Pacing the length of two-legged-small-quarters, or what his master would once call "Living room". Caspin never truly understood the meaning of such a room. Would the creature live in the room when near death? Then what of the other rooms within the two-leg's home? Magic-borne or not, Caspin never truly get two-leg's concepts in their living. He misses his old form, and wants nothing more but to be his old self again. Caspin can feel his entire body shake with anticipation and worry. Calming himself and refraining to shift forms in such a crammed space –why do two-legs enjoy such close quarters? - He sits down on a two-legged-animal-hind-chair and tries to relax. His master's hatchling, Cyrus is due to come home at dawn. The humans' army leaders told him, that the boy is removed from the training program. Thankful for the news, Caspin wishes the sun to rise faster. For him to care for the hatchling right under his wing again.

When Caspin was separated from the youngling, he can't help but worry over the boy. Now that his masters are dead, and expects that him -him, the familiar to care for a magic-borne, Caspin used to hope that the young one can survive without him. Or until he figures out a way to retrieve the boy, before anything catastrophic happens when he isn't watching. Luck only played to his favor that he is around when Cyrus causes a ruckus in the two-legged-healing-cavern.

Relieving himself from unnecessary worries, Caspin leans back on the chair. Permitting him to growl softly while he is alone within the apartment, "At long last, we can go home." A lazy grin stretches across his face as he said it.

Being a two-leg himself for nearly ten years has made Caspin miss being a drakgun. From time to time, he would battle with himself from tearing apart his two-legged-taskmates at the factories. Now, he can focus on returning the hatchling to magic-borne city, Gurren, by sunrise. The struggles for raising a hatchling of another's nest have taken a hard toll on the drakgun. Caspin would rather have died protecting his masters during their escape from Astel. Shouldering two and a half two-legs on his back with a punctured wing and injured forearm. It had made fleeing from danger twice harder for him. Remorse and regret had long filled Caspin's mind for the failure of his attempt to save his master and his mate.

With his master's dying breathe. Caspin can remember the pain stricken face of his master as he pushes the small, sleeping hatchling towards his claws. The desperation in his eyes, and his heavy breathing, Caspin has never seen his master in such great agony, than that night. "Care for him Caspin. Please. For my sake, and my wife's, I beg you, care of him."

Blood smeared over the heavy cloak that is wrapped around the four year old hatchling. Growling in frustration, Caspin shakes his head. Refusing to leave his master in the middle of the ancient woods of Astel, but he knew that he cannot fly all three of them farther. A small smile stretches across his master's face. He reaches his hand out towards him. Hands shaking, his master's eyes are intense with concentration. Caspin felt the wave of magic flowing out from the palm of his mater's hand.

Coughing hard, blood trickles down a corner of his lips. The man looks straight into Caspin's eyes and spoke out words that are barely a whisper to him. "I leave him to you dear friend. He's your master now. Not me, now leave you big fool."

Grunting with effort, Caspin's master doubled over in pain. He cannot take the situation anymore. Lowering his head towards his master's outstretched hand; Caspin felt the last of his master's powers at work. Morphing Caspin into a new form and changing him to fit the needs of the child. Once his master was satisfied by the arrangements, he placed his hand upon the young hatchling's brow. He gives the boy, his final words and blessings, voice thick with emotion as he spoke. The young one barely knows his heritage, or his parents. When the two of them had hidden under the human's stone-towered-smoke-aired city, Caspin quickly adapted to their language. Teaching them to Cyrus is rather simple when the boy barely spoke the language of spells. Everything that Caspin once knew of raising a drakgun cannot be given to a two-leg. Raising the child no less, made him grew fond of the little one. Pushing the memories back, Caspin finds that sleep will not help his restless mind for tonight.

Being within the two-legged-shelter for years was time well-spent but the hand of time now begins to move again. Returning here will be but impossible. The hatchling's powers are but only beginning to manifest. Caspin already set himself to pack the necessities of the boy. What worry him are the true needs of the boy now. Cyrus is in need of a teacher. By instincts, two-legs aren't well into learning their abilities on their own. They are destructive –especially magic-borne- and could very well kill themselves when uneducated. Caspin contemplated throughout the night of one that might aid him. A fine two-legged-musty-smelled-magic-word-tutor that might help him and Caspin can tolerate that spellweaver. Heading for the entrance of their home, Caspin grabs his coat. Silently betting that his master's old friend is willing to help them during these troubled times.

"Hope, this fellow might be willing to do a drakgun a favor." Caspin said, before he heads out, hours before dawn.

Walking down the empty streets of the districts, Caspin hasn't fully grown accustomed to the use of clothing –most especially shoes- that cover his body. Humans or Magic-borne, all the same wear layers upon layers of fabrics or animal skins. Scale-less creatures, Caspin thought as he goes around an unpaved hole at the center of the street. Most of the destruction within the humans' city is merely the cause of their own actions. Humans blame the war for their ruins among their territory. When in fact they are to be blamed as well for their own carnage, if magic was at work during the attacks. Its essences should linger for a period of time.

During his youth, Caspin once had known this city as Setadell. One of the first villages' humans settled into when they crossed from foreign land. Only a small, wet-stoned-cave village back then, and smoke that only hung in the air by minutes rather than days. It was much peaceful village. Than the noise barrage that it has become now. More than a handful of spellweavers remain here after the rise of the fourth age. Those who remained were curious of the humans' way of living. Even with the risk of death by the humans' hands. Caspin recalls, that among those who considered to stay should be the man he is looking for. Whether he is still alive, and still has the memory of the time before his city living. He can't say for sure.

Following the scent of this particular spellweaver's magic-fire, Caspin is led towards the southern borders of the city. The thick wall of the barricade stands, almost impossible to scale up on without being noticed. If he is in his old form, Caspin can merely jump over the wall, and land on the other side. But shifting bodies so close to human-watchmen-towers, might cause uproar he doesn't need. Searching for a weak spot in the humans' defenses, the drakgun casually walks along the length of the barricade. Making sure that the human watchman above will not give him a suspicious glance. Caspin sometimes looks up, and checks whether the human guards are asleep or not paying him any close attention. It is still too dark for their eyes to see him from below. He on the other hand can see them clearly, with his heighten eye sight. Half-way around the barricade of the southern side of the city, Caspin notices a small rabbit hole under the wall a couple of steps ahead of him. Bending down, he examines the hole, and frowns seeing that it is only half a foot high.

"Rabbits are ingenious, for a bunch of bite size snacking." Wondering, how will he be able to enlarge the hole? Caspin digs his hands into the dirt. And tries shoveling them away, digging deeper, and faster than any two-leg.

By the time Caspin is able to wiggle his way outside the border. He is caught off-guard, by the strong presence of magic at work. Magic-borne two-legs, always leaves a trail of their powers wherever they went. Like a small trail of light, carrying a different scent or sound, depending on who the spellweaver was. It isn't surprising that Caspin quickly picks up on the man he wanted to see. That man's particular presence is extremely stronger than the average spellweaver. Even the air itself is coated by his aura. Following his scent, Caspin walks through the thick forest that humans are too frightened to venture into at this un-godly hour. Trampling through the undergrowth, Caspin's senses are overwhelmed by nostalgia of nature.

He has been within the polluted habitat of the humans for far too long. The sights, sounds and scent of the forest relax him to his natural state of calmness and predatory instincts. Here and there, Caspin can smell nothing but meager prey of rodents, rabbits, and fowls. None of the large meat he once hunted upon is close to a two-leg habitat. Those are away from human or magic-borne interventions. Occasionally, he sees a nicely sized turkey or wild boar along his initial trail. Thinking of having a quick hunt to satisfy his craving for thrill, Caspin tries to lower his body to the ground and sneak up on the wild boar. His form does not response to the stealth or flexibility he was once used to. Sprinting towards the animal after his position is given away. The pig squeals and runs fasters than Caspin. Maneuvering through the slippery forest is difficult on two legs than four for the drakgun. Slipping, falling down and missing the right turns, the wild boar soon outran Caspin. Leaving him winded up, and out of breath quicker than before. Agitated like never before, Caspin lets out a deep grumbling roar of frustration, that sounds like a strangled cry from his two-leg throat.

"Curse this blasted form!" He though angrily, hasting his way to the spellweaver he is searching for. "What I'd give to stretch my true limbs and be one with the wind." Caspin says wistfully. Through his anger, Casping spots a wooden hut from the corner of his peripheral vision while he jumps over an upturned, decaying log.

One might mistake the makeshift shelter as a trick of nature but Caspin notices bushes of blue-green leaves with oval bright yellow berries that he recognize from magic-borne gardens. Caspin can sniff the snout-itching herbs that he can only smell at spellweaver herbal shops. Making his way toward the hunt, he is impressed by the spellweaver's craft of camouflage. A natural cave hidden by layers of moss, and some fallen trees obscured it from plain sight. When the light hits across the cave, it almost makes the hidden hut inside into some pile of logs stacked within the cave. Moving closer, Caspin recognizes more vegetations and herbs that his master's mate would use in order to heal his indigestions or claw wounds from challenging drakguns.

When Caspin is a few steps away from the wooden hut, the unseen door bursts open. Shouting in a hoarse voice it startles Caspin from going further. "Leave me alone foul fire-breathing beast!"

A blue cloaked man emerges from the shadows of the cave. In his gnarled hands was a long, staff roughly eight feet long of polished silver. The color of the Magic-borne scholars, that Caspin knows well from years of spending time within their kingdoms. Taking a step back, Caspin is uncertain of how to react. He forgot that no one has seen him since the burning of Astel. Raising his arms up ready to fight off any type of attack, Caspin remains perfectly still and so did the other spellweaver. When neither of them moved, the spellweaver hesitate but lowers his staff slightly.

"Quiet an odd drakgun you must be." The spellweaver takes another step closer towards Caspin. "But this charm upon you strikes such old memories, I almost forgot about a once great man that visited me." Pushing back his hood to reveal his face, Caspin remembers his old ritual of respect for an elder spellweaver.

Bowing his head, and placing his right hand on his chest. Caspin repeats the proper greetings. "The flames burn in the soul."

"And may yours shall burn through your words." The man replies the same greetings while twisting his left hand towards his midsection and bows lower than Caspin. A show of trust between two spellweavers, an old practice that his master always done when meeting with older magic-borne.

The greetings seem to let the man go at ease. The light of dawn slowly enters the forest, and Caspin knows that his hatchling is about to arrive home soon. He doesn't want to have him wait, but knowing that he is dealing with another spellweaver. It is safe to assume that Cyrus can manage well for the small time he is not around. The man leans closer towards Caspin, as recognition sinks into him.

"Why blest be my soul, if it isn't Fenmar's dragon!" Hollering in laugher that echoes within the forest, the man plants the staff down, and leans on it. Shaking his head in disbelief, the man's mood shifts into a much friendlier tone.

Nodding his head, Caspin steps forward to shake his hand –a common gesture between two-legs that Caspin at least learned to handle doing. Clearly amuse by his display of two-leg mannerism, the spellweaver smiles. "A pleasure to see you again Marius," Caspin greets back and the man chuckles.

Raising an eyebrow, he inspects Caspin curiously. "Well meet indeed to see you as well, O' great drakgun. Amazing charm, Fenmar placed upon you." He muses, and walks toward his hut. "Usually, that cheeky fool pranks me on his rare visits. I assume, he's somewhere nearby indulging upon this laugh at my reaction." The spellweaver looks beyond Caspin playfully. Imaging that maybe his master is somewhere nearby.

Not wanting to bring the tiding of bad news. Caspin exhales and clears his throat. "My master's dead, sir." Caspin tells him frankly, and a series of emotions crosses the man's ageless face.

Shock, disbelief, horror, and lastly sadness, Marius exhales deeply and shakes his head with a deep frown on his face. "Ah, such dark news at dawn," Turning towards the rising sun, deep in thought, before he finally speaks again. "I have been isolated from our world for too long. How much had changed while I am immersed into the culture of humans." Marius asks himself.

The man, clearly wants to be left alone to think back on what he had learn, but Caspin needs him for Cyrus's future. "Marius," He calls, snapping the man out of his train of thought. "I came here to ask for your help, and do my master at least one more favor."

The apartment is empty when Cyrus enters the front door. When the taxi drops him off onto his street, he almost thought that Caspin would have been delighted to see him. But his guardian is nowhere in sight. Dropping his bags in the hall, Cyrus wanders around the living room. Instead of feeling relief to be back, he feels extremely on edge. There is something wrong. Though he can't point a finger as to what exactly is wrong with the place. It is like walking into a haunted mansion. Inching your way through the eerie, silent rooms; expecting someone or something to spook out from behind the walls. Although, the only problem Cyrus is having, he doesn't know what to be looking out for.

Going up to his old bedroom, Cyrus finds a backpack on his bed. Filled with his clothes as well as the only photo album he has of his family. He is glad that Caspin did most of the packing for him. Yet, he sorta wished that he isn't going anywhere at all. Moving isn't something Cyrus normally do. What else is left for him to do? Now that he knows to conjure spells with just the use of his mind.

Sighing heavily, Cyrus looks around his small bedroom. His small bookcase holds almost fourteen different thick story books. For Caspin to give him one book to read each year -it became a running pun between the two of them. Grabbing most of the books he loved reading when he was younger. Cyrus allows himself to be sentimental. He stacks the books he'll bring beside his bag. "At least pack me something I can enjoy in…wherever Arcusnians stay in." He mutters, shoving more than five books into his large backpack.

While he reorganizes some of the things he is planning to bring with him. Cyrus can't shake the feeling of being watched from the moment he entered the apartment. This is way above his normal paranoia. The place isn't normally this quiet. Even back when Caspin would run errands and leave him to just relax in his room. It is like the entire world hushes up. Turning its full attention on Cyrus to see what he does next. Cyrus keeps on looking behind his back. Just to make sure that the door is close. No madman is staring at him from his window. He keeps picturing one with a bloody axe. Ready to chop him up; use his blood to smear along the walls.

Shuddering, Cyrus walks toward his window. Pushing the curtain over it; plunging the room in a subtle darkness. Only a small amount of light enters the room from down the hall. You have read way too many thrillers. He thought, but can't stop imaging more horrors that can get him and no one will find out.

Going back to his bed, Cyrus reaches under his pillow. For one of the most important keepsake Caspin had given him during his seventh birthday. His hand close around a small round object and Cyrus lies down on his back, examining a golden pocket watch. Caspin said it had belonged to his father. It's just a simple, old-looking pocket watch. There isn't anything special on it. Like engravings or decoration upon its lid. He was only four years old when his parents are killed by…no. After what he confirmed with Caspin the other day, his parents aren't killed by Arcusians if they themselves are one. The discussion over the matter isn't really talked in detail. Cyrus still wishes to know most of who his parents were.

A faint memory, of a two faces that constantly hovering over Cyrus from his cradle. A warm smile and most of all; is a large golden scaled pattern blanket. Cyrus remembers that he loves to wrap around it before going to sleep. Those fragmented memories are all he has to lean on from his past. Remembering what little he knows. Sometimes brings a throbbing pain at the back of his head. The pain itself never really leaves him for long. There is always that kind of pain. That feels like a nail is jabbed into his brain and an invisible hammer. Constantly pulling it out and pushing it deeper into him. Just to mess with his mentality. The pocket watch itself, doesn't work now. It is broken and the small hand is bent in half. Cyrus once questioned his guardian about the faulty watch. He would just smile at him warmly and pat his head like Cyrus just said a ridiculous comment.

"It would be useful when the time is right." Caspin winks at him as he said it. Like he told Cyrus a cleaver pun he made at the moment.

Since that day however, Cyrus always feels secure whenever he holds onto the pocket watch. It may be a silly concept. However the watch makes him hold on to the hope that it is a lifeline to his father.

When Cyrus hears the front door open. Initially thinking that Caspin has finally arrived, Cyrus heaves himself up from the bed. About to call out to Caspin that he's in the bedroom. When he immediately pauses by the door and backs away. Why is Caspin too quiet? A much nervous wreck, like his guardian would make a loud statement. Especially since Caspin is always anxious about his well-being. The dead silence of his entry raises alarm bells in Cyrus's head. With the watch secure inside his jacket's pocket. Cyrus faintly hears a weird scuffling from the living room. The sound, like a hundred claws are running around the apartment's hardwood floor.

Jarring his door open by a tiny fraction. Cyrus tries to go out his room, without alerting his unwanted house guest. A bit hard, considering that the hall is narrow and most of the floorboards creak. Tiptoeing to the living room reminds him of a dangerous game of walking through landmines. Staying close to the wall, Cyrus edges to the living room when he hears a shout of frustration.

Freezing him in place, Cyrus hears bits and pieces of a hush conversation.

"Iveri' koru naverdem!" A gruff, husky voice said and Cyrus takes a step back. Unsure if they know he is in the apartment or not.

An Arcusnian! No other explanation for the strange language. Why is he nervous when he himself is one? They wouldn't bother him, if they know who he is right? The fear is unnatural, however. From the way the sounds of the exchange in the living are going. Cyrus questions their motives.

From the wall, Cyrus counts three shadows in total. All of them seem to be men, judging by their voice. Sucking in his breath, Cyrus inches to the end of the hall. He takes a look on the three spellweavers with his eyes. The same voice he hears earlier groans. Shaking his head in agitation; all three man are wearing heavy cloaks of black. Moving through the room quietly, almost as if they are searching for something important; one of them stomps his feet hard. Pacing the length of the room like a caged lion, the man's impatience doesn't bother the other two. Grabbing the edge of the table and tossing it toward the wall. His comrades look up at him before they hold their hands up at the table's general direction. The table abruptly stops inches from the wall. Cyrus can barely believe what he is seeing. Pure magic at work! They let it hover in mid-air before setting it down.

Moving as close as he dares, Cyrus listens in on their conversation. "Uverk, to'kurmer anervu sekritt." The same man says, waving his hands up and down, emphasizing a point.

Another man, the one closes to the door is holding a half-and-hand-sword. Points it at the angry Arcusnian's way, Cyrus wonders if he'll start throwing that to his partner. "Wei dorrium Celestic korin!" He hisses back. It surely isn't the first time, those two are arguing.

The two of them engages in a heated argument, while the last one. Who is close to the hallway, is the one that makes Cyrus anxious the most. Cyrus silently debates on his chances of escaping through the fire escape. Their apartment is only on the second floor. Even he can clear a jump, if it's necessary. But can he do it with the added weight? He can risk it. While they are busy fighting among themselves, Cyrus backs away. All he needs is the bags in his room.

When Cyrus is almost to his door, he steps on the wrong floorboard making a low squeaking sound on his step. All conversation in the living room cease. Cyrus doesn't even think when he dives into his room as a hooded face looks into the hall.

"Romugi!" Someone shouts angrily. People running down the hall soon follow, but Cyrus makes a wild grab for his backpack. Slinging the bag on one shoulder, he rams his way out the door.

Unhinging it from the door frame, Cyrus hears someone groaning from the other side of the door when he hits the wall. Not waiting around to see who he rammed into. Cyrus scrambles to the back of the apartment. Where the windows to the fire escape should be, loud banging, cursing, and a lot of stuff being thrown is all he hears. Cyrus doesn't know what they want in his place. But he needs to get away and warn Caspin. As Cyrus reaches the bathroom, a loud boom shakes the floor that Cyrus is force to grab hold of the sink. Though he learns from the experience, that fleeing is better than standing in a fight you can't win.

When he enters the bathroom, he locks the door behind him. Throwing his backpack through the window his training finally kicks in. Calm under pressure, Cyrus pries the window farther open, and climbs out. The moment his shoes touches the rusty fire escape, the door burst into flames.

"Why is it always fire?" He asks bitterly when the entire building begins to shake again.

Grabbing onto the railings, the fire escape dangerously wobbles and creaks under Cyrus's feet. Enough that iron dust falls to the ground. Before long, a piece of the ladder gives way. The place is said to be an old building, but Cyrus didn't expect it to be this delicate. Gritting his teeth, Cyrus holds tightly on the railings, with his back against it. He makes his way quickly towards the ladder leading below him. The fire escape keeps on shaking, but Cyrus prayed that it wouldn't give out anymore than it did. When he reaches for the ladder, he hears someone shouting from the window. Not even bothering to turn around. Cyrus briskly climbs down the ladder. One of the cloaked Arcusnian steps out to the fire escape and snarls at him. That's where things go horribly.

One of the support beams for the fire escapes gives way, and the entire thing slams into the side of the building. Moving as fast as he can, Cyrus goes down a couple more steps. Even though he is only ten feet off the ground, he lets go of the ladder half-way down. Cyrus tries to land in a roll, but he can't do it in time, so he lands heavily on his feet. Pain immediately blasts from his entire right leg causing him to cry out. Crumpling on asphalt, frantic orders from above is all Cyrus hears. Too numbed by agony to move, Cyrus turns to look at his leg. Should his shoe be really point that way? The ladder he was holding on drops a few feet away from him.

The Arcusnian he left on the fire escape is grabbing tightly at the railings. His hood falls back, revealing his short blond hair that almost appears like gold. Feline-like jade eyes with pupils that is already large in fear. Legs dangling, the Arcusnian keeps shouting something over and over that Cyrus hardly understands.

"Servine! Servine! Requires'k lo Celestia! Celestia!" He repeats over and over again. Though Cyrus can't figure out what he is saying. When he hears the man repeat "Celestia" continuously, he pushes himself to stand.

Groaning in the effort to stay upright, he places all his weight on his good leg. Cyrus hops as fast as his leg can take him. Shouting help as loud as he can before he shakes his head realizing it is a hopeless effort. One of the many problems of living in the edge of the district is that the only help you can receive here is by the police station five blocks away. If this happens in training, Cyrus can picture Grimmer shaking his head in disapproval for not trying hard enough. With no help coming, Cyrus trudges towards main road. Hoping that maybe someone will look out to check the noise and sees a kid being beat up by spellweavers. Every step he takes sends a new wave of pain to his broken leg. When Cyrus is several yards from their apartment, did the spellweavers chase after him.

If he isn't injured, Cyrus can easily outrun them. Though his entire right side is begging him to stop, Cyrus painstakingly sprints as fast as he dares. "If you can move, then move as fast as you can." Raylem use to say when they run through two hundred laps around the base. The road itself is uneven and on some parts have large gaping holes in it. District 47 is said to be one of the well protected districts in Haigem City. The battle ten years ago however caused the entire district's defenses to crumble ten times worse than any other parts of the city. Right now, Cyrus hates District 47. Better yet, he hates how twice in a week, he is attacked by Arcusnians.

When he is sees the borders of the city, Cyrus feel hopeful again. Through the running, Cyrus barely feels anything from his leg anymore. If he stops moving however might change that. Far behind him, he hears the Arcusnians steps, but they stopped shouting anymore. The thoughts of the Arcusnians chanting a spell to stop him fills him in dread. Changing from sprinting to a jog, Cyrus knows he can make it to the watchtowers in time. The guards will see him, and kill his pursuers.

As Cyrus approaches the watchtower, he is close enough to shout for help. Something flies over him, almost like a large bird. It lands heavily a few steps behind. Turning around, the pain in his leg intensifies and Cyrus drops to the ground, shouting in pain. Holding his injured leg, he pushes himself away from the newcomer. Unsure on what to make of the stranger right in front of him, Cyrus brace himself for anything. Wearing a thick blue cloak trimmed in silver with an owl embroidered on the back. Pushing back the hood, the stranger is a man with a grayish mop of hair and bright lapis azure eyes. He has a hooked nose, and unlike other Arcusnians. The man has a more chiseled appearance and slightly pointed ears.

In his hand is a silver staff, an inch or two higher than his height. The man turns to Cyrus briefly before turning back to the three oncoming Arcusnians. "Are you Fenmar's boy?" He asks in a thick grumbled accent.

English must only be a second for him, although he is Arcusnian. It takes Cyrus a while to find his voice. And when he does, all he can say is: "Uh-gah-um…ow."

Laughing, the man places the staff in his other hand and leans on it. A small smile crosses the man's face before he furrows his eyebrows in concentration. Watching the three others get closer towards them. Heavy mist swirls under their feet. Swords or daggers at hand, they vanish when the mist envelops them completely.

Cyrus relaxes, and slumps his shoulders down, feeling the tension leaving him. "Glad that's over."

"If it dark arts is that easy to fight against, kindler." He grumbles, and then tightens his grip on his staff. "Stay sharp, and if you hear a low whistle anywhere. Alert me." The man adds, stepping back a bit closer to guard Cyrus.

Kindler, what the heck is that? Cyrus thought. Keeping his ears up for any other surprises, he shuts all other sounds out. Trusting the dude with the staff is better than trusting some thugs with a deadly knife. What he hears however, isn't a low whistle. Rather a pair of boots running down the hill. Cyrus is about to tell it to the man, when a booming voice shouts.

"Cyrus!" His guardian shouts.

Opening his eyes, Cyrus grins and waves his arms towards Caspin. Running towards Cyrus, Caspin skids to a stop near them. Embracing him in a quick, bear hug before pulling away, his guardian stands up and comes closer to the man. A low menacing growl comes from Caspin, sending chills down Cyrus's back.

Swinging the staff in front of him, the man scowls. "Well, you seem to scare them off quiet well dragkun."

"Who hurt him?" Caspin said through gritted teeth. His entire body shaking, but the stranger shakes his head before planting the staff firmly into the soil.

Kneeling in front of Cyrus, the man grips his leg firmly making him wince. "It's broken, but you're lucky not to have a bone jutting out." He tells him with a small grin on his face.

Turning to Caspin, his guardian is at ease with the guy. Though with the day's morning event, Cyrus doesn't know whether he is friend or foe. "You two know each other?" Cyrus asks, looking between the two of them.

The man raises an eyebrow, before reaching into his cloak for something. "Well I didn't recognize your dragkun at first-"

"Dragkun what? I don't know what you're talking about," Cyrus cuts in but he holds a hand up in front of him.

"Though I mean no harm to you," He brings out a small pouch and breaks off a small piece of square inside. Passing it to Cyrus, the stench of the thing he is trying to give him is horrid. "Eat it. It'll help with the pain. I'll answer your questions soon." The man encourages him with food making Cyrus grimace.

It is only the size of a regular piece of brownie he eats in the army. Dark green in color, it is like seaweed left to dry for days on the sand. A putrid smell that reminds Cyrus of all the dirty laundry he had but tossed in garbage. Leaving it to rot for a week, everything about what the man is giving him is unappetizing.

Caspin leans closer to him, and nods for him to try it. Taking a deep breath, Cyrus swallows the entire thing whole. Bracing himself for his gag-reflexes and throw it up. What he taste however, leaves him speechless. The small bar instantly melts in his mouth. Warming inside him as it goes down his throat. Leaving a sweet aftertaste, almost like chocolate that soothes his pallet.

His energy replenishes after a while. The pain on this leg numbs down, that when he moves his leg slightly. It doesn't hurt as much as it did when he stop running. "That stuff works like magic." Cyrus said, massaging his leg without putting too much pressure on it.

"Just an herbal painkiller," The man grunts. He bends down and shows Cyrus his outstretched hand. "Marius Aquillion," He introduces, shaking Cyrus's hand with a firm grip.

"Cyrus Celes." Marius laughs and looks toward Caspin briefly before turning back to him.

"Quiet aware of that." He said. "Now, let's fix that leg of yours before we head out."

Allowing Marius to place a splint over Cyrus's leg, he doesn't know what to think about the man. They surely must have discussed about him behind his back. Maybe that was the reason Caspin wasn't around the apartment when he came home. He certainly knows how to use first aid like a human. Behind him, Caspin sits closer to Cyrus and places a hand on his shoulder.

Squeezing his shoulder, Cyrus sits back. "Who is this guy?"

Caspin still has a bothered look on his face but he gives Cyrus a crooked smile. "A friend of your family, and your teacher" He said when Marius starts a wheezing coughing fit.

Both of them look at Marius in concern, but once it is over. He stands up, and spits phlegm at the grass. Gripping his staff in one hand again, nodding in approval for his work. "Now that's how to fix a leg!" He exclaims proudly.

The loud whistle of the morning train fills the air. Louder near the city's borders, Cyrus is used to the sound. Marius however, has an excite glint in his eyes. The man looks around for the source of the commotion. He zeroes in, on the rising smoke coming from the factories. Laughing heartily, Marius spreads his arms out to the sky.

"Great Aracus! Look at that smoke. The sounds! Glory to this city's innovations."

Marius continues his praises for the morning rush of the people in the city. A look of uncertainty crosses Caspin's face, and even Cyrus wonders if the man is capable of what Caspin says he does.

"Well, I trust you." Cyrus points out, and Caspin gives him a grateful look. Giving him a hand, Caspin helps Cyrus up. Thankful for the splint, he walks up to Silas and taps him by the shoulder. Not wanting to tear his gaze from the sight of the highrises –or what's left of them- Marius squares his shoulders.

Smiling a crocodile grin to Cyrus. He dusts off the dirt on Cyrus's back. "Wonderful, you can stand upright." He said. "Now traveling will be less of a hassle."

Stifling back his laughter, Cyrus looks at Marius in disbelief as he walks pass him. "Wait, you're traveling with us?" He asks while shouldering his backpack.

Using the staff like a large walking stick, Marius ignores Cyrus's question. Heading straight for the barricade without even bothering to sneak around the guards in the watchtowers. They had virtually almost no supplies, except the backpack Cyrus managed to take with him from the apartment. Caspin, himself, didn't have anything to bring with him but the clothes on his back.

Noticing his concern, Caspin walks in pace with Cyrus. "Marius maybe a weird man, but he is very wise for his age."

Cyrus scoffs. "Yeah, a guy who shouts with joy to the clouds on air pollution is very wise for his age."

"Well he's the only one we can trust for now." Caspin said back, and it is an acceptable answer for him now. "What I want to know. Is the exact details about those who attacked you earlier." He said seriously, looking back just to be sure that they aren't being followed.

Still shaken by what happened in the apartment, Cyrus can't meet Caspin's gaze. "I don't wanna talk about it out in the open." Cyrus mutters, glancing towards the watchtower.

"Don't worry about those simple-minded humans." Marius shouts in front of him. "I placed them to sleep until we are miles away from here." He explains as he walks right up to the wall.

Clearing his throat, he cranes his head up at the huge concrete wall that separates them from the outside world. Never mind climbing through it. Going outside the city in silence is impossible. That's the main reason why the Arcusnian family the army lost during the training was caught.

"How are we going to pass this?" Cyrus asks skeptically, placing a hand on the cold stone wall.

Examining the wall, Marius gives it a quick tap with his staff. Caspin just stands back with his hands behind his back. The sun is high in the sky already, and soon. If Cyrus remembers in class, the second shift of guards will happen at noon. They can't stay there for long.

Stretching his arms, Caspin removes his coat. Revealing his short sleeved black shirt, showing off Caspin's well muscled arms from years of working. "I could lift you both to the other side of the barricade." He offers, and Cyrus doesn't know what he meant by that, although Marius shakes his head on the thought.

"Too risky," Marius scratches his chin and cracks his knuckles. "No matter, I have a better way."