, to go back to living her mundane life on Earth. It would be so preferable to worry about making rent instead of dancing between the line of life and death.

'Just got to do this. Once I get that favor from Thien, I'll leave this planet for good,' Naomi thought. She would be done with the games of these petty Gods, her piece off the board for good.

Naomi kept that in mind as she watched the men board the longships. She saw how James arrived, his shipmaster in tow as they approached Lukas. While far away, the young woman could make out their grim expressions. Not long ago, they had embarked on a quest that nearly claimed their lives. Now, they would put themselves at risk once more in an attempt to save their home.

"So soon," Naomi muttered. "I wish there was another way."

"What other way could they have taken?" a voice suddenly muttered, its echo indicating that it was coming from a window below the young woman's perch. Naomi raised an eyebrow as she peered down the stone building's side. Not far from her spot, a small barred window was visible. She saw a hand gripping on the iron bar, scars webbed all over the flesh.

"What business is it to you?" Naomi asked, a bit hostile.

"I don't mean to be intrusive, but…" the man's face barely became visible in the dim lighting. From the way his narrow eyes looked at her, Naomi guessed him to be Kasani. Or, at least, of Kasani descent. "That man and his schemes involve me far more than it does you."

Naomi couldn't help but feel a familiar chill coming from those words, her body nearly shivering at their implications. Who was this man? And why did he seem to know James?

'Better yet, why the hell is he in Lukas' jail? I thought they were empty.'

"Who are you?" Naomi questioned. "And why are you imprisoned?"

"Very good questions," the stranger said. "Both of which could be answered if you come to visit me inside."

"Trying to waste my time?"

"Of course not," the man answered. "I just think a face-to-face could answer most of your questions."

Naomi frowned but did not respond immediately. Instead, she stood up on the stone roof, the wind brushing past with the chill of Valenfrost's cold. "I suppose I do have some time to kill."

"That's the spirit."

Naomi sighed as she turned back to the harbor, where James was speaking with Lukas. Without a word to the stranger or even to herself, Naomi stepped off the roof.

"How long do you think this voyage will be?" James asked.

Lukas grunted a bit, his head turning to the men who were boarding the longships. "A full day. Perhaps longer."

"If Malik does intend to join us," Dimitri spoke up. "Do you think he'll lend us magical aid?"

"He's going to have to," James said. "I don't think he can do much outside of supporting our raid. Not in whatever state he's in now."

The Necromancer was an interesting case, and his situation was unique to him. He refused any health potions, instead opting to slowly recover bit by bit whilst also proclaiming that he was immortal to anyone who stopped by to chat. Malik was clearly losing it; James could see those cracks forming.

'How old is he really?' James wondered. For some reason, he felt as if he shouldn't ever know.

For insanity to already set in, I suppose he's far older than I give him credit for.

James did his best not to react to that faint voice, the one that felt more like his conscience. Gryff's influences were slight and barely noticeable, his prying words feeling more like natural thought rather than the secondary voice Faust was. It terrified James and infuriated him to know that the dead Knight was trying to manipulate his thoughts. For what purpose, he couldn't figure it out.

James also wasn't able to return to that strange white mindscape, no matter how hard he tried. He couldn't even speak to Gryff directly despite the dead man's words seeping into his mind. If they survived this day, James vowed that he'd personally exorcize the bastard out of his body, even if it meant getting rid of his arm.

'What now?' Faust asked. 'What did Gryff say?'

Despite being in his head, the Centurion could not sense Gryff's influences. James wasn't sure why, but he didn't really care for the answer. For now, he just focused on the path ahead.

'It's nothing,' he reassured Faust. He turned back to Lukas and Dimitri, who were both discussing the fleet of ships and their crews.

"We can take the longship, Silver's Grip," Lukas said. "Will you be satisfied with that?"

"What of Boar's Fury?" Dimitri asked. "That's your personal brig, no?"

"It is," Lukas admitted. "But it is not as fast as the longships. Taking it would mean slowing our venture a good half day."

"Ah, but we have an advanced spellcaster with us," Dimitri said. "Malik could probably conjure magical winds for us."

"I can," a voice called out. All three of the men turned to the source, which happened to be the Necromancer himself. Malik wore his signature black robes, his red and grey underclothes visible underneath the flapping fabric. "But it really is rude to assume someone would blindly accept such a benign task."

"So that's a no?" James asked.

"Of course not," Malik barked a laugh, his lips widening into an uncomfortable smile. "Benign the task may be, I would not impede our quest. I would trade nothing for the chance to enact revenge on the bastards who cost me my life."

"Good to hear we're on the same page," James said slowly, unsure of how to respond to the Necromancer's enthusiasm. It was clear that the man was mad. Well, more mad than usual. Regardless, it was clear to him that their brush with death had widened the cracks within Malik's psyche.

'Not that it didn't happen to me,' he idly thought as he watched Malik walk past, his hand brushing that all too-pale blond hair back.

"So it's settled," Lukas said. "Malik shall guide our ships with magical wind. Shipmaster, would you do the honors of assisting my crew in getting prepared?"

Dimitri gave a nod. "Of course, Jarl Villtur. James, I suppose you have other important things to attend to?"

James looked to his friend, who was giving him a slight smile that said: 'Take a break, my friend.'

He nodded back, and Dimitri went on his way. Now alone with Lukas, James didn't know what else to say. He only stood in that silence, his shoulders sagging a little. Even though he had little sleep the other night, James felt more tired than usual. Like a curse, he could sense something numb growing from his chest, its coldness spreading.

'No,' James thought. He forced that numbness away, fists tight as he breathed in. With a glance at Lukas, James gave a resigned nod.

"I'll be preparing," he said before leaving the Jarl by his lonesome.

Naomi wasn't sure what she expected. Probably not a damn Follower of Chaos. Regardless, she faced the stranger who had spoken to her earlier. His mask was broken around the left eye slit, their cracks filled with what seemed to be gold. A form of art that was almost exclusive to Kasan.

It also reminded Naomi of a similar art form she saw back home, on Earth. She couldn't exactly pin down the name, however.

"Who are you?" Naomi asked after discarding her random thoughts. "Honestly."

"Miles Fowler," the Follower said, exaggerating a bow. "At your service, Khama."

Naomi recoiled a little at the formal name he used, the same ones Kasani used to refer to people of high stature. She hid her reaction the best she could, examining Miles more carefully. He didn't have much to distinguish himself outside of the mask he wore.

'They let him keep it.'

That wasn't so unusual. Followers were attached to their masks like it was a second face. To have it off would mean being left vulnerable. Naomi figured he must've made quite a commotion or argument for Lukas to let him keep it.

"If I may," Miles said. "I hadn't expected you to be the one to find me here."

"Who else did you expect?"

"James Holter," Miles revealed. Naomi raised an eyebrow at that, her arms crossing. When she didn't speak, Miles gave an awkward cough. "I… I knew him from before his rise. Back when he was still new to Azura."

"What were you to him?" Naomi asked.

"Friend," Miles answered. The Outlander narrowed her eyes. He sighed. "Mercenary for hire. Once our contract was up, I left to follow my own path. I suppose you could see where I end up, Khama."

"Stop calling me Khama," Naomi snapped. "We don't know each other that well."

"Yet you carry the very blade of chaos," Miles said softly. His hand gently gestured toward her, not specific, but enough for Naomi to know what he spoke of. She scowled as she swept her cloak over the small nakana she kept on her belt. Internally, she cursed herself for having it out in the open, especially considering its nature.

But how could she have foreseen some random stranger to recognize its craftsmanship?

"Myr showed it to me in my visions," Miles muttered as if answering the question Naomi had asked herself. "I know little of its history, but I know of its previous wielder. The specter himself, Hi—"

"Say that name, and I'll gut you where you stand," Naomi answered in a breath, anger flooding her. She barely held herself back then and there, her hands twitching as they neared her belt. "What the hell are you?"

"A mere acolyte," Miles answered. "One who hopes to find a real purpose in this world."

"And you plan to do that by rotting in this cell?" Naomi asked.

"I was actually hoping you'd free me from these confines," Miles said with a shrug. Naomi scoffed at that.

"I'm not going to break you out."

"Oh, I wouldn't dream of it," Miles said, hands raising as he shook his head. "I would prefer we follow the laws of these lands and procure my freedom through legitimate means."

Naomi opened her mouth slightly, surprised to find herself without a response. What a strange man this Follower was. Naomi had met her fair share of Chaos Followers, some of which were beyond saving from their insanity. This one, however… He stood out. Yet he wasn't all too different from the man who had given her the nakana she wore on her belt.

"What do you think of chaos?" Naomi found herself asking. "What are your opinions on Iendis?"

Miles stiffened a little, his casual air disappearing from him. He stared at Naomi, still as ice. After a moment, he spoke. "I suppose I should ask my questions, late as I am in this conversation. Who are you?"

"Naomi Miller," the young woman responded. "Outlander."

"You've met her then," Miles muttered. "The Lady of Blossoms."

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"I did."

"Do you seek your future?" he asked. "Do you wish to change it?"

"No," Naomi said honestly. "I only wish to go back home once I finish my business here."

"What sort of business?"

"Revenge," Naomi answered bluntly. "Simple, really."

Miles chuckled a little. "I like you. To answer your question, I have no allegiance to the Lady of Blossoms. I do not serve her, and nor do I ever want to. As for my opinions on chaos itself, I prefer to be the one to witness it rather than cause it. I don't mind nudging it into the right course, but I'd be the last person to outright attempt insanity."

"Good to know," Naomi said with a soft sigh. "Tell me honestly, what do you plan to do if I free you from this cell?"

"Journey alongside you and Holter, of course," Miles said. "It's only logical."

"Logical?" Naomi asked.

"James Holter brought down the wrath of Delphine herself," Miles said. "If one Outlander could bring down chaos like that, imagine two of them. Traveling side by side, nonetheless."

"Seriously?" Naomi made a face. "You just want a show?"

"Well, I do follow chaos," Miles said with a shrug. "I can fight, too, you know. If you would allow me. However, I won't kill innocents, animals, or even birds. That is if they don't attack me first."

"How the hell did you end up here?" Naomi asked, genuinely curious. This guy was the strangest Follower she'd met yet.

"One part discriminatory," Miles said, raising one hand. He raised the other a second after. "Other part fearful. Lukas really didn't care to ask about my crimes when I came here. All his men had to say was that they caught a Chaos Follower among some pirates and assumed that he was sacrificing poor sailors."

Naomi just stared at Miles, dumbfounded. She really wasn't sure what to believe from this man. Then again, judging from what he said to her, Naomi found herself trusting him a little. In some ways, he seemed genuinely honest. Then again, that could be her natural affinity detecting no lies. Not that it was perfect; the ability could only figure out what the individual believed was true. Chaos Followers always seemed to circumvent that. Yet Naomi truly believed Miles was being honest with her.

In other ways, it reminded Naomi of an old friend, one who had betrayed his entire belief to make sure she lived.

'Hiroshi,' she thought with a sense of nostalgia. It hurt thinking about him, but Naomi pressed on beyond and remembered the sacrifices he made to protect her. The Chaos Follower with true honor.

Miles was not Hiroshi. Yet he reminded her of him. So Naomi trusted within herself and unsheathed her nakana. With a wordless nod, she bashed the rusty lock that held the bars closed and freed the Follower of Chaos himself.

Miles went still and stared at the broken lock. Naomi sheathed her dagger once more and turned around, facing the direction of the jail's exit. There were no guards in the building, or around it really. Since Miles was the only one here, Naomi figured that Lukas didn't think him important or dangerous enough to leave a man guarding.

"Well, follow me," Naomi said simply. She started walking.

"Wait!" Miles shouted, still inside his cell. "What was that?"

"Call it a hunch or a gut feeling," Naomi called back. "But I don't think you're dangerous. At least, not to me. Either way, you have two choices. Stay in that cell, or come with us."

"You're not… worried?" Miles asked. "That I might try something?"

Naomi stopped her walk. Silent as she was, she turned to Miles with a slight smile. She brushed aside her cloak to reveal her sword, the air shimmering as she summoned it. The hilt was wrapped in white, its guard glinting in the low light of the cells. Still, Naomi had no doubts that the Follower could see the small mark of chaos that adorned the wrapped handle.

Miles was quiet, his emotionless mask hiding what she assumed was either curiosity or confusion. Probably both. After a few seconds of staring, the Chaos Follower opened his cell door and stepped out. Naomi's smile grew a little as she covered the scabbard with her cloak, her fingers forming a rune to dismiss the blade.

"Let's get a move on," she said. "We have an island to raid and a town to save."

"Now then," Ranor said, his hands behind his back as he watched James. "I suppose you've learned what you could from our sessions."

"We only had a few days," James said with a grunt as he pulled tight the straps on his armor, or what was left of it. "Half of it was spent swinging the same swing over and over."

"Ah, but there was purpose in those swings!" Ranor said. The strange man grinned as he picked up the sheathed longsword. He ran a hand over its scabbard, almost in reverence, despite the blade being a common iron one. There weren't even runes on it. "I would say, despite being a swordmaster, a spear would work better for this upcoming fight."

"Haven't really practiced it much," James admitted as he slid his new side sword in and out of its sheath. "This is what I'm good with. Or, decent at least."

"I suggest you stay on the backlines, then," Ranor said, his hands holding out the sword for James. "Don't rush in. Take your time."

James looked at the other man, who seemed sincere for the first time since they met. He gently took the sword from him. "I'll keep that in mind," he muttered as he slung the weapon over his shoulder. He would have to keep himself safe or at least in top shape. There were two battles James would need to fight. Hopefully, he wouldn't need to go to Yorktown so soon.

Lukas had told him that he had scouts ready to communicate with him if the orcs ever did make a move. So James trusted him on that, for if he lied…

"Jarl Holter!" a voice called to him. James turned to see one of the Boar Clan's soldiers walking up to him, his head bowed. "We are leaving soon. Lukas wished you to be on his main ship by the time we leave."

"Tell him I am on my way," James said. The man nodded and turned away. As he watched him walk off the nearby shoreline, James thought about the battle ahead. A confrontation with the man who had sent assassins after him. Strangely enough, his hands did not shake at that memory. James instead felt a thumping from within, his blood hot with anger as he thought of that day.

How strange it was for him to feel rage before a battle. Just a year ago, he would've been shaking with nerves.

'I'm not the same man I was,' James thought.

'Yet,' Faust muttered. 'You are more yourself than you have ever been since your summoning.'

James did not answer, his gaze falling to the last of his gear. He stared at his scratched helm, which had been recovered with the rest of his armor from that sinking longship. James picked it up, feeling the cool steel. The blood had long been cleaned off, but James could swear that there was a greasiness about it. He held back a shiver and attached it to his belt. Then he looked at the remnants of his torn cloak. They had nearly thrown it away. They probably would have had it not been for Lukas' objections. He had wanted to make sure every bit of James' gear was still intact. Even if it was torn and dirtied with blood.

It had once been a poncho sewn together by Dahlia herself. The forest green cloth was now a torn, muddy mess, its ends reduced to tattered tassels. James stared at it, his fingers feeling the fabric. After a moment, he slipped it over his torso. It barely swept over his chest and back, seeming more like a cowl.

"That doesn't seem like it'll protect you much," Ranor said.

"It's not supposed to," James murmured as he swept the hood back. "I'll be seeing you."

"Likewise," the swordmaster said with a slight bow. James nodded and turned away, heading off to the harbor.

When James arrived at Boar's Fury, he saw an unexpected sight. Naomi was standing in front of Lukas, shielding what looked to be a very familiar man.

'Chaos follower,' James realized, recognizing the man's strange mask. It was cracked weirdly, with gold filling them in. Like something he saw back on Earth. Yet that didn't seem to add on to the man's familiarity.

James stopped a bit of ways away, watching the interaction with curiosity. He didn't feel much hostility from the man despite his nature. His Alert also didn't go off, probably because the man didn't carry a weapon. Then again, there were more ways to kill than just a blade.

"He's not dangerous," Naomi argued.

"I don't care," Lukas growled. "He was locked up for a reason."

"Seriously?" Naomi narrowed her eyes. "The lock on his cell was basically rusted to hell. He could've broken it with his bare hands, for fuck's sake."

"Again, he was locked up."

"By men you admitted were idiots!"

"That's not what I—"

James tuned out on their argument, his focus going back to the Chaos Follower. He watched him, cautious for a moment. Then, without warning, the Follower turned to James with a look that exuded curiosity. James kept staring, brow furrowed. What was with those cracks? They kinda reminded him of that Japanese art. Only except with a broken vase, this man used his mask. A mask that seemed a tad—

James blinked.

Now, the brain is a funny thing. Whenever it comes across something even vaguely familiar or even interesting, it tackles the problem in the far background, like a task being processed on one's desktop PC. James just stood there, brow furrowed as his brain assembled the puzzle like it was trying to put together a jigsaw with half the pieces missing.

Eventually, the elements would come together, and James could recall a distant memory, one that felt as old as time itself.

Both of these men, facing each other in close proximity. Uncomfortably close, Faust's reflexes turning his body just in time to see a white wooden mask with a grin painted on it.

"You're interesting."

"Holy shit," James murmured. "Miles?"

Both Naomi and Lukas stopped, their gazes turning to James. Miles seemed to chuckle, his hand going over his mask as it turned to laughing. James just stared, confused and surprised at first. Then he smiled.

"Miles!" he called, trotting over. The Chaos follower stepped forward as well, hands spreading.

"Ah, James! It has been quite some—"

James embraced him. The silence around the two grew to a deafening stillness. James didn't care. He only smiled, genuinely smiled, as he pulled back.

"I…" Miles trailed off for a moment. "I didn't expect that. A punch, sure. Maybe a stabbing. But not this."

"You… you have no idea how glad I am to see you," James said, grabbing the man's shoulders. "Where were you this whole time? Why come along now?"

"I have been…." Miles tapped his mask. "Incapacitated for some time. Things got chaotic, as they should, I suppose."

"You know him?" Lukas said, stepping up to the two. "This… cultist."

"I prefer Follower," Miles responded mildly.

"Cultist," Lukas said, firmer this time. "Your god is responsible for the deaths of my people."

Miles tilted his head at that, his mask shifting enough to reveal his tired eyes, their yellow irises focused on the Jarl. "The ones who kill in the name of my god are insane. I do not associate with them, for they disregard the idea of Myr and use it as an excuse to pillage and kill."

Lukas narrowed his gaze. "And what is the idea of Myr?"

While James couldn't see the expression on Miles' face, he could've sworn the man was smiling underneath that cracked mask.

"We watch and follow," Miles said. "Anything interesting in particular."

Lukas just kept staring, unamused by the answer given. After a tense moment, James decided to step in between them. "Lukas, I knew Miles from the time before I became a Jarl. He is trustworthy, I swear."

There was no response, not immediately. All three men were silent as they stood around the harbor, Miles' gaze still fixed on Lukas as the Jarl's focus turned to James. He gave a grunt. "If you believe so, then I will allow him on our ship. However, if he so much as laughs in my presence, I will tear his head off."

"Those conditions are acceptable," Miles answered before James could. "I promise to be on my best behavior."

Lukas only glowered at him. With a shrug, the Chaos Follower sauntered his way to where Naomi was. After a shake of her head, Naomi turned and made her way to the harbor's end. James watched them go, questions appearing in his head.

"You had him locked up?" James asked.

"My men found him amongst pirates around the west," Lukas said. "They believed that he was with them. We were to deal with him after this raid was through."

"I see," James muttered. "For your information, Miles risked himself to save the lives of me and my friends. That alone cements him as a close ally of mine. Whatever crimes you think he committed, I'll be the one to tell you that it's probably horseshit."

"Be careful of the ones you call an ally," Lukas said. "I have seen and experienced betrayals by close allies. Close friends. Family, even. You'd be surprised at what crimes men are willing to do under the right circumstances."

"Does that mean I should be wary of you?" James asked. He couldn't help but underline his words with a sense of hostility. Regardless of whether Lukas took them seriously or not, the other Jarl simply gave him a glance. Both men were silent for a moment until Emma arrived at their spot.

"Everyone is prepared for the voyage," she said simply, her hands clutching onto something wrapped in linen.

"Good," Lukas said. "I suppose we should get going. You'll be left in charge of Turstead. Ioan can help with the local town and guardsmen."

Emma nodded at that, a grim look in her eyes as she glanced at James. He did his best not to show any reaction. He still processed their conversation the other day, specifically about her connection with the Tree of Fates.

As James tried to focus on other things, he couldn't help but notice Emma handing something off to Lukas. He blinked and got a better look at it. Once the Jarl got the linen wrapping off of it, James instantly recognized it.

It was that book Emma had been reading before James interrupted her that day. Now that he had a better look, it was more or less some sort of tome, its leather cover aged and crinkled. There was no name on it, strangely enough.

He must've been staring for a while, for Lukas turned to him abruptly. James thankfully didn't flinch but found it hard not to outright break eye contact with the other Jarl. His eyes were like cold steel, their slate green color off-putting to him. He watched as Lukas stepped closer to James, his hands holding the tome out.

"I was going to give this to young Halvorson, given how important it was," Lukas said, his eyes moving to the leatherbound book. "But I suppose I can hand it to you for safekeeping."

"What is this?" James asked as he hesitantly accepted the book. He handled it with a sense of reverence, given how fragile it felt.

"This," Lukas started. "Is Yorn's old journal, recovered from the ashes of his defeat. It took me months to find and recover it."

"How…." James was speechless, his brow furrowing.

"You'd be surprised how many scavengers are willing to dwell in the presence of marauders," Lukas said. "Much of Yorn's fort was scavenged and pillaged following the days of his fall. Despite the efforts of Deimos and his inner circle, some scavengers were able to extract many things. This journal was one of them."

"Does it…?"

"No. It does not contain the location of his vaults," Lukas admitted. "If it did, those scavengers would've never been able to sell it without calling upon the wrath of Deimos or any greed-filled Jarl."

"Still," James said. "This is… This is still a piece of history, no?"

"It is," Lukas confirmed. "But it is not mine to keep. It is for young Halvorson, the last of his name."

"And you're giving it to me."

"I am allowing you to hold on to it," Lukas corrected. He turned to the direction of his ship, hands behind his back as he began to walk. "I've also read all of it. Memorized some of its passages. I believe you should read it as well, James. If not for the insight of a legendary figure, then for the connection you might feel with the late Yorn. He and you… are not so different."

James only watched Lukas go, his hands holding the tome in his hands. He looked down at the old leather-bound journal, its aged cover almost calling out to him. He frowned a bit, and without really thinking about it, he opened the journal. His fingers flipped through the yellowed parchment carefully as he scanned the scribbled handwriting.

James stopped at a certain passage, dated back in the year 530, in the month of Jöntuhn.

It is finally done. The battle is won, and my father's rule has fragmented. However, since his fall, clans that were once part of his rule now roam Valenfrost waters unchecked…

END OF PART TWO

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