"Stop, Seelk!"

The mage's grave, imperious, and utterly incapable of being disobeyed voice causes the little dragon to stop in mid-stride, braking sharply. The half-elf was already on her feet and ready to run, although she doubted she stood a chance against something out of legend.

She looked at the human, shocked.

"Do you own him?!"

"Absolutely not. Seelk is my friend, not a slave."

Like a friendly puppy, Seelk gives the golden-haired man's cheek a lick, even wagging his spiky, red tail.

"Well, your friend almost killed me."

"You're right. Seelk, apologize to the little lady immediately."

The creature turns toward Lariel, sniffing and sniffling, and then lowers its head in a position of submission. Seelk's owner, or rather friend, clarifies:

"He recognizes you as a natural leader, and humbly acknowledges your position."

"Ah." She mutters, taking a step back, still facing the dragon. "So... I'm not his friend?"

"Only if you want to," he replies cheerfully.

Suspicious, the girl gropes Seelk's head, who makes a funny sound and then licks it. She is startled, but does not assault him or try to run away. After a few seconds of interaction, the animal goes outside the cave once again.

"He's on guard. He kept waiting for me to come back, but he must have been suspicious when I brought a stranger."

Lariel takes a while to absorb that the man is talking to her. Then the girl turns around and asks:

"Where is my blouse?"

He rummages inside his cloak and pulls out from one of the huge pockets a perfectly folded shirt.

"That outfit was full of blood. You can wear some of mine until we leave."

He throws the black shirt at her, who catches it in one motion. The half-elf asks:

"But leave for where? And who are you, anyway?"

"Please, sit down and eat. Our journey will be long, and you will need to be well fueled to endure the journey."

"But-"

"And I will answer your question. Calm down. Come here and sit down."

Snorting, the young woman does as he asks. After putting on her shirt, she grabs the pot of soup and starts to eat, but she can't do it quickly and wildly. The pain of loss and grief was too strong, and she couldn't get the scene of her father being stabbed out of her mind.

As she eats her own food, the boy says:

"My name is Eric. I come from a place far away from here, a desert kingdom to the east. And I am on a quest."

She says nothing. Eric seems to be searching for the best words to explain who he is and what he is doing in those parts.

"Something big is happening... Something that could doom us all. And I'm afraid we don't have much time to stop it."

"What?" mutters Lariel.

"What they did to your father is just one of several incidents that are happening in different places around the world, Lariel. We need to make it stop at any cost."

"Wait a minute there. How do you know my name? And how did you know that my father and I lived there?"

Eric stands crestfallen, fiddling with his own plate as he speaks softly:

"To tell you the truth, that was a long shot. I was very lucky to have found them, although I really wish I had arrived a few minutes earlier."

He takes a deep breath before continuing:

"I know your name because I have thoroughly researched the life and family tree of each of the Old Templars."

"What are you talking about?"

Eric looks genuinely surprised.

"You know that your father served the Pavilion a long time ago, right?"

Had she not been so saddened and shocked by the impending death of her genitor, Lariel would have laughed.

"Impossible. My father always hated conventions, units, government groups in general. He would never serve the Pavilion, quite the opposite."

His look is sad and regretful.

"I know it's hard to believe, but.... he did serve the Pavilion, yes."

"It's a lie."

"I can prove it. I have all the documents here."

"Then show me."

Eric once again fiddles with the strange cover capable of holding things inside, and pulls out an old, threadbare parchment. The smell of antiquity and trinkets hits the half-elf's face like a stone.

Opening the document, the magician shows her all the fancy text, official stamps, and the most important part of all: the signature at the bottom.

Kirus Avirnan. Her father.

She simply cannot believe her eyes. Eric sympathizes with the situation, showing understanding:

"He couldn't tell you, anyway, or anyone else. He was under oath."

The girl says nothing, still trying to absorb the shock. The blond man continues:

"He and another group of thirty-six Templars have been dispatched. They are living in remote places of the world, hidden from the populace."

"Wait a minute there."

Something written on the parchment caught his attention. The date on that document depicted the last century.

"My father was discharged at the age of forty-four."

"Yes."

She stares at him, her lips are ajar from such incredulity.

"Do you know how old my father is? Or... Was?"

The man sighs before answering:

"By my count, at least a couple of hundred."

"Two hundred and twenty-five. He was close to making the Passage."

An uncomfortable silence happens for a few seconds. It is the girl herself who breaks it as she mutters:

"Does the document say why he was dismissed?"

Eric signals yes with an assertive movement of his head.

"Both he and the others who left have extremely confidential knowledge, and a small crisis broke out in the Pavilion. Many Templars who were outside that particular group felt resentful that they didn't have that knowledge, had fewer rights."

"What knowledge? What do you mean?"

"Did your father have some trunk, some secret hiding place in the house? Maybe some pile of musty papers that he never let you touch as a child?"

Lariel tries to remember something, but all he can visualize is his father's body lying on the floor in a pool of blood. Tremors take over his body.

Unaware of the girl's inner turmoil, the human sighs and stirs the fire.

"Very well. I'll tell you everything."