Who knew one terrible mistake could trigger a war so quickly. It hadn't even been a few months, and news of the Kinsmen of the Dark gaining grounds constantly reached their ears. Every able body was requested by the Council of Thirds to join the fro...
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Nagan stood in a quiet tent, shuffling his things into a saddle bag that would later be connected to Ravi's saddle. It proved to be a bit of a challenge, the formal, restrictive clothing he normally dreaded fastening snuggly around his chest.
He wore a newly whitened button-up, one with subtle details embroidered in white thread, a deep purple sash wrapped around his waist to represent his name, polished black boots, and midnight purple trousers Aunt Cilara managed to send in time. Nagan didn't know how she got a color so rich commissioned within a week—it must have cost a fortune—but when he asked about it, he only got a short letter in reply: "You never ask for anything, so you will accept what I give you." Over it all, he wore his Dragonmage cloak. But this time, he didn't complain. He didn't dress up for Turn of the Year's Eve; not this time.
Today was the day of the memorial.
If anyone noticed the two gold rings—one with a red gem and the other with a blue one—attached to Nagan, Az, Milora, and Aitor's helixes, no one mentioned it. The commission arrived a little late, but that didn't matter in the end. All that night they talked around the fire, reminiscing the stories of their fallen friends as Nagan skillfully worked, piercing each of their ears.
Nagan didn't turn around when he heard someone enter the tent, assuming it was one of the others, but it was when the footsteps stopped directly behind him did the hair on the back of his neck rise. He pivoted around in an instant, startled when he didn't recognize who it was, reaching for his sword, but his surprise quickly turned to confusion.
"...Lieutenant Qentor?"
Qentor inclined his head in confirmation, light brown strands of hair momentarily falling over blue eyes. Without a word, he held out his arms, and it was at that moment that Nagan noticed the Lieutenant was carrying something. Black fabric was neatly folded in his arm, and something shimmered every now and again when it caught the light just right. But that wasn't what caught Nagan off guard the most, and he froze when he realized what he was looking at.
It was Professor Fai's sword with his Dragonmage cloak wrapped around it.
Qentor lifted his arms a bit more as if beckoning Nagan to take it.
"Is that..." Nagan breathed. "Are you giving this to me?"
Qentor nodded.
"Why?"
Qentor didn't respond, instead continuing to stand silently. Not knowing what else to do, Nagan carefully took the bundle from Qentor. For a moment, he only stood and stared down at the sword, committing each detail to memory. He had always admired it from afar. The only times he was ever close to it was when he sparred with the professor, but with it in his arms, he could see it really was a specially crafted sword. From the intricate engravings of a plum tree across the hilt and base of the sword to the little red gems representing the blossoms. He could feel the hum of enchantments surrounding the blade, even through the cloak.
