James stared down the Jarl of the Boar clan, his towering stature dwarfing everyone in the room. Lukas had an air of intensity about him, his piercing gaze unnerving James in a way he couldn't place. Was he angry? Surprised? Did those eyes hold a smoldering rage or analytical scrutiny?

"Emma," Lukas murmured. "Come to me, now."

"He knows, Lukas," Emma responded. She stayed where she stood, gaze fixed on James. "About my… connection."

The air grew still at the realization, both newcomers looking at Emma with clear surprise. Naomi cursed something under her breath but did nothing else to intervene. Lukas, however, turned to James, his eyes narrowing. The younger Jarl, in turn, stood his ground and did not break eye contact.

"What do you think you are doing here?" Lukas asked.

"Getting straight answers, for one," James responded. "Tell me what the hell is going on, Lukas, or so help me god…"

"We're trying to help you!" Naomi said, stepping closer to James. Almost on instinct, James moved his left hand to his belt, where a wrapped dagger was strapped to his waist. Naomi seemed to notice it and stopped her advance.

They're scared of you. They know you discovered something you shouldn't. They're using you, James.

James clutched at the side of his head with a free hand, cursing the migraine that emanated deep within. It sounded vaguely like a thought, one formed from deep inside. Yet that was impossible, no? He was free from the influences of the Nyrkl, his Blessing driving off the voices from within. Yet…

'Faust, was that you?'

'What?' the centurion asked. 'What is wrong?'

'Something's not right,' James admitted.

"We are trying to help you," Lukas stated, unaware of the younger man's inner turmoil. "Is that not honest enough for you?"

"Oh fuck off!" James cursed out. He shoved away the migraine, fighting through the pain with gritted teeth. "There's always a motive with you people! Every Jarl I've had the displeasure of meeting has some sort of scheme going on. Ivan, Olafson, and even Redyr!"

"We're not—"

"Then tell me the full truth, Lukas!" James shouted. "Tell me the real reason why you are helping me. Because from what I can remember of you before this shitshow, you weren't all too enthusiastic about helping my clan! In fact, you seemed the farthest from friendly! So, tell me the truth now. The honest truth. Or I swear to god…"

Lukas was silent for a moment. He looked down at James from a distance, his hands clenching into tight fists. His jaw visibly clenched and grounded, his frustrations clear.

"My hold over my clan is falling," he said softly, eyes still locked onto James' gaze. "My islands, my people, are being taken. This is a recent development that started only after the incident in Vindis. Ever since then, it has only gotten worse. Entire sections of my territory have gone dark, their villages and towns razed to ash and their lands salted."

James felt his shoulders relax a little, his hand still wavering over his belt. "So you need me and my people to help? Or to add to your control?"

"Of course not," Lukas growled. "I've had enough of the South and its politics. I do not wish to control all of it. Not even Yorn was foolish enough to try such a thing despite having the resources to do so."

He lies.

James cringed and shoved that little voice away. He focused on Lukas once again. "So, what then? Why do you help me? Do you want my power? My strength?"

"No," Lukas said. "I have no need for your clan's forces to retake what was once mine. No, I need something else. Your alliance."

"You already have that," James said. "The pact—"

"That pact does not cover our allegiances outside of Valenfrost's skirmishes and wars," Lukas revealed. "I need your allegiance for another conflict. Related to Valenfrost, but not covered by the pact and its conditions."

"What?" James asked, genuinely confused. "What are you talking about?"

Lukas grunted. "I was hoping to ask you this after your home was liberated, but I suppose it cannot be helped." He turned to Naomi, who nodded solemnly. He looked back at James, shoulders tense. "Do you know about the Endeavor?"

"Doesn't really ring a bell," James admitted.

"I didn't think so," Lukas said. "Despite what you've accomplished, what you've experienced, you are still new to Valenfrost. The Endeavor is an event of sorts, tradition even. Some call it by other names. The Festival. The Trials. The Tournament. It all revolves around a certain place. An island like no other."

"How come I never heard of this before?" James asked.

"Because the Endeavor only takes place every few years," Lukas revealed. "Mainly to keep clans from fighting over its riches and secrets. To prevent an all-out war over its possession."

"What is this place?" James muttered. He had a guess as to what it could be. Yorn's fabled vault was still something talked about, to the point where it was a speculated myth.

"It's someplace ancient," Naomi answered, "Older than the shrine itself if the rumors are correct. People have been fighting and dying over it for centuries now. Even back in Kasan, people talked about it."

"They call it Dragon's Graveyard," Lukas said. "The resting place of the old gods and where the last Dragonslayer supposedly took his final stand. It is said to hold the treasures of the ancient heralds and the secrets of the Mad King. Years ago, the Jarls in Valenfrost fought bloody over the island, bringing the entire nation to war over and over. It took until the intervention of Halvor, Yorn's grandfather, to put a stop to it and introduce a solution."

"A tournament," James said blankly.

"I'd call it an Endeavor," Lukas said. "But tournament does seem a little more appropriate. Its original purpose was to allow the clans to send in their best to scout and recover what they could from the island, with each side given a fair chance. However, as the years went on and the Jarls grew more greedy, things got a bit more… violent."

"It turned into a bloodsport at the end," Naomi added. "Like many things in this world, the men in power found a way to make it life or death."

"Dragon's Graveyard turned from an opportunity to gather treasures and secrets to a tournament that pits Jarls against each other," Lukas explained. "In some ways, it did help to ease tensions. Winning the tournament proved a clan's strength and stature. Every elimination, every point gained, was one that pushed a Jarl's reputation and station."

James listened to it all, finding something unsettling about the idea. He imagined a bloody battle royale, where it was every man for himself. Where every kill, every death, added to their clan's reputation. It made him want to shudder. And it gave him a horrifying realization.

"You want me to accompany you to the next one of these Endeavors, don't you?" he asked in a mere mutter. "To further your clan's reputation."

"In a sense," Lukas answered. "You won't fight for my clan. There are rules preventing a Jarl from joining another clan's warriors. The Endeavor requires a participating Jarl to create a team of their best. Traditionally, the Jarl themself would participate directly as their squad's commander. Either them or their heir."

"An allegiance then," James said. "You want me to participate and assist you and your clan during the Endeavor?"

Lukas nodded.

"Why?"

"Because there are those who seek to depose and kill me," Lukas said. "Vulpesson, despite their treaty, has every right to kill me during the Endeavor. They know I threaten their lands, their hold on Valenfrost. The same goes for the other clans, the ones to the west and north. If I fall in Dragon's Graveyard, the Villtur name dies with me. And so, everything I have fought to build will collapse."

"You are our only ally who might be willing to help us," Emma suddenly spoke up. She looked at James with pleading eyes. "Olafson does not have the stature nor the courage to stand with us, and Vulpesson tries to tear down our home. The other clans just stand by, as they have no issue with seeing us gone. You are the only one who could give us a chance to fight back."

"If I win the Endeavor," Lukas said. "Then I will have the resources and the standing to keep my home afloat. To get my clan back on its feet. I do not ask for your sympathy, Holter. I only ask for your sword. I will help you unite the south, shall you help me in Dragon's Graveyard."

James took it all in, processing Lukas' proposition and reasoning. They had wanted him to participate in some dangerous tournament, or Endeavor, as the Jarl put it. He felt unsure about the idea of fighting alongside Villtur, his life put on the line for some status of all things.

'No, it's not about the status.'

Lukas wanted to save his home from other Jarls, specifically the western and northern clans. They didn't affect James at the moment; their influence was restricted. But if Villtur were to fall to them…

'What would happen if those clans made their way south?'

Those people weren't pacted with him and they had decades of seniority over him. The only reason they hadn't stomped his budding clan was due to Villtur controlling the central south alongside Vulpesson. If that barrier fell, then James would have to deal with them. Yorktown or not, there was no chance he could dredge up enough strength to take them all on.

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The reality was that he needed to ally with Villtur. Lukas was the sole person he could rely on, even if he had hidden his true intentions from James.

"That's all you want from me?" James said finally. Lukas nodded, almost relaxing a little. "It better be," James added. "Because after this, we're done. No more schemes, no more manipulations. We'll both go our separate ways, peacefully."

"You'll participate then?" Emma asked.

"I'm not promising anything," James murmured. "Just letting you know that this will be the last time you hide anything from me. Understand?"

"I understand completely," Lukas said. He stepped forward, his hand raising. James instinctively flinched, his heart skipping a beat as he saw the Jarl approach. However, Lukas instead held out a hand. James looked at the outstretched gesture, part of him wanting to slap it away. This man had lied to him and schemed with the lives of his friends.

'Not the best way to earn trust from a man, I'll admit,' Faust muttered. 'Still, you'll be needing his help. Regardless of how we feel. Once Yorktown is safe, we shall deal with Villtur's actions.'

James couldn't help but agree with that statement. Unbridled rage would not help save his friends. He would have to grit his teeth for the moment and bear through until the end. With a hesitant hand, James clasped Lukas' forearm. The formal way of greeting a fellow man of your station, according to the Valian customs Dahlia was always pestering him about.

Lukas gave him a curt nod, his expression determined. James returned it, a bit more grim than he would have liked.

"When do we set off to Ivan's Keep?" James asked in a murmur. Lukas blinked at that but did not falter in his voice.

"We are already prepared to leave," he admitted. "But if you need more time, then I suppose—"

"We set out tomorrow," James interrupted. "We've done enough waiting. Is that a problem?"

"No," Lukas said. "No, it is not. There is, however, the matter of your surviving friends."

"Malik will come, he agreed to," James said. "As for Elizabeth, I think she'll be staying here."

"I see," Lukas muttered with a nod. "And what of the shipmaster?"

James froze. For a moment, it seemed like icy cold water had run through his veins. He turned to the Jarl before him. "Dimitri?"

"He is currently at rest in one of the infirmary beds," Lukas revealed. "Has been for some time. He asks about you, you know. Ever since your… shutdown not long ago."

"You never told me…"

"He was injured heavily during the raid, and we weren't entirely sure he'd live," Lukas said. "His full recovery happened not even a day ago."

At that moment, something within James stirred. A sense of anger, stoked by the feelings of resentment. All of it pointed toward this man before him. The man who had willingly left out Dimitri's survival. He held it back, burying it deep along with the rest of his bubbling emotions. He would deal with this later.

"I'm going to see him," James said suddenly, breaking away from Lukas and heading off to the door. He stopped midway, his shoulder barely touching Naomi. She stood still in front of the doorway, her hands still wavering at her belt. James slightly turned his head to the young woman, who watched him. While her expression was mostly unreadable, her lone eye told all he needed to know.

She was cautious.

"When this is all over," James said to her, voice barely above a whisper. "We're both going to have a long talk about these past weeks. And you are going to tell me everything."

Naomi didn't say anything as he stomped off, his hand slamming the library's door shut.

Dimitri liked to gamble. It was a problem that had always persisted from his younger years, back when he was a simple crewman who lost half his earnings through deckers. It was the rush that usually did it for him. The feeling of actually winning against the odds. Of course, such odds meant that he lost more than he actually won.

When Dimitri bit off more than he could chew back in his first job, he left Norum behind. He traveled all across Valenfrost, working as a mere crewmate to many ships. Usually, his jobs never worked out. He would find himself overworked to all hel, with little more than a few scraps of silver for his payment.

Eventually, his luck would finally take his side, and Dimitri found himself as the sole owner of some sod's brig. The Vintor, a fine vessel that served him well. It had also found him, his first crew, and his closest friend, Liam Cormac. Another drifter like him, thrown aside and forgotten by the world.

Of course, their voyages throughout the south of Valenfrost ended when Dimitri pushed his luck too far and lost his ship to the Thieves Guild. More than that, he owed them extra for more gambling debts. It was a low point for the shipmaster, who had once thought himself to be at the top of the world. Only then, in that dark alley in Vindis, did he realize that he had never been close.

That was before James Holter had shown up in his life. That strange young man had appeared out of nowhere to save the old drunkard from a fate he likely deserved. He had given Dimitri purpose again, seeing him watch over Frostbite, the beauty of a vessel and holder of mythical runes.

His crew worked again, their pockets lined with silver once more. Their wages grew as the months passed, and their trade became more dangerous in return. The Midsommar Incident should've indicated to Dimitri that his luck was running out. Yet he pushed on, believing fully that James would lead them to greater heights.

That was until a month ago when negotiations with Ivan Falk fell apart in a brutal fashion. And just like in that alleyway, Dimitri's illusions were shattered when he watched his crew die all around him.

He had pushed his luck too far once again.

Dimitri awoke staring at a ceiling he didn't recognize. Which was strange to him, considering that he usually woke up in a manner of locations throughout the years. He could tell the kind of building he was in judging from the ceiling's wood and height. From his hovel in Yorktown to the bars in Vindis to the holding rooms in the Thieves Guild, Dimitri usually had a good eye for these kinds of places.

Yet now, he stared at something he did not recognize. A clean room, with comfortable sheets the color of the forest. No stains or the smell of hard liquor. Not even the telltale sounds of arguing and bantering. Just sterile silence.

Dimitri sat up, his hand moving to the pains in his chest. His torso was bandaged, as well as his right arm. Pain vibrated from those, indicating to him that he was still injured.

'Right, I remember now,' Dimitri thought with some despair. His crew was dead. The ship, stolent. And his Jarl, possibly insane. At least, that was what he assumed. No one told him much, and he could only guess based on what passing guards murmured.

Dimitri looked around his room, which still looked foreign despite having lived in it for roughly a month. His old clothes sat neatly folded nearby, the blood washed away and the cuts stitched together. He had requested that the woman, Emma, keep his clothes despite their state. He never liked borrowing breeches from others, no matter how nice they seemed. He knew better.

Dimitri groaned as he exited the bed, hands grabbing his folded attire. After some time, he finally managed to get them on, albeit not without straining his old bones first. That pain had always been there, though it seemed to get worse as the years dragged on.

'Should be dead by now,' he thought with chagrin. 'I don't think I'd ever met a shipmaster pushing his sixtieth year. At least, one unenhanced.'

That was hypocritical in a sense. Dimitri had developed some of those magical 'skills' that people sometimes got. He wasn't sure which ones they were, but he knew they were responsible for his long, painful life. For one, he still retained a bit of his youth; his body's aging pushed back a little.

His toughness and vitality were increased, which was apparent in his survival. He had been hit twice by those cursed invisible blades, their edges sharp enough to reach bone and artery. Dimitri had only his enhanced body to thank for his survival. That and Naomi. If it weren't for her spotting his twitching body, he would've been dead on that sinking ship.

While she never told Dimitri about her otherworldly origins, he made her out regardless. That aura alone was a dead giveaway. That and her similarities with James. She could hide it all she wanted, but Dimitri could sense compassion within her cold glares.

'Just like him.'

Dimitri sighed as he got his clothes on, his aching body relaxing as he sat once more. He closed his eyes for a moment, taking in the silence.

"You're feeling better?" a voice called out from behind. Dimitri tensed and turned around.

Standing by the door frame was a young man, probably in his early twenties. His messy blond hair was short, hanging over his head like a discarded mop. He had no beard, and his face was shaven. For a second, Dimitri didn't recognize him. Then he noticed the man's dark blue eyes, their tired gaze snapping his memory into place.

"James?" the shipmaster asked.

"The one and only," James said, a weak smile forming on his lips. Despite the clear attempt at jovialness, there was a hollowness in those words. Dimitri felt his stomach lurch a little, recognizing that something within the young man had changed permanently. The haunted look in his eyes was more prevalent, and the way he carried himself reminded the shipmaster of the men in his crew who experienced battle shock.

And yet…

"Are you alright? Anything serious?" James asked as he stepped forth, worried as he checked over the aged shipmaster.

Dimitri just looked at him, unsure of how to answer. James was not well. Dimitri could tell that much just from the way the young man looked at him. Yet here he was, checking on the injured. He even had the time to train, judging from the stench that emitted from him as he stepped closer.

'How do you do it?' Dimitri wondered. He gripped his hand into a tight ball, straining as he held back the question that echoed in his mind. 'Why do you do it?'

"I'm alright," Dimitri answered with a soft smile, his free hand waving away the young Jarl. "Don't fret over an old fox such as I."

James paused for a moment, his gaze moving away. "I… I thought that you didn't make it."

"Such little faith in your shipmaster? I should be offended, but I think I'll let it pass this time," Dimitri chuckled. He patted James on the shoulder, a grin on his expression as he walked toward the door.

"Dimitri…" James muttered. The shipmaster stopped halfway through his walk, his jaw clenching tightly. He prayed that his friend wouldn't bring up that cursed day. Not yet, at least. For now, Dimitri was far from a proper state of mind to process grief like this.

'Norman, Varen, and even poor Oleg…'

He shook his head. No time to think about them. Not now.

"I'd rather get myself something to eat first," Dimitri said softly, his voice sincere. "I do not think today is right for rain. Not yet, I think."

James didn't say anything, silence dawning on both men like a curse. After a moment that felt longer than the passing of ages, he spoke.

"I'm here for you."

The words came out in a mutter, yet they echoed in resonance. Dimitri turned to his friend, whose expression was unreadable in the shadows of the dim room. Yet his eyes were still there, and the shipmaster could read them clear as day. Despair. It was slight, barely noticeable, but Dimitri could sense it all the same.

James was barely hanging on, the pieces close to falling apart. How he was holding on worried Dimitri greatly. How could a man so broken keep going?

'How did you keep going?' a distant part of himself spoke from within. Dimitri frowned at that, his mind racing back to his lowest points, to the times when he was in a similar pit, not unlike James. How did he keep going on during those times?

With a sigh, Dimitri placed a hand on James' shoulder. He forced a grin, as hearty and friendly as he could manage, and chuckled. "Friend James, don't be so glum! There is still much work for us to do, no?"

"Dimitri, I…"

"Silence," Dimtri scolded, half jokingly, as he guided the young man out of the room. "Let us focus on our home first. Orcs, if I heard correctly from that Villtur fellow. Not a problem for us, I suppose. We've taken on the likes of them before!"

James didn't say anything, but Dimitri could spot a hint of a smile on the edge of his lips. "Yeah, we have."

"That's the spirit!" Dimitri chuckled. He patted James' back once more. "Let us go and prepare then. As much as I like bard stories, I do not wish to be as late as those heroes. We shall be better men for it!"

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