Weakly lashing out at what hit me, I moaned in annoyance. I wanted to fall back into the warm embrace of sleep, but that was not to be, as stark and cold reality kept pulling me out of the darkness of unconsciousness. And every step of the way somehow made me feel worse, so much so my survival instincts were forcing me awake.

An icy cold was biting deep into my whole body, which was actually helping to numb other pains, though I doubted it was a good thing as I couldn't feel my hands and feet. The cold did nothing, however, for my pounding head… And more importantly, the bitch screaming into my ear and shaking me.

"Get up, you fucking Twig! I know your knife-eared head can hear me; Your ears are fucking twitching! We— need… you." Her last few words were spoken through a tight throat and dragged out of her one syllable at a time.

"Feed me, and I'll think about it," I raspally responded, opening my mouth. I was still half asleep and trying to stay there, but the hole in my gut needed to be filled by something. I knew I would not fall asleep again, and more importantly, I was in danger and needed to get up, but I just didn't care.

"Ahh… Wha— di— you say?" Asked Celeste, her voice taking on a high and uncertain tone. Celeste was, to put it bluntly, crazy hot. Gotta put a whole lot of extra emphasis on the crazy part, though. She is not the most attractive person I have ever seen, but that fanatic intensity gives her a certain… wild appeal.

"I'm willing to fuck crazy if you wanna give it a go?" I asked, not really processing what I was saying. I was adjusting to my body's aches and slowly cracking my eyes open, trying to adapt to the blinding light stabbing into them. Added to that, I felt… distant. Almost like I was waking up in a dream, and nothing around me was real.

There was nothing for a second, and then another second passed, the silence growing heavier. Suddenly, shocked laughter filled my ears, and I wondered why until I froze; the last minute flashed through my mind in sudden clarity. Oh, shi— "Ahh! Fuck! That hurt." I said nasally, rolling to the side and clamping my hands to my face. My hands were immediately slick with blood, as my nose was broken by the massive boulder that hit it.

"Calm down!" said a voice above the splashing of water around me.

Another voice added, "He wasn't fully awake! Let it go!" Their words apparently didn't work as the sounds of wrestling increased. I had to assume that the laughter in their voices as they tried to calm the situation did not help much.

Not wanting to be attacked, unaware again, I forced my eyes open. My vision turned white, and the pain in my head spiked, causing tears to come to my eyes. It was like I took two knives, shoved them into my head, and wiggled them around.

If I had one of those hypothetical knives as I clutched my forehead, hands shaking from pain, I would have seriously considered if it was less painful to be done with it all and just cut out my eyes. A perception sphere is better than eyes, after all. You can never discount need as the best motivator to achieve something.

Instead of succumbing to such a self-destructing impulse, I resisted clawing out my eyes by digging my fingernails into my scalp. I'm not a healer or anything, but digging them out with my nails has to hurt more, right?

Eventually, my eyes adjusted to the light, and my surroundings swam into focus. I was surrounded by water, lit by a ball of fire in the sky with… my eyes widened in shock as I noticed distant figures on the shoreline. I saw a beastkin move, and a moment later, I picked out a rock flying through the dark air.

Instinctually, I let out a pulse, looking for more danger. "Aargh!" I screamed, burying my head back into my hands. It felt like my head was trapped between two strands of mental energy and was slowly being crushed.

Information was flooding my mind.

A pulse of mental energy reacts when it hits any object, though those infused with mental energy appear brighter. When you use a pulse, you usually get a picture of a ball of burning light for a head and dimmer lines of energy radiating out, giving a rough outline of the body of a person. Animals are dimmer, and plants are like shadows, barely visible in comparison.

Through practice, one gets better at processing the information and can extrapolate what is happening from the flash of information they receive. In a union with multiple pulses every moment, there is little to no question of what is happening as it is like a constant drip, but it is still only at the edges of a pulse that information is available.

This pulse was different. I saw everything, and it was all so vivid.

From where I sat on the raft to a couple dozen feet into the water and a hundred feet into the tree line half a mile away, I saw every detail all at once. And it persisted over the next few seconds.

I could mentally inspect the pants and tunics of the legionaries next to me who were holding down Celeste, her face twisted with rage. The surface of the rough rocks flying through the air were like books, and the delicate weaving of the cloak of the beastkin on the shoreline was a report telling of the cumulation of years of skill and dedication.

All that information was shoved into my head, and it was too much. I was unprepared for the burden and was far from being at my full capabilities, meaning I was struggling not to pass out again. Shoving at the deluge of information, I attempted to stuff it down like I did with the unnecessary information in my perception sphere and Earth Pulse; however, it was like trying to push away a lake of sap instead of the usual sand.

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Every foot the pulse extended increased the burden and pressure building within my mind several times as it piled onto itself. An inch of ground was like a whole world screaming for my attention, and every second, the radius of that clamoring racket expanded. Instead of a foot of soil containing leaves, dirt, fungus, and insects, which I could ignore while stepping over, it was the valleys and peaks of mountains, each thriving with unique and varied life.

At no point had I ever experienced such detail, though admittedly, my years in this world were relatively short. But still, it was almost like the world wanted me to know it existed, and everything was more vibrant like I had spent my life in a cave and was finally stepping into the sun.

After what felt like an eternity of fighting to not be swamped under the information deluge, I felt my tortured mind begin to clear, as nothing more was being crammed into it. Afterward, all I could do was spend a moment relishing the blissful silence of my own thoughts.

My body still ached, the cold eating at my bones while my head throbbed with heat, but that no longer mattered. Perspective was everything, and right now, I was existing in the euphoria of the absence of an all-consuming pressure.

A moment before, I was a waterskin on the brink of bursting as ever more was crammed in. And now, I was a water skin gradually shrinking as I tried to regain my previous shape, but the excessive stretching would leave its mark. Reveling in my newfound comfort, I left my mind wandering, skimming over all the information I had received—

Lunging to the side, I stretched out my hand, forming a tendril that would lash out of my palm as I intended to strike the falling stone and shove it to the side. My eyes widened in shock as the rock burst into a cloud of dust and a shower of shards from the impact, as I had no intention of utterly sundering the projectile.

Letting the casting go, I turned to Sathera as she slowly followed my arm to my face. When I saw her eyes lock onto mine, I gave her a shaky smile as new spikes of pain stabbed into my mind and body, as the mental energy I used was like sandpaper running through my veins. And this wasn't a light brush over the skin either, as sandpaper was really being taken to town as if the user was trying to reach my bones.

Ignoring my pain, my eyes flicked to the side at a sudden burst of motion. As I took in the legionaries walking out of the water, unleashing their powers on the gathered beastkins, I smiled, saying, "Knights."

Sathera looked at me blankly before her head slowly turned, taking in the knights on the banks of the Rush. She whispered something I could not hear before letting out a sigh of relief and slumping forward. I could not tell if she was awake or asleep, but if I had to guess, I would say awake. How else could someone stay upright with their shoulders slumped forward while sitting on their heels, legs folded under them?

That would take… not so much skill as luck. Though, I guess it could be a skill. But who would practice it to that extent? I mean, Darell did practice falling asleep with a mug of ale in his hand so he could wake up to a drink. But that's something completely different. At least you can throw the mug into someone's face if they attack during the night. What's the benefit of falling asleep kneeling? In that light, Darell's stupid skill was reasonable. Wonder if Sathera would be embarrassed if I asked her how long she practiced?

Silence descended upon the raft, the grunts of effort and splashing as they tried to paddle, slowly stopping as everyone looked past our collection of logs in a daze. With nothing better to do, I joined them in blankly watching the knights.

However, I had the feeling our emotions on the subject were different. Mine was more because the relief of my mind not exploding was wearing off, and I was processing how I felt like my insides were stretched out and no longer quite fit. It was as if I had eaten a meal for five people and then threw it all up. I was just… hollow.

I tossed a half-hearted glance over my shoulder at the dozen legionaries on the raft with me. Their faces said it all. They didn't entirely believe what was happening. Given how beaten down and worn out they all looked, I could guess how tired they must be. Though I had no idea how long they had been running while carrying me, given the fact the last thing I remembered was it being daytime, looking at everyone from the center of—

A shudder ran through my body at the line of thought. Memories of excruciating pain exploded into my mind, causing my body to break out in a cold sweat and start trembling. I sat on the raft, the frigid waters of the river lapping at my legs, but I barely felt it. Looking at, but not really watching, the figures fighting on shore, I watched as the light of the fire overhead faded. With every second, I regained a little bit more control of myself, suppressing the full-body shudders wracking me into hardly a shake in my hand.

With implacable efficiency, the beastkins on shore were slaughtered. Every other swing of a knight bisected one or more beastkin, and the other half of the swings involved maces that cave in the beastkin's bodies. When they tried ganging up on a knight, a casting would scatter their numbers, and the slaughter would start again.

The only one I could see that put up a fight was the beastkin capable of throwing around fireballs, and even I could tell those attacks were feeble things. Exhaustion was clutching onto him and his spells as much, if not more, than those on the raft.

When a knight finally bisected that particular beastkin, a small vindictive cheer rose around me. One filled with so much emotion I wondered if I was in a union for a moment.

Before the last of the beastkins were cut down, two figures walked out onto the river's surface like it was any street in the Republic. One was a Knight Aqua, allowing them to walk on water, and the other was a Knight Ignis and Terra. I could not see anything about the water knight, as their helmet was on, but the other was helmet less, and I recognized him even without his insignia. If only from legends and stories, if nothing else.

How could I not? Every youth of my generation grew up looking at his face in the papers, wishing to be a knight. I only saw a handful of those papers weeks after they were published, but I still saw them.

Brackus, the Molten Man, is talked about even now. My father even told me how he fought alongside him for a short time. I vaguely remember hearing rumors of him taking up a teaching position at the tribune school outside the walls of the south fort. I guess they were right.

The older man walked up to the raft and looked at all of us huddled on its logs. Blood spattered and half-drowned, we were falling asleep even now, finally given a moment where constant danger wasn't keeping us vigilant. His eyes held no scorn or pity, only understanding and expectation. Of course, we were alive and fighting our way back. What other reality could there be?

Taking the initiative, he slammed his fist to his chest in a salute, then said in a surprisingly mellow tone, "Glad to see the reports of all the scouts being wiped out were false. What do you have to report?"

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