The two lone figures slowly made their way up the rocky hillside. It was the dead of night, when only the most ominous creatures were active, and there were more shadows than light to find. The sky was bleak and grey, the moon's illumination barely getting through the hazy clouds.

They stopped at the top of the hill, standing under a maple tree that housed a rather noisy owl. The last winter snow had melted away several weeks ago, and all the wildlife should have been in full bloom. Instead, the ground was muddy and smelled of dampness and decay. A place once filled with life was now a world of shadows, and the towns left had no names.

Their gaze was fixed on the plains beyond the hill, where a small town resided. It was completely isolated from everything else, an island in the middle of several miles of forest. The two were standing far away enough that the sentries around the compound couldn't notice them, but the guards themselves were visible as they crisscrossed on their patrols around the camps below. Massive torches burned along various points on a rough circle around the town, allowing some visibility. There were also campfires along the outside of that boundary with people sitting around them, eager to keep away the bite of the chilly winds.

"This is it," the man in the red cape spoke first, waving a gloved hand towards the town. "The forest around them is filled with Spiders. It's a risky life, even for elves, but it keeps intruders out."

"Smaller than I envisioned." The wearer of the black cape muttered. Her feminine voice was a few octaves higher than his, but it rang with a similar composed tone.

The frigid temperatures had not completely subsided, and Azrael tightened the black fur coat she wore around herself, more out of habit than necessity. There was something about dark elves that tickled her the wrong way. Shadow magic was her dominion, but their twisted way of using it in addition to necromancy was taking it to a level beyond her own.

The dead were meant to stay dead.

"Is that a good thing?" Raphael asked, turning to face her. The little moonlight meant he couldn't see her expression, not that it mattered. He had always found it hard to decipher what went through her mind by reading her face.

"It should be," she replied. "But it probably means they have an ace up their sleeve. They wouldn't have survived this long with just torches on the walls as an advantage. And if they have an Architect, it would have taken a significant amount of power to hold him."

Raphael stifled a yawn. He had been asleep when Azrael had barged into his chambers and told him to go with her. Had anyone else even dared to attempt such a thing, they would spend some time in the dungeons thinking about their decisions. He was the future elven king for goodness' sake. But for the tens of years that he had known her, Azrael didn't care for nobility. Disappearing for decades and then returning in the middle of the night to carry out a raid on a dark elf prison was not out of the ordinary for her.

He had heard the rumours of course, from some of the foreign guards around the castle as they sat around campfires and got themselves drunk. Azrael, they called her, a name that had been reserved for the god of death in their culture, a name she had taken on herself. He had asked her about her real name once before and she had replied that it had been too long ago for her to remember.

One thing she remembered though was Malaki. Raphael had never met the other elf, only heard tales of the crimes that had gotten him locked away. It was odd to imagine the pair having been friends or even partners before. Whereas Azrael was calm and composed, Malaki was said to be unstable and spontaneous. Both were powerful, but while her power was clean and efficient, his was destructive and turbulent. She killed with grace, he murdered with brutality. In all honesty, Raphael thought the world was better off with such a malevolent being locked away to never see the light of day again. Azrael however, was determined to free him, despite the knowledge that elven prisons were impregnable strongholds.

"You sure about this Az," Raphael said, using the name he'd coined from her usual one, "for all he has done, don't you think Malaki should be kept away from everyone else for a while?"

Raphael was close enough to notice the momentary shift in Azrael's ocean-blue eye, a coldness that came and was gone so fast he thought he had imagined it.

"He wasn't always that way," she replied with a faraway look. "There was a time when he cared."

"From what I hear, I find that hard to believe," said Raphael.

"We weren't always warriors, me and him." Azrael held up her palms as she spoke, looking down at them as though there was something there that only she could see. "A time when people saw us as something else- two young Architects who yearned to find a cure to the Scourge and didn't let anything stand in the way of that."

"Ah yes," Raphael laughed, but without mirth. "The acts that made your reputation so much renown."

"Yes. And as our ambition grew, so did our achievements, and so did our enemies," Azrael continued. "It didn't take long for peace to become something of the past for us."

"I've heard the story," Raphael interjected. "Thousands were killed. But death and war have never been a problem for the pair of you, has it?"

"Our bodies may be considered immortal but our minds aren't, Raphael," Azrael said. "Malaki had it the worst. When he realized he couldn't protect everyone, suddenly there was no point in gaining knowledge. So, he went out to look for something to fill that void. But no matter how many he killed; more enemies would come the following day. He lost sense of time and space, unable to remember things that had happened or even where he was. He remained that way for decades, maybe centuries-always fighting, always alone."

Raphael faced Azrael, his mouth slightly open in shock. "Is that why you're saving him? You feel guilty for leaving him alone?"

Azrael sounded almost tired when she replied. "I came because I heard he was in trouble. Despite all he has been through, I know he would do the same for me. He would hunt down the people that captured me. He would tear apart the world just for me."

"So why did you bring me here?" Raphael asked, stepping closer to Azrael. "To tell me stories of kindness about someone who has killed hundreds of my people?"

"I brought you here to ask you to stay out of it. I'll help you get into the prison, and then I'm freeing him and leaving."

"That wasn't the agreement," Raphael insisted. In all his time with her, he had never seen Azrael angry. Even when his people hurled and spats insults at her openly, she had always kept her composure. He knew that she had a limit, and pushing it might be the last thing he ever did.

"I was quite content with letting him stay captive with you for a while," Azrael said, quietly now. "But I think he's suffered enough. I'll free Malaki, even if it means burning down this entire prison to get him."

A night breeze passed through, carrying with it the scent of the nearby rose fields. Malaki being free would pose a considerable threat to everyone. Raphael could see that this was a foolish decision and that he would probably come to regret it, but Azrael clearly could not be convinced otherwise. But if there was one person that he could trust to handle such a sensitive person, it was her. There was bias, but perhaps some logic too.

Keeping Malaki tied up would have inevitably brought his enemies to whatever place he was, which would have created more issues for his captors. Raphael himself had only proceeded to plan an invasion when he heard of who they might have had in their possession. Freeing Malaki would divert all attention away from the other prisoners who would disappear in the breakout, including someone very dear to him.

"Fine then," Raphael finally spoke, for there was no alternative. "What will you have me do?"

"Keep the Spiders contained," Azrael said. "More will come. The air reeks of death here. You'll need to be ready."

"I have an army," Raphael told her. "It's you that I'm worried about."

"I'll take Veraxes with me," Azrael assured him. "Don't wait for me. Return to the castle as soon as the day breaks."

"The others will," Raphael insisted. "I'll wait for you. Here."

Azrael looked at him for a few seconds without saying a word.

"Suit yourself."