"There you go." Baird said with a kind smile. He laid a cup of steaming tea on the table Khemera sat at. He grabbed the blind man's hands and helped him find the mug's spacial relation to his seat before sighing and heading back to the kitchen. 

As Baird stood at the doorway, watching his redheaded wife cook, his mind wandered. Marrying Abigail had been the best decision of his life, the second being taking his former martial arts teacher, Khemera into their household shortly afterward and caring for him. And Antapeño wasn't a bad place to live, either. It left very little to be desired, with a high standard of living, complete freedom from Alcontean tyranny, and an intellectual populace that continually sharpened his mental faculties. His current environment was perfect for a writer such as himself. 

Baird glanced at his sword up on the mantle, the one with the lightning bolt engraved on the flat of the blade. He closed his eyes and bit back tears. Aaron had told him two years ago, whenever he laid eyes on that weapon, to remember him, his sister, and all their other companions on the expedition to empty the Iron Hallway. And that he did, daily. 

It pained Baird to see all the text messages pour in from Wendy, Aaron, and Keira. It pierced his heart like nails to leave each one of them on "read", never offering any reply. He cared for them all, loved them, even, but he now had a wife, and a blind old friend to look after. This was his burden to carry, now. This was his duty. 

Still, the nostalgia stung, and ignoring his friends was the only way to keep himself from making a rash decision to join their dangerous rebellion. Baird stalked off to his bedroom as the first tear slipped through his eyelids. Abigail doesn't need to be burdened with my double-mindedness. 

******************** 

Late that night, Baird tossed and turned. He'd only been able to sleep soundly for about an hour, but once he awoke the first time, he never fully returned to his slumbering state. He considered waking Abigail so he could have someone to talk to, but glancing at the clock and seeing that it was 3 a.m., he thought better of it. 

With a groan, he slipped out from under the covers and stepped across the room to the window. Sometimes, on restless nights like these, the moonlight strangely mellowed him and allowed him to return to sleep. 

But ten minutes later, his mind only raced faster, and beautiful as the starry nighttime sky had been to stare at, it hadn't eased him in the slightest. With a sigh, he slipped out of the bedroom, shut the door gently, and headed down to the basement. It was time to try the punching bag. 

After cranking out a couple dozen pushups, Baird leapt to his feet and threw a flurry of kicks and punches at the hanging bag. Sometimes, he could only resolve his mental agitation with a manifestation of that disquietude in the physical realm. The bag served quite nicely for that purpose as his incessant attacks on it continued. 

A few minutes later, the basement door creaked open, and Baird turned to see who had arrived. Sure enough, Abigail stood in the doorway and eyed him curiously. 

"You can't sleep." she stated, rather than asked. 

Baird gravely nodded. "You know me all too well." 

Abigail stepped closer and laid a hand on her husband's shoulder. She gazed deep into his eyes. "Do you wanna talk about it?" 

Baird closed his eyes and shook his head. "You need to sleep." 

"So do you, but here we are. Asleep or awake, I wanna be together with you in it." 

Baird gave his wife a burdened smile. "Thank you." 

She nodded. "So, what's up?" 

"Just...my friends. I miss them." he admitted with a sigh. 

Abigail injected sympathy into her gaze and kissed Baird's cheek. "I understand." she replied softly. 

"I don't mean to insult you, darling. You should be sufficient for me. You're my everything. But at the same—" 

Abigail put a finger to his lips and smiled kindly. "I'm not offended. You have a big heart, and that's a beautiful thing. I don't expect to be the only person you care about. That's just ridiculous." 

Baird nodded. "I just...killing the Alcontean Emperor is contemptible enough of me, as it is. If it weren't for Antapeño's hatred for them, they would've handed me over already. But much as I want to reach out to them, and help them, I don't need to dirty my hands still farther, for your sake." 

Abigail shook her head. "Don't worry about me, Baird. You're the most selfless man I know, and I think it's my turn to sacrifice something for once." 

"No." Baird said, wiping his eyes. "It's my turn to stop being a crybaby." 

"Don't say that. Men have as much a right to express their emotions as—" 

"We have good living and a peaceful home, Abigail. I am a crybaby to fail to see that, and appreciate it." 

Abigail slipped her fingers into Baird's and looked up at him softly. "Your feelings are understandable, Baird. You shouldn't be ashamed of missing those who mean a lot to you. If I don't think any less of you for it, why should you?" 

With a deep breath, Baird nodded. "I guess you're right. God outdid himself in giving you to me for a wife." he remarked with a slowly growing grin. 

Abigail giggled as her husband swept her off her feet and carried her back up to their bedroom in his strong arms. 

******************** 

The next morning, Aaron stood with Keira and Wendy and waited outside the walls of the rebel base. The inventor's eyes scanned the thick jungle for a sight of Princess Chariya. Any time now. 

Sure enough, the petite Kemarian princess trudged through the thick mud and sludge of the swamp, a small force of unmarked soldiers trailing behind her. Aaron raised an eyebrow at their dwindling numbers, but stepped closer to her and bowed nonetheless. 

"Greetings, your highness." he greeted her with his signature grin. 

Chariya met his gaze and mustered a diplomatic smile. "Greetings, Aaron." 

Aaron tightened his lips. He'd tried to restrain himself, but he just couldn't help but ask the obvious question weighing on his mind. "What...happened, to all your men?" 

The princess sighed. "Our camp was attacked last night. The Alconteans are increasingly active." 

"They are. And we've got something more to show you." Aaron remarked. 

"It isn't about the assault assailed against this base in my absence, is it?" Chariya asked, her voice dripping with worry. 

"It is, actually. We drove them off, but they left one of their mightiest warriors behind in the swamp. You ever heard of the Alcontean pantheon?" 

"Of course." 

"Well, Hannah and Keira stumbled across Falcon, their god of vision and something else, stuck in the mud." 

"Vision and perception." Chariya clarified, "But their sacred texts state that the gods left mankind long ago." 

Wendy coughed. "There's also another bloody prophecy that says a mighty ruler of Alconte will bring them back." 

Aaron raised an eyebrow. "Emil hardly seems to be Alconte's strongest ruler." 

Chariya inhaled. "Is Falcon still inside?" 

"He is." Aaron affirmed, "But he's been tranquilized, so if you're thinking of questioning him, think again." 

"He should awake in an hour, I heard." Keira added. 

The princess nodded. "In that case, follow me. We must hold a meeting. There, I shall inform you of the status of the Alliance." 

With that, Chariya marched through the gates of the decrepit rebel base, followed by Aaron, Keira, Wendy, and all the soldiers. 

******************** 

Princess Chariya swung the wooden double doors open and found herself in the improvised briefing room. A ragtag group of individuals waited inside, people of all nationalities and walks of life. Some sat, but most stood, as chairs were an unessential commodity for the impoverished fighting force. 

The princess took her stand on a splintery wooden box and cleared her throat. "I am aware that you all have stations to return to, and tasks to resume, so I shall make this brief. But as you are aware, I have been away, discussing and negotiating with the other leaders of our Insurgent Alliance. And I regret to inform you, that the Alliance is dead." 

Gasps echoed through the chamber. Many men eyed one another in dismay. The very mood in the room drastically dropped, causing Chariya to close her eyes and bite her lip. Had it really been necessary to drop the morale so drastically? To speak so bluntly? 

"Would you care to elaborate on that?" Aaron asked. 

Chariya sighed. "To begin with, the leader of the Jasmidianite Insurgence and I disavowed all the others. Ferange's rebellion has descended into barbaric warfare, complete with disregard for civilian lives. Commercia's insurgent force is unwilling to make any meaningful sacrifices to obtain freedom, and Odego's shares their sentiment. They all had their shortcomings, and for that, we cast them out of the Alliance. They have all violated our code of conduct." 

"So...I reckon ya mean it's just Jasmidian and Kemaria, then?" Hannah asked thoughtfully. 

"No, not even Jasmidian is sure of us. We are still undergoing negotiations ourselves, but they are considering splitting our efforts, and working separately on our own nation's independence." 

Aaron frowned. "But with that mentality, our efforts are in vain! I thought we were in this together." 

A tear slid down Chariya's cheek. "Kemaria's forces are not mighty enough on their own to stand against the Alcontean Empire's might. As you all know, the Alliance's most reliable fortresses are all located in Jasmidian. Kemaria has scarcely two strongholds to speak of at all, and even one of those is still under construction." 

A bearded man stood up from his seat. "Not to darken the mood even more, your highness, but it's my duty to give you the casualty report from the recent Alcontean assault." 

The princess swallowed and nodded. "We must face reality, painful as it may be." 

The man coughed and wiped the corner of his eye with a finger. "168 dead, 184 wounded." he said, his voice cracking. 

Chariya gasped. "You don't mean to tell me..." 

"Yes ma'am. This stronghold only has about 150 left to defend it." 

The princess was tempted to fall on her knees and sob, offering anguished prayers to her god. But for her men's sake, for the 150 left, she had to stand strong. "This is a tragedy." she said, her voice wavering in uncertainty, "But we haven't come this far to relinquish our honor. We must fight on." 

Keira glared at the princess through her tears. "This is nothing but glorified suicide! You're telling me that we have to trek the hundreds of miles back to Kemaria, with that few men? We're gonna die!" 

"Less than that, actually." muttered one redheaded soldier, "Since the Jasmidianites 're separatin' from us, they're gonna have to leave our midst. Probably more like fifty of us 're gonna actually go." 

"No." Chariya declared. "We shall hold to this fortress. No matter who comes to drive us out, we shall keep it. Alcontean, Jasmidianite, petty raiders, we shall withstand them all. And in the meantime, we have no recourse but to seek foreign aid." 

"From who?" Keira questioned, "Only five countries remain outside the Alconteans' grasp!" 

"And those selfsame nations are among the mightiest this world knows. Perhaps a journey across the sea to Danlash would be worthwhile." 

Wendy snorted. "Think again, lassie. The Danlashian militia never leaves its borders. If it doesn't affect Danlash directly, it doesn't matter." 

Chariya narrowed her eyes. "Diplomacy is my specialty." 

"Oh no, we're a bloody stubborn bunch, us Danlashians. You may as well convince an Alcontean to give up his lustful midnight adventures, because that would be less futile." 

Aaron smirked. "Maybe if one of their own spoke to them about it, they'd reconsider it."

********************* 

A/N: And there we have chapter two! I really hope you enjoyed it, and if you did, please remember to vote and comment. 😁 

So, any thoughts on Baird? 

And how about the status of this Alliance? I know the news hit me like a dump truck writing it, so I kinda want to know what it was like on your end. 

As for our random question...last time, I asked you about reading preferences, so now, I'll flip the coin and ask about writing preferences. I mean, we all write, right? (I read that aloud and chuckled. I'm a lost cause.) But yeah, even if you're not an author, you write...grocery lists perhaps, journalling maybe, and *sigh* essays, more than likely. So anyway on to the actual question: 

Do you prefer writing on paper (or whatever physical writing material, ancient scrolls, stone, the walls, etc.) or do you like typing words up electronically more? 

(I'd have to go with typing, just because of its speed and alterability. I really do love physically writing too, especially at the beginning of a story when I wanna really start thoughtfully, because it slows the process down and makes me really have to think. Unfortunately, at some point, my mind outruns my hand, of course, and I begin losing ideas, so at that point, I'm forced to go to the computer.) 

Well, that's it for me for now. I hope you have a really awesome day, and do come back tomorrow for another update! See you then, I hope. 😁