He turned his attention again to the other fighter, whom was now on his feet, terror in his eyes as he looked at his comrade bleeding on the ground. He shook with a mixture of fury and agony at the loss of someone so close to him and let out a cry, running forward with disregard of combat style and slashing with his short sword at James. His emotions boiled so that he did not care to dodge any retaliation strikes that were thrown at him, he continued to press on after each cut and stab was inflicted on his body.

James continued to fight the enraged man, fighting to keep himself at top of this battle and not resort to the same barbaric form of combat. He kept his head through the battle, waiting for the many mistakes his opponent made to make his strike, always poised to take advantage of his enemy’s falter. The perfect opportunity took its place as the man began to turn around for a horizontal slash towards James’ face. Without a moment’s delay, he rushed forward, the long sword shining in the bloodied sun’s rays and skewered his blade through the man’s armored body and out the front of his chest.

The man only stood there, looking down at the blade that protruded through his armor. He then coughed, blood dripping down his chin as his vision blurred. He let out a cry in pain as the long sword was pulled from its position, blood trailing out both the entrance and the exit of the wound.

James stood there, looking at the man as he fell to the ground. He landed with a soft thud; the ringing of chain-mail against iron filled his ears for a moment. Coughing then consumed all of his hearing as he became focused on the man. He walked over, flipping him onto his back and pulling off his helmet. What lay there before was a reflection of his own face back at him.

The man’s face resembled his own in every aspect, the shape of the nose, the color of the eyes and even the scar upon the right side of his head that looked like a crescent moon. He looked younger however, there were no lines on his face and he seemed to be a child still. James’ hands trembled as he held the face of the person in front of him, being stared up at as well. Through the blood and gurgling James heard words from the man that lay before him.
     “You… You bear resemblance to me. Perhaps you are the one Nikita spoke of…” The young boy spoke, his eyes flickering as if the world was moving in slow motion. “Maybe you can find her… Go find Nikita… Now…” With that, the boy raised his hand and touched the crescent moon scar upon James’ head. An inferno raged in his skull as James jumped back, yelling out in agony as he held his head. He grabbed at the place where his scar was located to sooth the pain it produced, only to find that blood was pouring out of the scar.

The world began to spin, and blackness enveloped his vision as he passed out on the ground.

     The world began to resume itself as James opened his eyes. He was lying on the ground near the stream, water pouring over his head. During the vision he must have made his way to the stream as he felt his hand freezing wet with water on his leather glove. He staggered to his feet, making his way back to the campsite and sitting down near the tree. He held his head with both hands, the right gripping at the scar again. His head throbbed a great deal and caused him to moan.

The pain eventually subsided as he leaned against the tree, looking out to the stream, his thoughts racing. He mumbled something for a moment, looked at the ground and then asked the air. “Who is Nikita?”