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back. The blade struck only empty air. His face twisted into an ugly scowl of anger and indignation.
    “You should learn your manners,” he spat. “When your elder speaks, you would do well to listen.”
    Zinoro swung his claymore without moving from where he stood. The blade, shrouded in black fire, cut right through the steel of the short sword Luca held, leaving behind only a hilt. Then, Zinoro swung again, and the very tip of the blade cut across Luca's right cheek.
    Luca gasped, and then lines of red blood ran down his cheek, and dripped down into the snow. The wound burned, in a strange way that no other cut ever had.
    Zinoro smiled. “That's better. Never forget your mistakes, for there are some scars that a healer cannot mend.”
    Zinoro snapped his fingers as he turned away from Luca. A very large Acarian, who was armoured from head to toe and had a large battle axe strapped to his back, stepped up behind Luca, grabbing his shoulders and lifting him to his feet.
    “Hold him,” Zinoro ordered. “He will not like the next part.”
    Luca struggled against the man holding him. The grip only tightened. The only weapon left was Lodin's sword, but it was far beyond his reach, resting in the snow beside his father. Luca started to gather his mana, which was his only option. Zinoro would be able to sense it, but he did not seem to care.
    Luca's hands were not free, so directing a spell would be difficult. But he wouldn't simply stand there and watch Zinoro...
    He couldn't feel his mana.
    Luca began to panic. He had never felt such a thing before. His mana was always there, a bodily sense not unlike sight or taste. To suddenly lose it...
    The cut on his cheek was burning. He noticed that the more mana he tried to pull, the more it hurt.
    There was nothing he could do. The frustration of his powerlessness setting in, Luca struggled in vain against the powerful hands holding him in place.
    Luca began to panic. He knew what was about to happen.
    Zinoro walked back over to where Lodin knelt, unmoved since his beating. Lodin's white hair and beard swayed as a heavy wind blew through the cold tundra. A sombre wind. The village was all but gone now - the wooden huts had been reduced to ash, and what remained was being buried by snowfall. The villagers were all dead now, and the Acarian soldiers had disappeared as quickly as they had arrived.
    Only four souls were present to witness Lodin's death.
    Zinoro said something as he stared impassively at his former enemy. Luca did not hear a word of it. The wind was so loud now, and the snowfall was blinding. He could barely see the shape of his father against the whiteout.
    Luca screamed when he saw Zinoro's blade glow again with his dark mana, and he twisted and flailed in a useless struggle at escape as he saw red blood spill from his father's chest.
    The snowfall ended suddenly then, as though cut off with Lodin's life. For a brief second, Luca could see his father lying in a pool of red before the body was taken by the spiritual plane, leaving only the fur clothes and blood already spilt behind.
    For a moment, he simply stared in silence, unable to believe that his father, his only family, and sole companion for fourteen years, was dead. Zinoro also seemed to be in a sombre state. He seemed disappointed, as though he had expecting more out of the confrontation.
    Zinoro conjured a cloth out of his pocket, wiped his sword down, and slid the blade back into its sheath. Then he turned and addressed the Acarian holding Luca.
    “Knock him out,” he said. “We return to the circle. Our business here is done.”
    Luca's mind did not register the words, but he did recognise Zinoro's voice, which brought him back to the present.
    Zinoro turned his back and started to walk away. His ebony form was gone within a blink, somehow vanishing into the white landscape.
    Something clicked in Luca's mind. Grief filled him, and he struggled with renewed fury. The Acarian holding him released him,