Humming a old folk’s tune to himself, Emerald slowly swept the floor of his master’s bedroom. Dropping the broom onto the floor, his eyes drifted towards Siccan’s prized oakwood chest. Oakwood was hard to come by these days, and it was worth an arm and a leg. Emerald has always admired his master’s valuables, especially the oakwood chest that Siccan had claimed to purchase on a visit to another town three decades ago.

Walking out of Siccan’s room and onto the stairs, Emerald made sure that no one else was in the pub.  Then, Emerald opened the chest. Picking the rusty old lock, bronze powder flew into the air, and around his room. To Emerald’s surprise, when he opened his master’s chest a musty smell came out. The smell was quite peculiar, and Emerald swore that he had smelt it before, but he wasn’t quite able to put his finger on what it was. Shocked, Emerald took a few steps backwards and fell onto the bed. Quickly, Emerald stood up, not wanting to leave any trace of his ‘visit’ to Siccan’s room. Curious, Emerald stuck his head into the chest, wanting to find out what had caused that smell. 

Inside, Emerald found what he believed were traces of what once was a piece of a Wraith. As Emerald dug deeper, his suspicions grew. Worry creased all across his face, and to himself, he muttered, “Scythe, what are you planning?”

The sound of laboured breathing fills the eerily dark woods. It was midnight, and Siccan was running for his life. Sweat trickled down his face, and with his battered white tee he nonchalantly smeared the sweat all over his face, causing even more irritation. 

The ground rumbled, and the sound of a stampede came closer and closer. It was a pack of six wraiths, and with each step that they took. They shook the trees and Siccan down to his core. 

With one hand, Siccan held up the piece of the dead Wraith, and with the other, he held a dim torch up in the air. On his back was a fresh leather satchel, and inside was a gold sword, the exact same one that he had purchased earlier at the blacksmith today. 

“Shoot!” Siccan spun around, and he abruptly stopped. Brandishing his gold sword, he got ready to fight the horde of demons. Siccan leapt into the air and locked eyes with the Wraiths.  Pieces of soil flew up into the air, and even the tree leaves stilled, as if they were able to sense the tension in the air. Yelling, Siccan charged towards them. He viciously swung the sword, smoothly slicing through the hard outer shell of the Wraiths. In response, the large horde of Wraiths retaliated. Growling savagely, spit flew everywhere, and they proceeded to attack Sicscan. Even though Siccan was making quick work of the Wraiths, there were just too many of them. Slowly, they began to take advantage of the one-man army,  and damage was sustained on Siccan’s body. His clothes were ripped up, and deep gashes had been scratched all over his body. Knowing that it was a losing fight, Siccan began his retreat.

Blood sprayed out of his mouth, and clots dropped out of his mouth painfully. Siccan bore the pain, and he began to sprint back to town, each step jostling his wounds and inflicting tremendous amounts of pain onto his body. 

Groaning and moaning, Siccan finally made it back to the Flint and Steel. With a stroke of luck, he had lost the Wraiths on his way back.

As Siccan entered the pub, he was greeted by an unfamiliar face. He tried to speak, but blood just came dripping out of his mouth. Siccan staggered, annd gripped a nearby table weakly. 

Seeing his master in such critical condition, Emerald immediately rushed forwards and took hold of Siccan. Worry creased all over the young apprentice's face as he took Siccan upstairs to his room. Carefully, Emerald poured disinfectant all over Siccan’s wounds, and a loud groan of pain was let loose. Methodically, Emerald began to stitch, and cure Siccan with efficiency and precision. “It seems as if I have taught you well,” Siccan joked. Emerald shushed him and told him to rest. After his master had fallen asleep, Emerald continued to stand by his door, watching over his master, obviously worried.

Downstairs, the unknown man walked behind the bartop and decided to fix himself to a vodka tonic. He admired their cast array of liquours, and he even longingly swept his hand across a few. 

Eventually, the unknown man found himself a bedroom, and retired for what was a few hours left of the night.

It was late afternoon when the three gentlemen finally woke up. As Sican slowly walked down the long flight of stairs, the unknown man greeted him, slurping on another vodka tonic that he had once again helped himself to. “Gatekeeper,” the man introduced himself as. Siccan froze in his tracks. “The gatekeeper?” he questioned. “The one and only,” the Gatekeeper smirked arrogantly. Starstruck, Siccan ushered them to a nearby table.

As they sat down, Siccan said, “I don’t believe that we’ve formally met yet.  I’m Siccan, Gatekeeper, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Ah, Siccan.  Or should I call you Scythe?!” the gatekeeper asked innocently, attempting to hide a smile.  “Who, what, how???” Siccan finally managed to say.

After a long conversation, Siccan was obviously beat.  “Yes, I’m Scythe,” he admitted. “Master…” Emerald said from the shadows, not wanting to interfere. “Emerald, it’s fine.  It’s time someone knows anyway. I’m done living a lie,” Siccan proclaimed firmly. “Ah, Scythe. Sythe the wise, Sythe the talented, Scythe the Killer of the King,” the Gatekeeper announced victoriously.  Then, he proceeded to raise his hand and perform a series of complicated gestures. “Are you flipping me off?” Scythe asked. “I’d only wish,” the Gatekeeper replied smugly.

A split second later, the doors of the pub crashed open and waves of the King’s guards came pouring in.  They stood in an orderly formation, waiting for the next order from the Gatekeeper. “Surprise,” he said, and the wave of guards came rushing at the Scythe.

Even though Scythe is one of, if not the most experienced and talented fighters, he cannot battle off a whole army guards, especially with the injuries that he has just sustained.  Scythe flipped the tables and began to run backwards, only for the back door to be locked. “Only way out is through them, I guess,” Scythe said confidently. He charged at them, ready for the most intense battle of his life.  Even with abilities like Siccan’s, one is still unable to beat this large of an army. Granting Scythe knocked down countless guards, and he began to look for Emerald. Scythe cried out his name a few times, only to receive no response.  “Damn,” he muttered.

After a gruelling struggle, it was finally a hard punch to the ribs that took Scythe down.  As the fist flew into Scythe’s rib cage, his bones shattered, and he crumpled on to the floor like a sack.  The guards dragged Scythe’s lifeless body away, unaware of the gathering townsfolk who had come to see what all the commotion was about.

Deep in the woods, the same place that Scythe had lost to the horde of wraiths the night before, Emerald ran, tears streaming down his face. He threw down an earpiece, and it crackled as it hit the ground, hard. Emerald ran on, racking silent long waves of sobs

From the earpiece that Emerald had thrown away, a distant voice said, “Emerald, you can come back now. We have Scythe secured, thank you…” following, a long line of static trailed.