Omar at times questioned his actions. He usually regretted them and pondered intently on why he had in fact chosen to do such a crazy, ridiculous thing. He was an impulsive thinker, and he didn't think that his actions might not be helpful to living a long life until he was already doing said action.

The first time he had experienced this was when he was twenty, and one of his friends had talked to him about signing up for a small fight club in the city slums. He had been very excited for it. But that was until he saw that the man he supposed to fight was about three feet taller than him, had biceps the size of his entire head, and looked to be very angry.

Suffice to say, that was the last time Omar ever did something like that.

At the moment, the Highlander was walking silently down his hallway, heading for the stairs with his head hung low and his eyes still heavy with sleep. He had decided the previous night that he was going to prepare a big breakfast for his guests for their departure, but was vehemently cursing himself as he walked for deciding to do such a thing.

The hallway was freezing, and the sun was still two hours off from being even remotely close to rising into the sky. In Omar's opinion, being up in such conditions would surely lead to an early death, which is the opposite of what he wanted, and he was therefore questioning why the hell he was doing it.

Because I'm supposed to be a good friend, and make sure they don't wander off under the cover the darkness like they normally do, he said to himself. He rolled his eyes and shook his head. I sound like Isendir, for Ophian's sake. He began his descent down the stairs, praying to an absent god that he wouldn't miss a step in the darkness and fall and break his neck.

The events of yesterday had given him an absolutely horrid migraine. After Lorthrendel had collapsed, chaos erupted immediately afterwards. The fae's comatose body was swiftly carried out of the room, but it only got worse from there. It got so bad at one point that the knights and Sylvari soldiers walked out, only to return armed to the teeth. The atmosphere became so thick and tense that it was a wonder a fight did not break out.

Then, in the heat of it, Isendir had jumped to his feet and somehow managed to project his voice over the shouting. Omar smiled at the memory of what his friend had said.

"My lords and ladies, with your permission, I will undertake this journey," Isendir told them. The crowd gazed at him with wide eyes, suddenly falling silent. "I have seen these dragons before at Iksyn, and I know the land up there quite well. I think it would be best if I was the one to go. If you trust me," he added with a slight bow.

Ragnus looked sharply up at him. His nose twitched, his eyes narrowing. Then, with a loud sigh and a shake of his head, he put his hands on his knees and stood up. "Aye, make that two. If he goes, I'm going with the bastard."

"Three." Varenyl quickly stood up as well. He swallowed. "I-I will go with them. I was...at Lyrenbel when it was destroyed," he murmured. He dared not look at the Sylvari.

"If Lorthrendel survives, and he is in good health, he will also be joining you," Amnestria said after a slight pause. She sat stiffly in her chair, her back rigid and her hands in her lap. "As much as I hate to publicly admit it, he is very good at what he does, possibly even the best. His help would be invaluable. But...that is if he isn't dead. Which is a very...big possibility." She coughed and fell into a sudden silence, her gaze downcast.

"Bah!" Drenmyr of the dwarves jabbed a finger at the Eastern Fae. "Mark my words, lads and lasses, all this talk of the end times ain't true. Not a word of it. It's all an act, put on by these tattooed bastards." Him and his kinsmen abruptly stood up and stomped out. The doors slammed shut behind them, and that was the last they saw of the Vilwuhr Dwarves.

"Such brave souls," Sebastien said after a moment. "It's admirable. But brave men are forever doomed to throwing their lives away, trying to jump over an impassable chasm."

Omar wasn't too overjoyed with the High King of the Sylvari's remark, but he said nothing about it. Old men had a tendency to say odd things, and even by elven standards, Sebastien was ancient.

Omar heaved a deep sigh when he made it to his kitchen. He leaned against the wall in the dark for a few moments with his hand on his forehead, preparing himself. Then, with another sigh, he made his way through the dark and lit a candle, managing to only jam his foot into the table once.

It was then that he finally realized that he was not alone.

"Gods man, what the hell are you doing down here?" Omar backed up into the counter. He breathed deeply through his nose to try and slow his heart's sudden jump in speed.

Varenyl gazed at him from where he sat at the table, squinting in the sudden light. He yawned and returned his gaze to the floor. "You know, Highlander, you're not the quietest person to ever walk the planet. Perhaps a candle you could bring down with you could help?"

Omar glared at the elf. "You-"

"My apologies. I couldn't sleep again, so I went ahead, got my things together, and came down here," the Sylvari replied with another yawn that he failed to hold in. He rested the side of his head on his hand. "I was trained to be able to survive on only a few hours of rest every two days, and yet I am beginning to wonder if I can keep going on like this." He groaned and covered his face with his hands. "I can't shut my eyes for thirty minutes without waking from some horrid nightmare."

"It sounds like they trained you people on thorns and nails, for Ophian's sake," Omar muttered with a small whistle in between his teeth and a slight shake of his head. "I bet that fancy fae with the long red hair could cast a spell on you that lets you sleep peacefully. He should really start thinking about getting a trim, though...."

Varenyl snorted. "Omar, my dear man, I would sooner hang by my ears than let that arrogant bastard cast anything on me." He dismissed the whole thing with a wave of his hand and quickly changed the subject. "And may I ask what you are doing down so early?"

"Well," Omar began, turning around and lighting a fire in the cooking spit, "I am being a good person and making you all a meal before you leave." He put a pot above the fire.  "So what do you think of all this? The 'end days', huh?"

"To be perfectly honest, Omar, I really couldn't care less if this world was saved or not." Varenyl's finger traced an oval shaped mark in the polished woodwork of the table. "There is no longer anything for me here. I am only going in the first place to find and kill the dragon that slaughtered my wife and daughter, nothing more, nothing less."

Omar's brows raised as he sprinkled some kind of seasoning into the pot. He wanted to reply, but didn't know what an appropriate response to that was.

"There is no way we can actually succeed," Varenyl continued, leaning back in his chair. "We don't even know what we have to do to even get close to succeeding. They said the answer would come to us along the way, but I have my doubts about that statement."

"Personally, I'd like to live until I am at least seventy, so I kind of have to remain hopeful," Omar muttered as he vigorously stirred his pot. "The Council put so little thought into deciding whether or not to rest their lives on your shoulders because they do not really want to think about all this. In truth, they are sweeping all this under the rug with your departure. Out of sight, out of mind. They were just happy that someone volunteered."

"So they are sending us to our deaths without a second thought." Varenyl chuckled and crossed his legs. "I expected nothing less."

"You would have reacted the same way, Varenyl," Isendir suddenly interjected as he entered the kitchen. He laid two sacks on the ground and looked at Omar. "I thought I heard you get up."

Omar sighed and shook his head. "Yes yes, I  get it, I'm not a nimble minx." He frowned, somewhat hurt. "I wasn't expecting you to be up so early. I'm making you three a warm meal before you leave. It's almost done, so sit down and get comfortable."

"Omar, I thought I told you not to do anything," Isendir began, his hands raised.

"He's very proud of himself, Highlander." Varenyl took a sip of his drink. "Swallow your pride for one moment and let the poor man feed you."

"Thank you, Varenyl." Omar turned back around to gesture appreciatively at the elf before turning to Isendir with a questioning look in his eyes. "Where's the dwarf?" Just as he said that, loud and echoing footsteps were heard from the stairwell.

"I think that would be him," Isendir commented dryly.

A few moments later, Ragnus appeared, his helmet held underneath his arm and his wispy white hair held back in a tie. He coughed as he sat down beside Isendir.

"I brought your stuff down for you," Isendir told him with a nod towards the two sacks on the floor. The dwarf's axe leaned against the wall beside them.

"Aye, thanks lad." Ragnus sniffed the air. "What's that smell?"

"Omar is making us a meal before we leave," Isendir replied, crossing his arms over his chest. "Thank you, by the way," he added with a slight bow of his head directed at Omar.

Omar began pouring the soup into some wooden bowls and grabbing some spoons. "Don't mention it, friend." He sat a bowl down in front of each of them. "Take your time. We don't have to be there until dawn."

"They're seeing us off?" Ragnus's eyes narrowed.

"Surprising." Varenyl absently stirred the soup with his spoon. "I need to speak with someone before hand, so I may leave a bit early."

"Alright." Omar gazed at Isendir. "So you're leaving me again, huh? Take care of him, Ragnus. He has a knack for getting into trouble."

"Aye lad." Ragnus grinned and nudged Isendir. "That I can do."

~-~-~

The sunrise on the morning they left was absolutely stunning. Pink streaked across the cloudless, baby blue sky, with a hint of purple and orange accenting it. A gentle wind blew, harolding winter on its cold breath. The champions stood at the city gates, surrounded by the rulers of Almora and hundreds of city residents who had no idea of what was going on and were trying to see what was happening. They squinted in the bright light of the morning sun.

The group was an odd sight; an Eastern Fae that towered over all of them, a dwarf that was reaching his golden years, a Sylvari who held his head low, and a Highlander who looked very much like an outlaw. Yet the rulers all treated them with a very large amount of respect, which baffled the gawking crowd and sent whispers running through their numbers.

They instantly hushed when King Louis Whitecomb spoke.

"Ragnus Frostjaw, son of Hroaryn, Varenyl Jorona, son of Slavyn, Isendir Shatterstorm, son of Isrealdir, and..." he coughed, flushing with slight embarrassment as he read the next name. He cast an apologetic glance at Lorthrendel. "Lorthrendel of the Eastlands. May the gods, however absent they may be, bless you on your journey to Tribesmen's Bay and guard your backs. Unfortunately, as this came up way too quickly- which I believe is something we can all agree on-" he added with a glance at the other rulers, "we can provide only horses and goodwill."

"Which will be enough to keep us on our way, my lord," Isendir said with a slight bow. "Thank you."

"I-"

"Such brave men," Sebastien suddenly interjected with a smile. His voice had seemingly gotten weaker overnight, and was so soft it was hard to hear him. "The stage has been set, it seems, and whatever journey these strange times have created begins at last." His smile turned sad as he gazed at them. "Lorthrendel. You are, technically, the oldest of the group, my boy, yet mentally, you are still a man who entered manhood just a few years prior. Please...take care of yourself. It pains me to see the young suffer."

"Time means nothing to my people, sir. The lives of other races are like flickering candles to us," Lorthrendel returned, his voice sharp. His eyes softened and he let out a quiet breath. "But...thank you." He never once looked at Amnestria, who had her gaze glued upon him, sorrow and regret filled in her violet eyes. "You are very wise, High King Sebastien. I'd wish you a long life, but I supposed that would have already been fulfilled."

Sebastien chuckled. "Believe me, my boy, it definitely has. Though I fear that I can count the number of days I have left on Syrania on one hand, I pray to whatever god is listening that this has a good ending, and that all of you will make it back home unscathed."

"May we all see the end of this," Whitecomb mumbled as he shoved the paper he had been reading in his pocket. He sneezed. The iron portcullis guarding the city entrance raised up, leaving the way to the rest of the world open for the companions.

It wasn't a grand departure as some would expect it to be. The Council wanted to keep the ominous news away from the public, and this was their way of doing just that. When the group left, the portcullis lowered behind them, and the crowd that had came to watch slowly dissipated, deciding that it was nothing.

But they had no idea of the nightmare what was to come.

Or of the old friend that the companions would run into later that day...

***🐉***

This chapter is dedicated to Soaring_Fish, who is a friend of mine from school, and who recently discovered my account on here xD He is also an aspiring author, so please go show him some love.

I want to apologize for not updating last weekend xD I was doing some serious editing on the prologue and first chapter of this book, but specifically the prologue, as I almost rewrote it. I am also sorry for the long chapter. If you think I should cut it into two parts, please tell me ❤️

And finally, please tell me any criticism or suggestions you may have. I feel this chapter could use a lot of work, but I didn't know how to do that xD

Please vote if you enjoyed, and thank you so much for reading!

Until next time~