"There won't be any second chances for those who work against me."

James breathed in as he set his hand on Naomi's back. She was facing away from him, legs folded as she sat in the middle of the ritual circle. Lukas' men stood by, ready for the portal. Malik was with them, his fingers flexing as he watched the two Outlanders. James could even see Miles amongst their numbers, his grinning mask bringing a chill to the Jarl's spine. He still couldn't get the image of Eilif's own facemask watching him as he bled to death.

"Ready?" Naomi asked, her hand throwing the last bit of chalk to the side. There would be no do-overs after this.

"Sorta," James admitted, his breath shaky. "But then again, I never was truly ready for the things life threw my way." He looked at her. "If you don't mind me asking, what happens if this goes wrong?"

Naomi didn't answer right away, her palms clapping against the drawn glyphs. She took in a deep breath, her focus entirely on the circle beneath them.

"Well…" she muttered, enough so only he could hear. "Best case scenario, our bodies are scattered across Valenfrost in varying pieces."

James blinked. "What's worse case scenario?"

"We get trapped in the space between two seconds and left there for eternity."

"Wait what–?"

The surrounding circle lit up with blue magical flames, Naomi's body tensing as she activated the ritual. Before James could even begin to process it, his hand began to tingle like static. He held his breath and began to drain from the other Outlander.

The power that he extracted from her body hit James like a rushing river, his vision blurring as the taste of strawberries hit his tongue. He held onto Naomi, his left arm discharging bursts of cyromancy in an effort to cool both of them.

Memories immediately started to flash within his mind, a side effect of the drain. James shoved them to the side as best he could but couldn't help but catch glimpses of the other Outlander's past.

He recognized the streets of Earth, the blazing neon lights of the modern day, and the familiar glow of a laptop's screen. It felt wrong to gaze at these bits of memory, as he had no right to view them. Still, even as James tried to ignore them, he couldn't help but linger on the specific flashes of Earth.

Snow falling peacefully onto a small downtown, the glow of lights making the nighttime seem welcoming and warm rather than hostile and dangerous. The warmth of a plush bed, complete with a laptop streaming some random movie. The distant taste of coffee, weak as it was in this secondhand experience.

James lingered on these memories for only a second. A long second that made him consider Naomi's situation. He had spent so much of his time in Valenfrost acclimating to its culture and environment. He had grown to care for the friends he made here, to care for the people he swore to protect.

In short, James loved Valenfrost, even if it had its own fucked up way of showing it back. But Naomi… He could see why she wanted to go back home. Why she wanted to live the life she had left behind. What had she experienced in these past years? Had she, like him, had people that depended on her? Where were they now? James felt sick at the implications.

'Focus,' Faust called to him. 'She needs you to focus.'

James was brought back to his current predicament. He clenched his jaw and shook his head, clear of those thoughts. Faust was right. There was no time to dwell on the past. No time for either of them.

And so James drew in as much power as he dared, his chest increasing with heat as his veins were pumped with a sensation of adrenaline mixed with magical empowerment. It was eerily similar to when he was imbued with the raw power of a ley line, only without any abomination's influence.

'Maybe I could…'

James closed his eyes and felt the power that rushed through him. He had been burning through it with his cyromancy, but even that wasn't enough to fully deplete the reserves that were building within him. James focused a bit more and tried to redirect the rush of power somewhere.

That was when the ritual reached its peak, and the world around James exploded in bright lights.

Seamus ran through snow and soot, his boots leaving behind a trail of darkness that seeped and stained the landscape. Lilith ran beside him, axes hitched and strands of red hair flowing with the wind. Her tied hair was already loosening, the elaborate bun on her head bounding with every step.

"Do you think we lost them?" Seamus asked Lilith, who gave a noncommittal shrug. Both of them had barely managed to throw off the horde of orcs that had broken through the Southern Front's defenses. Even with the Fog Cloud runes Seamus had deployed during their escape, he still had to lead the orcs away from Helen and her injured Ravens.

After that, it was simply about outrunning the green bastards. Thankfully for Seamus and Lilith, they had a bag full of agility and vitality potions. Sure, there was a chance of potion sickness and possible liver failure, but Seamus was willing to take those risks. Even Lilith was prepared, although Seamus had a tougher time trying to explain to her what a 'liver' was and why it was so important for living. She got the gist of it eventually.

Both of them were headed in the direction of Yorktown, which bled black smoke and glowing embers, the entrails collecting into a pool of darkness that hung over the island. Seamus felt his chest ache at the sight of the distant town, which, even through the thick forest and smoke, he could see was very much burning. He hoped to any god who would listen that his friends lived. That perhaps Kate had survived the invasion.

"Seamus," Falrick said, his ethereal voice reaching him in a whisper. "I'm sorry. I–"

"I don't want to hear any excuses," Seamus growled beneath gritted teeth. "You lied to me, Falrick. I won't forgive that easily, even if you did help me find Helen."

Lilith glanced at him in worry, her brow furrowing. Seamus waved her off.

"Now tell me," he continued. "Where are the survivors holding out?"

'It's difficult to tell," Falrick admitted. "My scrying is sparse across the town, and I can only contact those who have access to spell crystals. Felix was my connection, but he…"

Seamus didn't have to ask to know of the Captain's fate. He had heard the explosion from earlier, its detonation making the ground shake even from this distance. Judging from what Falrick had told him, the source was somewhere around the main longhouse.

It didn't take a scholar to put together what happened.

"What about Kate? Or any of the squad leaders?" Seamus asked.

"Last I checked, they were around the—"

Falrick's voice cut out mid-sentence, the Wizard's words left hanging in the chilled air. Seamus faltered for a moment, his run slowing.

"Falrick?" he called. No answer. Seamus felt a growing sense of panic as he called for the Wizard again. Nothing. He stopped his run and looked back toward the mountain where Falrickwas stationed. Lilith halted as well, the young woman's gaze following his.

"Oh shit…" Seamus muttered. The worst immediately came to mind. Had he been compromised? Before he could even think about returning to the old Wizard, a hand tugged at his cloak. Lilith was there, her head gesturing toward the town.

"Falrick might be in danger," Seamus said. "We might need to go back. If something happened…"

He might have had his grievances with the old man, but Seamus would never wish ill will on Falrick. He had helped raise him, taught him how to activate his ley lines even. The thought that he might be in danger was…

Lilith tugged at his cloak once more. Her hand raised to form a collection of signs.

We have our own responsibilities. The old man can take care of himself.

Seamus hesitated, his head going from the town to the mountain. With a heavy sigh, he nodded and turned in the direction of Yorktown. No words were spoken as the two continued their run, their boots leaving dark footprints within the snow.

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Haggard nearly lost his head when an Arcane Bolt grazed his steel helm, the projectile sparking as it passed by in an instant. He cursed at the close call, his head ducking as more bolts whizzed past.

"Damn Shaman," he growled. He grabbed onto the rear of the cannon, his eyes glancing over the railing of Draugr's Haunt. He could see the orc ships near their formation, the lead vessel's crew preparing hooks for boarding. Still lying low, Haggard aimed the cannon toward their direction, his eyes set on the lone Shaman who was casting runes.

"Not yet!" Hilda hissed nearby. "We have two more ignitions left in that before it breaks! I'd rather not miss our shots!"

"I'd rather we take that chance before they start boarding," Haggard said as he lined the barrel, his focus on the Shaman.

"Just wait!" the gnome protested. "Only for a moment. I need to calculate the trajectory so we could—"

Too late. Haggard ignored Hilda as he dropped one of Nathan's Fireball runes into the cannon's front, a rough iron ball following the stone right after. Not even waiting for the gnome, he activated it.

The cannon bucked with a force that could have dislocated even the toughest orc's shoulder. It tilted Draugr's Haunt's deck slightly, the recoil forcing the vessel to churn within the rough waves. Still, Haggard's aim wasn't half bad, and he was treated to the sight of the red-hot munition tearing through the Shaman's vessel. He grinned, his head rising as he examined his handiwork.

"You could've missed!" Hilda yelled at him.

"But I didn't," Haggard responded, his grin growing as he saw the vessel take water. It would sink soon, no doubt about it.

"What about the other ships?" Hilda asked.

"We can probably take care of them," Haggard said with a shrug. "I don't mind a bit of head bashing."

Hilda gave him a look, her brow furrowed as she opened her mouth to protest. Before she could, however, the sound of war cries echoed in the air. Both of them turned to the source, which had come from the Shaman's vessel. The ship, which should've been halfway in the water, was heading straight toward them.

"I believe we're going to be tested on that," Liam called from behind. "Everyone! Prepare for boarding!"

Haggard felt a grimace come over his face as the men on board mobilized, grabbing swords and round shields for the upcoming encounter. His focus was on the Shaman himself, who was casting some sort of ritual that had sealed the broken hull of his own ship. He was staring right at Haggard, a certain type of hatred in his gaze that burned into the man's own soul.

"Ah, fuck," Haggard cursed. The orc's ship collided with his own not even a minute later.

When Seamus arrived at the walls of Yorktown, he was dismayed to see flames eating at sections of the border. While he managed to get past just fine, the young man couldn't help but feel an eerie sense of recollection.

Not long ago, back when he first came here, Seamus had walked this same path into Yorktown. Back then, he had been a half-starved coward who had managed to get away from the marauders. The settlement of Yorktown then had been small, more of a village rather than a real town. Even so, it had been more alive than it was now.

Buildings were alight with bright orange flames, which spread slowly throughout the town like a plague. Seamus couldn't help but feel his hope falter as he came across heaps of corpses. Had they been caught by the fire? Or had something else come to burn their visages?

Seamus soon stopped at a crossroads, each one leading to a different section of town. He looked to Lilith, who seemed hesitant.

"I hate to say this, but we're going to have to split up," Seamus said. He could see how his cousin winced at the words.

"We can save more people this way," Seamus continued, "You can deal with orcs just fine, and even if they prove to be a problem, you're agile enough to get away. Here, I'll even send you with a couple of potions."

His hand dug into Dahlia's satchel, his fingers grabbing some vials marked with red and blue ribbons. He handed them to Lilith, who took them gingerly.

"Don't take any unnecessary risks," Seamus said. "Retreat if you must. I'll meet you at the town center in half an hour. If I'm not there by then, I want you to fall back to Dahlia's hut."

Lilith turned to protest, but Seamus held up a hand.

"This is not a debate. Do you understand?"

She gave a slow nod, clearly against the idea of abandoning him. Still, Seamus knew she'd honor his wishes. Hopefully.

Dahlia could barely see through the smoke that wafted through the forest, its haze and heat hitting her face like an open furnace. She had to cover her mouth with a sleeve to even breathe properly. Marion didn't seem to mind, the unsettling woman stone-faced as she walked beside the Frue.

Dahlia still felt uneasy around the undead thrall, even if Falrick had insisted that she was going to assist her. The way Marion's glassy eyes gazed at her made the Frue grip her dagger even tighter.

'I'd rather be on my own,' Dahlia thought. Still, she didn't outright chase Marion off. If push came to shove, the Frue would rather have the undead with her if they encountered danger. The Wizard had told her that their defenses had fallen, with both the Northern and Southern Fronts broken. Dahlia's hut would be their last fallback.

Well, it would be if it didn't get consumed by flames in the next hour. Dahlia coughed again as she traversed the forest, her eyes squinting toward the distant orange glow beyond the trees. It was spreading from the North, either from New Aldren or Silas' Front. Probably both, actually.

"My Frue," Marion called to Dahlia, voice barely above a whisper. "I spot movement."

Dahlia froze, her hand gripping the handle of her dagger. She half expected an orc to barrel through the smoke, maddened and bloodthirsty. Instead, the Frue spotted a grouping of people not far from her, the smoke obscuring their features.

"Wind Wall," she cast, her hand forming the rune. The smoke parted instantly, throwing bits of snow away as well. Once it all cleared, Dahlia was surprised to find a contingent of what looked to be guardsmen, half of which were using spears like canes. They went still at the sight of her, expressions not too dissimilar to a rabbit when caught in a trap.

One of them hobbled to the front, her blond hair disheveled and caked with all sorts of things. Helen looked half-dead, her tabard and armor damaged and ripped everywhere. There wasn't even a speck of color left on her, the raven insignia forever tainted with dried blood and dirt.

"I was beginning to worry that we'd never find our way to you," she said, her voice weak.

Dahlia ran toward the veteran, already forming the runes for a restoration spell. Helen stopped her before she could, however.

"Not me," she grunted. "There are others who need it more."

"You look like you're a breath away from death!" Dahlia protested.

"It's not as bad as it looks, promise," Helen said. She jabbed a thumb toward some of the injured behind her. "Please, just take care of them first."

Dahlia frowned but did not argue. She sighed instead, her eyes glancing over at Marion. "Lead the ones who can walk to my hut. I'll use basic Heal on the ones who can't."

The undead did as told, her hand gesturing toward the guardsmen as she headed off in the direction of Dahlia's home. The Frue turned to the men and women behind Helen, the ones who were being set down by their allies. She looked to Helen one last time, who gave her a sincere nod.

Dahlia nodded back and prepared to lend her aid.

Seamus headed straight toward the main longhouse alone. He ran through the ash-covered streets, where the dark soot mixed with melting snow, creating a slush of darkness that threatened to make his feet slip.

Miraculously, Seamus didn't lose his footing at all. His run went uninterrupted for a while, with him passing by more dilapidated buildings and burning structures. There were no signs of life. Not even an orc made an appearance, which made Seamus even more ill as he neared the longhouse.

He stopped when the heat of its burning reached him like a wave. His boots skidded on the wet cobbles, his eyes blinking as he focused on the storm of flames that engulfed the former base of operations. Seamus stared at the sight, his throat going dry.

Bodies lay strewn about, some human and others orc. None of them he recognized.

'Did Felix make it out?' Seamus thought as he watched a part of the longhouse collapse within itself, sending a flurry of embers up and above. He only took another step toward the blaze when the sound of heavy footsteps reached him. Seamus acted on instinct, his hand popping his sword out of its scabbard in one smooth motion. He turned to the rushing orc, who was wielding a half-scorched club.

His mouth was agape, pink saliva drooling from his lips as he set his eyes upon Seamus. Seamus watched him, his sword already in his grip. Before he could even prepare a counter against the brute, something beat him to the punch.

The orc's head whipped to the side like something invisible had struck it, the body turning suddenly as it tried to keep its balance. Blood ran down a wound that appeared on its skull, the scar deep and visceral. Seamus almost gagged as the orc stumbled in place, the club wavering confusedly as it tried to focus on a target.

Another invisible strike hit the brute, and this time, it was enough to lop its head completely off. Seamus stared at the sight of the headless orc, which slumped and fell to the ground in a bloodied heap.

"Orcs are durable," a woman's voice called out. Seamus flinched and turned to the source. A cloaked figure walked down one of the nearby streets, her hood hiding her features.

"Durable, but boring," she continued, stopping a few meters from the corpse. "Any idiot could kill an orc, given that they know what to look for."

"Who are you?" Seamus asked, his voice shaking as he raised his sword toward her. For some reason, he could feel nothing but danger from this person. His instincts screamed for him to strike her down as soon as he could, for his survival depended on it. It quickly turned to a loud blaring, which Seamus took to mean dodge. So he dodged, without even knowing that he did, until he felt the air above him whip in the way it only could once something struck hard against it.

"Your Alert skill is quite advanced to recognize that strike," the woman said, her voice jovial. "Most veterans can't even detect my Blessings."

Seamus stared at the strands of hair that floated to the ground. A result of whatever had tried to cut his head off. He stumbled to his feet in a half-clumsy motion, his sword pointed toward the woman. She just stood there, watching him. Her hand gently moved up to her hood, which obscured most of her face.

"I do hope you resist," she said as her dark hood was pulled back to reveal a young woman with wild black hair. Her skin was fair and smooth, and her lips pulled back into a light smile. Still, Seamus' focus was not on her beauty. It was on that light purple glow that emitted from the stars that were her pupils.

Seamus felt his body freeze at the sight, his eyes widening as memories of Eli flashed through his head. Without even a word, he turned and ran away as fast as he could.

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