....Raising the blade Hagran the forth roared,

"Feel honour for it is my sword,

That will declare you dead." Donatello the fallen, laughed, "There is no honour here, O warrior. There never is. It is not your sword that killed me. It is my own."....

Wilbur

The forest of Greenseed seemed like any other forest when Wilbur entered it. Chirping of the birds seemed omniscient while a random forest dweller would let our a roar. His previous experience had taught him otherwise. This automatically made his muscles tensed his movements cautious.

Priest Bill seemed to notice his still walk, "Relax Wilbur." He put a hand on his shoulder. "Sometimes it pays off when the teacher learns from the pupil", he pointed at Thralin walking a few paces ahead of them, his posture revealing he was comfortable; no signs of being on the alert, no thought for caution. Wilbur could easily read his mood from his posture after all those training sessions.

The priest was right. Being cautious would have the contrary effect. If he was to pass the test of the Gladivant he would have to be sure of himself, not of his surroundings. That would come later. He took a few deep breaths in and his shoulders relaxed.

Wilbur kept staring in the distance, at the path straight ahead. Was that sunlight reflecting off the leaves, or was it those green eyes? Although the air of the forest was cool, beads of sweat had started forming on his forehead. His eyes stayed affixed ahead.

Was it a figure he saw moving towards him? He blinked and it seemed to be a trick of the the light for a moment. He eventually saw a clear silhouette, much smaller than the trees surrounding it. Was it a child approaching?

A child lost so deep in the forest? Greenlits don't walk on two legs for the most part.

As the child came closer he could see his careless trot and a slight skip in the step. As soon as the face became clear, Wilbur froze in his tracks. The boy was around ten years of age, looking at him with a carefree smile and a shine in his eyes. He seemed to be ignoring Priest and Thralin completely as he came towards Wilbur.

"Let's play behind the barber's place, Wilbur!" the with the face of Finch Marias said. A volley of emotions flooded Wilbur. He felt like he was a ten year old boy himself, with no control over his body, stuck in his past self. "But we can't Finch! Remember how the gave you the black eye yesterday?"

Finch merely scoffed at it as he started walking towards the shop, "A man must take pride in his scars." Wilber sighed as he followed, "And whoever taught you that?"

A few moments passed and he found himself covering in a side alley watching from a distance as Finch got beat up again. "Why did he have to go", thought Wilbur to himself as tears streamed down his face and blurred his vision. The boys were older than him but not much taller; he was tall for his age.

He ran towards him as soon as the bullies had left the scene. Finch had passed out with another black eye. "Wake up Finch. Wake up!" he held his head in his arms watching for any signs of life to return to his eyes.

Little Wilbur kept shouting to no avail. Till little Wilbur was no longer little. This time Finch had passed out with more than a black eye. His face was deathly pale and limbs cold. But even in death Finch seemed to hold a slight smile. The scars had killed him.

A tear rolled down Wilbur's cheek as the vision slowly faded.

The priest noticed as he commented, "We can push through this we have to!" His motivating words had a hint of concern in them. "And we will," saying so, Wilbur stopped walking. Thralin and the priest followed his queue. He closed in eyes and took a few deep breaths in.

It is as Sir Triston said. The battle is not with the greenlits, it's against myself.

As he opened his eyes and realized it was indeed green eyes staring from the trees. He could hear a whisper here and a child like giggle there. Wilbur started walking again with a new resolve. The Priest smiled at him with assurance. Wilbur noticed the old man hadn't even broken a sweat yet, his breathing was steady. Thralin ahead seemed to be in a similar situation. His walking was steady and focused. He remembered how hot headed Thralin was when he first joined the order, all he wanted was vengeance. Time had taught him well and perhaps, he had too.

The boy has learned more than just alchemy.

Wilbur started feeling pride and a small smile passed across his face. It was the best he had felt since morning. In this regard, the student had already surpassed the teacher. Wilbur wondered if that meant he deserved a better teacher? Regardless he still had a lot to teach the boy.

It was then that he saw, the streak of red was tainting the white cloth on Thralin's back. "Thralin?" his voice was barely a whisper. His eyes widened as the red increased it's hold over the white and Thralin stopped moving. He fell face first with a thud as Wilbur rushed towards him. He turned him around and a saw an arrow had pierced his chest. Wilbur watched as color was draining from his eyes last few trails of consciousness leaving him. He was trying to speak, "You.." looking at Wilbur who was frantically trying to contain the chest wound. "You could've saved me," he spoke and Wilbur's vision started blurring. He had failed him. All around him people were running around in battle armour, smell of blood and noise over whelming his senses. He felt angry at his own incompetence. Eventually the only noise in his head was grief. The ground was forming shapes around him trying to engulf him in and Wilbur did not resist.

It is my fault.

Another arrow came whizzing past and opened the knife wound the Giant had inflicted. Warm blood trickled down his stomach and earth started taking over his legs and back. He closed his eyes and summoned his sword.

The archer will pay.

He blade seemed came to his aid and dissipated some of the dust with the sheer force of it's aura. Slowly rising pushing back the Earth, he swung a vengeful stride against the archer. His sword was glowing white and the battlefield around him had started disappearing. Despite this, he could still se the archer and he swung...

The blade was caught midway and the illusion broke. It took Wilbur a few moments to realized what had happened. His blade was dangerously close to Priest Bill's neck; the only thing standing between the two was Thralin's sword. The Gladinstone blade was glowing white and Thralin had en-caged his legs with Earth. The green eyes had disappeared. "Wilbur?," the priest exclaimed in a low voice. He instantly threw his blade away and stared at it in a state of shock, "I... I thought Thralin died...was killed...by an archer."

"I am alive and well Sir. You startled us!" Thralin did not seem angry, merely concerned. A long moment of silence followed as Wilbur collapsed on the ground, a new wave of regret and guilt washing over him. Thralin released his legs but kept using alchemy, making random patterns on the ground to ward of the greenlits. The Priest seemed to understand what had transpired, "We must return." The near death experience hadn't affected him, he held him calm and composure.

"Wilbur you need rest."

***

He had failed. He knew it, everyone else knew it.

He had failed, and the boy and the priest paid the price along with him. Sir Triston passed him a little ale, "You must not beat yourself up Wilbur. It is one of the most difficult challenges in the world. You cannot expect to whiz past it in the first attempt. You must be glad no one was harmed." Wilbur heard the words but could not process them, "I was supposed to." He drank as he looked around the camp. Night had fallen and everyone was wrapping up their training sessions and so on. A strong smell wafted towards him announcing food was being prepared. He looked up at the stars and revisited the events of the day for the umpteenth time.

Wilbur heard a rustling in the distance, tiny clink of metal here and there. Then there was a knock at the gate. Wilbur looked around surprised. At this time no one ventures out of the cottage area. He moved to Sir Triston, "It's not one of us is it?"Sir Triston looked confused,"I am positive it isn't. Let me check." WIlbur stopped him by placing a hand on his shoulder, "I should do this." Looking even more perplexed Sir Triston tried to ignore him,"It's no matter, must be an acquantai.."

"Please Sir, let me do this. What if it's not? We all know this is my fault. Let me have this," Wilbur cut Sir Triston halfway and proceeded to walk towards the gate before he changed his mind.

Who could it be?

Whoever it was couldn't have survived the greenlits without some damage.

"Open up already Triston, you know I can't survive long without some win in my veins." Wilbur recognized the voice. He opened the gate slightly to confirm his suspicion, the chain still in place. His disbelief increased as his doubts were confirmed.

The wisest counselor the Empire had, Roderick, stood in front on him, one hand on the gate the other consistently knocking, "I almost forgot, have some men here that need tending."