The darkness turned to naught as sunlight shining almost blinding seeped into peering eyes; a voice... a stranger's voice erupted. The words spoken rang aloud, "I'm glad to see you're finally awake," they heard.

  Bit by bit, the lady sat upright upon the warm hay-bed, finding herself awake in a foreign place accompanied by a foreign face, where, sitting on a stool in the corner of this dilapidated space, a well kempt young man loomed, polishing a kettle-helm by the open window. Their eyes entwined, bluish pupils staring in return towards slit golden eyes.

  The lad saw the lady was calm, in-fact, a bit too calm for his liking. Meanwhile, the lady saw the man was indifferent, bearing the blankest of expression. Beyond that? There wasn't really anything extraordinary about him– other than he was dressed quite mercenary, modestly armored with a sword holstered on his belt seemingly ready for battle.

  "Pardon, but do you mind telling me where I am?" The lady asked with a polite smile. The question feeling less like a question and more so a command.

  The lad glanced his hand, sweat was forming on his fingertips. There was always this feeling of anxiousness as he watched over the slumbering lady.

  But now under her scrutiny? That feeling was amplified.

  As she rose.

  As she spoke.

  As she breathe.

  The unmistakable sensation of dread suffocated him with growing intensity.

  It's not methaporical, it's literal.

  He found it difficult to breath like an invisible noose was strung around his neck gnawing ever more tight. This wasn't exactly normal and it quickly dawned on him he was put into a life and death situation. He knew not what she was, he knew not what she's capable of, the only thing he's certain was that she needed to be appeased.

  He swatted away the sweat off his hand, and continued polishing, pretending everything is absolutely fine. "Ardeth, you're currently in the Kobodi Territories," the lad spoke — a polite reply to the polite lady.

  She thought of his words for a good minute and concluded, "In retrospect that wasn't much help, I'm not really familliar with either these names."

  She's ancient, the lad kept a mental note of that. But how old? That, he wanted to know, and so, just as she asked, so too did the man.

  "Symo-Kobodi, Point Symo, Dragons Maw, what about these names? Does any of them ring a bell?" He asked.

  "Dragons maw, that, I'm familliar. The rest? Not so much."

  "This place hasn't been called that for nearly a century, were you aware?

  "I am now," is all she said.

  The conversation fizzled down, and to the ranger who kept sentry that was not ideal. Keep stalling... Keep stalling... Keep stalling... Those words riddled the ranger's mind.

  He wasn't really a fan of small talk, but desperate time call for the desperate measure, and he was in-fact desperate to distract his guest for at-least till the captain returns.

  "Lovely day we're having, eh?" He decided to say– His aptitude or lack there-of conversing in full display.

  Yep, I'm gonna die. He thought to himself.

  Contrary to his expectations, however, the lady turned to look out the window wanting to check whether it was true. There the lady saw a plethora of scenes, from distant valleys that twist and turn in-between bellowing mountains that pierced the heavens. To the larks soaring high in the sky seemingly dancing with eachother. To the men that stood atop crumbling walls and deep in olden ruins, singing along as they build. Her eyes glowed as she immersed herself in the vivid colors, smiling soon-after less in the polite sense and more so in the genuine sense.

  "Yes, indeed you're right, it is lovely."

  That worked? I'm not complaining, but how? The lad was flabbergasted.

  His surprise wouldn't last for long, however, as he soon had to take care the needs of his guest.

  The lady's belly grumbled, demanding for attention. She shifted her sight towards the source and frowned, "My apologies, it's been awhile since I last ate."

  "That's quite alright. I've had a feeling this would happen," the lad gestured at the food beside her bed which the lady only now noticed.

  The lady glanced at what was given—some pieces of bread and a warm hefty bowl of tomato soup.

  It looks good...

  It smells good...

  And so gladly she devoured the simple meal lying atop the end-table, ravishing and savouring the spices and crunchiness with every bite, table etiquette be damned, she was chowing down like a starving mongrel, stuffing her cheeks like a squirrel.

  The man, meanwhile, daring not intrude on her blissful feast continued polishing his piece in silence, at-least, that's what it seemed. He snuck a glance at the room's entrance where shadows danced underneath; the men he stationed outside was still waiting for him, and he was glad for it.

  "Oh, oh, ooh!" The lady swept away her tears. "It's terrific!" From her mouth came forth two words of gratitude, "Give my compliments to the chef, they did splendid work especially with the soup," the lady applauded, pointing to empty bowl on their lap with delight.

  "I made it myself, but credit belongs to my mum it's her recipe after all."

  "Really? Well, if you get the chance, do tell it was terrific!"

  "That won't be possible."

  "Pardon?"

  "She's dead."

  The lady blinked. "Ah... "

  There was a brief period of awkward silence after that exchange—one eventually broken by a following question. "May I have your name?" She asked, hoping to change the subject.

  The lad contemplated, but eventually obliged, "Able, my name is Able," he answered.

  "Any last name?"

  He shook his head for he was given none.

  "Well, Abel, it's a pleasure to meet you, I'm Rosalin, Rosalin Demollisio, but, Please, call me Rose, I prefer if you did," she extended an open palm, beckoning his patron to shake.

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  Able stared at the hand. To play along or risk their ire? That is the question that laid before him.

  "Something the matter?" The lady asked, tilting her head.

  "No, none at all," Able lied.

  The lad stood up having made his choice. He would bear the risk and placate his guest.

  He donned his kettle-helm as he walked, and quite appropriately so because for all he knew he was heading right into his enemy's hand. Each step felt heavy as he approached, a moment of hesitation transpired as he stood nearby, but eventually he did accept.

  It's warm, that was the first thing coming to mind as the lad took her hand, and suspiciously so as it was a stark contrast to the surrounding condition. He was pretty sure the blanket he gave was just 'good enough' in that you won't lose a finger from frostbite, but it really won't keep your body THAT warm.

  "It's a pleasure to meet you too, Miss Rose."

  That was it, I've done it. Now, please, let it be just that and leave me alone, he had hope. Having finished the deed, Able pulled his hand away, but soon encountered a problem.

  The lady wouldn't let go his hand, in-fact, tightened her hold to keep him restrain, causing him to wince in pain.

  "Tell me—"

  The lady rose from her beddings, and the aura of foreboding doom grew even more suffocating.

  "It's true isn't it—"

  The blade, Able reached for his blade, but before he could...

  Those dreaded words came forth her lips.

  "You're dying aren't you?"

  Of all the things to possibly come out her mouth this was definitely the last thing he expected. How did she now? His thoughts turn muddled.

  "I'm not sure I understan–"

  "These eyes don't lie, I can see your demise– you're alone in a storage room withering away, sipping your very first and last liqour, I see it, a letter atop the box you're leaning on, there's a letter and written on the envelope a name, Pilaf Pyrrhic."

  Rose waited, waited for a confirmation.

  The lad slipped his hand into his pockets, and there it was, the letter she foresaw.

  He stared at the letter with a face unfazed.

  "Three months, they tolde me I had three months left. I was hoping it won't be the case, frankly, I could've live without knowing that."

  He pocketed the letter back.

  "Splendid, splendid!" Able frowed at the red-head, "For me NOT for you!" She swiftly added to refute any misunderstanding.

  "What is it that you want?" He stared tranfixed once more toward those golden eyes, "I doubt you'd put a spotlight on my morality without a good reason."

  The lady released her clutch, a gesture of goodwill and a mark of warning — Able looked at his hand, finding it was blasted red. If he didn't knew she was dangerous before, he certainly knew it now.

  She clapped, delivering congratulations for a correct assumption as well. Truth be told, Able didn't really appreciate it much.

  "I'll cut to the chase, as much as my adorable youthful figure might suggest... I'm old, ancient even, and because of my age, I have the wisdom to know that I don't know shit. I need a guide, someone accustomed to this day and age, and preferably someone I have a hook on to not betray me, because, frankly, kid, I've got issues, mountains of issues, especially trust issues, thankfully, it also happens you're here!" She wrapped and arm around Able's shoulders and playfully poke his cheek, a playful act at first glance until you realize she has the strength to tear his face off and is effectively holding him in one place, "Here's a fun piece of trivia, I've died before, my original body's gone yet I'm still here, my mind in this copy of mine," she pointed at herself, "You're a smart kid, I think you can understand the rest," once more an open palm laid before him, and once more he must make a choice, "Take my hand, there's no need to hesitate, I know full well you're afraid of your fate," Lady Rose sang a rhyme, before bringing her lips close to his ear, she knows his secret, "There's one little thing I refrained to say, I've seen it, in your final moment as you die alone, I see you sobbing. It's a pitiable cry. If that's not the sight of someone who doesn't want to die, then tell what is?" She softly whispered. It's the whisper of the devil.

  She closed her eyes, and as expected, the deal was taken, she could feel the sensation of another's hand looming over her's without needing to see.

  "Don't make me regret this."

  "You won't."

  The lady opened her eyes and to the man's surprise those golden eyes of hers turned a deep scarlet color; a terribly wicked smile taking shape on her face, the sort of smile belonging to someone gushing to make trouble. "Those people outside, do you mind if they die?"

  "I don't mind at all," Able said matter-of-fact. He no longer needs to care. He's a turncoat — someone subjected to be executed in accordance to the law of the land. They are nothing but enemies.

  "Then, make space, I can't gurantee you won't be caught in what comes next."

  He listened to her request, taking seven steps back after leaving her grasp.

  Flames soon lick upon Rose's fingertips, she points at the door with her index and middle.

  No dramatics.

  Nothing convulated.

  Just pure evisceration.

  In a blink, those flames spat out her hand in a cone, consuming everything along its' path till nothing remained but ash, the door was gone and so were those beyond, the only evidence they were ever there being a half melted kettle-helm lying on the ground.

  There were no screams, the only sounds around were of burning cinders.

  The issue dealt with, she looked back to her trusty companion. "Lead the way, please," she spoke with glee.