In these moments where the half child dances, weaves and flies over the land, he feels freer than he has felt since his birth. The wind whipping over his hair lifts his mane and tail, lifting his worries and woes with him. He is not Adelric the Half Child, destined for a life of mediocrity. He is Adelric the Noble Commander, embodying all of the glory that his name implies. The wind calls his name as he runs, directing him atop the mountain top. The tree, now behind him, waves its banners. Each leave is emblazoned with his name, his face, his crest, whipping through the wind and celebrating him as he throws his nose out and makes contact with the Night Phoenix's flesh. It is a jubilant time, a moment to celebrate, and he feels a smile crawl across his maw and laughter fall out. It is answered by the growl of the black prince, which drives Adelric onward.

But as the scenery celebrates him, it also works against him. A mist surrounds him. For a moment he runs on, but as the fog thickens, the half-child cannot help but slow to a walk. He cannot see far ahead of him, nor behind him, and as the fun of the game fades, the half-child begins to curse himself. He has forgotten himself, forgotten that he is not supposed to be winning. He turns, about to run back where he had come from in the hopes that he will run into the Night Phoenix and let Erebos tag him, but it is too late. The voice of the Demon Prince calls out and Adelric frowns. He is too late, too slow, he has already disappointed his friend. He begins to worry, looking nervously from side to side, but he does not see Erebos anywhere through the dense mist.

It is then that he begins to notice that his knees throb. Looking down, he sees crimson fluid flowing from cuts that he presumably gained when tripping over the roots of the tree. “I'm here- Erebos, look!” he cries out suddenly, all thoughts of the game long forgotten. A new mystery his arisen in his life, a new curious circumstance that he has thus far been unaware of. While he may have seen blood before on the day of his birth, he does not remember it and he would not have had time to investigate anyways. But now, here, with his new friend, Adelric is excited to uncover the mystery of this fluid that flows out of his body. “What do you think this is?” he asks as he thinks he see Erebos through the mist, looking back down to his knees which still leak blood slowly. Upon reaching down to touch it, he finds that it is warm and wet, a most curious thing indeed. His mothers milk is warm and wet, but it is certainly not red and he has only ever seen it flow from her teat. While he waits for an answer, his breaths come quickly as he tries to slow his fast-beating heart.

All the while, in the back of his scholarly brain, there is the worry that Erebos will not forgive him for running off into the mists. He hopes and prays that it will not cause any strife.