[r.] I know you will follow me until kingdom come [18+]

The former knight of Atvany never thought there would come a day when she would feel relieved to hear the cocksure, often infuriating voice of Galeyn’s current resident faoladh (well, one of three, if she counted the two who remained at large…). Given the errant and indiscriminately destructive nature of her magic, for all she knew, the tumultuous chaos that had resulted from her intimate union with her very magically adept husband could have been enough to silence the wolf’s yammering mouth once and for all. Then again, knowing Hadwin as well as she did, that was wishful thinking, and it shouldn’t have come as any surprise when he stood up from the side of the bed and laughed it off, not so much as a mark on his lean body to suggest he was even remotely injured.

Air rushed out of Elespeth’s lungs as the third party in the room laughed off the unexpected lightning show, and her shoulders relaxed just a little. “That couldn’t possibly have been pleasant for you…” She said, but as soon as the words passed her lips, she realized their inaccuracy. This was a man who could break his bones and dislocate his joints at will… and he had, to her recollection, expressed enjoyment the day her magic had manifested in the Night Garden, destroying any chance she might have had to connect with his sister. 

Why and how Hadwin could possibly enjoy being struck by electricity in any form, however, was a concern that paled in comparison to the predicament they currently faced. The former knight pulled her clothes on in haste, prepared to vacate the room as quickly as they possibly could, but as Hadwin expertly beat them to it, her husband suddenly did not appear so keen on the idea. “Alster, did my magic addle your mind so badly?” Elespeth hissed, struggling to simultaneously lace up and pull on her boots. “We can’t just stay here and… and own up to what happened! Not only is my reputation on the line, but so is yours--and what good is it to ask Hadwin to keep his mouth shut if we are going to openly admit to what happened in here?”

Even if he’d agreed to flee the scene of their crime as quickly as possibly, the guards were even quicker. Elespeth jumped as the door burst open to the sight of four hulking Forbanne guards, armed with blades and prepared to face whatever threat they assumed they would find. Their confusion was clear on their face when all they found were a couple of comrades, one of then with eyes as wide as prey that had been caught by a predator. For the love of all that is good, Elespeth thought with dismay, her palms already sweating, is he really going to tell the Forbanne that this chaos is actually the result of destructive sex?!

As it turned out, she shouldn’t have doubted her husband. Alster confessed that they were, in fact, at fault for this… ‘mishap’, and that it was magic related, but that was where his explanation began and ended. No details, no allusion to private intimacy, and no offering an explanation for their rumpled, half-buttoned clothes, and poorly laced footwear. He even went so far as to challenge the Forbanne’s protocol, and insisted that they two of them would themselves report the incident on the morrow, so as not to disturb Queen Lilica and Haraldur at such a late hour. And… they listened. Perhaps it was his nature, serving as a leader and diplomat and knowing precisely what tone to use in any given situation, or perhaps it was due to the well-known fact that both he and Elespeth were close friends and allies of both their commander, as well as Queen Lilica. Regardless, the Forbanne… listened, and they complied, with surprisingly little resistance. It was impossible to drain the red flush from her face as the four men did escort her and her husband back to her proper chambers, feeling as though she was wearing her guilt on her sleeve for what she had caused in that bedroom, but not another soul questioned the two of them before they were safely behind the privacy of their chamber door.

Letting out a small sigh of relief, Elespeth kicked off her boots again and made her way to their inviting bed, both physically and mentally exhausted over their previous union, and everything it had taken for them to get there. But as satisfying as it had been, the former knight could not curb the anxiety stemming from the fact someone would find out what happened to that chamber that was known to be empty and vacant. And knowing precisely who those someones were… she would have preferred that the Forbanne guards know the truth and simply deem it too inconsequential to report. “Chara won’t let you live it down… she won’t let me live it down.” The former Atvanian blew a puff of air from between her lips, a furrow forming between her brows. “Which means I am probably going to lose what little respect I’m sure Lilica had for me… Haraldur is probably the only one who won’t give a damn, but even then, I guarantee he’ll have his jokes. And this is all contingent on Hadwin staying true to his promise and keeping his mouth shut.”

Some things would never change, one of them being Elespeth’s hyper-sensitivity to her public image, something long since engraved in her mind, having been born of noble blood. However, potential humiliation paled in comparison to what Alster had to tell her, when the two of them settled onto their bed. “Wait, so you’re… you are still going to leave? Even after all this?” Her heart sank, and she sat up straighter on the bed, her mind racing for excuses. But she knew Alster was right: he had already announced his imminent arrival at the D’Marian village, and had made a promise to his feel that he could not rescind, even if he had made it during a moment of weakness. “I… I could go with you. There is no need for me, here. Haraldur and his search party can surely fare well without me. It isn’t as though I have been of much help to them…” 

But the answer was clear and implied: she might not have been of much help to Haraldur, but neither would she be of any help to Alster, either. She was in no way adept to the work required of her husband, could in no way be of any real assistance, and were she to leave for the D’Marian village, she would only continue to exist as deadweight. He would get more done without her there as a distraction… Unfortunately, there really was no compromise. “If you must go… then it is only logical that you stay. Who is to say they might not require protection at night? If that is the case, and you are gone, then your efforts will be in vain… so, you should stay.” Elespeth rested a hand on his arm, reluctant to let him go, but understanding that this was a time where duty far outweighed feelings. Galeyn was in danger, and by association, so was the D’Marian village. There was no room for half-efforts, and if his people needed and desired the protection that their leader could offer them, then it was imperative that they be all in. “Of course, perfecting your ability to walk between portals in case of any dire emergency where even the speed of the Night Steeds will not suffice is still a sound idea. But if you’re going… then you need to commit, wholeheartedly. You know D’Marians as well as I do; they will know if your heart isn’t in it.”

Withdrawing her hand, Elespeth rested it in her lap and averted her suddenly guilty gazed. “But… know that you’ve done nothing wrong, Alster. You’ve been supportive; you never stopped being supportive, even after I forsook you. After I forsook us… and what’s happening to me now, it isn’t to do with the magic I inherited. I’ve been lost, for a very long time. Since leaving my home in Atvany, every day has been a tug of war between wanting what I once had, and wanting to find something different. Even now, I have not found a resolution. I still don’t know who I am, or what I want to be, and maybe… but just a little time alone to reflect on that will help.” When she looked up again and took his organic hand, her green eyes were a mix of sadness and understanding. “First and foremost, I am yours. I am your wife, and that won’t change. But what I am beyond that, magic or no magic… that is up to me to discover. It is in no way your burden; that would be the D’Marians. So… maybe, when the two of us can finally find a moment to address these burdens, we can find more meaningful moments being with one another.

“Whatever the case,” a sly smile crept across her lips, and she rested her hands on his shoulders, “it is your magic that has taken up residence in my body--not Lysander’s, not Chara’s, not another Rigas’s. By that fact, no one else is better qualified to help me learn to use it… and I adamantly refuse to learn from anyone who is not you. So,” Elespeth shrugged her shoulders and cocked her head to the side, “I suppose you will just have to carve out some time away from the D’Marian village from time to time to train me. You are adamant that I am a ‘channeler’, but I don’t know the faintest of what that could mean. Well, that is…” A flush crept across her face, and she couldn’t help but chuckle at herself, now that it was relatively safe to do so. “I am sure it has to mean more than destructive bedroom play. Which, I might add, is something we should figure out sooner or later. I don’t want to push the limit of Lilica’s patience…” With a smirk, she leaned in and stole a kiss from Alster’s lips. “There are only so many rooms we can ransack before it becomes a problem.”

Isidor almost slept well--and despite the almost, it was more than he could hope for most nights. But the ones spent with Tivia were by far some of the most tolerable. Since their first awkward tangling of mouths and limbs, the Master Alchemist assured her that it wouldn’t have to be the first and last time, and was open to exploring this strange, new world of intimacy with a woman he never would’ve dreamed would look at him the way she did. Sleep was still sparze, and not something he sought after, but she tired him out to such an extent that here and there, he was able to find some precious moments of dreamless slumber, where his weary body could actually rest. Of course, that didn’t mean he would awaken with a start at least once an hour, haunted by faces in the dark, faces in the back of his mind that weren’t really there. He hadn’t found a single night of reprieve since Hadwin had taken it upon himself to unleash the part of Isidor’s mind that he had suppressed… and at this point, nothing could save him from this horror. But just as he helped Tivia, the Rigas woman helped him. Took his mind off of the worst, even if only transiently. More than a mere distraction, but… also not a cure. Nor did he expect her to be; his demons were his own, and he deserved every one of them.

After having learned how it displeased her to depart in the middle of the night, Isidor finally found it in him to make his departure from her bedroom (for it was far less chaotic than his own) at morning light, and not without waking her to inform her of his departure. This morning, she slept longer than usual, claiming that she hadn’t been able to fall asleep again after some loud disturbance a few corridors away had shaken her from her slumber. When he gently shook her shoulder, she barely groaned, but at least she could not fault him for not trying. “I’ll be seeing you. Whenever you feel the need to find me.” He told her after pulling on his clothes and securing his boots, preparing to face yet another day.

He hadn’t even closed Tivia’s chamber door behind him before he stepped directly into Alster’s path.

“Alster…!” For someone with a steel arm, the Rigas head was certainly light-footed, and the Master Alchemist nearly jumped, just shy of colliding with him. “I… this is…” There was no explanation; nothing he could say to circumvent the fact that he was leaving Tivia Rigas’s room early in the morning. Even if he were a good liar, anyone with a brain could have drawn a conclusion. There was no use and no point in hiding it.

But that didn’t mean he had to draw attention to it, either. “Did you… happen to hear that strange disturbance last night? Something occurred just a few hallways over; I heard a handful of guards on foot, probably going to investigate.” Isidor opted to change the subject before it was ever brought up, to something far more conversational. “Nobody appears to be particularly concerned today, though, so… perhaps it was nothing noteworthy.” In true Isidor fashion, he wrung his hands together nervously as he typically did when he was at a loss for words. Especially when there was an elephant in the room that had yet to be addressed.

“Alster… I must apologize for my behaviour, recently. Particularly a few days ago, concerning the performer recovering in the sanctuary. It was not fair for me to treat you the way I did, and I hope you can forgive me my transgressions. I haven’t been myself; not since that wolf… well, you know.” With a sigh, he rubbed the back of his neck when his fingers touched the bridge of his nose and found no spectacles there. He had left his new pair in his study, the day before… “There has been talk that you plan to depart for the D’Marian village to assume a leadership role among your people. If you are able to find a maximum of two free days before that occurs, I can make the promised changes to your arm: one day to work on the arm itself, and one day to work on you--particularly, the site where your arm connects. I have everything drafted and ready, if you are still interested… it would be relatively non-invasive, and shouldn’t require much or any recovery time. Not like I imagine it did to get the arm in the first place. So…” He worried his lower lip, dark eyes fixed on the floor, and sighed. “I understand if you’ve given up on it--and me--at this point. But in the event that you haven’t, my offer still stands.”

Alster, acknowledging Elespeth’s disappointment over his decision, understood he also couldn’t propose a hybrid to his plan after committing to the safety of the D’Marian village. She was right; it wasn’t fair to the people he swore to protect. Though he never wanted the title of Rigas Head, it also gave him a purpose he desperately needed. As with Elespeth, Alster, to some degree, wrestled with his identity and self-image. Lost, directionless, and often denied opportunities to assist with his magic, he constantly asked the question: How can I effectively help people? Who needs me most? At the time, he believed Elespeth, sick of his ever steadfast company, would do better if he stayed at a physical distance from her. She needed the room to breathe without the fog of his palatable concern breathing condensation on her neck. Now that they, with the unlikely assistance of a depraved wolf, reconnected through sex, he was conflicted about his decision to leave, but, unable to renege at risk of coming off as unreliable, he had little choice. He would proceed, as planned. 

“You have a point, Elespeth.” He clung to her hand as it withdrew, also hesitant to release her. “It would be disingenuous of me if I didn’t give my full efforts and attention to my people. They’ve struggled to adapt since our forced exodus and, rightly so, they’re in a state. They haven’t known peace or stability, and their leader is in absentia. I’m not surprised they’re short on patience and too fraught to lower their guard and live. The fault lies with me. So convinced I can do it all, for everyone...but always, someone will inevitably suffer on my account, because I fail to deliver on my promises. I miscalculate, overwork my stamina...and then I wonder why I’m so exhausted. I divert my energies too much. I have to plant my feet and retrain my focus, starting with the village. They need to know they haven’t been overlooked. But,” he weaved his flesh and blood fingers through the openings in her hand, gathering it tenderly like a thing to be preserved, “that doesn’t mean I’m abandoning you here, El. As I’ve said, I still have business here at the palace. I could compromise with the counsel and advocate for spending one or two nights here a week. At random intervals, of course. And I will travel through portals; that way, if Locque is watching our movements, I will be more difficult to track. It’s essential you stay here; we can communicate from great distances without even needing to carry resonance stones. If ever there’s an issue, tell me, and I’ll appear in seconds. Besides,” he nuzzled the side of her face, making contact with her ear, whispering, “I’d rather train you in the Night Garden. Though, I must say, it’s going to be difficult, guiding you with your magic, when all I can think about is how it traveled through me and sang. We’ll have to be careful, El...that we don’t lose ourselves in midst of your formal instruction. Because all I want right now,” his hot breath tickled her earlobe, “is to revisit that moment with you, again and again. We’ll scorch each room if we have to--though we shouldn’t have a repeat of tonight. I’ll shield and proof the room. I’m better prepared for you, now. And,” a flurry of kisses traveled from her jawline to her neck, “we have a few days before I transfer. We’ll make the most of it...without help.” 

Despite the resurgence of Alster’s friskiness, he and Elespeth were far too exhausted to partake in an encore performance. They ended up curling together in bed, arms ensconced, celebrating the victory of their togetherness face to face and not, as before, with their backs turned in rejection and dejection. Slumber found them easily, a first in what seemed like months. As dawn broke through the overlarge windows of their chambers, Alster was loath to rise, and for an entirely different reason than usual. While bombarded with a headache, no thanks to his liberal imbibing of wine, disengaging from Elespeth’s warm embrace was akin to cutting off his left arm and leaving it to bleed. But duty called...and he needed to go.

“Elespeth.” He kissed her forehead, but she did not stir. So serene was her repose, he daren’t disturb her. “No worries. You sleep,” he stroked back stray threads of hair from her forehead and climbed out of bed. “It’s better off you don’t see Chara’s expression as I tell her, Lilica, and Haraldur what transpired last night.” 

As promised, the Forbanne guards were waiting for him outside the door. They weren’t far in their trek down the hallway before he practically collided into Isidor as he was covertly exiting Tivia’s quarters. “Isidor!” he exclaimed, his surprise on par with the alchemist. Craning his neck over his shoulder, he addressed the two guards. “Will you give me a moment?” Silently nodding, the guards moved aside, granting the two men their space. 

“There’s no need to explain.” He presented his flustered companion with a pleasant smile. “I’m aware.” Sensing his discomfort, he did not belabor the subject. But perhaps as an unintentional act of revenge, Isidor managed to send Alster into a flustered state. “Oh...yes. That disturbance.” He could feel the Forbanne’s eyes boring on him. No use denying involvement when he was among company privy to the ‘truth.’ “It was an accident. A...collision of magic between Elespeth and me. We couldn’t sleep last night, so we decided on going to a quiet place to hone in on her abilities. A horrid idea, choosing an indoor venue, right?” He laughed unconvincingly, his cheeks threatening to flicker a shade of bright red. “Nevermind the fact I forgot to shield the room. I’m going off to explain the situation to Queen Lilica as we speak--hence the guards.” At even the most casual, out-of-context mention of Hadwin, Alster’s cheeks did spread its sunburned rash across his face. What if he discovered the faoladh’s involvement last night? If Tivia knew the real reason behind his and Elespeth’s clandestine rendezvous with a third party, would she inform Isidor? If so, would he lose whatever remaining respect he harbored towards Alster? I’m afraid I’ve already betrayed you, Isidor, doing what I’ve done.

“No apologies are necessary, Isidor,” he covered up his guilt and shame with another smile. “It is I who must express my sincerest apologies. I haven’t been myself, either. At the rate I was going, I was bound for disaster. If I hadn’t helped her at all, my self-sabotage could have caused that poor woman a great deal more discomfort. Or worse. Believe me, I deserved your choice words. It was wholly unprofessional of me. A shameful display.” He fixed the sigil of the Rigas family crest embroidered on his collar, displaying it with a dose more pride. “I’m heading to the D’Marian village to make amends. I cannot, in all honesty, call myself a healer after the dramatics I pulled--but at the very least, there are people out there who consider me a leader. So I will take up my all-but-deserted mantle and stop acting like a flagrant disappointment to everyone.” When Isidor still expressed the interest to modify his prosthesis, he cradled the clunky thing to his chest. “You desire to fix it? I,” he blanched, reflexively moving the same arm forward, as though to grip his shoulder with reassurances, “no, that’s not it, Isidor. I haven’t given up on you. Contrarily...I was giving up on myself. No, I would appreciate your work, if it is not too much trouble. I have several days yet before I’m scheduled to relocate to the village. How about...tomorrow? If that is too soon, let me know. Whatever you decide, I leave it to your expertise. But for now,” he jerked his head to the Forbanne guards, “I have an impromptu meeting I must attend. I’ll call on you later, Isidor. Take care.” Nodding his retreat, he followed the miniature procession of guards en route to Lilica’s council chambers.

One problem--in a sea of many--with being an emissary for the stars happened not to pertain to middle-of-the-night frights and deafening pierces pitched high enough to awaken a dog from the dead, but, inexplicably, to discretion. Before, when the firmament approached her with insights of the past, present, or yet-to-be, Tivia would inform the closest, most relevant person of the news, certain she was meant to share her discoveries with the affected party or parties. Why else would the stars choose her as their interpreter, if not for someone to hear their frenzied, overlapping screams? 

Ever since her conversation with Alster, however, her perspective had shifted a tad.

Riding on the outcome of her collaboration with Teselin, which resulted in the wholesale destruction of Apelrade and thousands of lives, Tivia sought Elespeth and Alster for comfort, terrified by her unwitting contribution to the summoner’s cause and fully preparing to bar every soul from her cursed, uncanny knowledge. Why reveal sage, otherworldly advice to an audience if they, equipped with that advice, would do unspeakable things and, whether purposefully or by accident, end up fulfilling some dark prophecy? On the other hand, what would it mean to remain mum, burying the secrets of the universe out of fear of others mishandling the information? And, if she were truly handpicked by the stars to prophesy, what cosmic fate would befall her if she failed to spread their relentless stream of messages?

She did not know, for the one star she did not have access to was her own. A precaution, perhaps; even the stars followed some semblance of order amid the interstellar chaos of infinity. Either way, she took Alster’s counsel to heart. As the chosen arbiter, she’d been entrusted with how best to utilize her ‘gift.’ The stars left her in charge of parsing through their messages to select what she considered important. If they acted as geysers spewing boiling water and bits of pulverized detritus, then she was the filter, sieving the dirty particles out of the stream until she deemed it potable and safe to drink. 

Hence came the ‘discretion’ part. Before revealing her alien insights, she first needed to calculate the risk versus the reward. Would shining a light on otherwise inaccessible knowledge negatively impact the projected course of the future? While true that the messenger was only responsible for the message, and not for the behavior or actions of the recipient, she was no simple messenger; her divinations had some real-world consequences, and if not handled with delicacy and foresight, could seriously alter events for the worse. The future was mutable and she did not exist as a mere observer in it. She was just as, if not more, capable of influencing the rivers of time and the standing pools of fate as any other. By speaking, she was complicit. By not speaking, she was complicit. Therefore, it fell on her to maintain the status quo and to deliver only what was necessary; whatever wouldn’t risk a monumental defeat for her friends and allies.

So she didn’t stop Teselin and Hadwin’s search for Sigrid, a venture guaranteed to fail. To prevent their departure (if the headstrong summoner could even be dissuaded) would have prevented the rescue of Briery Frealy; it would have prevented, as she understood it, Alster and Elespeth’s reconciliation as a couple. Last, it would prevent (as it had not yet happened), the recovery of yet another dear life, whose reawakening revolved around the combined efforts of Vitali and Isidor’s specialized skill-sets. Much as she hated to admit it, Hadwin Kavanagh was central to these tiny boons of morale. For that reason, she did not press the faoladh scoundrel on his possession of the alchemist stone. When given the opportunity to confront him at the sanctuary, she had simply ignored him. She knew he’d return the stone, but she chose not to say. She knew the reason behind last night’s magic-related disturbance, but chose not to say. Sometimes, her wilful lack of forthrightness made her worry about her integrity. After all, she was not only withholding, but feigning ignorance. Isidor had placed a modicum of trust in her, and she was unable to return his trust with honesty in fear it would disrupt the flow of their narrative together. Unfortunately, keeping their narrative in tact required Hadwin to gambol about as he pleased. For all his horrible faults, the faoladh wielded trickster energy, and its chaos, as of present, worked to their benefit. 

With all the thoughts of her disloyalty racing through her head, sleep had become difficult. Carrying the burden as the universe’s mouthpiece was stressful enough, but now, she had to contend with its weight alone, bereft of an outlet. In place of an outlet, she made do spending her time in Isidor’s company. Welcoming the distractions of physical intimacy, she initiated every encounter by inviting the alchemist to her chambers and pouncing. To his credit, he hadn’t yet tired of her, or he was too polite to reject her advances (no matter how much he claimed to enjoy their relationship outside of the sex). She couldn’t always gauge his interest as something he truly wanted, not when his mind was so obviously plagued with demons too numerous to name. Just as he was an opportunity for her to forget the yammering of the stars and its consequences, so too did she occupy the same role in Isidor’s life. A distraction. While he obviously cared for her, he could not love her. There was no room in his tumultuous headspace for love, not after Hadwin’s assault. And she, perhaps, was fated to lose or to forgo it altogether. Every star-seer before her was abandoned by their friends and family--and died alone. As her powers developed, she feared the trajectory. Would her connections to the heavens affect the grounding pull of her reality, or would reality, repulsed by her polarity, pull away from her?

Enjoy what you can get, while you have the sanity to get it, she warned herself every day. Before you float adrift from earth, untethered by gravity.

Eventually, her thoughts settled and she fell asleep in the tangle of Isidor’s clumsy embrace. She clung to his welcoming, anchoring warmth, knowing that come morning, he would rise and leave to attend to his busy affairs. Half-asleep for his departure, she groaned fully awake several hours later, angry for missing his goodbye, for wasting a precious, unrenewable moment asleep. To accept her fate as a star-seer, it was vital to imprint and commit every detail of her and Isidor’s relationship to memory, however mundane. Memories were all that would keep her company later in life. 

Grumbling, she gave her bedsheets a retaliatory kick and clambered to her feet. She washed up, dressed, and supped on a small meal of salad. As a “new” addition to her morning preparations, she sat at her vanity and carefully observed the marred side of her face in the mirror. Since their first moments in bed together, she underwent two more sessions of facial reconstruction. Her skin showed visible improvements, regaining a smoother, less rippled texture, resembling less of a weathered rock formation and more of pliant human flesh.No longer wary to touch her cheek, she did without flinching from its rough-hewn, leathery feel. Whatever Isidor was doing, it was working. But how? He did not possess magic. Alchemy required an exchange of equal parts. In her case, healthy cells were needed to replace her dead, ravaged tissues. And without a donor, without someone to volunteer their own flesh…

She would have to inquire as to his methods, later that day. But for now, she would make good on her promise--her “payment” to him, as it were.

Gathering the vestiges of her courage, she left her chambers and headed to Teselin’s chambers, hoping against hope that her wolf companion was spending the majority of his time at the sanctuary. Wavering, she knocked at the summoner’s door, wondering if she would answer. Silence. No, she was gone, busily inserting herself into the kingdom’s affairs as penance. She wouldn’t be inside. Not at all!

As she turned to leave, the door opened. 

“Ah! Teselin.” She swerved around to face the slight figure silhouetted in the doorframe. “Good morning. I hope you are well? I,” she fiddled with the ends of her braid; might as well rip off the bandage, “I had meant to say this earlier, but the timing was not in our favor. P-please…” she hesitated, “please forgive me for my behavior. I did not...it was misplaced anger. I was angry at myself for enabling this outcome, as if I had any control over what would happen aside from telling you where to go.  It was the condition for saving his life. It was...it was necessary. Even if we were all granted the ability of my conditional foresight, that wouldn’t guarantee we’d be able to choose what’s easiest or least harmful. But sometimes...the universe has a way of balancing itself out. May this assure you, Teselin. There is hope for you...because you saved him. There’s an alternate timeline the stars have shown me. His death...would have done worse. Far worse.” 

One would think that leaving Galeyn on a rescue mission, and to return with someone who had, in fact, been in dire need of rescuing, would have heightened Teselin’s mood and given her a sense of accomplishment. Twice, in fact, had she returned with a life that otherwise would have been lost, were it not for her intervention. Wasn’t that validation enough that the decisions she had made, and the sacrifices that had ensued, were enough?

If only that were the case, but if she was being honest with herself, Teselin knew that Tivia’s words, her condemnation that she was little more than a force of destruction, had imprinted on her mind and would not let up. Briery’s rescue wouldn’t have been possible were it not for Haraldur persuading her on the ground of searching for Sigrid, which had been her primary goal. Must as she hated to admit it, she didn’t blame the star seer for admonishing her for her crimes against undeserving people. After all, she was now responsible for the destruction of not only one village, but two! Two homes that were no more, its inhabitants lost to the elements, the fierce wind, the raging water, and the hungry fire. All of those lives lost, and… for what? The conservation of a single life that meant more to her than the innocent bystanders that had never wanted a part in her plan. And yet, knowing what she had sacrificed… she had gone out again, almost immediately after rescuing Hadwin, aware and prepared that she might do it all over again if it meant saving Sigrid’s life. Teselin Kristeva was no saviour; she was a rapture, an angel of death when she had an agenda, and chose a life that was worth more to her than others.

It didn’t seem to matter that her involvement had been very little when it came to freeing Briery Frealy from prison. Frankly, that was all Hadwin, and although she had agreed to abandon her desire to find Sigrid Sorenson in favour of saving someone who desperately needed help from the outside, the faoladh had largely performed the task on his own. After all, it had been his meddling, his plan, and his execution that had led to Briery’s rescue--and for the better, considering how her own meddling so often resulted in sacrifice. She was happy for Briery’s retrieval, and relieved in the most guilty of ways that Hadwin was still with her, but the difference between the Teselin who had sought refuge in Stella D’Mare after setting one village alight with fire, and the Teselin who now resided in Galeyn after ensuring the safety of two lives, was that she no longer sought hope where there was none; and there was nothing to suggest that her future meddling wouldn’t result in more tragedy. Nothing to suggest her unbridled magic could ever be put to good use without a cost. As soon as Isidor had deemed her (in so many words) a lost cause, she knew that she had run out of options: she was what she was (whatever the hell that may be; some foreign creature without a biological father…), and she would never be anything more, or even anything less.

She didn’t have a hard time coming to the decision to keep to herself, then, upon her return to Galeyn. Briery’s condition had been acknowledged and dealt with accordingly; the Missing Links were reunited, and the small party had returned relatively unscathed. Sigrid still remained at large, a small fact that would continue to weigh on her shoulders since she had indirectly been the reason the Dawn warrior had left in the first place, but Haraldur’s reassurance convinced her that the feat was futile, anyway. If Sigrid did not want to be found, then she would not be found, and there was nothing to be done about it; a fate that simply was not destined.

But for now, everything was unfolding about as smoothly as what could be expected. Briery had been treated and was recovering slowly but surely in the sanctuary, constantly surrounded by friends and her Missing Links family. Hadwin was safe and, from what she heard, doing a great deal of good (for once), going so far as to offer his services to Haraldur’s search party in their hunt for Bronwyn, Rowen, and Locque. Even Isidor, though he was far from recovered from the assault on his mind that Hadwin had induced, seemed to be functioning more like an average human being that before, going so far as to take the initiative of assisting in Briery’s surgery on the spot (and for someone as squeamish as he was, that was no small feat). The world around her was functioning just fine, and she had no bearing on the current successes taking place. Time would continue on, people would continue to be saved without her interference; so perhaps it was best if she mitigated her involvement in it altogether. The less the world saw of her, the less that people saw of her… maybe it was for the better.

The young summoner had consequently spent the majority of her time in the security of her room, and the warm comfort of her bed upon returning to Galeyn. There was nothing in her chamber that she could harm, no real triggers for her magic, and the allure of rest after spending so much time traveling in the bitter winter cold was too great to pass up. Unlike her poor brother, Teselin found a good deal of reprieve in slumber. Her magic did not go awry in her sleep; the world around her remained still, and she was no cause of anyone’s pain or suffering. Time and again, she reminded herself that she still owed Isidor a very profound apology, knowing well that he was the reason Hadwin had assaulted him with his fears and caused memories to resurface that he would otherwise have kept in the dark. Had she not exhibited such anger and disappointment toward the Master Alchemist, the faoladh would never have forced Isidor into a position to invite change he wasn’t ready for, even if it had yielded some positive results.

But alas, every time she meant to leave her room, sleep and reluctance always won out, and she did not figure that Isidor wanted to see her, anyway. It had even been some time since she’d seen Hadwin, for he had been spending his moments with the recovering Briery, and… she was happy for that. Maybe, one day, he would leave Galeyn with the Missing Links, having found a family among the misfits and outlaws. There might come a time when I can’t be with you, anymore, she had warned him during their first journey back to Galeyn, in late autumn. He had brushed off the concern, but wouldn’t it be better for him if she no longer attracted chaos to his life? Vitali had spent years traveling alone and thriving just fine; perhaps that was the life intended for her, as well. Not one with a purpose--she could not be like Alster, or even Isidor, and commit to helping others when her magic was so volatile. A life if mere, aimless existence, where nothing triggered her uncontrollable magic… maybe that would be the safest, for everyone. Especially those she cared about.

As she dozed during the late morning, well after everyone else in the palace had risen, Teselin was startled to hear a knock at her door. No one knocked--at least, no one had for several days since their return, likely to allow her time to rest after making so many journeys in such a short period of time. Was it time to explain herself? Was her grace period finally over, and she would be expected to earn her stay?

With a groggy, nervous gait, the young summoner made her way to the door, and found… Tivia. Understandably, she blinked a few times and rubbed her eyes to ensure she was seeing correctly. Yes, Tivia Rigas, of all people, was standing at her door. “...Tivia?” Teselin rubbed her eyes again for good measure. Yep; she was still there. And she was apologizing…?

“...there is no need to apologize, Tivia. What you said… I mean, your refusal to help me was entirely justified. You were considering the safety of countless strangers; my sights were set on the safety of only one person. I think it is pretty clear who was in the wrong… even though I went and searched all over again, in hopes to find Sigrid. After what had happened in Apelrade… you’d think I would learn.” She flashed a strained smile. “But the thing is, I don’t. I’ve always thought that things must somehow have their way of getting better, of working themselves out. That isn’t the case. Balance does not always mean that after time and time again of things going wrong, something will go right… and if our situations had been reversed, I am sure I’d have reacted the same way. I am feared, and people have a reason to fear me. And I don’t blame them.”

Lifting her shoulders in a shrug, she tried for a reassuring smile, hopefully not one that would inspire guilt or pity. “I’m making an effort not to become involved, anymore. Not in anything that could affect the lives of others. Luckily, we have Hadwin alone to thank for retrieving Briery; I really had no part in that, my magic never had to come in to play. It turns out that the world continues to spin when I am not trying to fix everything; I think it would be best if I make a habit of letting others try before I step in, from now on. But… thank you, Tivia.” The young summoner placed one hand on the doorframe. “Not just… for this, but I do appreciate your words. But thank you for being kind to my brother--to Isidor. I…” She dropped her hand, and along with it, her smile drooped at the corners of her mouth. “I haven’t… been very fair to him, lately. I was angry at him for something beyond his control. Because I was so invested in the possibility that he could help me, and… he can’t. But that is no fault of his. He is lucky to have companions such as you and Alster; I don’t think anyone had ever shown him kindness, before he came to Galeyn. And…”

She couldn’t help it. Her gaze drifted to Tivia’s face, the part that she, of late, had not been so adamant on keeping covered behind a curtain of hair. “I am glad that he has been able to help you, too.” He has a way of helping everyone, it seems… except for me.

Teselin wasn’t exactly wrong. If there was a way for him to be of assistance to anyone, he was on top of it, and had been since his arrival in Galeyn. When he made a promise, he did not forget, and he intended to keep it--and that included the promise he had made to Alster. Perhaps he wouldn’t have bothered to bring it up again to the Rigas head, who clearly had much more on his mind than his own comfort, but if he was to depart for the D’Marian village for an indeterminate amount of time, then the least the Master Alchemist could do was contribute to his sense of comfort, living without unnecessary pain from a prosthetic limb.

To his relief, Alster had agreed to start the very next day, and Isidor explained that they would start with him and his body, before making the alterations to the arm itself. After all, his intent wasn’t to force the body to adapt to the arm; rather, to negotiate the arm in adapting to the body. The following morning, he met Alster in his chamber, after advising him the night before not to partake in breakfast until the procedure was complete. The Rigas mage was not alone; rather, the room was occupied with Rigas mages, since the not-so-recent developments following the conditions to heal Elespeth’s heart.

“Good morning, both of you.” He greeted them politely, with only a small satchel hanging from the crook of his elbow. Evidently, he did not require many accessories for what he was about to do. “I wish I could promise that this won’t be long, but… if we are being efficient and careful, it will take the better part of a day. Getting organic material to accept the presence of inorganic material can take time… but we will be finished by this evening, I can promise you that.”

“Is there anything we should be aware of? Should Alster remain awake?” Ever vigilant and concerned for what was best for her husband, Elespeth had insisted on being nearby, just as Alster had been for her when Isidor had healed her damaged heart. Nothing short of being dragged out of the room could pry her from her husband’s side.

The Master Alchemist shook his head and placed his bag next to Alster’s bed. “There is no need for sedation of any sort; we are not working on vital organs, as was the case with your heart, Elespeth. Nor is there much pain involved since the metal has already fused to the flesh surgically. All I am going to do is smooth the median between the two materials. What this means, Alster,” he looked the Rigas head in the eye, to ensure he was listening and understood, “is that when I am finished, there will be no indication of where your flesh ends and the steel begins. That said, while this is by no means difficult so much as it is tedious, I must inform you that reversing this process is, if not impossible, incredibly difficult and dangerous. Change can occur painlessly, at times, and with little risk, but changing back… that is something that not even alchemists, or Master Alchemists, for that matter, can guarantee. I will only proceed if you are at peace with those terms.”

He found no resistance for Alster, and he didn’t think he would; after all, even if he were able to craft an entirely new organic arm for him instead, the damage caused to his flesh and bone from the prior surgery would have made it impossible to take to his body. At this point, there was no better alternative for the Rigas mage than to improve the prosthetic.

Reassuring Alster that it was fine to lie down and get comfortable after removing his shirt, Isidor withdrew what looked like a tiny knife from his small satchel and presented it to Elespeth apologetically. “This procedure should be painless, but I am afraid it is necessary to draw some blood to make it possible. The organic cells along with the iron in blood makes it the perfect mediator to incite change and harmony between flesh and metal. Believe me,” the Master Alchemist drew a long breath, already looking pale at the prospect of having to deal with blood yet again, “this will be much more painful for me than for you.”

With everyone in agreement, Elespeth carefully drew blood from a shallow cut she made on Alster’s opposite arm, and Isidor set to work. There was very little conversation that took place over the course of the next eight to ten hours, for fear that it would disrupt the Master Alchemist’s concentration. Elespeth sat next to Alster, holding firmly to his organic hand, and watched it curiosity as Isidor ran his hands repeatedly over the site where flesh met steel. Concerned, she asked Alster with her eyes if he was in pain, but his shake of the head indicated it was no worse than what he dealt with on the daily. And sure enough, as the sun was beginning to set, and it became necessary to light the wall sconces and fireplace, when Isidor finally withdrew… the change was complete, and unmistakable. 

There was no median between steel and flesh; one material bled into the other as if it had always been one and the same, pale tan skin gradually succumbing to hard, cold silver. Any traces of inflammation that had plagued Alster were gone, only the residual smear of blood providing the only indication of redness. Satisfied with his work, the Master Alchemist pulled back to view it at all angles. “How do you feel, Alster? Any pain? If there is, it should be gone by morning. The site connecting your arm is no longer an anomaly; it is as much a part of you as anything. And tomorrow,” he turned his head to view the steel arm, which sat undisturbed on a nearby table, “so, too, will your arm be. You’ll have your sense of feeling back, by the end of the day on the morrow.”  

The more Tivia observed Teselin’s tells, the more she realized the fecklessness of her visit. What did she think her apology would accomplish? The girl was rightfully downtrodden, pushed past the brink of hope. Aside from pulling a miracle out of thin air and nullifying the effects of her wild magic, the summoner had written herself as a lost cause. She couldn’t blame her. Hadn’t she also viewed the trajectory of her star-seer laden life as unavoidable? Hadn’t she vowed to grapple the present because the future served as nothing but a platform for her mental and physical deterioration? How then, could she comfort or reassure Teselin if her precautions and her reasoning behind those precautions were, by some measure, justified? 

She had no advice. No balm to massage into the summoner’s open wounds. Only glimpses of possibilities that simultaneously showcased her apocalyptic-though-not-by-choice magic, and her mastery and control over it. She didn’t know how to nudge the latter path into frame, didn’t know if active manipulation to cultivate the most desirable outcome was ethical or even wise. Scholars who’ve posited the hypothetical scenario in writing often frowned upon it. Nothing good came from challenging destiny. Why not? Destiny had crafted an infinitude of possibilities for each person alive. What was there to challenge but existence itself? 

Philosophical musings aside, she made a promise to Isidor: to extend kindness and friendship to his half-sister. From her own experiences, choosing exile on the basis of fear, whether fear of the outside or fear of the self, typically ended poorly. A boon for humanity, perhaps, in Teselin’s unique case, but if her magic was triggered by intense emotional distress, wouldn’t isolation exacerbate emotional distress? 

It didn’t matter. Teselin, deprived of solutions aside from withdrawal, wouldn’t be convinced, for example, to undergo training in a safe location, or to take other practical measures if those measures did not call for total erasure of her essence. She was too far gone, in her perspective. Beyond saving. 

Yes and no. Both answers hung in the air simultaneously. The universe never had a definitive plan. For now, Teselin remained in limbo, and the one thing that Tivia could do was step forward...and be kind. A small thing. Nothing would change at all, most likely. But it was a start. A shift in the right direction. 

“There’s little promise that my future will deliver me good tidings. Star-seers don’t meet a happy end. Their bodies and minds can’t handle an infinitude of unearthly visitors. They waste away, and quickly. So I’ve resolved to make the most of what I can, while I still have my senses and my reasoning about me.” Self-consciously, she pressed a hand over burned cheek, hiding the evidence of its tampering from view--but too late. Teselin had noticed. “I’ve asked Isidor for his help because beauty fades, and I want to experience it once more. Shallow of me, but it’s true. If you’re so certain of your future, Teselin, then the present has little consequence. There’s no need to shutter yourself away just yet. For one, your pet won’t let it happen. For another...Isidor wouldn’t want you to surrender. He’s already holding himself accountable for being unable to help you--for letting you down when you desperately needed a solution. I’m sure he wants to apologize in person; as do you. So,” she removed her hand, presenting it outward, towards Teselin, “why not come with me--when you’re ready--and try again with Isidor? Kindness can be contagious. I never thought I’d be advocating for it when hate and envy have defined my life for well over a year. But he was kind to me...and it took a while, but I could no longer reject his kindness. Not when I had so little else to look forward to. So little hope. If you’ll allow it, Teselin, I’ll pay it forward. Yes, he told me to be kind to you, but I’ll do it of my own volition. As a thank you to him, to Alster and Elespeth, to Vitali...and to you.”

As promised--and arranged by the Forbanne guards who held him accountable--Alster met with Lilica, Chara, and Haraldur to explain the source of last night’s ‘disturbance.’ Owing to its last-minute status, they all shuffled to the council chambers for a haphazard meeting, confused but cooperative. The Forbanne on the scene had briefed their commander, the Galeynian monarch, and her advisor prior to Alster’s entrance, but as they gleaned only the barest of information from the parties involved, the gathering of three, Chara, in particular, suspected there was more to the story than the reports revealed. 

“Oh, Alster,” Chara, eyelids sagging from lack of sleep, presided in her seat like a judge during a trial, “I am dying to know what specific circumstances caused you and Elespeth to vandalize bedchambers that were not your own.”

“It was an accident. I will pay for the expenses. Forgive me, Lilica,” he turned to the queen and bowed his apologies. “Magic ran amok. Elespeth is new to her power and as such, it’s emotionally raw. Volatile. Easy to rile in a pinch.”

“And how, praytell, did she reach these ‘raw’ emotional heights, hmm?” Chara tucked her hand beneath her chin, expression alight with curiosity. “The scorch-marks lining the walls radiate from a single point: namely, the bed. And might I say: you’re sporting quite the afterglow. There is no concealing the liveliness in your step. Not after weeks of shuffling from place to place like a dead-eyed beast of burden. Your shift in energies is glaringly noticeable.” 

Alster hefted a sigh; it quivered through his entire body. “Do you need me to say it out loud, Chara?”

“For the record, yes.” 

He opened his mouth to speak, but the clanging of the doors interrupted his confession. There was no need to glance over his shoulder to address the interruption. “Elespeth. Welcome to the interrogation.” A dry smile stretched the corners of his mouth. “As expected of Chara.” He brushed an affectionate hand across his wife’s arm as she alighted to his side. “While I appreciate the solidarity, El, you didn’t have to stir out of bed for this.”

“I beg to differ. All the better to have both parties present.” A light of amusement flashed in her ultramarine eyes. “So, as you were saying, Alster?”

“You are taking far too much delight in this,” his eyebrows arranged into an annoyed furrow. “We had sex, Chara. Is that what you’re itching to hear? We wanted a little adventure, something to jumpstart the fallow period we’ve been having as of late, so we went to a vacant room, our magic connected, we lost control, and it went awry. We’re truly sorry for the disruption and for anyone who was affected by the incident. It will not happen again. Is my testimony to your satisfaction, or are you to garotte us for our crimes against decency?”

Laughter filled the dead space, but it did not issue from Chara. To Alster’s surprise, Haraldur, who’d stood largely silent and unobtrusive in his favored corner of the room, had apparently cracked the shell of his professional soldier’s demeanor. And all it took was watching two lovers squirm under the scrutinizing evidence of their destructively intimate deeds. 

“I’m sorry,” he spluttered between peels of laughter. “I can’t help it. Does accidental room destruction merit so much stringency? Ease up on them, Chara. I say they deserve a little excitement under the sheets. This can’t be the only case of two casters losing control of their magic as they lose control of their loins. You’d call it a victimless crime of passion. Nothing that can’t be fixed. The Forbanne will waive the report. There is nothing to document,” he concluded, aiming a conspiratorial smile at Elespeth.

“My, aren’t you the lenient military commander.” Chara rolled her eyes. “Fortunately for you, Alster, you and Elespeth’s throes of passion were discovered by us, and not the Rigas council. I guarantee you would not survive their judgemental gaze unscathed.”

“As I am well aware. The council is famously adept at scoffing. Thank you, Chara.” Alster oozed sarcasm. “For your kind and benevolent ruling. I’m glad our private affairs could provide you with boundless entertainment.” His attitude shifted upon addressing Lilica. “Again, my apologies for the false alarm. As I’ve said, I will pay for the expenses and assist in the clean-up if necessary.”

Before Chara could rail off on any specific damages their love-making caused or claim her generosity for overlooking the incident was a one-time allowance (though they both knew she always did and always would make allowances for him), Alster and Elespeth excused themselves from the meeting. Upon their egress, Alster, exhibiting the thinnest line of necessary humor on his lips, whispered into Elespeth’s ear. “Typical. Chara is nothing but consistent and predictable. I’m sure we’ve given her something to talk about for months to come--and I’m not sure I’ve heard Haraldur laugh that way, for as long as I’ve known him. If we’re going to be a laughingstock, I’m at least glad it’s bringing joy to some people.”

Following their awkward gathering with the designated “council” of Galeyn, Alster and Elespeth carved out their schedule for the next day. Heeding Isidor’s advice to anticipate a full day’s work on the port connecting steel and flesh, he, and by extension, she, prepared by making sure he received enough rest, enough water, and enough food, in case the process weakened his stamina. That morning, they welcomed the alchemist into their chambers, a contrast in environment to the trashed quarters which suffered the wrath of their potent sexual convergence. 

“Good morning. I hope you are well,” he returned Isidor’s greeting with a placid smile. Stepping aside to offer the man some space to unpack his materials and to get settled, Alster relocated to the bed and rolled up the sleeves of his tunic, exposing both arms. “During my procedure to obtain this arm, I refused sedation or pain-numbing substances of any sort. Looking back, it was foolhardy, but I suppose I wanted to withstand the pain...because nothing I do is ever easy, apparently.” He shrugged his soldiers in good-natured self-deprecation. “That being said, I doubt whatever you do will even equal to the level of excruciating pain I’ve endured. So please, by all means, proceed. I understand the risks of permanency. Despite the daily annoyances and upkeep, I’ve grown quite attached to this arm. And yes, Elespeth,” he quirked a guilty smile in her direction, “feel free to stab me for my horrible wordplay. For it, I deserve more than a slight nicking of the skin.”

But Elespeth, in a bid to cause him as little discomfort as possible, (and perhaps because she secretly enjoyed his flat jokes), swiped across his arm at a speed he scarcely felt. With the final element in place, Isidor pulled up a chair beside Alster and, using his free-flowing blood, began the lengthy and tedious task of combining flesh and steel into one uniform component. During the process, Alster watched, rapt with interest, as the site of inflamed skin and unyielding steel slowly, gradually seemed to...meld. Questions tingled on his tongue, but he swallowed his curiosity, afraid of disturbing Isidor while he was in a state of deep concentration. Though on occasion his muscles twitched and the surface of his arm seared like hot needles jabbing at a tender slab of meat, as Alster had stated, it was nothing he didn’t already experience on any given day. To his amazement, the inflammation to which he’d grown so accustomed vanished, making way for healthy patches of smooth skin, albeit still slightly swollen at the points of contact. Far better than the ugly rashes from before. Its appearance no longer drove him to cringe. 

At last, after drifting off several times (to trick his deprived body into believing it was neither thirsty or hungry, for he did not want to interrupt Isidor by taking frequent food, water, and bathroom breaks), Alster came to when the alchemist sat back in his chair and announced the completion of his work. From when last he looked at arm, the differences between now and several hours ago was significant. Amazingly, he could not find the line where the inorganic met organic matter. “May I touch it?” At Isidor’s nod, he roved his fingers over the site, exploring the tactile differences between the two disparate materials. In a bizarre combination, he felt both hard, cold steel, and springy, spongy skin in simultaneous harmony. Yet, from sight alone, no division remained. It existed as one, uninterrupted whole. 

“Fantastic,” he muttered in disbelief. “This is fantastic. It almost feels as it did when I had my real arm.” Springing to his feet, he presented his steel digits to Elespeth, palm stretched outward. “Pull it. Pull my hand. I want to check its tension.” After some cajoling, she agreed to his request and gave his arm a couple of yanks. Alster’s face immediately lit up into a grin too excitable to hold him in place. He danced about the room, his pace frenetic. “When my arm was installed, pins were driven into my bones and the steel was soldered in place against my skin. Whenever I applied pressure to this area, the pins yanked at my bones and shot pain into my shoulder. At most, I could lift maybe twenty pounds, and only if I maintained a horizontal positioning and did not drag anything towards the ground. But now...now!” He spun the arm in careful circles. “I don’t feel pain! I mean, mild pain, I do, but not the kind of pain that feels like your bones are rending themselves apart and collapsing your spine. I cannot even fathom...this is unprecedented!” Approaching Isidor, he scooped his hand into a vigorous, spirited handshake. “You did it again, Isidor! My sincerest thanks. I know I shouldn’t be testing my arm in so rough a manner, especially when you’ve only completed the first phase, so I’ll be sure to take care and not exploit it. After this moment of discovery, of course.” Releasing his grip from the exhausted alchemist, he stepped back so as not to crowd him. “You deserve a rest. And if you need an extra day before you start to tinker with the arm itself, no trouble at all. While you decide, let us take you back to your room and fetch you something to eat and drink. It’s the least we can do, for all your indispensable help.”

“Ah--c-careful, Alster!” Isidor cautioned, wincing on the Rigas mage’s behalf when he instructed Elespeth to pull on his arm. “Remember, this job is still only half finished… , yes, the bone and steel have fused as one, so any future pain you experience will be quite minimal, but there are yet a lot of modifications to be made to your arm. For one, it is still heavier than an organic limb, and not yet as flexible. You could still do damage to your muscle and bones if you become overzealous too early on… Save your celebration for tomorrow night, perhaps, when the job is finished.”

With a demure apology for his outburst, Alster agreed and let his prosthetic drop to his side, as the Master Alchemist dampened a cloth in a washbasin and rid his hands of blood. How many times had the man worked with the organic substance since his arrival in Galeyn? And why was he still so squeamish and pale around it? One would think he’d have grown used to it, by now… but not so much.

Conscious of Isidor’s discomfort, as well as the necessity to wrap the small, albeit freely bleeding wound she’d inflicted on Alster’s arm, Elespeth retrieved some gauze and sat Alster down to wrap the incision neatly and tightly to dissuade further loss of plasma. “He does have a point; and you are already known for overdoing it, and pushing yourself well beyond your limits, Lord Rigas.” She gently chided her husband with a knowing smirk. “So I agree with the Master Alchemist. Tomorrow, when all is said and done, is when we’ll celebrate this not-so-small achievement. Isidor…” She turned to the tall man with a little concern at how ashen his face had become. “Do let us accompany you to your chamber. You are in need of sustenance and rest.”

“Really, there is no need to worry about me…” The Master Alchemist tried to dissuade them, but there was no changing either of their minds, when they were so grateful for a feat that he personally didn’t consider all too impressive, as well as concerned for his predictable squeamishness and tendency to faint around both blood and sharp objects. Without further protest, he allowed them to escort him back to room, not even putting up a protest when Elespeth took his elbow at the first sight of his unbalanced gait, fearing he might suddenly lose consciousness. Just outside of his chamber, they encountered some serving staff in passing, whom Elespeth was quick to take aside.

“Could you run Master Kristeva a bath and have a meal delivered to his room? He is in need of some food and relaxation.” The two young women nodded obligingly, and only when Isidor’s hand was on the handle of the heavy wooden door did she see fit to release his arm. “I think I agree with Alster, Isidor. You should take tomorrow to rest and recuperate, and we can resume this task the following day… I accuse Alster of overtaxing himself, but I daresay,” she arched a knowing eyebrow and looked between the two men, “the both of you are worryingly similar in that respect. And if you are anything like my husband… you will just disregard that advice entirely, won’t you?”

Isidor blinked, a little stunned at the accusation at first and unsure as to how he should take it, but ultimately found himself chuckling. Perhaps he was too weary to know how to interpret it. Gratitude? Disappointment? Why couldn’t people just say what they meant? Life would be so much easier… “I can only assume that is both a criticism as well as a compliment, Elespeth… but I suppose it is why I find it so easy to call Alster my friend. We are indeed like-minded.” Flashing a weary smile, he pushed the door open, and cast a final glance at the couple over his shoulder. “Rest assured, both of you, I will not perform a task if I am physically incapable of performing at my best. Go on the assumption we will continue this tomorrow, unless I advise otherwise. I’ll let you know by morning.”

Watching the Master Alchemist disappear behind the door, Elespeth finally took the time to marvel at the change in Alster’s arm. It was still steel, yes, but now… it was a part of him. Or, at least, it was becoming that way. It appeared less like a replacement and more like a transformation, an adaptation. Something she never thought would have been possible… but Isidor, it seemed, was adept in making the impossible a reality. Her heart, Tivia’s face, Alster’s arm… and yet, he still seemed to feel as though it wasn’t enough. She could only hope that sooner than later, he would find everything that he was doing for the Rigases would allay whatever demons continued to haunt him.

“I will admit… that is impressive,” the former knight confessed as she and her husband made their way back to their room. “I realize the procedure isn’t complete, but even that small change… I don’t know. It is like seeing you whole, again.” 

Closing the door quietly behind them when they returned to their chamber, Elespeth took both of Alster’s hands in her own--organic and steel--and marveled at the brightness in his eyes. “I’m starving, as I am sure you are, too, but… I don’t want to send for dinner. Not just yet.”

Without any warning, the ex-Atvanian took Alster’s face in her hands and pressed a long, yearning kiss to his lips. Food was not the only thing for which Elespeth was hungry, and the other night, explosive and destructive as it had been, was only a taste of what would sate her desires. A year of abstinence left her wanting, wanting lots, and wanting more, despite the predicament in which they had recently found themselves. Not even feeling humiliated at Chara’s discretion or getting a rise out of the typically stoic Haraldur could sway the new desire she had rediscovered, thanks to Hadwin’s… ‘assistance’ in mediating this outcome. “You said you could ward the room to prevent damage… are you confident that it will work? Actually… I don’t even care.”

She searched his gaze for the same glean that she knew sparkled in her eyes. Her appetite had reawakened, and upon realization of what the two of them had missed out on for a year, she was starved for Alster’s touch. “Better to ask forgiveness than permission, anyway. It could give Chara something to rag on us about, and something for Haraldur to laugh about. I don’t think I’ve heard the man laugh like that… well, ever. What I’m saying is… destruction or no destruction, we have lost time to make up for. And a lot of it, before you depart for the D’Marian settlement. Besides…”

An unfamiliar shadow flickered across her verdant eyes, as she backed towards the bed, pulling Alster along with her. “I did not think of myself as the jealous type… until I saw how Hadwin made you react. And I sure as hell want you to lose yourself to me like you did him.”

So she’s been right; Isidor had sent Tivia to make amends, just as Teselin had figured, at the back of her mind. However, while it might have been his words that had sent her in the summoner’s direction, it wasn’t his words that kept her there. Nor had it been his words to inspire Tivia’s advice. The star seer could’ve cut her losses and walked away, with the reassurance that she’d tried… but instead, she stayed. And for the first time since they’d met, she really tried to reach out to her. That was something Teselin could not ignore; not when she’d hoped to be friends with the girl who helped her eldest brother recover from the vicious attack of the Night Garden, and who had taken to her younger (yet still elder) brother in a way that was changing him as a person; and for the better.

“I… I said a lot of things to Isidor that I do not think can be rescinded.” Casting her dark gaze to the floor, the young summoner rubbed the sides of her arms. “I was so devastated and angry… and I am not an angry person. I don’t know how to be properly angry, and so, what manifested was a completely unsolicited attack on my brother. I knew he was weak and vulnerable at the time--I knew it, and yet, I still tore him down. He didn’t deserve what I said to him. I owe him an apology, and then some, but I… I don’t know that I have the words, or the courage. Not yet. I want to be sure I can say the right thing when I see him, again. But…” She looked up, and finally showed what was undeniably an appreciative smile. Finally having found a small, silver lining to her gloomy cloud. She never thought that lining would be in the form of Tivia Rigas. “When I do--when I find the words… I would very much prefer for us to see him, together. Tasks such as that are infinitely easier if you don’t have to go alone. So, if you don’t mind me taking you up on your offer a little later…” She took the star seer’s proffered hand, and squeezed it with appreciation. “I will seek you out when I’ve found the words. With you there… he would probably be more willing to listen to what I have to say.”

It wasn’t as though the Master Alchemist was in much of a position to take a moment to listen to his sister at that point in time, anyway, even if she had decided to take Tivia up on her offer then and there. After spending an entire day ensuring he knew how to proceed with Alster’s arm, and then spending the entirety of the next day performing the first crucial steps in that task, Isidor was understandably exhausted, and had taken advantage of the private hot bath the serving staff had prepared for him in the room just adjacent to his sleeping chambers. Much as he knew he should probably eat something before the day was over, hot water was far more enticing, especially realizing how taut his shoulders had become through diligent attention to his task. 

Later; the evening is still young, he thought with regard to the meal he knew was sitting, untouched in the other room, as he sank nearly all the way down to his neck in the steaming water. Wonderful as it felt, it was not without guilt that the alchemist soaked away the minutes to himself. There was still so much to be done; not only for Alster, but for Tivia, and… for Teselin. If she ever spoke to him, again, that is. He wasn’t sure what grounds the two of them stood upon, at this point, or if there was really any sense in trying to repair a relationship that he had knowingly let his own cowardice effectively sabotage. But a promise was still a promise… and he had promised Teselin he would not give up on her, even if she gave up on herself.

So preoccupied was he with his thoughts that he didn’t hear the door open in the adjacent room, or the footsteps accompanied by a soft voice that called his name. It wasn’t until Tivia was within sight that Isidor, so predictably, startled nearly out of his skin. “...Tivia!” Of course, the pale man’s immediate reaction was to sink further into the water… something he immediately realized was ridiculous, in front of a woman who had seen him completely unclothed multiple times. Clearing his throat, he tried to save face by rolling his shoulders back, pretending like she hadn’t scared the daylights out of him. Not that it was at all her fault: he had reassured her, in fact, that should she ever need to seek him out, there was no need to knock. So long as his door was unlocked, she was free to come in… and, of course, in his exhaustion, he hadn’t locked his door. “Apologies. I… didn’t hear you come in. But… don’t feel that you have to leave. In fact,” a coy smile formed at the corners of his mouth, and he shifted his position in the round tub to face her. “You are welcome to join me… if you feel so inclined.”

Did he do it? Could he actually, successfully, be suave, instead of a bumbling idiot around the woman he so admired? Maybe he’d said the right thing, with just the right environment to make it all work: a candlelit room and a marble tub big enough for, frankly, more than two people, filled to the brim with steaming water. Or maybe she’d been hoping for an invitation, any excuse to join him at all--because she did, ultimately, disrobing and dropping her clothes at her feet without a hint of ambivalence or shyness, and joining him in the inviting waters.

“I began to work on Alster’s arm, today,” he began, as an explanation to his absence the past couple of days. “Depending on how I am faring energy-wise in the morning, I should be finished in another day or two. It is not a tasking endeavour, just tedious, and requires a lot of careful concentration. But fear not--I haven’t forgotten about you. How could I, when you are so frequently on my mind?” He smiled gently and pressed a warm hand to her cheek, which was looking far smoother and less pigmented. “I’ve made a lot of promises to a lot of people; that doesn’t mean I won’t keep my promise to you. We’ll finish what we’ve started.”

No protests from Isidor could deter the combined efforts of Alster and Elespeth, whose overwhelming gratitude trumped inaction or rest. The couple sprang at the opportunity to do something, anything, for their mutual friend, however mundane. And so it was decided. After Elespeth cleaned and dressed Alster’s wound in a bandage (an unnecessary effort, seeing as he could heal it with his magic, but he’d never discourage his wife’s touch), they set off to accompany Isidor to his chambers, providing not only their company but a supporting arm. The supporting arm in question belonged to Elespeth; following his excitable reaction to the prosthesis harmonizing to his skin like a proper appendage, no one trusted him to flaunt his newfound strength, so he resigned to keep both limbs crossed harmlessly across his chest.

Upon reaching the door to Isidor’s chambers, Elespeth called for the attention of two attendants, who set off to draw him a bath and to fetch him some supper. Alster, desiring to find any excuse to unsheath his arm from the protective cradle of his left hand, was fortunately diverted from the desire by Elespeth’s comment to Isidor. “You’re not wrong, Isidor.” His smile was laced with equal parts quirk and guilt. “It’s a criticism and an endorsement. Obviously, El finds it endearing; otherwise, she wouldn’t put up with me and we’d have never married. But I imagine it causes her endless frustration. I’d heed her advice. I’m a poor candidate at holding you accountable when our mindsets are too similar, but she’s accustomed to giving me what-for, so maybe it’ll stick better for you than for me.” Though I doubt it, he mused. We really are too similar. You’d give pieces of yourself away...just like me. Perhaps you’re doing it right now. 

“That said,” a wave of relief swept over him, nearly dislodging his prosthesis from its protective pocket to gesticulate in a mirror of his expression, “I’m glad you still consider me a friend. I thought for certain I’d lost your respect. If you did...it wouldn’t be unwarranted. It wasn’t fair to sweep you into my inadequacies. There’s a lot I need to reevaluate. I suppose it’s why I’m heading to the D’Marian village. Elespeth notwithstanding,” he stared down at his feet, adjusting the balance to the side that still possessed all five toes, “I’m sure I won’t be missed. Not with the messes I’ve made.” At risk of radiating self-pity, he smiled away his insecurities, bid Isidor a good evening, and headed to his and Elespeth’s quarters, burdened with the niggling self-doubt he was unable to shake, as of late. While his magic was instrumental in excising Briery’s painful endometrial tissues from her lungs and kidneys, he could not help but feel like a horrible letdown and disappointment to those who assigned their faith in him. Transferring his focus from healer to Rigas Head, though a practical choice, was also an opportunistic one. It gave him a reason to run from his shame. Despite their differing disciplines, Alster could not help but determine Isidor as the superior choice, and everyone else thought so as they flocked to him for his expertise and skill. For Alster, it simply made sense to go elsewhere. In fear he’d step on toes, or worsen a situation with his overzealousness or tendency for emotional dramatics, removing himself from one equation and adding to another was a cowardly solution...but a solution, nonetheless. I refuse to be a bother. I refuse to impact your work with my unprofessionalism, Isidor. So I’ll draw boundary lines in the sand and stay on my side. There’s nothing you could possibly gain from me. I won’t overstep again…

Fortunately, the storm cloud brewing his darkest thoughts overhead disseminated upon vocal acknowledgment from his wife. Blinking away the fog, he looked around, realizing they’d returned to their chambers and her attention was set squarely on him and his arm. Hard to trudge about in the mires of unworthiness when faced with Elespeth’s loving stare and an arm so beautifully rendered by a man whom he harbored little but boundless respect and awe, Alster’s buoyant mood reemerged. 

“Isidor worked on so small an area, but the difference between now and this morning is like earth and sky. It really does feel more like an arm; less of a steel contraption.” Joining Elespeth on the bed, he lifted the prosthesis, brushing hair from her neck and gently caressing the delicate skin with metal knuckles. She shuddered at his touch, another marked difference from a few days ago, when not even his most desperate attempts would elicit a response from her body. Before he could gauge the depths of her sexual appetite, she launched at him, knocked him flat on his back, and entreated him with longing, lustful kisses. Helpless to her predation, he succumbed to the lioness and fed her as her monstrous appetite demanded. 

“I can...I can do that,” he answered falteringly, recovering from her sudden release of him, her captive prey. “Warding the room, that is. There’s no trouble containing your magic because the frequencies are the same as mine. If you’ll give me a--” She ceased his shifting with her hand, forcing him to stay in the bed, under her entrapment. While alluring to allow their magic free range to redecorate another room, the reasonable side of him, this time not impaired by wine, maintained its foothold, despite the screaming in his loins that demanded he stop delaying a much-anticipated moment with his wife. “Chara and Haraldur aside, it wouldn’t be fair to the attendants who clean after us, or the people who were terrified out of their beds from the noise.” Finding no further resistance from Elespeth, he sat up in bed, lifted his arms, and cast a gossamer-thin barrier around the perimeter of the room, its iridescent sheen the only indication of its presence. “There,” he clucked his tongue in approval. “Any magic to make contact with the ward will fizzle. I’ve also taken the liberty of containing the sound within this circumference. No one will hear us--or the pop and rumble of our magic, should it reach the same heights of intensity as...as before.” 

A sliver of doubt burrowed under his tongue. What if they couldn’t replicate what Hadwin had facilitated? What if they needed him to initiate every encounter? What if they would never outshine the sheer scope and grandiosity of their physical and spiritual convergence? 

Apparently, Elespeth was also experiencing some shortcomings of her own, in terms of her performance. 

“Ah...I’d rather not reminisce on what he did...” Unbidden, his face heated, its shade too glowing to hide. “He might have gotten me going, but I thought of nothing but you.” A frown drooped his shoulders and shrank his spirits. His hunger threatened to drown from inadequacy. “From my perspective, he did the same to you as he did to me. To see you so flustered, so riled in ecstasy...I doubt I could do better. But I’m willing to try.” By her instruction, he situated himself comfortably on the bed. “You’ve nothing to prove, El. Believe me, I lost my mind to you the other night. Hadwin might have technique, but he can’t hold a candle to what you do to me whenever we so much as make contact. My magic reacts to you, and no one else. Because of that, I’ll always fall at your feet, El. But if this is what you want...let me also have a go on you.” Tiny sparks of electricity webbed around the spaces of his raised, steel digits. “I’ll show you my teeth...or something like it.” 

Riding on the high of offering kindness and having it well-received, Tivia left Teselin’s chambers, floating like pollen in the wind. Never would she have considered the flash of hope in one’s eyes an ample reward for a good deed. It made a lick more sense as to why people like Alster and Isidor sought to help and heal. Yes, guilt over past indiscretions prompted them to take responsibility for the sick, needy, and disenfranchised, but desperate benevolence could not be the sole force driving them forward. They had to feel something other than what they considered their due. A sense, however small, of accomplishment or pride hidden beneath self-made heaps of karmic debt. If not pride, at least some measure of relief for their ability to save lives. Tivia, by contrast, was no hero, too selfish and indifferent to donate to fortuneless causes outside her sphere of influence. But bearing witness to the summoner’s incremental shift from utterly hopeless to slightly less hopeless...it warmed her. While she wasn’t going to launch into a campaign to befriend every loner who crossed her path, acting civil and tolerant around someone in need wasn’t too terrible an experience. Not terrible at all. 

Aware of his appointment to modify Alster’s prosthesis, Tivia didn’t call on Isidor until after supper. Checking the door and finding it unlocked, she swept inside, assuming he was expecting her visit, as she tended to show in the evenings when palace life settled down for the day. Instead of catching him busily scribbling formulae, drafting out sketches and diagrams, or aggressively reading two tomes at once, she crossed his empty study, peeked into his open bedchambers…

And discovered him naked, marinating in a tub of water. 

“O-oh.” Just as startled as he, she burrowed into her hair, stepped out of the room, and drifted out of sight. “I did not mean to disturb you, Isidor. If you need me to return when you’re decent…”

It was a ridiculous courtesy to extend, she realized. Weren’t they...intimately involved? Even so, their status did not entitle her to impugn on his privacy whenever she damn pleased. Naked or not, a bath was a deeply vulnerable affair, and to barge in so indecorously and demand his audience would negate her wholesome session with Teselin. 

It turned out, she needn’t worry. Not only did he bid her return to the room, but...did he...come on to her? The flirtatious lines tweaking the corners of his mouth were unmistakable, but anyone could chalk up his expression to the lantern light casting equal parts shadows and flames on his full-moon face. With so high an albedo, anything could reflect on his silvery disc and appear plausibly concrete, only to reveal itself as an illusion. 

Her eye might be tricked, but her heart, she hoped, possessed more integrity. According to the thump in her chest, his bold request was neither farce nor delusion. She didn’t daydream his response. He said it...and meant it. 

She smiled coquettishly, unraveling the lace that held the bodice of her gown taut around her waist. “I’m more than happy to join you, Isidor.” Shimmying out of her frock, it pooled to the floor at her feet. After removing her undergarments and slippers, she approached the tub and sank invitingly into its heated waters. 

“So I’ve heard,” she nodded, her smiling twisting enigmatically. “I imagine you’ve found resounding success so far, and that Alster is completely agog.” The water splashed over her arms in a playful lap. “No worries about our arrangement. I daresay Alster deserves a little care after all the frenetic energy he expends on the wellbeing of others. Besides, I know you’ll make good on your promise.” She leaned her cheek into his hand, reveling at its touch; the only person she’d allow to make contact with the ravages of her burn scars. “Speaking of promises...I paid Teselin a visit this morning.” Her hands teasingly traveled up his arms, towards his shoulders. “She’s in a bad way. Not that I’m surprised. Still upset over her harsh treatment of you. I said I’d, well, I’d support her. Whenever she feels ready, we’ve agreed to go together and speak with you. I know she’s looking to apologize and to make amends. Whether you believe you’re deserving of her forgiveness or not, it’s something she needs to do, for the sake of closure.”

She resting her palms on the apex of his shoulders, mildly kneading the knots that gathered in his collarbone with her thumbs. She would have maintained her position then and there, if not for a sharp whisper penetrating her sensitive ear canal. His back. His back. Below his left shoulder. Feel. Feel. Feel…

“Have you, uh, eaten today?” she questioned, not out of any pressing need for an answer, but to distract him whilst she surreptitiously curved her hand’s trajectory from shoulder to a small patch of skin over his lower scapula. “I noticed your supper outside. I’m fairly sure stew is meant to be enjoyed hot…”

Her fingers pressed the skin. Its texture was...bumpy. Small ridges and contours traveled beneath her tips, presenting like a relief map in miniature. There was no denying the region had been burned. 

“...Isidor.” Cutting the pretense, she removed her contact on his back and drew from his proximity, far as the small tub allowed. “Do you remember when I confessed my connection to your star? That sometimes I may become privy to information you may not wish for me to know? Well,” she took in a long, calming breath, “aside from what was revealed to me just now...alchemy is predicated on equivalent exchange, is it not? So, in terms of how you’ve been healing my face...where is the damaged tissue going? What I felt...is that--? Are you…?” She closed her eye, trying to compose the dread bubbling up in her throat. “...I should have known. I should have realized this before I asked for your help. I...I can’t accept this. Not when you’ll have me do nothing in exchange. Not when you would deliberately do damage to your skin!”

In one fluid motion, she rose out of the tub, planting her sopping feet on the tiled floor. “I...I can’t have you continue. I’m sorry. I can’t. I should go.” Not even caring to dry her soaking skin, she threw on her dress, swiped her slippers from the floor, and flew out of his chambers, daring not to look behind her shoulder as she escaped.

“You… you spoke with my sister?” Isidor wasn’t entirely sure as to why that small fact came as such a surprise to him. Hadn’t he asked her to reach out to Teselin? She had agreed to extend the hand of friendship to his sister, but… well, a part of him hadn’t been sure that she would actually follow through on the promise, and ultimately, that realization made him feel guilty. Had I really thought so little of her intentions that I did not think she would come through? Tivia deserved far more credit than what even he had given her. Even if kindness was an alien concept for her to endorse, as well as execute, he had witnessed a remarkable change in her demeanor since arriving in Galeyn. Whether or not it was due to his influence… he could not deny that she was genuine. Even if she didn’t realize it.

“I appreciate that, Tivia. Truly. Though I feel I must apologize for putting you up to the task of mediating the tension between me and my sister…” He smiled guiltily and ran a hand through his damp hair. “I have been planning to speak with her, as well. She must think I’ve given up on her since our… altercation, but that is not the case. I do want to help but. But truth be told… hers is a case that is unfamiliar to me. Her ‘otherness’ and the entire probability of her existence is unfamiliar to me, and while I want to solve the problem that is clearly eating away at her quality of life… I do not know that I can. But that doesn’t mean that I will not try. After all… she is my family. And she approached me with kindness from the very beginning, when I… I shied away in cowardice. Guilty as she must feel for being angry with me, the truth is I, too, have a lot to atone for. So… thank you.” Completely unprompted, the Master Alchemist leaned in and kissed the Rigas woman’s forehead. “For being the in-between in a situation that is dreadfully difficult for both me and my sister.”

Her next question was one that was by no means unfair, and one that he should have anticipated. Everyone, and not just those whom he deemed moderately close to him, had a tendency to question him on his poor eating habits, considering that his practice often warranted fasting in order to ensure he performed a task to the best of his ability. Were it not for both Tivia and Alster insisting that he eat and sleep, to the point where they sometimes threatened not to leave him alone until he satisfied their whims, he would likely have been far less rested and far more malnourished. “Ah… well, I was going to get to that…” He confessed, and it wasn’t a lie… despite that he couldn’t have promised that he wouldn’t forego food for rest after leaving the bath. “These waters just happened to be far more enticing, for the moment. Not to worry; reheating a cold meal is by no means beyond my ability.”

Also not a lie, but with a beautiful woman sharing a bath with him, food had suddenly become far less a priority. He hadn’t realized how much he’d wanted to feel her hands on his shoulders until they were there, and her touch brought him to life. So much that maybe, just maybe… if she was so inclined, and if there were enough tells, he might find a way to take this brief spell of confidence as far as he could stretch it, and make the first move to initiate intimacy, for once. Show Tivia that he did have a spine, however thin it might have been… it was something, and just being near her gave him an edge that he hadn’t before realized he’d had. In spite of his terribly awkward nature, and the way he fumbled through their relationship, she still accepted him--and somehow, that made the possibility of failure of embarrassment much less daunting. 

Alas, it wasn’t meant to be… at least, not in that moment. Too engrossed in her presence, Isidor hadn’t paid attention to where Tivia’s hands roamed, and was struck with surprise when the star seer suddenly stiffened and withdrew. Oh no… he’d done something wrong. But what? What had displeased her? Had he come on too fast, too strong? Was she frustrated with his complete and utter negligence of his physical health, ignoring a perfectly good meal waiting for him? He’d been wrong; failure and rejection did feel as awful as he’d anticipated. “Tivia… are you alright?” His brows knit together with concern, but he did not reach for her when she withdrew, for fear that he was overstepping some invisible boundary that he hadn’t realized existed. “Have I… said something untoward? If that is the case, please forgive my transgressions…”

No, it was worse than that. A transgression could be forgiven. Tivia, he figured, knew him better than anyone, at this point. If he had conducted some social faux-pas, she would have undeniably forgiven him, knowing that the world of people and relationships was not at all his strong suit. What had turned her mood had not been some innocent mistake: she was calling him on something entirely deliberate, for which he must hold himself completely accountable. The healthy flush that the steam from the bath had painted on his cheeks rapidly drained, the moment the Rigas woman called him out for a crime for which he was not sure she would forgive him. “I… Tivia…” What else could he do but avert his gaze out of guilt? “I realize… If you would give me a moment, let me explain…”

What was there to explain? There was no excuse for his crime of omission; for not providing Tivia with all of the details and implications involved in healing her face. And if he was being honest with himself… he had neglected to inform her of these details because he did not want her to refuse his help. And he knew that had she been aware… she never would have let this process take place.

Even if he could’ve found the words to convince her to stay and hear him out, the star seer was too fast. In a heartbeat, she was on her feet and out of the tub, pulling her dress and her slippers on as she hurried out of his room altogether. “Tivia--wait!” He was too slow, and the sound of the door slamming shut behind her drowned out his plea. Defeated, the Master Alchemist slumped down into the water, which suddenly felt as though it had grown colder in her absence. You are an idiot… You have been forthright with everyone you’ve helped, except for the one person who matters the most to you! Can you really begrudge her her anger? He berated himself, over and over until he couldn’t even stand to be in the open air and completely submerged in the water, holding his breath and wishing once again that he could disappear completely. How could he make this right, when the entire situation was in and of itself wrong? When he had knowingly kept Tivia in the dark for what were ultimately entirely selfish reasons…?

...maybe I can’t make this right. But I can give her what she deserves.

When at last his lungs were screaming for air, Isidor resurfaced with a gasp, and climbed out of the lukewarm waters. He only briefly dried his body and hair with a towel before pulling on the rumbled clothes he’d donned earlier that day, and completely neglected searching for his boots before taking leave of his chambers to fix the problem for which he was solely responsible. The confused and curious glances he earned from passer-byes in the corridors didn’t even face him, given the magnitude of the apology he knew he had but moments to sort out in his mind before he came upon Tivia’s chamber. And when he reached it, he stood there for a good, long moment, hesitant to knock. He knew he could not go in there with the expectation that he would be leaving as late as the next morning, or that anything would be the same between them. But this visit wasn’t about him; it was about Tivia, and what he owed her. And he could not expect forgiveness as a reward for being forthcoming far too late.

He knocked once, twice, three times, and was only met with silence. “Tivia,” he gently implored, but she did not answer him. “I haven’t come to make excuses; I came to tell you what you deserve to know. Anything and everything. This isn’t a single question I won’t answer… if you’ll let me.”

When he continued to only be met with silence, he decided it was easier to ask forgiveness than permission, and tugged the handle of her door. It was not locked, and she did not dismiss him when he entered, and that was as close to permission as he could expect. Closing the door quietly behind him, he clasped his hands in front of him and looked down at his feet. Where did he even begin? “Do you remember… when you told me that you are not selfless? That you do not offer help or kindness, expecting nothing in return? I am afraid that I must admit that, contrary to popular belief… we are very much alike, in that sense. In fact, I cannot recall ever being selfless, for a moment in my life.”

With his gaze still fixed on the floor, the Master Alchemist make slow strides to her bed, where Tivia lay with her back to him, and hesitantly took a seat on the edge. “Think about it: I have been alone all my life. Anything and everything I have done, from the night I killed my own master to be free of his grasp, has been for me. I’ve lived for no one but myself; I even went so far as to forget the worst of the crimes I committed against innocent people, forced by Zenech’s hand, to the point where I even forgot about the one person who was ever kind to me as a child. Hells, even that old miller, for whom I crafted draughts to relieve the symptoms of his failing lungs, had been little more than a transaction so that I could have supplies delivered to my tower. Even when Alster approached me, begging to restore his wife’s heart, I did not leave the tower I have always known for selfless reasons. In fact, some philosophers propose that true altruism does not exist. Even if you are only helping others for the sake of feeling good that you were able to help them… that, in and of itself, is selfish. No one does anything without the expectation of gaining something in return. In fact,” his mouth pulled upward in a wry, half-smile, “I only ever left the comfort of my tower to spite my brother. Because he did not think I could be convinced. Of course, I now realize that I was simply playing into his manipulation… but I also realized that this was a choice that I was making, myself. And that I was using my skills on others of my own volition: because I wanted to, and not because I had to. So you could say… I am only here at all in some half-assed attempt to realize and uncover my own agency.”

Isidor ran a hand through his still damp locks, that hung like wet ink down his cheeks and neck. “I helped Elespeth to prove to myself that I could. I helped Alster for the same reason; because I made the offer, and because I wanted to. To feel better about myself, in light of all of the demons the faoladh unleashed when he forced me to remember every gruesome detail of my past. All of this… I have done all of this, been there for so many people, because I am so desperate to feel better about myself. Because I am struggling to find happiness among all of this agony I am reliving… even when it comes to you.” Sighing heavily with guilt, he dropped both hands into his lap, along with his gaze, and fiddled with the damp cuffs of his white tunic. “When I first saw you… I always thought you were beautiful, Tivia. I couldn’t understand how you did not see yourself in the same light, because I am a rightful idiot that didn’t realize beauty meant something to you. And I realized… how unhappy it made me, to see you unhappy. I wanted you to see what I saw, and to look upon your own reflection with pride. Because that is what has brought me joy: knowing that I can make a difference in the life of someone I care about. But I realize… that my greatest disservice to you was not being so upfront about my intentions, or what they entailed. So, if you’ll let me… I would like to be transparent, now. No more secrets; no more withholding information.”

Taking a steadying breath, the Master Alchemist straightened his core and pulled the slightly-damp tunic over his head, exposing his entire upper torso. If Tivia cared to look, she would have seen the textured, slightly pigmented patch of flesh at his left shoulder, as if from a minor burn. “Who could believe that it turns out the fabric of our soft tissues are compatible? I discovered this when I examined your blood. Similar to Alster and Elespeth,who swapped vital cells within their heart muscles so that Elespeth could be well enough to recover in the Night Garden’s care. But what I have been doing… the process isn’t quite the same. With Alster and Elespeth, it was literally an alchemical transfer of cells in their entirety. A far more exhausting and taxing process than the way we have been proceeding with your face, Tivia. I daresay, while the same method would have been possible and might have solved your problem, our skin does not sport the same pigments. Your burn would have vanished, but the tone would not have been uniform compared to the rest of your face. So…” He rolled his shoulders back and spread his hands, palms up. The intricate silver runes on his palms shimmered in the candlelight. “Instead of switching cells in their entirety, I have been exchanging pieces--some of the cell organs, if you well. Namely, the cell membrane and cytoplasm… the parts that are sporting the visual damage. Enough for your cells to slowly but surely heal themselves, a bit at a time, without needing to worry that you’ll ever be as deathly pale as me.”

He chuckled at the slightly self-deprecating observation, but rubbed the back of his neck nervously, knowing his technical explanation was doing nothing to win her favour back. “I knew all along that you would eventually find out. Either you would ask me to explain, or you… well, we’ve been intimate on several occasions. It was just a matter of time. But the fact remains, Tivia, that taking the damage into my own skin is of little to no consequence to me. It doesn’t make me want to hide myself from the world--I do that, anyway.” He flashed a brief, wry smile. “And no one but you has seen it. If one day it does happen to bother me, there is nothing to say a little more research and collaboration with mages might not make it disappear entirely. But… you spoke of not having that kind of time to wait. Of not being sure about your future. So, I expedited it, for you--and for me, so that I can see you truly happy with yourself. But, if you are still unwilling to accept that I haven’t ask for payment… if you cannot accept that this is still an entirely selfish endeavor, on my part, then then allow me to state my terms.”

Suddenly, that awkward air of apology vanished, and the tone in the room shifted. He would not be ignored, and she would hear him out… even if this meant it was a final attempt to reach her. Isidor laid a hand upon her shoulder and shifted her form to make eye contact. It was, perhaps, the first time he had looked upon her so sternly, not a single line or angle of his face accepting that he would be ignored. “For the restoration of your face, Tivia Rigas, my price is your perseverance. You speak of living in the moment, in preparation that you will one day waste away to the stars… and I will not have that. I will not invest my time and my energy--and my cells--in someone who is so determined to give up. I was not about to allow Alster to give up, the night that acrobat underwent extreme surgery for her condition, and I hold you to that same standard. You are a Rigas, and while I am not sure I know precisely what that means, it does mean more than surrendering yourself to an unknown fate. I want you to keep fighting, Tivia. And when the stars become too much to bear… we may be able to find a solution for that, as well. So--what is your answer?”

Isidor drew away, but only a little; enough to afford her personal space. Tivia was not always swayed by kindness, he had come to realize in the time that he had spent with her. Sometimes, it seemed, she wanted a challenge… and he could only imagine that was the entirety of what she had received from Vitali, upon whom she still doted from time to time. As much as it went against his better judgement, and embittered him all the more to the necromancer… he’d assumed a rare side of himself that was more like his brother than he cared to admit. “Shall we continue what we started, or are we to leave a job unfinished? If you accept my terms, then know your promise is as good as any contract,” he folded his arms across his chest, patiently awaiting her answer, “and I will not see it broken. Otherwise… we will leave things as they are. And you will not have to see me, again.”         

In spending the bulk of the past year around Vitali, Tivia had developed a few of his opinions regarding sacrifice-happy people. Namely, the subject would revolve around Alster, the antithesis to Vitali’s modus operandi of exploitation, manipulation, and self-gain. The Rigas Lord was seldom satisfied, the necromancer went on to explain. The loss of his arm, the wilful amputation of his toes, bargaining a piece of his soul to the Serpent, and sharing his healthy heart cells to his wife, all happened in so short a time, as though these little deaths emboldened him to chip away into oblivion at a swifter clip. Nothing he accomplished was enough to fill all the fractures on earth, but instead of realizing his mortality and the futility of his impossible goals, he pressed further, harder, because he considered it a failure on his part not to keep giving himself away and away...until there was nothing left. 

Isidor, similarly, fell into the same trap. So much so, Alster resolved to move elsewhere, knowing proximity would undermine their shared accomplishment of helping everyone. After all, Alster could help no one if they sought Isidor’s aid instead, or vice versa. Two skilled, talented figures hellbent on mending every crushed flower in a vast garden would not exist civilly in the same area for long unless they received equal amounts of fulfilling work at all times. There wasn’t enough opportunity for Alster, nor enough people in need, so he set his sights on the D’Marian settlement, where needs flourished in abundance. Meanwhile, in Galeyn, Isidor had his selection of those who required his specialized services. And how would someone with as little regard for himself, same as his contemporary, tackle the issue of eradicating a patient’s pain, or removing an abscess, or reconstructing a face scorched by second and third-degree burns? 

By treating his body as a canvas and painting the damage on its surface. At first, he’d only cover a small section: an unhealthy pigment, splotched in the corner and mired with clumps. But given the opportunity--and he’d have plenty more opportunities--his cream-white canvas would devolve into a noisy collage of colors and disparate, clashing concepts. Haphazardly layered by dozens of coats, the canvas was sure to tear and collapse. And Tivia was damned if she’d be the gateway to his journey of self-sacrifice--not after contending with Alster for so long and bearing witness to his weighty consequences. She refused to praise him for his problematic behavior. No; she wouldn’t enable him at all. 

It did not take a star-seer to realize he would follow in pursuit of her. Perhaps it was an oversight, leaving her door unlocked, but she’d done it on purpose. She never wanted to shut him out or give up on him. She wasn’t rejecting him, but neither could she condone his practices if they’d cause so much self-injury.

In her chambers, she toweled off the excess rivulets of water from her legs, feet, and arms. She scrubbed aggressively, chafing sections of agitated skin in a bid to distract from the ragged breath in her lungs and the berating beating of her overtaxed chest, which demanded why she ran instead of staying and listening to his reasons. Did you want him to chase you? Her conscience sneered, disgusted by her cries for attention. To see if he would? To see if he’d care enough to support your drama?

“Shut up,” she hissed under her breath, driving the towel harder against her skin in retaliation. “Or I’ll burn every part of you.”

Her threats died as they reached her lips, however, when the door in the hallway thudded with knocks and cries for her name. He came! So quickly, so unhesitatingly, he came. She nearly shuffled to the door and opened it, but paused. Would he persist, or would he give up after a few knocks and trudge back to his suite, dejected? 

Therein she experienced her second surprise of the evening. As one would expect the timid, hermetic alchemist to cut his losses and retreat to the comforts of his study, Isidor, contrary to his nature, jiggled the latch, swung open the door, and boldly stepped inside. 

“Isidor,” she balked, but swallowed her initial shock and gestured for him to enter. “Are you here to change my mind? Because you will find I am quite firm in my decision. I can’t allow you to--”

But she bit her tongue as he opened his mouth and ventured to explain, in lengthy detail, his perspective, including what possessed him to transfer her unsightly burns to his body without asking her permission, or at least informing her of his intentions. “It doesn’t matter whether you define your actions as selfless or selfish, Isidor.” She folded the towel over her arm, hiding the patches of dead skin flakes she’d roughly exfoliated. “People will judge for themselves. They will always see you in a different light. Besides, you can make an argument for every known concept that has a name. Altruism, goodness and evil...love--they’re all human constructs, created to help us define our experiences as we navigate this mortal plane. Nothing has constancy. Values change. The universe and our place within it...those are our only sureties. But neither of us is here to contemplate philosophy. I don’t care if you’re selfish. I care about what you do with your selfishness. And if you think I’m willing to turn a blind eye and continue to let you injure yourself on my account…”

It turned out, he had more to say. For the second time during his discourse, she put a damper on her rising outrage and let him speak. Setting aside her towel, she clasped her hands over her arms, rubbing the raw flesh in circular motions, as though to ward off the cold. But she wasn’t cold. Just...upset. Not so much at him; how could he know better when the majority of his social conditioning took place in a dusty tower, under the tutelage of an abusive guardian? Was it any surprise that someone so isolated and alone would grow up with so little regard for himself that his happiness would depend on the happiness of others? 

How she ended up fancying him at all was another mystery altogether. Hadn’t she spent the past several years detesting Alster for his like-minded agenda? And wasn’t she only now learning why he and Isidor cared a lick for the needs of society? It was easier to expend their energies outward than to turn them inward and dwell on unproductive, paralyzing self-hatred. Better to be proactive. Better to make a difference. It did feel better to focus on freely offering one’s services, she agreed. Sparking an infinitesimal light in Teselin’s eyes felt rewarding and good. But if she wasn’t careful, she could become like Isidor and Alster: addicted to the feeling. And addicts would do anything to procure their substance of choice. 

“But why does it need to be you, Isidor?” she pressed, louder than she’d intended. “Why do you need to shoulder the burden on your own--quite literally? You’re already doing the work. If the challenge is to find a compatible donor who sports my skin-tone, any Rigas will do. So why make things harder on yourself? It is absolutely unnecessary; do you not realize this!?” She gripped the back of the chair where she’d placed her towel, steadying her uncontrollable wobbles of anger. “Are you looking to become a martyr? If so, I’m sorry, but I’ve had my fill with Alster. Why else would I find Vitali’s perspective so refreshing? He’s so unapologetic about who he is, it’s frankly a relief for my aching head!” 

The mere mention of Isidor’s reviled half-brother was seemingly enough to shift his attitude. Almost instantaneously, the timid alchemist transformed into an austere business-man brokering deals with no implied emotion. If not for the height differences, the resemblance between the two siblings would be uncanny. She shifted uncomfortably beneath his grip, not making eye contact, but staring at the wall behind him. 

“That is an incompatible exchange of services, and you know it,” she bit back, her stormy-gray eye flickering back to regard the coal-stones lodged in his gaze. Unswayed by his attempts to channel Vitali, she was all the more emboldened to assume the role of the contrarian. “When a farmer barters for fabric from a tailor, does the tailor deny his crop and ask the farmer to surrender his livelihood, instead? You can’t claim my future, or what I do with it, as payment. And why would it matter to you? You won’t be around; you’ll be dead from old age by then! So...if that is the game you wish to play, then I also have a demand.” She jutted an accusing finger at his back. “You’ll find another way. If you say you can eventually remove the scarring with the help of mages, then surely, I’m able to consult a mage, or swallow my pride and ask the Gardeners for their healing expertise. If you can’t accept my addendum, then I won’t go forward with our arrangement as is. I’ll leave this job unfinished! Because...can’t you see?” Too impassioned to remain on her feet, she slumped into the chair, wet sections of hair splaying forward to conceal her face. Free of anger, her voice came out in a scratchy whisper. “It makes me unhappy. If this is what restoring my face costs....then I don’t want it, anymore. How could I possibly be happy with myself, knowing that every time I look at your back, it will be a heavy reminder of what you sacrificed? What I took from you? No,” she shuddered a sigh, “no. I don’t want to hurt you. So I decline.” 

Shakily, she rose from her chair and shuffled to the door. “It’s late, Isidor, and you have a busy day ahead of you. Alster’s arm takes precedence. We’ll talk later, when we’re both not so tired.” She swerved open the door and nodded to the hallway. Her eye moistened but she refused to let fall a single tear, even though the unsteady waver of her pitch betrayed her emotions. “Good night, Isidor.” 

Ever since generating literal sparks out of the sexually repressed Rigas couple, Hadwin laid low for the next few days. It wasn’t hard to do; not when he divided his company among Briery and Teselin. As the summoner spent most of her time indoors, he’d often coax her to the sanctuary, and the short trip from the palace to the Night Garden hardly warranted trouble-making of any sort. Teselin didn’t need to do or say much to hold him accountable for his behavior. A promise was a promise, and he meant it when he vowed not to stir unnecessary discord among allies--namely, her brother. Not that he harbored the desire to prod and poke the once mild-mannered shut-in. Not anymore. Really, if anyone deserved a reward for Most Improved, it would go to Isidor Kristeva. The Master Alchemist came into his own remarkably fast, and though he couldn’t take credit for the man’s transformation, he accepted partial responsibility, as the conduit for change. His usefulness was at an all-time high, and Hadwin intended to take full advantage, while the chips were stacked and the cards, hot. 

He hadn’t forgotten the deal he made with Vitali. Cinch the younger brother’s cooperation in exchange for Cwenha’s life. Simple enough on paper, but he required more than just Isidor’s signature. First, to pitch his proposal to Briery. Considering the acrobat was amid recovering her strength and senses, her involvement would have to factor in later. However, waiting on her yay or nay did not mean he couldn’t nudge a few chess pieces along. Like it or not, Alster was indebted to him. Not that he sought ‘payment;’ only his good standing. Enough of it to float the idea to the influential Rigas Lord. It wouldn’t take much to convince him when he already carried a certain weakness for the silver fairy. Participating in search parties with Haraldur served multiple purposes: initially, to get close to Elespeth. Done and done. Second, to scout for his sisters on the off chance of discovered a few nuggets of information. Then, there was his tertiary reason; to endear to the Forbanne commander and glean the whereabouts of Kadri, a man so determined to bring Cwenha’s killer to justice that to side with him meant the possibility of support from Prince Sorde. There wasn’t a chance the happy father of twins could condemn the resurrection of a lost one lest he be seen as a damn hypocrite. Last, there was Teselin. He wouldn’t make her do anything, but he understood her strong desire to help wrestled for dominance over her strong desire not to do harm. He’d inform her on the goings-on of his ambitious plan and gently encourage her to get in good with her estranged half-brother, but that was the most he’d orchestrate. The rest was up to her and her comfort level. 

As for what he was doing right now…

It was time for a peace offering. 

Early on the morning Isidor was scheduled to tinker Alster’s arm to alchemical perfection, Hadwin appeared before his door and knocked. Not the loud, obnoxious, persistent knock so characteristic of him, but an even-tempered, polite, ‘I-hope-I’m-not-disturbing-you’ knock reminiscent of Alster, or a friendly attendant. Yeah, it was a trick to get Isidor to open the door, but would he even dare to respond if he knew who waited on the other side? Well...maybe. If it was to aim a punch at his face. 

When the unsuspecting Isidor opened the door, Hadwin inserted his presence before things got too dicey, too quick. “Not here to hassle you or anything,” he said, getting straight to the point. “I believe this belongs to you.” He opened his fist to reveal an inky black stone bearing a slight iridescent sheen, like a raven’s wing in the sun. “Guess I figured out where I’d buried it, after all. Here.” He plopped the alchemist stone in the man’s hand.  “Not like giving you a reason will justify swiping it in the first place, but it was dead weight to you, and I wanted it for Tes. Give her a break with her magic, y’know. But she’d hate it if someone else got fucked over cuz of her, and the stone steals resources, so...not too practical a solution, if the probability for a solution was even in the works, to start. I’m not giving up, though, and neither are you, I suspect. Between us lads, we’ll think of something, yeah?”

And as inoffensively as he arrived, he nodded his goodbye, turned from the door, and strutted down the hallway, digging his hands into pockets no longer laden by the weight of the stone.

He should have known that wearing a disposition that wasn’t rightfully his own would not fool Tivia. She was far more clever than that, and frankly, no matter that they were related by blood, he could not be Vitali. Could not channel those traits that Tivia found so attractive, so alluring, and he was only making a bigger ass of himself by trying. But the worst of it was that he had hoped, somehow, to reach her. If not to convince her that they should continue this slow procedure to heal her face, then to gain assurance that she would not give up on her life and future because of her connection to the relentless stars. Why had he thought, even for a moment, that he could surmount her obstinacy? No amount of pretending to be something he wasn’t would make her see things his way, because… all truth be told, someone who had been raised with a heavy hand and confined to a tower did not see the world properly. Everything he saw was jaded and jagged. And if that were the case, then so, too, were his problem solving strategies. He hadn’t even blinked to take Tivia’s damage onto himself; that didn’t register as so much as an inconvenience. But he had failed to consider that she might not see it that way… and it was not within his rights to make her see it like he did.

“And do you think you would find a fellow Rigas willing to donate the health of their cells to your benefit, Tivia?” He asked her honestly, all of the stern demeanor melting out of him as he sighed along with his drooping shoulders. “One who would be willing to undergo this procedure for your benefit? And let’s say for a moment, after so much searching and requesting and testing to ensure compatibility, they did agree--what would they ask for? What would you give them, since you are so insistent in solidifying this as a transaction? What could you possibly have that they do not? The answer is nothing, Tivia; because you are in the same position as every other Rigas, and every other citizen in this struggling kingdom. No one has anything left to give. Even Queen Lilica cannot promise me anything more than hospitality for what I have yet to do for her; my permission to stay and reside here in comfort is my payment. Contrary to what my brother might believe, not every good deed warrants a damned transaction… but what do I know? I spent my life in a tower.”

Shrugging his shoulders, the Master Alchemist looked away from the stubborn Rigas woman and pulled his tunic back over his head, and down past his waist, concealing the evidence of what he had done to heal her face thus far. “I don’t know magic, Tivia. Maybe the Night Garden can help you better than I ever could. You spoke of the damage being magic-resistant, but that doesn’t make it an impossibility. That also doesn’t mean it could take a very, very long time of research and collaboration with other mages to find that solution, and I wanted you to have what you needed without eons of waiting and trail and error. But no, it didn’t have to be me. I chose to donate the health of my skin because it was easy to do. And because I…” I wanted to do it for you; at no one else’s expense. “I didn’t think it would matter, to you. But it seems I was wrong, as I am about a lot of things. I ask for assurance of your future in exchange for my services, Tivia, because there is nothing else that I desire. There is nothing else that you, or anyone, can possibly give me that I want or need. I have no interest in money or power; before I came here, my only transactions were that with a miller’s son to deliver me supplies in exchange for simple tonics, and that is all. It is not that I fail to understand the value of my work and my unique skill set, and for that, I want to know that it will be honoured appropriately. That it will not be lost on someone who does not care to take their destiny into their own hands. And I thought, once you saw the end result, that you would reconsider surrendering to the stars, even if I will not be around to see the end of it. But,” he spread his hands helplessly and shook his head, “that is not my decision to make; and it is not my future to influence.”

It was clear his presence, and his help, was no longer desired; the very sort of rejection that the Master Alchemist had feared, that which kept him holed away from the world from which he desired to hide. And, just as he expected… it was a terrible feeling. But the situation was no longer within his control. “If you ever wish to change your mind, you know where you can find me. But if this is your decision, Tivia… then I will rightly respect it, and act accordingly. I will not incite change where it is not wanted; and I won’t try to talk you into it, anymore. But…” Just short of reaching the door, he stopped, and placed hand hand on the doorframe. Something of that hardened, no-nonsense air returned and stiffened his posture. “But don’t assume for one minute you know what hurts me. This--what I’ve done for you, that doesn’t even register as pain. It isn’t even what I would consider an inconvenience. If it displeases you to see your damage shift to me, then that is your prerogative, and the last thing I wish to do is cause you any guilt or discomfort. But it is not pain--I know pain. I lived pain, and it continues to haunt me to this day, and you… and you have no idea, Tivia. You have no idea, and I truly, sincerely hope that you never will.”

Isidor dropped his hand from the doorframe and looked away, fully expecting that he would not see the inside of this tidy chamber again. “Take care, Tivia.” And with that, he honoured her request and left, returning to his own quiet chambers where he would prepare for the next day. For someone who sought and welcomed his help… another task to provide a distraction from the darkness that always lurked in the corner, threatening to overwhelm him if he gave it the chance. But what else could he do but distract himself from the fact that in trying to do good, in trying to use his unique skills to improve the quality of life of someone who, he now realized, he cared deeply about, he had pushed that person away? Tivia had become a constant light in his life over the past few weeks; someone who not only chased away the shadows, but gave him reason to believe there was more to existing than to experience pain and regret. Even if what they had had always been transient, he hadn’t anticipate that it would so quickly come to an end.

She is right, though. What right do I have to do what I did? Or to demand she live a bright and hopeful future when I will be dead and buried, and she will still be beautiful and full of potential? The cold meal still sitting next to the door was forgotten, when Isidor returned to his room; he couldn’t even think to eat right now, which was probably for the better, if he meant to finish the job on Alster’s arm, the next morning. I don’t care how she fancies Vitali; I will not ask for repayment. No future favours that I would call on when she least expected it. I already took my payment for these tasks, years ago… for everyone who had to die for my making.

Isidor wasn’t quite sure when he had fallen asleep. But when he awoke, the next morning, it was upon a pile of books at one of his desks, to a light rapping on his door. For once, he knew better than to think it might be Tivia; but Alster, perhaps. For all he knew, it might be late in the morning, and the Rigas lord deserved to know how they would proceed…

Running a hand through his hair, the Master Alchemist rose from his chair, ignoring the pain in his shoulders and neck from sleeping hunched over all night long, and made for the door. He very nearly slammed it shut as soon as he opened it.

“I have neither the time, nor the patience for you,” were all he said to the faoladh, looking very much like he wanted to punch him, but simply lacked the energy. Before he shut the door to remove the man from his sight, something familiar darkened Hadwin’s palm, like an iridescent black hole. The Master Alchemist drew in a sharp breath. “I knew it. I might be a terrible liar, but don’t think I can’t smell foul play when it is amidst.” With a deep frown, he snatched the alchemist stone from that undeserving hand. “So you’re a thief and an idiot. Do you even know what this is? What it can do? I’ll tell you what it can’t do, and that is unmake a summoner, Hadwin. Because it isn’t a matter of resources, it is a matter of knowing how the hell to solve the fucking problem, and guess what? I don’t! Not at this moment in time. I will speak to my sister whenever she is ready to speak to me, again, but for her sake--for everyone’s sake, do not go promising her that I will be the answer she is looking for, when right now, I’ve got nothing.”

Thank the gods, Hadwin didn’t appear to be in search of conversation, and departed as quickly as he had arrived. Isidor took the opportunity to immediately place the stone into a small chest for safe keeping, and instead of locking it, proceeded to melt the latch together with a bit of conducting powder and the runes from his hands to create fire. It might be possible to open it through magic, but none with that capability had any desire for the stone (or knew it existed). For now, it was safe from doing harm onto any poor soul who would otherwise be a victim of its capabilities.

The sun had long since crested the horizon, and if Isidor wanted to finish his progress on Alster’s arm, it was necessary to begin sooner than later. Packing what he needed in a satchel, he left and made for Alster’s chambers. After a few knocks on the door, the Rigas mage answered. The room appeared a bit in disarray compared to the day before, with sheets strewn all over the floor and curtains askew, as if the place had been containing a storm… but there was no need to comment on that. “Alster. If it suits you… we can complete this transformation today. I am in good form, and I think--no, I am confident that the result will be perfect. Like I told you before,” his mouth curled into a haphazard smile; something he hoped would hide the way that has night had crushed him, “I do not take on tasks where success is not guaranteed.”

Elespeth was absent, this time; evidently, she had work to do with Haraldur and the search party, and there was supposedly a new lead on their target. She would return later, supposedly. “Well, then… we’ll have a surprise for her, when she returns. This won’t be nearly as uncomfortable yesterday--and, thank the gods, no blood needed. When I’m finished, Alster,” the Master Alchemist took the liberty to unpack the items in his satchel, which contained far more vials and powders than yesterday, “you have my word, that arm of yours will never be a burden again.”

As soon as Alster was sitting comfortably at the table, Isidor went to work, diluting powders into vials and applying them to the steel arm. For hours, it appeared as though nothing was happening at all: no noticeable change in outward appearance of the appendage. The real change was in Alster’s reaction, which gradually shifted from relaxed (and perhaps a little bored) to almost uncomfortable, whenever Isidor applied too much pressure in some areas or let heat linger for too long in others. Hours later, Isidor picked up a small, familiar knife that he had used at the end of the day. “Can you feel it? The heat, the cold, the pressure? Texture? Close your eyes: how many fingers do you feel on your palm?” Satisfied with the Rigas mage’s response, he touched the tip of the knife to the underside of the steel arm. “Just one last thing--unfortunately, pain is part of the package, and it’s important to continue to sense it just like everything else. It’s a reminder that you’re alive, after all.” Flashing an apologetic smile, he drew a steady scrape in the steel with the tip of the knife, and Alster visibly winced and sucked in a breath. But as soon as the knife was taken away, the marred surface of the arm began to smooth over, before their very eyes. Like ripples dissipating on the surface of water, just a moment later, if was as if the metal had never been marred.

“Well… after hours and hours, your arm is largely the same, Alster.” The Master Alchemist blew a satisfied sigh from between his lips, and adjusted his new spectacles on his nose. He’d neglected to wear them for a time, since he had a feeling Tivia preferred him without them, but… well, it wasn’t likely that she preferred him in any way, shape or form, anymore, so what did it matter? “I did make adjustments in the wrist and finger joints to allow you more flexibility, and it should remain the same temperature as the rest of your body, for the most part. I also mediated a lighter but more durable structure to the fabric of the metal… so it shouldn’t weigh more than your other arm. The biggest difference, aside from the sense of feeling,” he nodded to where the knife had scratched, “is that the fabric of the metal will take care of itself. As you can see, it is self-repairing, and won’t require nearly as much maintenance under normal conditions. It is about as close to organic as it can get, without being flesh and blood...”

Only moments after finishing, the door opened and in stepped Elespeth, an eager and curious look in her eyes as her husband suddenly seemed so… bright. Like a huge weight had been taken off his shoulders. “Alster… are you…”

Of course, Alster was quick to explain, and demonstrate the changes to his steel appendage. The couple were practically alight with happiness; and looking on, Isidor felt nothing but… relief. At least I could make a difference in their lives. Look how happy they are… 

I’m sorry I could not make you so happy, Tivia.

“...Isidor?” How many times had Elespeth said his name, before he snapped out of his trance and acknowledged her. He blinked a few times at the ex-knight, who looked at him hopefully. “Please tell us… for everything you’ve done for me and for Alster, how can we repay you? For your time and energy?”

“That’s not necessary, Elespeth.” Isidor shook his head slowly. “I’m merely fulfilling a promise I made to Alster. He never even asked me to help, in the first place. There is no debt to settle.”

“True though that may be… we would like to. I would like to repay you. Surely, there are things you need.” Offering a warm smile, she placed a hand on the Master Alchemist’s arm. “I know you are busy with other projects--are you short on any supplies or provisions? If it cannot be procured in Galeyn, we could have someone run an errand and fetch them from--”

“I want nothing, Elespeth!” Something finally snapped, and gone was the tired, albeit calm alchemist from a moment ago. “Why is everything a damned transaction?! If you are so intent on settling debt, then go and form a deal with my brother! He would be more than happy to make a request worth more than whatever it is he can do for you!”

Silence. Isidor could hear his heart hammering in his chest, feel his hands trembling, heat collecting in his cheeks. Elespeth, rightly startled, immediately withdrew her hand and took a step back, eyes wide. “Isidor…”

Now you’ve done it. Was TIvia not enough? Do you mean to alienate everyone who has ever been kind to you? “...I’m sorry. I…” Hastily snatching his bag from the table, heedless of a few empty bottles that would be left behind, Isidor breezed past the couple and made for the door. “I must go.”

He took his leave before they could ask any questions and hurried to return to his chambers. Why did he ever leave them? Why did he ever leave his tower, when he was so ill-equipped to function among real people in the real world? This… this was a mistake. Not leaving, after he’d secured Elespeth’s life, had been a mistake… and he should’ve gone home before Hadwin had ever gotten to him. Ignorance, in hindsight, was bliss.

Never so grateful as he was to seek the security of his bedchamber, Isidor closed the door behind him and slumped to the ground with his back to the door. It was too late, now; he couldn’t leave. He had made too many promises, and Teselin… he couldn’t return to Nairit without doing what he could to help her. It might have been easier if she’d continued to hate him.

He almost didn’t notice the small piece of paper that must’ve recently been slipped under the door, until he removed his glasses to rub his overtired eyes. Frowning, he picked up the paper and unfolded it to peruse the scrawl written on the inside. “...Vitali.” The necromancer must have had his fair share of strong connections, if he had managed to have someone personally deliver this letter all the way from the farmlands to the palace. Isidor didn’t even bother to hold back a groan. “What do you want from me, now?”

Save for the prison of unshed tears jeweling her eye into a glisten, Tivia maintained a neutral bearing as she saw Isidor off from her chambers. En route to the door, something he said struck a nerve, and her expression darkened. She halted. “Are you implying I am so bereft of friends and familial connections that no one would come to my aid? Am I so daft to assume that Alster would drop everything to donate his healthy skin cells were I to ask? Failing our compatibility, do you believe he wouldn’t search the ranks of eligible Rigases to ensure a match? Taking my hypotheticals even further…” her limp arms jolted and jerked from the strain she applied to them, “is it safe to infer, by your words, that I am functionally useless and provide no benefit to society, despite my training as a warrior or my ability to see the fucking future?! In certain circles—many circles—I’m an asset! I’m sorry I am not a Master Alchemist who can blur the lines between organic matter and steel, repair a heart damaged beyond repair, and reconstruct a hideous face ruined by fire. Despite your confidence issues, you must think highly of yourself, to suggest you are my one salvation and no one will even come close to replicating your interminable skill! But it’s not enough for you, because you want me to surrender my gifts and accept my uselessness so you can feel better about yourself! Because my ‘happiness’ is your happiness, is that right? Even though you know nil about what my happiness entails?!” Breathless from shouting, she quivered to the door like a hornet on the warpath and yanked on the latch. “And don’t presume to lecture me on pain, either, as though you’re the sole party to be afflicted. I’ve seen your memories, besides. I am not entirely clueless. You must think me so ignorant!” She rammed her knuckles on the door. “You’ve overstayed your welcome, Isidor. Now go, before you say something else you’ll regret.” 

Obliging, he vacated her chambers, trudging along the hallway like a man defeated. Disregarding her damp gown, she launched upon the bed with it and transfixed her gaze on the ceiling in a bid to deflate her leavening chest of its air. A percentage of anger departed, and level-headedness returned, but at the cost of losing her newly-acquired satisfaction from offering a hand of friendship to Teselin. Well-deserving guilt swept the landscape of her thoughts. She knew she’d been unnecessarily harsh on Isidor and likely had twisted his words out of context, but she struggled to look past the rankling ire he inspired in her. Hadn’t Vitali said similar, upon their first acquaintance at Tadasun’s war-camp? What could you possibly have? He, too, had overlooked her, unconvinced of her contributive qualities. It was a dismissal of her overall value, and despite operating together on much friendlier terms, she did not forget how small she felt under the necromancer’s initial scrutiny. Much as she harangued on the stars for their intrusion, they gave her a purpose. Fighting her purpose, as Isidor requested as his ‘price’ for her facial reconstruction, seemed a less palatable outcome than surrendering to the stars. Without regular celestial interference perching in her ears and screeching, Tivia Rigas existed as little more than a casualty of war, a walking corpse involuntarily saved from the fire that should have killed her.

Unable to stomach the palace a minute longer, she sprang from the bed, wrenched off her damp gown, and chose an ensemble of winter-appropriate clothes to don. She slipped on a woolen dress, layered it with a vest, a long-coat, and a cloak, and tucked her wettish head of hair beneath a sheepskin hat. Stuffing a secondary outfit in her traveling sachel, she dispelled the hearth-fire and sconce-fire via magic, and swept out of her chambers. The stablehands recognized her upon arrival (and who wouldn’t? The stigma on her face, paired with her surly attitude, marked her as a veritable firebrand among Galeyn society). Through arrangements with Queen Lilica, she was given clearance to come and go to the palace as she pleased. While her visits to the borderlands remained relatively frequent, tonight would mark the first time in a month where she intended to spend the night--or two, depending on her mood. The simplicity of farm-life called to her, as did the simplicity of the company. Readying her Night steed, she gripped its reins and melted into the pitchy gloom. 

After clearing various Forbanne and Dawn Guard checkpoints, she raced across the main roads and arrived at the farmhouse, an idyll she still referred to as ‘home.’ New snowfall coated the hibernating fields and dusted the thatched roof in a powder of white. For a southerner raised among the balmy, sun-soaked Stella D’Mare, the concept of snow was novel to her. She didn’t much care for it, but in a certain light, it boasted its charms, as it did now. As she dismounted her steed, sinking boots into the cold, crunchy top-layer, she appreciated its sugar-coated allure, because it represented home. And as the case with all homes...the farmhouse was as transient as the seasons. It was slated to disappear. Once it disappeared…

She would have nowhere else to go. 

Almost timidly, she approached the door and knocked before letting herself inside. Vitali lounged in his favorite chair, a position favorable for catching the thermals of fire-heated air bellowing from the hearth. He cocked his blindfolded head towards the sound of her plodding footfalls, expectant and supernaturally astute--as always. 

“Vitali.” She shed her cloak, coat, and hat, hanging them on the hooks beside the door. “I hope you forgive my intrusion. I’m certain it’s been a refreshing change of pace, not having me around as often. But if you would entertain my company just for tonight...and maybe tomorrow night, I’d appreciate it. I only ask we don’t speak of Isidor. He...he doesn’t understand. He doesn’t understand, and I am fool to believe I have the patience or the tolerance to accept his self-destructive behaviors. What was I thinking?” She collapsed onto a wooden chair, fishing dried blood from her ears. “I latched onto him for the wrong reasons. I wanted to be loved and he was there, and I felt something, so I tried to make it work, but…” she took in a courageous breath, “I can’t reconcile the fact that it’s you I’ve wanted!” She shamefully stared at the table, hoping to morph into its wood to exit the conversation she deliberately stated she wouldn’t discuss, only to discuss it anyway! “Aesthetically, he’s close, but he’ll never be you. Oh, how he attempted to channel you, but it made me miss you all the more. But there’s nothing to be done about my girlish, unrequited affections, is there?” She smiled in spite of herself. Tears trickled down her one eye, but she wiped them away before they traveled the length of her cheek. They were wasted on a man who couldn’t love. She’d exhausted those tears long ago, or so she thought. “I’m not here to beg for your love; it’s impossible; I’ll never receive it. I only want to rest, here.” Her head slumped forward on the table and her eye fluttered shut. “To bask, one more time, in a fond memory…” 

It turned out, Alster didn’t need to worry about an inability to replicate his sexual escapades with Elespeth. Since that faithful night, he surged with restless energy, and she, to compare, emulated lightning in a bottle. Once he erected their ‘safety bubble’ (a measure for outsiders; not for them), they wreaked havoc on each other, streaking electricity above, below, and in between their wrestling bodies. Liberated from fear, they exclaimed, gasped, moaned, and sang in exultations of pleasure, generating combinations of frenetic energy powerful enough to bring down the walls and crumble them to smithereens. If not for the warding barrier keeping their magic at bay, the room would have fared much worse than scattered sheets and askew curtains. 

Tuckered out from the evening’s activities, Alster didn’t awaken until late morning. Elespeth had left for Haraldur’s search party an hour or two ago; he vaguely recalled their conversation before she set off. Even half-asleep, he marveled at her endurance. While she possessed the coordination to spring out of the sheets and begin her day, he, by comparison, oozed in bed like a dead jellyfish washed up on the beach. 

Out of necessity, he mustered the motivation to rise. Before the washbasin, he languidly washed the lingering scent of sex off his skin and slid on a clean outfit. Compliments of his half-finished prosthesis, his morning ritual took half the amount of time to complete. Unfortunately, he accomplished little else before a resonating knock on the door nearly startled him off his feet. 

“Good morning, Isidor,” he greeted the Master Alchemist, an embarrassed simper sitting on his weary face. “Please excuse the mess. I meant to clean, but the morning ran away from me. I’m glad one of us is in good form, at least.” But as Isidor relocated to the vanity and unpacked his alchemical powders, vials, and tools (including a dagger with a wicked edge), Alster’s smile flipped into a frown. Owing to last night’s spectacle, he was doubly sensitive to the electrical currents in the air, and he sensed a worrisome imbalance in Isidor’s energy. Whatever occurred in the interim between encounters, it threw his already fragile self-esteem off-kilter. 

Afraid that bringing attention to his mental wellbeing would only cause agitation, he said nothing, and gave the alchemist license to work without interruption or bothersome, undesirable conversation. Redesigning the prosthesis itself was a shorter process, estimated to take half a day as opposed to the majority of one’s waking hours. Alster whiled away the time; he napped, read a book he borrowed from Galeyn’s library, and watched Isidor diligently treat his arm using catalyzing tinctures coupled with activation of the runic symbols carved into his palm. 

As with any sensitive procedure, pain was an unavoidable factor. Nowhere near as acute as rupturing inflammation or the zing and zap of frequent nerve pain, pain registered as pain, nonetheless, and Alster reflexively reacted to the involuntary jostle of his arm responding to external stimuli. Despite the uncomfortable sensation, it mystified him to feel so much as a tingle on the steel’s unyielding veneer. More curious than inconvenienced, he enthusiastically participated in Isidor’s experimentations, flinching and laughing in the same breath. “I do. I feel it. I actually feel it. The sensations are foreign and strange to me, but not unpleasant--well, in spite of the pain.” Opening his eyes, he was unable to contain his excitement when the scratch Isidor embedded into the steel rippled like quicksilver and vanished from the surface.

“This is...I am beyond words, Isidor.” With Isidor’s go-ahead, he lifted his arm; it whizzed high over his head. “You weren’t joking,” he chuckled, delighted by its reciprocity. “It is much lighter. I’ll have to stop overcompensating and readjust to the weight accordingly.” He flicked his wrist, waggled his fingers, swiped small objects from the table, reveled in identifying the fine satin of the tablecloth betwixt his thumb and forefinger, the cylindrical slickness of an ink pen, the mealy grain of wood against his chair, and the inviting warmth as his left hand and right hand made contact. “At this rate, I may be able to use this hand to write. It exhibits fine motor functions. I couldn’t ask for an arm more sophisticated, barring my real arm, of course. But I like this far better, because it’s truly a marvel of science. No one else can boast an appendage of this caliber, I daresay. More importantly,” he rattled Isidor’s hand with a hearty steel shake, “it serves as a fond reminder of your alchemical artistry. I’m glad to know you, Isidor.”

Alster’s moment of brotherly appreciation was cut short upon Elespeth’s entrance. Rising to his feet, he swerved to greet her, waving his arm in an exaggerated arc. “Elespeth--look!” Beaming, he squeezed her arm with a controlled steel grip and pivoted her into a spin. “I’m so lightweight; I can practically float off the ground. And I don’t have to generate heat into my arm anymore. The arm behaves as organic. In addition, Isidor’s designed it to be anti-corrosive, self-healing, and capable of sensation! I’m can feel, touch. React to heat and cold, pressure, pain--isn’t it amazing!?”

His child-like glee eventually settled down to normal, which was for the best, lest he spooked Isidor out of the room. Whilst in transition from elated high to subdued, grounded calm, Elespeth approached the alchemist in his stead, made an innocent offer for recompense…

And the buoyant mood violently tore asunder. 

“Isidor.” Nearly breathless, Alster crash-landed to reality. “We don’t mean any disrespect--”

But in realizing his faux pas, the exhausted and overworked man muttered his apologies and sprinted out of the room, leaving the perplexed couple standing in his wake. 

“I sensed he was a little ‘off’ today,” he assured Elespeth, who looked guilty for unintentionally inciting him. “Granted, he’s always been adamant about rejecting payment of any sort, but he seems especially sore today. I don’t want to bother him, but,” he caught a glimpse of the empty vials Isidor left behind in his hurried exodus, “give me a moment, El. I should at least return his belongings.” To prevent from shattering the vials, Alster chose not to test his steel hand’s grip strength and opted to collect the bottles using his left hand. The short trip from his and Elespeth’s chambers to Isidor’s suite took a significant amount of time as he essentially relearned how to balance and walk. His plodding attempts resulted in meandering patterns akin to a serpent’s trail, or a tavern-patron after a long night of binge drinking. Eventually, he arrived at Isidor’s door and knocked. “Isidor? May I enter? You forgot a few of your effects.” Silence. “Elespeth’s not upset. Taken off-guard, but we know it hasn’t been easy for you, and if you ever need a sympathetic ear, I’m here. As is Elespeth. I hope you don’t regard our companionship towards you as an attempt to pay. It’s not like that. There’s nothing transactional about wanting to lend a hand for a friend. There are people who will naturally respond to a good deed by paying it back--out of respect and appreciation. But if you feel undeserving of gratitude...I understand why it’s unpalatable for you to bear. We only accept what we think we deserve. I still struggle with self-acceptance every day. You were there, in the sanctuary, when I floundered so spectacularly. Sometimes it’s not easy…to believe you’re worthy of love and respect. Anyway,” he lightly brushed his fingers against the door, “that’s all I wanted to say. I’ll leave your vials out here and--”

The door whooshed open, forcing Alster to take an unsteady step backward. Landing on his three-toed foot, he lost his balance and nearly detoured to the floor, but he swung out his steel arm to equalize his position, preventing a nasty tumble--fortunately for the glass vials in his possession. “I have to get used to walking like a person who has two fully-functioning arms. It’s a work in progress,” he said, aiming a cautious smile at Isidor. “I somehow saved the vials from succumbing to a horrible fate, though. Small wins.” But the alchemist wasn’t paying attention, his bespectacled gaze engrossed by the slip of paper in his hand. “What do you have? A message?” He cocked his head, but did not probe, in case the message was meant to be private. But Isidor passed it along, his expression an amalgamation of vexation and befuddlement. Alster held the slip of paper and soon, his face reflected the same. “Vitali. You don’t know what he wants?” He returned the paper to its intended audience. “Are you planning on responding to his summons? If so, you’ll need permission to leave the palace. You won’t be able to go on your own, but I can. Allow me to accompany you.”

He should have known better than to assume Alster would have let it be the way he had departed, making a scene and storming out of the room like a madman. The Rigas Head was far too empathetic and caring a man to not seek out a friend who was potentially in need… and if ever the Master Alchemist had let his vulnerability show, it was then and there, cracking under the sleepless nights he’d spent, the overwhelming work he had taken upon his shoulders, and the jarring knife if rejection Tivia had directed purposefully at his heart. He had been a fool to assume he was capable of holding it all together when, in reality, he had been drowning for a very long time… and the only air pockets he had found in his miasma of guilt and horror had been Tivia Rigas. Now, outside of the comfort, the familiarity, the security of his tower in Nairit, he knew that one way or another, he was destined to shrivel up and blow away. This was only the beginning.

You have already burned the most precious bridge you’ve ever built. Are you really so daft as to turn him away, too? The only person with a hope in hell of really understanding? Deflating on a sigh, Isidor pulled his sorry form to his feet and opened the door. Alster carried a small handful of empty vials inside, somehow managing not to lose his footing with the new balance composition of his body, owing to the lightness of his modified arm. “You didn’t have to… they really aren’t important.” He sighed, but shook his head, as there was no point in arguing what was already done. “I’m… forgive me my outburst, Alster. But you don’t understand… I cannot accept payment. Contrary to how it might appear, I am the one in debt. To each and every life that fell and ended so that I could become what I am today. And I realize that I can never possibly do enough to atone, but I do intend to spend the rest of my life using what I have to the benefit of others. Elespeth’s heart, your arm… those are pittance. They will never measure up to all that was lost because of me…”

He shook his head, glancing briefly down at the letter in his hand. “I know that you cannot see it that way, because you cannot see me as being at fault. But I’m afraid… that is something upon which we must agree to disagree.” Upon Alster’s comment regarding the piece of paper clutched between his fingers, he held it out for the mage to see for himself. “Take a look at who is asking after me, now. Who had the gall to pull strings to have this delivered. He sure as hell couldn’t have done it, himself.” 

Isidor gave Alster a moment to glance over the scrawl, which was undeniable Vitali’s handwriting--and near perfect, for a man who couldn’t see what the hell he was writing. “I cannot venture a guess as to what he wants, and I’d sooner ignore it than indulge him… but he’d have had to go to some effort to get me to see this. And he does not expend effort on a whim…” Pinching the bridge of his nose, he sighed in what sounded like defeat. “...I would very much appreciate your company. I am not sure I deserve it, but it is as you said… I have not acquired permission from the Queen to leave the premises at my leisure. If you are as foolish as I am to oblige my brother as I am.”

Vitali had been awake and anticipating his door to open that evening. If for no other reason, his little brother would honour his summons for curiosity’s sake (or for yet another opportunity to punch him in the face). The presence he sensed, the scent on the air, and the voice was not at all what he had been expecting when at last that front door swung open. “...Tivia.” This was not a token visit, he knew right away from the tension in her voice, and the haste in her footsteps. “You know this place is just as much yours as it is mine; you certainly do not need permission to stay. But if you don’t mind me asking…” He turned his blindfolded gaze towards the new presence in the room and straightened his posture. “What is it you are running from, exactly?”

He knew he needn’t pry; Tivia had always been fairly forthcoming with him, and she had arrived with the air of clearly needing to get something off her chest. And, honestly… it came as no surprise to find that Isidor was a part of it.

“Ah. So the fool has managed to sabotage his own paradise, has he?” The necromancer shook his head and, turning toward Tivia’s hunched form, placed a neutral hand on her shoulder. “I’m going to tell you something that you might find rather unbelievable. Would you happen to find it credible if I were to propose that my little brother and I are, in fact, two opposite sides of the exact same coin? What I am implying by saying so is that, if I were capable of loving you the way you yearn to be loved, Tivia, I would be near identical to my brother, in more than appearance. And if Isidor was much more like myself… then I’m afraid he wouldn’t be capable of harbouring any such affections for you.”

Removing his hand, Vitali stood and crossed the room, where a teapot of water hung boiling over a contained fire. In case his little brother could be placated with a cup of tea, he’d figured; but the issue at hand was far more pressing. “Much though he is loathe to admit it, Isidor and I are actually more alike than we are different. We have sharp minds, ambition, and unique, highly sought-after skills and talents. We both endured a past of pain and disappointment, and somehow, came out all the better for it. Where we differ is in how we approached the need for survival. I learned to survive by abandoning the idea of love and everything it represents. Selfishness is a much more direct path to success and getting what you want in life. But Isidor could not adopt such a method, when he had a little friend during such a vulnerable time in his life to show him the kindness and care I chose to ignore. It imprinted on him, and that, fundamentally, is where our paths diverged. To preserve himself, Isidor withdrew; from society, from himself and his own memories, to get on day to day. But he did not disregard his own heart--how could he, when he had served a heartless master with whom he wanted no similarities?”

Grasping the wooden handle of the kettle, he poured the steaming water into a clay mug swimming with aromatic herbs, and set the beverage in front of Tivia. “At the end of the day, that is what makes him capable of love, and what makes me incapable. That desire to sacrifice for another without expecting repayment. At the end of the day… that, Tivia Rigas, is love. Believe me, I would have to know to avoid it.” Vitali chuckled and returned to his seat, putting his legs up on the table. “Look at all of our most glaring examples, thus far. We have our proud, Eyraillian princess, who went so far as to sacrifice her longtime aviary companion in exchange for the freedom of her now-husband. Look at your very own Alster Rigas, who suffered weeks of gruelling recovery to donate a piece of his own heart to his wife to see her survival. Look at my sister, who was, at one point, ready and willing to burn down this entire kingdom that was willed to her, all for the opportunity to be free of its grasp. Free to be with Chara Rigas, without Galeyn’s hierarchical structure getting in the way. Love is sacrifice, Tivia; some erratic, ill-advised self-effacing desire to give oneself and the whole world to another person. To love is to jeopardize survival, which is precisely why I can have none of it. Think about it, a moment: if I loved you, you would surely lose your eye for me. So if you are in for the excitement of chasing the unattainable, then look no further. But…”

Deftly, and no intrusively, his fingertips brushed the hidden side of her face; an indication that one way or another, he was privy to exactly what Isidor had been up to. “If you are looking for an unconditional love, and are ready to accept what that means…”

The sound of rapid hoofbeats, almost as if on cue, came to a halt just outside the farmhouse. Vitali withdrew his hand and righted his posture, turning his attention expectantly to the door. “Look no further than this door. Do forgive me, but I was expecting another visitor, tonight… please forgive the discomfort it may cause you.”

Not moments later, that door opened again, and in stepped none other than Isidor, closely followed by Alster Rigas, both tightly bundled in furs and down against the cold. The former hesitated when he made contact with Tivia, both whom hadn’t expected to see one another, but when she looked away, he took his fogged-up spectacles from his face and propped them atop his head and focused on the reason he had come in the first place. “I can’t possibly think what you have to say or ask of me that is going to make me want to stay for more than five minutes,” he warned his brother, his voice low and completely devoid of any patience. He didn’t motion to remove his woolen cloak, prepared to leave as quickly as he had arrived. “I suggest you start talking.”

“Ah. you even brought a friend. Welcome, Alster.” The necromancer, unperturbed by his brother’s dark mood (likely owing to exactly what had Tivia in such a dark mood), stood and nodded in greeting. “Rest assured, I did not go to such lengthy efforts to summon you here to waste your time. Allow me to get right to the point.”

Much to Isidor’s (and likely Alster and Tivia’s surprise), Vitali did not begin to make his point with words. Without hesitation, the nefarious necromancer gingerly took his plain, beige tunic by the hem, and pulled it over his head. Audibly or otherwise, everyone in the room balked at the sight of four evenly-spaced gashes across his ribs, that looked to have bled through the shoddy bandages he had wrapped around his torso to contain the wound. Isidor was the first to find his voice. “What the hell… Vitali, what is going on?”

“A mishap on my excursion from a couple of nights ago. I was out and about in the night, information gathering, and was attacked by a wolf.” A slight arch of his eyebrows suggested he was aware they knew exactly where this story was going. “Seems something--or more likely, someone--thinks I am quite the threat. Something tells me Hadwn Kavanagh was not simply having an off-night. It is in his best interests to remain on good terms with me, besides.”

Isidor frowned. “Are you saying… Rowen Kavanagh--”

“Or Bronwyn. She is still at large, is she not? The dead have been restless. Something is amiss, and it is growing worse.”

“And what am I to do about it? Why summon me here for--this?” He motioned to his brother’s marred body. “If there is danger, your letters should be to Queen Lilica. Not to me.”

“I couldn’t agree more, little brother. But my issue is that letters, even by night speed, are not fast enough. Face it: you can hate me all you want, but there are still things that I can hear, and that I can see--blindfolded or not--that you cannot. Things that would benefit this kingdom and its Queen to know and better prepare for the inevitable. I need to have ample access to my sister’s ear, and,” he gingerly dropped an arm to his side against the bloodied bandages, “I need to be alive and well to contribute.”

Isidor glanced at Alster, then back at his brother. If the infamous Vitali, who had successfully outrun death for what was likely well over a century, had been gravely injured by the very threat facing this kingdom… that was a sign that they had truly come into the quiet before the storm. Not acting was no longer an option. “I don’t understand what part you see me playing in this.” He said at last, and shook his head.

‘It’s simple--or maybe not. That is for you to know. But, the fact remains that I cannot travel to the heart of the kingdom. The Night Garden’s--sorry, my father’s curse prohibits this. But as it stands, I am not too proud to admit that I do not feel it is safe for me to remain in the outskirts, any longer. And I know for a fact that you are capable of crafting talismans that permit certain magical immunities. So,” the corner of his mouth quirked into a grin, “now do you follow?”

Isidor pressed his mouth into a thin line and looked away pensively for a moment. “...I am not a mage, and I do not fully grasp the energies of the Night Garden--or your father, for that matter. If you are asking me to find a way to grant you immunity to this curse, then I’m afraid I am not the only one you’ll have to convince.” Warmed by the fire on the heart, the Master Alchemist shed his cloak and hung it near the door. “If the father who cursed you is also Queen Lilica’s, her contribution will be necessary. As will that of a mage who is not only capable of tapping into the vibrations and frequencies of the Night Garden, but who can harness them and make them tangible.”

“Of course. You, my sister, and a strong mage--like none other than our resident Rigas Lord, here.” Vitali nodded and took a seat. “I know you won’t want anything in return, my dear Master Alchemist. And my sister will probably subject me to another damned blood oath to keep me under her thumb.” He rolled his eyes beneath his blindfold. “Then what of you, Rigas? You know I don’t like debt; tell me what it’ll cost for your involvement. You know I’m a man who honours my promises.” 

It was only then that Isidor realized Tivia was no longer in the room. The rational part of him told him to let sleeping dogs lie; he had destroyed whatever had been between them, and there was nothing he could say to make it right. But, be that as it may… he couldn’t let it lie without an apology. Without at least letting her know he had meant no harm. “...Alster. Would you be able to tend to Vitali’s wound?” He asked his friend, who of course agreed. While the necromancer and mage discussed the terms of Alster’s cooperation to help Vitali reside among the others in the palace, Isidor quietly stepped into the bedroom where Tivia had retreated. Once again, her back was facing the door, but unlike last time, he ventured no further than just inside the doorframe.

“...I never thought you useless, Tivia. Or ignorant or naive. Nor was it my intention to look down on her own unique skills… I never meant any harm. I just… wanted you to know that.” Reaching into the pocket of his trousers, Isidor retrieved a paper little that he had idly spent the time folding, unfolding, and refolding during the carriage ride from the palace. The paper folding helped to put his mind at ease and allay his anxieties. “I’m not the only one who can help you. I wanted to be the one, but… I am sure there are other ways. I can speak to the Gardeners on your behalf. I can’t see why the Night Garden cannot do what I do, with less risk and no cost. You deserve to have the face that you want, for whatever reason you want it. And… it was wrong of me not to be transparent with you, from the beginning. I know that, now, seeing how it has hurt you.”

Taking note of a small, potted plant on the table next to the door, the Master Alchemist plucked one of the leaves with his free hand. “I’m not expecting you to forgive me; not when I don’t forgive myself, especially. I just wanted to… well, I wanted to thank you. For being kind and patient with me when you had no real reason. For being kind to my sister and reaching out to her. Whatever your future has in store… I have faith that you can find a way to command the stars themselves. Not the other way around.”

The leaf in Isidor’s hand had crumbled to what looked like ash, but from his other hand, he placed the lily next to the plant on the table--a real lily, with striking white-blue petals and a lush green stem. “....I am sorry I couldn’t be him. My brother. There is so much that I have the ability to change, but not… not that.” He smiled--for the girl, for the memories that she’d given him. Just like Arisza had given him memories, Tivia was a dream he would hold onto for as long as he lived. “Please take care, Tivia… not for me. For you.”

Isidor stepped out, allowing the star seer her space, and leaving the brilliant white lily in his wake.

Contrarily, Tivia did not consider Vitali’s verbal venn-diagram of similarities as quite so unbelievable, not when she noticed the extent of Isidor’s ambition, survivability, and perseverance first-hand. Noteworthy though their similarities may be, it was in their responses to adversity that truly set them apart, and for that little fact, they couldn’t be more different from each other. Perhaps that was the crux of Vitali’s argument: one small kindness interrupted the trajectory from man to monster. But life wasn’t so simple, and neither were their incompatible life-circumstances. Blood-relations aside, there did not exist enough evidence to support the hypothesis that, if the brothers switched places at birth, they’d remain the other’s antithesis. This false equivalency supported a fallacy, not a reality. In no universe could Vitali be Isidor, and Isidor, Vitali. 

“I’m inclined to agree with you on one count.” She gratefully accepted the cup of steaming tea and warmed her hands over the swirling vapor. “Love is sacrifice--but if performed for the right reasons. If not, the sacrifice is an act of entitlement: a sacrifice out of a need to sacrifice, by definition, is martyrdom. Isidor is not sacrificing for love. He sacrifices out of a misplaced sense of guilt. What he does for me, he would do for most anyone. Atonement drives him forward. That is his sole motivation.” Her fingers clinked against the porcelain, tracing the paintings of calla lilies in spring-bloom. “We are infatuated, but infatuation does not carry the same expression or weight as love. Therefore, I can’t accept the sacrifice he makes on my account. It is not praiseworthy. It’s inane and unnecessary, and I will not let him continue if he insists on scarring his body, so.” 

Despite her access to infinity, Tivia did not represent the omniscience of the universe. A mortal vessel, she, if lucky, divined less than one percent of the stars’ cryptic jabbering and incomprehensible keening. Though impossible to know the goings-on of every event broadcasting in her vicinity, she’d come to rely on her celestial system of forewarning. Thus, she was taken aback when Isidor, followed by Alster, wandered through the front door. Unable to mask her flagrant discomfort, she clutched her cup of tea and slid into her chair, worldlessly cursing Vitali and the stars for their betrayal. Bereft of any true escape, she sat stock still and waited for the scene to pass, for Isidor to conveniently forget she occupied the room, for her opportunity to flee. To his credit, he did not acknowledge her, no doubt attuned to uneasiness by virtue of the secluded life he led. Alster, though he directed a nod to the dining area where she skulked, drew no further attention to her, and focused on the man who called the meeting to fruition. 

“Good evening, Vitali,” Alster responded in the curt yet polite tone he favored around the necromancer. “You had to know I would accompany Isidor. Now, for what reason do you solicit your brother’s presence? I recall how well the two of you got on, last time.” 

All heads in the room jerked upright and goggled at Vitali’s mauled torso and the sodden, bloody bandages and its paltry protection from full-exposure bleeding.

“Vitali,” Tivia shot out of her seat, too entranced by the injury to look away. “Why didn’t you tell me, before? Instead, you indulged my shallow complaints and bore this injury in silence--as is so infuriatingly characteristic of you! How long? You must have lost so much blood…”

As was his standard, Vitali, unfazed by his wound or his appalled audience, casually dove into his encounter with a wolf. And as only three wolves resided in Galeyn, responsibility for the deed fell on a Kavanagh sibling. 

“Bronwyn.” Alster’s brow wrinkled, troubled by how quickly the necromancer speculated on the identity of the culprit. “Unless she’s been brainwashed by Locque--which is entirely possible--I can’t envision her as the aggressor. Then again,” he backpedaled, his frown deepening, “she threw the first punch against Hadwin. We’re not privy to her disposition, and her brother’s too unreliable to sketch an unbiased profile of her. While Rowen is the likelier candidate, I can’t see her performing such a sloppy job. She’s thorough, and she prefers teeth to claws. Why switch to a less effective method of attack?” He pondered aloud, thumbing the underside of his chin with a steel digit. “What else can you tell us about the incident? Where did this happen, and when? It’s important I notify Haraldur and Elespeth of the whereabouts of your assailant. They’re actively in search of Rowen and Bronwyn.”

“Unless Hadwin wanted to jump your bones, Vitali, and went a little too rough,” Tivia quipped, oozing disdain. “We all know he loves to fuck people, figuratively and literally.” 

“No, it wasn’t him,” Alster, a little too swift in his defense of the faoladh, brushed a hand over his face as though to hide a patch of pink blooming across his cheeks. “I-it’s as Vitali says,” he bit down on his stutter and made a show of slicking his hair from his forehead to account for the strange, sudden placement of his hand. “He does not benefit.” Happy for the subject change, the Rigas Lord lowered his hand and listened to Vitali’s proposal. While delivered like a simple business transaction between several parties, there was no ignoring the grave undertone that found residency in even the necromancer’s self-assured tone. Whatever their differences in the past, they did not have the time to nurse grudges. A bigger threat lay in store, and its looming presence eclipsed Isidor and Alster’s unresolved issues regarding Vitali Kristeva. 

“I performed a ritual in the Night Garden, but it was a transference ritual.” Alster shed his fur-lined cloak and draped it over a chair. “I did not harness its energies per sae. To facilitate the ritual, Lilica sought permission from the Garden and it allowed me to anchor over its sacred leyline. I manipulated only celestial magic from the Rigas Blood Seal I carry and directed the flow of its energies to Chara, my recipient. The Garden contributed healing essence of its own volition; neither I nor Lilica willed it to act. The Night Garden is a living microcosm; it is wilful, and exhibits a mind of its own. Hence, there is a chance it will reject involvement if it senses our intentions to violate Theomyr Tenebris’ wishes and assist you, Vitali, into entering its boundaries unharmed. I daresay the Garden still harbors a strong connection to the late monarch. Out of respect for Theomyr, it may ignore our requests entirely. As it’s highly inadvisable to perform the ritual without seeking or receiving its blessing, as I fear it will view us as thieves and retaliate, we may need to add another element if we hope to stand a chance of success.” Removing the rest of his winter layers, Alster rolled up the sleeves of his tunic, exposing his newly-modified steel prosthesis, which shone like polished silver in the companion light of the hearth-fire.

“Haraldur Sorde is part tree-kindred. His spirit resonates with the sentinel tree, the overseer of the Night Garden; this much I can sense in his energy. Recently, he’s revealed his ability to communicate with this tree, and vice versa, through symbols--through runes. It may be a long-shot, but if we can convince him to speak with the tree, to, if not undo Theomyr’s directive, then to overlook our loophole and permit Lilica and me to borrow its energies to create your talisman, then it’s entirely possible. Where you’ll find some resistance is, of course, in persuading Haraldur to vouch for you--and now you know why I consider this a long-shot.” Wandering to the small kitchen space, he fetched a basin and filled it with water from a clay jug. He dipped his organic hand into the bowl. “You might have saved his life, but you did so to pay off your debt to Tivia. Technically, he owes you nothing. But,” he grabbed a clean rag and dried off his hand, “I can put in a good word for you. So can Tivia. If he can understand exactly how you are a benefit to the kingdom, more’s the better. Good luck to you.” 

Basin and rag in his possession, he instructed Vitali to take a seat by the table and carefully helped him remove the blood-soaked bandages, which he discarded into the fire. Pulling up a chair, Alster addressed the nasty gashes on the necromancer’s torso, using one hand to siphon the dead tissue and the other to suture the ragged flesh together. To ensure a thorough job, he gently wiped away the fresh blood with a wet rag and inspected the area, watchful of any tears he may have missed. Pleased with the result, he sat back in his chair and dumped the soiled rag into the basin. “Fortunate that your lower abdomen was spared. Rowen Kavanagh aims either for the throat or the gut. Either she is not our culprit, or you are one lucky bastard. Not that your survivability comes at any surprise to me. As for discussion of payment,” he smiled enigmatically, “I’ll call in a favor.” 

Figuring it best to keep scarce whilst Alster healed Vitali’s wounds, Tivia retreated to the curtained-off antechamber in the back. Her absence didn’t go unnoticed. In a flutter of curtains, Isidor stepped into the space, a little stooped over by the slant of the low ceiling and bearing an uncanny resemblance to a giant awkwardly wedged in an alcove far too small for him. If she weren’t so upset from earlier, she’d find the ridiculous scenario somewhat charming. “I know you don’t mean harm...and that is the problem.” Perched upon the sleeping pallet on the floor, gazing up at the clouds to address Isidor was too absurd not to snort, so she did, imperceptibly, and pushed to her feet for better communication. “You’re so opposed to harm that you end up harming others anyway. It’s in human nature to lend a hand and help. When you deny the help of others, you deny them. You deny their contributions, their usefulness, and unintentionally show them disrespect. Yes, I feel disrespected, Isidor. Yet,” she blew out her lips and sighed noisily, “despite what you did, I may have reacted a little too harshly, and disrespected you, in turn. For my astringent words, I do apologize.” She clasped her hands over her abdomen. A formal posture; stiff and rigid. “I think we can both agree that, in light of recent events, my face does not take precedence. Vitali’s case is far more pressing. Much though you despise him, I don’t believe you would want him dead. Not like death would ever keep him--but the sentiment remains clear.” She lowered her head; strands of blonde hair came loose from her braid and covered both asymmetric halves of her face. “He’s had decades of experience communing with the dead. I daresay he can glean more pertinent information from the spirits than I can from the stars. I am...hardly an asset. He is better suited to the palace, where his supernatural insights will prove invaluable. There is something I am able to do, though.” She lifted a hand and a golden spinning disc appeared in her palm. “To prevent another potential attack, I plan to stay at the farmhouse and protect him. I’m no Forbanne soldier, and I’m woefully out of practice, but I trained as a warrior mage, the sole survivor of the Rigas company who perished in flame. In the meantime,” she dispelled the disc of etherea, plunging the room into muted darkness, “return to the palace with Alster. Convince Lilica. Convince Haraldur. I am in agreement; his connection to the trees will provide another bridge to reaching the Night Garden’s energies. I bid you safe travels, Isidor. Good ni--”

She paused. Before her curious eye, he transformed a paper lily into a beautiful, genuine specimen, complete with its sweet-smelling, heavy aroma. While the gesture hearkened to carnival shows wherein a magician prestidigitated a dove out of a bouquet of paper flowers, there was nothing ostentatious or performative about his act. At his departure, she folded a hand over the brilliant flower, stroked its velvety petals, and cradled it by the stem. “You don’t have to be him,” she whispered, to herself, to the lily, as though he could hear her. “I only want you to be here. Don’t you understand? You can’t ask me to fight against my future if you desire no future. It’s why I can scarcely see anything but your past, Isidor. Because, as it stands...what awaits you is the void.”

When Isidor emerged from the back room, Alster, who finished treating Vitali, moved on to his next, self-appointed task: staring at a line of stones he collected from outside. “Ah, Isidor.” He swerved in his seat and invited him to the table with the sweep of his steel hand. “I’m creating resonance stones. A much more instantaneous correspondence than relying on parchment and horseback. It transfers soundwaves to convey messages from afar.” He palmed a stone and pantomimed its effect by moving it close to his mouth. “Vitali will keep a stone and one of us will carry its companion. Until we can safely relocate him to the palace, the stones are the next best form of communication. Enchanting objects is something of a tertiary skill of mine--energy manipulation at an atomic level. The molecules are unaffected--a rock is still a rock--but the spaces between spaces are excellent for storing and conducting magic. I work best with ores and metals.” He clinked a stone to the table, and not for the first time, second-guessed his candidacy for the task. “But, like I said,” his shoulders sagged, “it’s a tertiary skill. You specialize in metals and ores. Case in point,” he gestured to his prosthesis, a shining example of Isidor’s faultless technique. “No enchantment of mine could overhaul a metal’s entire interior structure and composition to the extent at which it behaves as an amalgamation of several disparate compositions at once. Some might call that magic. If you’ve a superior method for crafting resonance stones, then by all means...I’m more than happy to trade you my seat.”

“Favour? There really is no such thing as a favour, Rigas.” The necromancer blew air from between his lips, the only sign of an exasperated sigh. It benefited him to hold back his frustration with the word, however, if the Rigas mage was willing to cooperate--on more than one account. “We do favours for people because we expect that they will one day reciprocate in some way. It is a sneaky way of ensuring future commitments of some sort. I suppose you’ll have to accept my cooperation to this greater, mutual cause as reciprocation, enough.”

Recalling the last time he had allowed Alster to heal him--namely, his deadened arn which to this day remained stiffer in comparison to the other--Vitali seemed hesitant at first to let the Rigas mage anywhere near his still painful wound. Alster seemed to have taken some vengeful pleasure in the insurgence of pain that had accompanied his newly awakened nerves; perhaps it was a boon that he was already in pain, then. But a Tivia observed, he masked it very well. Prey animals were not the only ones who hid their pain and suffering so as to shield their weakness from predators; after all, the moment that a predator showed weakness, it, too, became prey. “Whatever grudge our Eyraillain prince and his princess hold against me--and I am not saying they are not right to have it--they cannot deny that my own unique skillset can very well be an asset to this kingdom, if its Queen so desires that it remains standing. But of course, I will let Haraldur and your wife know where I was attacked. Not that it will do them any good; the wolves are far too clever to attack in the same place, twice. And, teeth and claws aside, I am not sure that they or their sorceress are the only ones we need to worry about… There has been some talk, on the wind. Of your former Dawn Warrior ally. The one who possesses the ability to wield the sword, Gaolithe.”

That piece of information must have gotten Alster’s attention, because the Rigas mage stopped midway in his efforts to heal one of the deep gashes that marred the necromancer’s ribs. “Her presence lingers beyond the perimeter of the kingdom. Seems she has been nearby, for quite some time… and yet, she will not come in. Will not let herself be seen, or found. It could very well be due to the pain she attributes to this place, having lost her lover to the wolves; I can only guess at how painful it must be to walk alongside all of those happy, healthy people who survived, when the whore turned to ash on the funeral pyre.” He shrugged his good shoulder and ran a hand through his inky tendrils of hair. “That being said… I would be very careful, Rigas. The same goes for your comrades. I have no doubt that the Forbanne commander wants nothing more than to retrieve his cousin and see to her safety, but should he, or anyone else, choose to approach her… I’d strongly advise they be wary--and armed. Speaking of armed…”

Vitali paused to press a hand to his newly-healed side when Alster finished, and a grin crept across his features. “Well, look at that--not even a scar! I must admit, you certainly have your uses, Rigas Head. But I digress. How long has it been since you or any of your comrades have checked on the location of the accursed blade bound to the Dawn Warrior? The dead were quite restless when you took it from her possession and managed to hide it; many of them do not take well to a breach in tradition. The Dawn Guard and that sword are well known, around these parts. But of late… their incessant bitching and whining has calmed, with regard to that sword specifically. If I were you, as soon as you return to the inner kingdom, I would ensure that the whereabouts of that blade are precisely where you’d expect them to be. However…” The edges of that oh-so-irritating grin grew blunt; the smallest indication that the necromancer was highly concerned for the matter at hand. “Let it be known that it should not come as a surprise if you no longer find it where you left it.”

Taking note that Isidor had temporarily left in pursuit of Tivia, Vitali patiently waited for his brother to rejoin them, while Alster set off to indulge in another task as some means to allay his waning sense of self-importance. Moments later, the trio were reunited, and Isidor looked curiously at the small series of stones that captivated Alster’s attention. “What are these?” He ventured to ask, half-expecting a snide remark from his brother, somewhere along the lines of, Don’t you know rocks when you see them, Alchemist? Fortunately, the necromancer kept his smart mouth shut.

He never would have guessed what Alster ventured to explain. Rocks that could be used for… communication? Certainly, it was not unheard of, but it was the first time seeing a such creation in person in quite some time. “What an incredibly innovative invention,” the Master Alchemist commented, and picked up one of the smooth stones that appeared, at face value, as nothing more than their material: solid rock. “I’ve seen them before; Zenech had several as a means of communicating with his connections. I never really understood how they worked, and I daresay, I still don’t…”

Isidor looked up, at the way Alster, who for a moment seemed so proud of his word, appeared deflated and… well, almost disappointed. As if the second the Master Alchemist entered the room, he was no longer useful. The atmosphere in the room shifted, similar to what he had experienced back at the sanctuary, when that acrobat’s well-being and pain-free existence was jeopardized. He hadn’t understood it before, but now, under new circumstances, the reasons for the change in Alster’s behaviour were clear. 

“You’re right, Alster; I do specialize in metals and ores in my discipline. They’re not people; they don’t breathe life. Difficult to cause pain and injury to something that doesn’t feel it; no real guilt in that.” He smiled, self-deprecating as always, and pushed his spectacles up the bridge of his nose. “But comparing what you can do with these materials and what I can do with them is apples and oranges. They’re both fruits; if you are craving something sweet, both can satisfy in their own way. But I think we can agree that they are not the same, yes?” He turned the smooth stone over in his palm. Just as Alster claimed, it did not boast to be anything other than what it was: pure, solid rock. But physical composition had little to do with its capabilities; particularly, its magical potential. “If I am being honest, I would not know the first thing about creating a resonance stone, or any device that permits communication at long distances. I’m not sure that is within the limitations of alchemy; because that is the difference between alchemy and magic. Don’t you see?”

Placing the stone back on the table, he turned to the Rigas mage and clasped his hands in front of him. “I realize… what I’ve done here, or what you’ve seen me do, has been enough for you to want to elevate me to a height that I do not deserve, Alster. Alchemy--and that performed by a Master, especially, can be impressive. It can change lives, for better or for worse, but unlike magic, it has limitations. It can only work within the confines of equivalent exchange, of give and take, of uninterrupted balance. But magic pushes the limits. It creates new heights because it is aggressive in nature, and it takes what it wants and what it needs. I cannot make a resonance stone, Alster, and I couldn’t even venture a guess as to where to begin. Zenech couldn’t, either; he was only able to make that tower invisible to the naked eye through a mage’s help, enchanting it to catch and deflect light a certain way at all times, and with the ability to change that at will at any point. What I am trying to say…”

Isidor expelled a breath and unclasped his hands, placing one on Alster’s shoulders, “What you need to know is that… my skills do not replace yours, Alster. I couldn’t excise those damaging tissues from that woman’s organs. I cannot heal open wounds at a single touch. I cannot make something out of nothing and bend all possible means of matter to my will through sheer force of power and desire. Alchemy complements magic; it does not replace it. There is a time, a place, and a reason for both. And like I already told Vitali--I, alone, cannot immunize him to a curse that was crafted specifically for him. Because I cannot work with what I do not understand. I can bind a talisman to Vitali. I can make it work for him, to protect him, but I cannot craft it without the help of someone that can take the magic that is attacking him, and hold it in their hands. Beyond Lilica’s cooperation, beyond Haraldur’s agreement to help… I need your help, Alster.”

“Is this touching camaraderie going to get me out of these charming farmlands and into the heart of Galeyn where I can be more than an afterthought, then by all means, continue.” Vitali, who had since replaced his tunic with one that was not stained with blood from the inside, propped himself against the wall, arms folded across his chest. “Cry on one another’s shoulders, kiss and make up; you really are kindred spirits. But if this is going nowhere, then I ask that you spare me the theatrics. I’m not sure which one of you is giving me a headache.”

Isidor frowned, a crease forming between his brows when he turned toward the smug alchemist. He couldn’t remember the last time he had faced Vitali without making exactly that face. “It is in your best interests not to piss of anyone in this farm house right now. Remember that you reached out for help, necromancer. And if I help you… you know that I refuse to commit to a decision that I will later regret.”

“Isidor, you have never regretted doing the right thing.” The necromancer grinned and pushed away from the wall. “Thank you both for your cooperation and all; I won’t keep you from your important business. If my sister and the Forbanne Commander need to hear my plea for themselves, they know where to find me. Oh--and bring Tivia back with you. Like I said before, it is no longer safe here.”

“...as much as I am inclined to agree, Tivia has already made her decision to stay.” Isidor was at least proud that he managed to keep the pain from his voice. We both had her eye… but she chose you. It was always you, Vitali… and it means nothing to you. “She’s concerned for you. Wants to protect you; that wound really shook her.”

Vitali snorted, and bent to pick up the tunic his injury had sullied, promptly tossing it into the fire to follow his bandages. “Touching, and sweet, but the last thing I need on my hands is a liability. Her presence would only make it more dangerous for the both of us.”

“Liability? She is a mage with offensive magic. And you don’t even fight. You evade, at best, and it didn’t seem to go so well for you recently, has it?” Isidor puckered his mouth in distaste. “Not ten minutes ago, you were practically still bleeding. You have no right to call anyone a liability, let alone someone who is capable of protecting you.” 

“Apologies, Isidor. I did not mean to hit such a nerve.” The necromancer let out a low whistle and raised his eyebrows. “And here I thought you would prefer that she return with you, safe and sound.”

Embarrassed, Isidor looked away, as if concerned his brother would see the regret in his eyes. “...do not turn this on me. This isn’t about what I want. I respect Tivia’s decision; you should do the same.” Crossing the room, Isidor grabbed his winter cloak, and handed Alster’s his own. “You have a resonance stone to keep in touch with us. We will let you know when we have spoken with Lilica and Haraldur, and we will go from there. This is a process that may take some time, so you will have to be patient.”

With nothing further to say to his brother, the Master Alchemist quickly took his leave and waited for Alster in the carriage. Before he could think better of it; before he could dissolve and beg Tivia to return with them. When the Rigas Head joined him a few moments later, Isidor didn’t look up from his position hunched over his seat. “I am sorry to have put you on the spot, Alster. You needn’t take part in this process; I realize you are busy enough, preparing for the D’Marian Village.” He apologized quietly, sound particularly spent. He was spent, even before he’d responded to his brother’s summons. “...he is infuriating, even when he isn’t trying to do harm. I wanted to refuse him…” Because he doesn’t know what he has. He has no idea how good he has it… “...but the worst part is, he is right. He could be an asset to this kingdom if he behaves. A necromancer of his caliber is rare, moreso than even a Master Alchemist. The best that I can do is oblige. But… but if he doesn’t look out for her…”

One of his hands gripped the cushion of the carriage seat so hard that his knuckles turned white. “I will never, ever forgive him…”                                                     

Alster about rammed his boot against his shin in annoyance. How transparent could he be for Isidor, a newcomer to socialization and human nature, to understand what bothered him? Too reluctant to face him unabashed, he rolled a rock beneath his fingers, taking some comfort in buffing its polished edges. While he never possessed one, D’Marian peasants tended to carry worry stones in their pockets as a method for allaying their day to day stresses. Fiddling as he did with the stone, he understood the appeal. 

“Thank you, Isidor. You’re too kind. I did not intend to make such a display of my insecurities.” He smiled in spite of the perspiration that settled on the nape of his neck. “As a youth, I was informed of the special circumstances of my birth. Prior to my conception, certain factors were set in motion, to ensure the amplification of my magical potential. My parents--my mother, really--succeeded in their experimentation. I was unparalleled. She compared me to the demi-god Rigel, our founder, in terms of aptitude. My disproportionately strong inheritance dried out the Rigas celestial pool for years to come. Ask Chara. She’s two years my junior, and she inherited the dregs--the ‘pond scum,’ as she puts it.” He slid the stone across the wood surface, pairing it with one bearing its similitude. “My mother, the entire Rigas family, invested such high hopes and high expectations for me. But no amount of power could supplant my utter lack of talent and skill. I not only had to be ‘good,’ but exceptional; otherwise, how could I justify my existence?” The silvery-steel of his prosthesis thumped against the table like a leaden weight that belied its lighter proportions. “I never lived up to everyone’s rigorous standards. In the end, I was a raging disappointment. Moreso after I awakened the Serpent out of pure resentment and cost my family--and the city--so much grief. All because I was angry. I had everything going for me...and I let it go by the most destructive means possible.”

He straightened his posture in an attempt to straighten his mood, but the wilt that so severely belled his shoulders did not subside. “I look at people like Elias, like you, and I see what I could have been if only I applied myself. However impossible the standard, if I had pushed onward, perhaps I would have overcome the hurdles and...my parents would be alive. Stella D’Mare would be in tact. So many lives--spared. I have to be exceptional. It’s how I atone, Isidor--for,” he raised his eyes to meet his friend; their complementary pairs beset with the shared, desperate desire for spreading good, “I, too, am doing penance. But I’m starting to realize, sometimes I have to allow others to be exceptional in my stead. I can’t do everything...because I was born to be a disappointment. I don’t have skill. I have power--plenty of magic. You’re correct, Isidor. It is aggressive. I’m aggressive. In the past, I’ve forced on others the will of my magic. It takes and it takes and it does not give back. The universe collapses a little for every moment magic is utilized. Infinity shrinks to a smaller infinity. So maybe the problem isn’t with me, alone. It’s in my birthright. The combination of aggressive forces that wrenched me from the womb of creation and excavated this pink, nascent mess of fluids into the world. Unfortunately...it’s who I am. Too imperfect, too undisciplined, too weak, undeserving of my gains. My magic was hellbent on destroying me, on physically eating me to nothing. This is how I lost my arm. To stay alive, I formed a pact with an otherworldly beast, my ongoing childhood nightmare. I have the beast in my blood. I’m less, I’m other, I’m Serpent Bane. But,” he expelled a resigned sigh, “as long as people have need of me, for whatever I’m able to provide, then consider my magic at your disposal, Isidor. And thank you,” in turn, he appreciatively clasped the alchemist’s opposite arm, “for having the patience to stomach my morose thoughts which plague me from time to time. I’m sure you can understand the difficulty in believing you are of any worth, even if you’ve proven otherwise. It’s the curse of the overthinkers, that much seems evident.” 

Interrupted by a scoff from their unmoved and sneering ‘liability,’ Alster responded with the chilly dismissal he’d mastered during the long weeks in Vitali’s company. “If you aren’t careful, I’ll ask that you withstand my insufferable emotional outpouring on a regular basis--as payment for my services.”

On the subject of Tivia, the Rigas Head at first expressed visible concern, but ultimately fell in favor with Isidor’s reasoning. “Leader of Stella D’Mare notwithstanding, I can’t order or control Tivia to go when she’s determined to stay. If you remember, on our sojourn to Galeyn, she defended us from the rogue Dawn Guard’s assailants at the temple of Gaolithe. We’d likely be dead if not for her invaluable assistance. There are not many warrior mages among Rigas ranks; she is of the finest. If you’re attacked a second time, you’ll want someone like her on your side. Once the wolf considers you a target, you may not be so fortunate to evade again.” On the table, Alster arranged his chosen pair of stones in preparation for enchantment. “The two of you are not alone, besides. Several Forbanne accompanied us to the farmhouse. I may be able to convince one or two to stay behind. If not, on our return to the palace, I’ll notify Haraldur first thing, and he’ll send some soldiers to you. He might be less willing to comply if it’s for solely for your sake, but he’ll do it to protect Tivia.”

Isidor exited the farmhouse, then, and Alster was close to follow. About a half-hour later, he stepped into the carriage, rebundled in his winter best, and settled in the seat opposite Isidor. “I managed to sway two of the Forbanne. They will remain here while we gather reinforcements at the palace.” He hailed the driver from the window. The carriage lurched forward, gaining a speedy distance from the farmhouse. “I’m calling an emergency meeting. There’s too much to discuss and not enough time to wait for the morning. Especially if what Vitali says of Sigrid and Gaolithe is true. You’re free to take part in the meeting. This involves you as much as it involves everyone else.” The near-murderous glint in Isidor’s eyes, paired with his threatening tone, wasn’t to be ignored. If anything were to befall Tivia, Alster believed he would make good on his promise. “They have a resonance stone and two Forbanne,” he gently reminded the alchemist in an attempt to mollify his fears. “Tivia can handle herself. Before we left, I enchanted another stone and gave it to her. Using my blood, I imbued the Rigas Blood Seal on its surface. As long as she carries it on her person, the stone will ensure she’s protected. It won’t prevent injury, but it will prevent anything worse. I can’t do the same for Vitali because we’re not blood-related--but by his word, he’s not a liability at all, so,” his eyes rotated in a facetious roll, “I’m sure you don’t mind.” 

The moment the carriage wheels halted in front of the palace entranceway. Alster hopped out the door and rushed to the attention of on-site attendants, palace guards, and the lone Forbanne who did not stay at the farmhouse. “I’m holding an urgent meeting.” He turned to address the Forbanne. “Go to your commander’s chambers. His attendance is mandatory. Tell him to dispatch soldiers at the farmhouse.” The Forbanne saluted and sprinted through the palace doors. “Attendants--fetch Elespeth Rigas, Teselin Kristeva, and Hadwin Kavanagh. Their presence is also requested.” Last, he addressed the palace guard. “Personally see to it that Queen Lilica and Lady Chara receive this message. Have them open the council room. We meet on the hour.” 

Understanding the solemnity of the Rigas Head’s tone, no one disputed his orders as they immediately dispersed to retrieve all persons of interest. Sure enough, within the hour, everyone gathered at the council room, regarding Alster and Isidor with cautious curiosity. Rightly so, they assumed the worst. 

“I’ll spare everyone the preamble,” Alster stood from his place at the table. “In answer to his written request, Isidor and I journeyed to the farmlands to pay Vitali a visit. He was attacked by a wolf. Four long gashes marred his torso and side. If Locque is targeting the necromancer, it is no longer safe for him to reside near the border. He’s requesting we neutralize his curse so he can move to the palace. He believes it’s in our best interests, as his connections to the spirits will provide us with important and relevant information regarding Locque and her affiliates. Tivia and two Forbanne are currently with him for protection in case Locque, or your sisters,” he raised a brow at Hadwin, “resolve to finish the job.”

“Odd.” Taking advantage of the lull in Alster’s speech, Hadwin weighed in. “We don’t attack or hunt with our claws. It’s a mite difficult to do when you don’t have, y’know flexible wrist joints, or retractable claws. We run at things and bite them to death. You sure he wasn’t attacked by a bear? Or a feisty cat?”

“I saw claw marks, but if I’m honest, I was a little confused, myself,” Alster admitted, frowning in the faoladh’s vicinity, but refusing to make full-on contact, in case his and Elespeth’s recent dalliance with their rakish third-party threatened to render him flustered and unresponsive. “Are you suggesting neither Rowen nor Bronwyn attacked him? He alleges it was a wolf.” 

“Unless he marked himself up good and proper as a means for you to prioritize his curse-cure, but lacks understanding of wolf anatomy to sell his story. But I don’t peg him as the type to tear open his flesh-bag and ‘cry wolf’ for the privilege of cinching his spot at the palace. A bit extreme for a lad so focused on self-preservation, but if the ends justify the means, you take the plunge.” He threw up his hands in surrender. “Guess it’s a mystery for now. It’s also possible my dear sister--just the one; Bron’s too blunt for deceit--is being a little tricksy in her approach to messing with everyone’s heads. But I digress. If the ghost-handler’s got proof of some nefarious underworkings at large, let’s hear it, Al.” 

“Yes, I’ll get to it in a moment.” He gestured to Lilica and to Haraldur with his prosthesis. “If we do decide to negate the effects of Vitali’s curse, we’re going to need you both. Isidor will create a talisman and I’ll transfer the energies of his curse into the amulet. Lilica, as reigning monarch, you’re the steward of the Night Garden and can facilitate those energies forward. Haraldur--”

“--How you think I’m party to this, I haven’t the faintest.” The Forbanne Commander crossed his arms over his chest, his expression a cross between befuddlement and skepticism. 

“Vitali’s curse is bound by Theomyr’s will. I anticipate the Night Garden will resist any attempt to render the curse ineffective, even with Lilica’s guidance. We need an intermediary who has established connections to the brain of the Night Garden--the sentinel tree.”

Confusion won the duel with skepticism. Haraldur’s furrow deepened. “So what you are saying is...you want me to speak to the tree on Vitali’s behalf, in hopes that it will listen to me and allow the creation of this talisman...for Vitali?”

No sense beating around the bush. Alster nodded. “...Yes.”

“Why?” 

“For this reason: before we left, Vitali imparted a dire message. According to the spirits--Sigrid is afoot.”

Haraldur’s arms immediately slid from their cradle. He straightened from his favored position on the wall, eyes wide and disbelieving. “Where? She’s in Galeyn?”

“Outside of Galeyn. Just shy of the border. She won’t enter. She won’t be seen; she won’t be found. We must exercise extreme caution if we’re to proceed in locating her, because…” In his hesitation to continue, he unknowingly reached for Elespeth’s hand and held it taut in his steel grip. “...There’s reason to believe Gaolithe is missing.” 

“Missing? That’s not likely, Alster.” Haraldur nodded to Teselin, who occupied a seat beside Hadwin. “Only we know its location. We locked it in a chest and Teselin muffled and disguised its signature with her magic.” 

“Magic cloaking magic still emits energy--and all energy can be traced.” Alster whispered, taking care to speak delicately on such a grim subject. “A few weeks ago, Bronwyn fled the Night Garden through a tunnel running under the sentinel tree. How long has the tunnel escaped our notice? If there is one breach, there may be others. Be it through a breach or by magic...perhaps Locque has had access to the Night Garden, all along.” 

“If this is true, Alster,” Chara rose from her chair, “we need to investigate Gaolithe’s status.”

“No,” Haraldur countered, but uncertainty racked his response. “If we go, and it’s still there, we would be unwittingly leading Locque to the weapon. If you say she’s watching us all from the shadows…” he trailed off, his senses too skewed by distress to organize his argument. “What if Locque got to Vitali, and he’s in league with her? That would explain his inexplicable ‘wolf’ injury and his sudden desire to break the curse. He wants to infiltrate the palace. How can we trust a word he says?!”

“Because I fear it’s true.” Exhaustion coated over Alster like fine dust. His hand slipped from Elespeth and swung, defeatedly, at his side. “We always suspected Locque would target Sigrid. She’s been easy prey for a while, now. Vulnerable, alone...for months. If she has Gaolithe--”

“She doesn’t have Gaolithe!” Haraldur latched on to the hilt of his sword, a relied-on lifeline in the face of adversity. “It’s safe. We made sure of it. There’s nothing more to discuss.”

“Yes, there is!” Alster’s uncharacteristic shout froze Haraldur mid-stride, halting his hurried retreat from the council room. “You know there is. If you walk away right now, you give up on her. This is what Locque wants. Dissent. Hate Vitali all you’d like; half the people in this room have a less than stellar opinion of him. But let’s be honest, here. You don’t for a second believe he’s working for Locque. Somehow, I doubt she’s able to manipulate him. And if he’s siding with her of his own volition, he stands to lose more than he gains. Can we take the risk of doing nothing just to see how it all plays out?”

“I don’t want him near my children; I don’t want him near my wife!” He whirled on Alster, his fierce-set eyes sharp with poorly-hidden panic. “If the sentinel tree sanctioned this curse, then I stand by its decision. Who am I to disagree with an ancient, sacred tree? It’s not a death sentence for the necromancer; he’ll survive outside of Galeyn, like he always bloody does!” He burst into frenzied pacing across the room, his wayward legs a stark display of his failing state of mind. “Gaolithe isn’t missing. The tree hasn’t spoken of it. I’m new to communication, but I know the runes for ‘sword,’ and ‘missing!’ We’ll find Sigrid. You presume I’ve given up because I don’t believe the necromancer, nor want him here?” 

“Tivia is with him, Haraldur!” For the second time, the commander’s flailing footwork faltered. “And she’ll stay there until he’s safely relocated. Need I remind you, she’s a star-seer.” Forgive me for this, Isidor. This will surely worry you… “If Vitali is to be believed, he was attacked because he has access to the spirits and their whispers...not to mention his ability to raise the dead. Tivia has access to the stars. Through Bronwyn’s blood, she expanded her reach, and communed with Hadwin’s star to find him. She can do the opposite and find Bronwyn--find Rowen. Through you, she’s connected to Sigrid. She divined your ancestry, after all. They’ll come for her. But no amount of warning is enough. She won’t leave his side. She understands the danger, but cannot be swayed. Not until we help him. Is it still safe to do nothing when she’s at risk?”

In between Haraldur’s gaping, conflicting silence, Hadwin rammed his hand on the table and vaulted to his feet. “Then I’d better get down there, yeah?” 

“So they can seize the opportunity to eliminate all three of you in one fell swoop?” Chara cocked her head, incredulous. 

“The way I see it,” the faoladh lapped the inside of his mouth with his tongue, causing Alster to shiver in detailed remembrance, “going down there’s either gonna guarantee they stay away because they’ll sense it’s a trap, or, going down there’s playing right into their trap. However you slice it, you can’t have a trap without someone showing up for it. Might as well take advantage of the opportunity--and I will gracefully volunteer. Tivia can have all the blood she needs to pinpoint my sisters’ location. Pretty sure the exsanguination’s gonna be involuntary on my part anyway because she’ll stab me to death.” 

“And what of Gaolithe?” Still standing in place, Chara glared at everyone present in equal measure. “We can’t act until we glean its status. If Sigrid should approach the farmhouse, cursed weapon in hand--trap or no trap, I doubt any of you will survive the attack. So cease this irrationality immediately. I am in agreement with Alster.” She advanced on the Forbanne Commander, ultramarine eyes devoid of all patience. “Show us where you buried Gaolithe, Haraldur--else I ask the same question of Teselin. Rest assured, we will take the utmost precautions to ensure it’s not a trap. If the blasted faoladh is correct on one point, it’s that we approach every situation as though it were one. Nonetheless, approaching requires movement. We must do something, lest Locque senses our indecision and cedes all control from us. Once we lose control, our autonomy...then we truly will be lost. You’ve been down that path before, Haraldur. It did not end well for you. Do not repeat the same mistake. Your family will surely suffer for your obstinacy. Again.”

None were so happy to attend this impromptu meeting, given the late hour and the fact that those who had not been preparing to retire for the evening had already been sleeping when the frantic knock of the messengers rapped on their doors. Chara and Lilica were no exception, particularly when the Galeynian Queen was made privy to the nature of this emergency meeting: that being her enigmatic half-brother with his ever questionable motives. Out of sheer frustration, Lilica was half-tempted to leave the matter for the morning, but the urgency is Alster’s message would’ve kept both her and Chara awake until daylight. It was most efficient, and if there was something amiss along the outskirts of the kingdom, they needed to know now; after all, Locque could possibly be counting on their negligence. They couldn’t take that chance.

Gathering in the council room, along with the young summoner, her faoladh companion, Elespeth, and Haraldur, the Queen and her advisor met with the Rigas head and the Master Alchemist to hear out what had transpired at the farmhouse. Lilica had already been aware that Alster and Isidor had departed earlier to meet with the necromancer upon his request; no one came to or went from the palace without her prior knowledge and consent. Given her half-brother’s selfish nature that would easily justifying bothering another person on a whim, it hadn’t occurred to her that what he had to say might have been so dire. And when Alster explained the state in which they’d found the necromancer, the Galeynian Queen was startled fully awake.

“Wait. My half brother… was attacked? By the same wolves that killed countless other people so needlessly in this kingdom?” Lilica was less surprised and more annoyed at Alster’s detailed account, and it appeared that she shared in the same skepticism that made its way around the table. “And yet, he survived. He doesn’t fight, the only magic he knows is to communicate with and raise the dead, but you mean to tell me he was, for one, careless enough to put himself in danger, and for another, to survive Rowen Kavanagh? You’ll have to excuse my skepticism, and I do not mean to call either of you a liar... “ She sighed and shook her head, pressing her fingers to her temple as if she had a headache. “But if the wolves and the sorceress wanted him dead, then somehow I doubt even Vitali, in all of his survival prowess, would stand much of a chance against them.”

“I wholeheartedly agree: it is unbelievable that he would survive such an attack.” Isidor nodded from Alster’s side at the other end of the table. “I said as much; he’s not a fighter. He runs away, but it would be difficult to outrun a wolf. Believe me, I have been turning his motivations in my head all night… but my brother--our brother--is far too proud to inflict injuries on himself. And I don’t know any human or weapon that could have caused gashes such as those...”

“What if whatever--or whomever--attacked him did not intend to kill him?” Teselin’s small voice cut in, from Hadwin’s side. Her hands rested in fists upon the table, her brow furrowed in what was both concern for Vitali, and shared confusion over the incident. “Hadwin is right: Rowen, in particular, wounds to kill. Most wolves do. They don’t play with their prey like a cat. What if Rowen was sending a message? A warning? Vitali makes rounds every night, stakes out the borders on his own. He has told me as much. What if this is an indication that he has gotten too close for comfort and has gleaned too much information to offset whatever advantage Locque and her following might have?”

“That is fair, Teselin. And it is entirely possible.” Elespeth, who has been taking in what Alster and Isidor had to report quietly from the opposite side of the table, her green eyes meeting Haraldur’s in quiet agreement with his sentiments. “He isn’t much of a liar, is he? I’ll believe it happened as he said it did. But that does not mean it is suitable to bring him to the heart of this kingdom that his father so desperately fought to protect from him. Alster, you said Forbanne guards are already stationed at the farmhouse where Vitali and Tivia currently reside?” The former Atvanian nodded to her husband and folded her arms across her chest. “Well, there’s the protection he wants. Tell him to stay put, like it or not. The wolf didn’t come inside the house, correct? If it’s protection he wants, I don’t see a reason that he needs to be here. You gave him a resonance stone; he has no excuse not to communicate all of this important information to us if he knows ‘so much’.”

Haraldur was, to no one’s surprise, completely opposed--until Alster elaborated on a very important point. The only thing, perhaps, that could possibly persuade Haraldur to comply: Sigrid. Vitali knew where Sigrid was… and that changed everything.

“That’s… no. How is that possible? How is it that a blind man has borne witness to someone who has been missing for months?” Lilica spoke up again, her mouth set in a thin line. 

Isidor shifted his feet nervously on the floor. “The spirits, ghosts… whatever dead things he communicates with. Whatever they see or hear, he can see and hear through them. That is how he claims he knows what he knows.” His mouth had never tasted so bitter; since when did he speak onVitali’s behalf?

It wasn’t enough to convince Lilica, evidently. “I am willing to bet he has no proof. The Forbanne and the Dawn Guard have been patrolling the perimeter of this kingdom for months. No one leaves or enters or approaches from either side without me knowing. Haraldur, if your cousin really were anywhere near Galeyn, surely she would have been spotted already. I’m sorry, Alster, Isidor… Teselin.” The Queen sighed and dropped her gaze. “That story does not ring credible to me. Nor does the possibility that Gaolithe has been taken. Only Sigrid can touch the sword, to my understanding, and she really is nowhere to be found. The idea of her strolling past our checkpoints, unearthing the weapon, and walking out with it without any of us being the wiser… that is too far a stretch to be believable. I am in agreement with Haraldur; we are being played.”

Unfortunately, that was not the end of it. The situation escalated, between Haraldur and Alster specifically. Voices were raised, bodies shifted and tensed in agitation. Elespeth moved to Alster’s side and placed a hand on his shoulder, as if afraid he would go so far as to launch himself at the Forbanne Commander to get the man to listen. There was so much speculation, so much back and forth that could easily be put to rest by Chara’s suggestion.

“Haraldur--Chara is right.” The young summoner, practically half the man’s height, reached out and grabbed his arm. “Regardless of whether or not Vitali is lying, we need to know that Gaolithe remains where we left it. If it is still there, then it will be obvious my brother is… that he has fed us an untruth. But if it is missing…” Her dark eyes caught the intensity of the wall scones, flickering with red and blue flames. “Then I can think of no better indication that we are in graver danger than any of us thought. And that perhaps it is time to listen to those of us whom we would rather not hear. Vitali has not misbehaved since setting foot in Galeyn, isn’t that right? For our own safety, we can at least investigate his claims.”

“Fine. I will sanction this, if everyone would just calm down.” Lilica lowered her hands to the table and addressed the room, her gaze settling on Haraldur. “Haraldur; it was you you extracted Gaolithe from Sigrid’s possession in the first place, was it not? Go now; take a night steed and some of your Forbanne soldiers in tow, in case a trap has somehow been planted right in front of our nose. We’ll wait here. This meeting will not adjourn until we know the status of that enchanted weapon.”

“I’m going as well.” It wasn’t a question. Teselin turned, and was already making her way out of the high-ceilinged councilroom. “I helped Haraldur extract it. If we have to unearth Gaolithe, I can help so that no one will be in danger of touching it. Haraldur--I’ll meet you at the stables.”

Furtive glances were exchanged. Elespeth, after a beat, pushed away from the table. “Haraldur, the Forbanne will have your back; I’ll go to look out for Teselin. I fully expect that we will find that sword exactly where it was put, but in the event that we don’t…” She sighed, and exchanged glances with Haraldur, and then Lilica.

“...if the sword is not there, then Alster, Isidor,” Lilica sank into the seat at the head of the table and rested her forehead in her palm. “Then you will have my full cooperation. If it is possible to negate the curse that Vitali suffers… I will do what I can to make it possible.”

With three of the party gone on that crucial errand, Alster, Isidor, Chara, Hadwin, and Lilica remained to patiently await the verdict on the sword. If the atmosphere in the room sat heavily, like fog in the air, no one quite knowing what to say or feel. Ultimately, it was Isidor who broke the silence. “...Tivia could be in grave danger.” He hadn’t forgotten the point Alster had made to Haraldur. If Vitali was a liability because he could learn of secrets that Locque would otherwise not have unearthed, then she is just as at risk; perhaps moreso, in fact, given that she had the potential to track Bronwyn and Rowen. The potential, therefore, to also find Locque. “We should have convinced her to come back with us… Alster, maybe we should go back. If she’s worried for Vitali, we could station more Forbanne guards, but I…” He bit down on his lower lip and raked a hand through his hair. “I know she can hold her own. But I will never forgive myself if something were to happen to her, and I didn’t even try to convince her to return to safety.”

“Isidor, if Gaolithe is, in fact, missing… then the heart of Galeyn no longer qualifies as ‘safety’.” Lilica spoke up quietly, her face solemn. “If Locque has been able to breach our securities all this time, and only how is deciding to show her hand because Vitali has encroached too close for comfort… then no one is safe, and we need to develop a plan of action immediately.”

The Master Alchemist sighed, staring intently at the woodgrain along the smooth surface of the table. “The weapons I promised you I’d fortify, Your Majesty… I will get on that immediately. And I extend that offer to include the Dawn Guard and even the Forbanne soldiers. Light blades with heavy impact, arrows that glide straight with little effort. Anything at all that I can do to lend to our offensive front or our defensive sidelines, Your Majesty--”

“Isidor… we share a brother. We don’t need the honourifics.” The Queen shook her head and leaned back in her seat. “If we’ve been unsuspecting pawns in Locque’s game of cat and mouse all this time, I doubt that weapons will end up being to our advantage, anyway. It seems she’s already got a wolf--potentially two--on her side. Potentially a Dawn Warrior, too, if Vitali is telling the truth, and the implications of that are as we would expect…”

She trailed off. Whether they voiced it or not, everyone in the room likely harboured the same train of thought: that there would be no favourable outcome this evening. Regardless of the condition of Gaolithe and its whereabouts, if Vitali was leading them on a ruse, then the necromancer likely had hidden aces up his sleeve that he planned to play to his benefit and everyone else’s detriment when the time was right. And if the sword was missing…

Then Vitali was the least of their concerns.

“...will she be alright? Vitali… he might have stepped in for her before. Enough times that she loves him for it and trusts him.” Isidor turned back to Alster, worry creasing his brow deeply. “He might have come through in the past, but he hasn’t survived for as long as he has because he was looking out for others. If it came to the decision between his life and Tivia’s…” He trailed off, afraid that if he said it out loud, it would attract the very sort of luck which he wished to avoid. But it wasn’t long into the silence that ensued that heavy footfalls could be heard outside the door. 

The small party had returned; and each and everyone one of them wore an ashed look of urgency. The entire room knew precisely what they had found--or rather, had not found--before anyone spoke up.

“...it isn’t there.” Teselin managed to choke out, her voice sounding worn and out of breath, echoed by Elespeth and Haraldur’s similarly laboured breathing. “Gaolithe… Gaolithe is gone.”

Lilice closed her eyes a moment. She had been preparing to hear this, much as she had wanted to believe her half-brother was pulling their leg for his own gains. “...very well. Then this issue is dire, and I will not have it ignored… nor will Vitali be ignored. Alster, Isidor, you have my help and cooperation in whatever it must take to craft this talisman to see the necromancer safely into the heart of the kingdom and away from the outskirts. And Haraldur…” She turned her defeated look to the Forbanne Commander, who, at least, shared in her reluctance swallow pride and play to Vitali’s will. “I hope you will agree, as well.”

Whether Chara, Alster, and Teselin swayed his decision-making, or he had no choice but to agree with the majority vote, Haraldur compiled the tattered remains of his dignified calm and wordlessly exited the chambers, Elespeth and the summoner in tow. Of those who waited in the chambers, the ensuing silence trickled from every corner, affecting even the garrulous Hadwin, who whiled away the time spinning a coin on the table, and, by some miracle of providence, said nothing. More miraculous than the faoladh’s reticence, the severely-introverted Isidor was first to break the uneasy lull. 

“Short of dragging her out of the farmhouse against her will...would we have succeeded in convincing her at all, Isidor?” Alster massaged his steel knuckles over his tired jaw, tense from over-clenching. “She’s fiercely loyal to Vitali. Staying behind is her method of ensuring that we create the anti-curse talisman. See how mentioning her to Haraldur shifted his attitude, somewhat? He hates the necromancer but he’s considerate of Tivia--feels responsible for her ever since he pulled her from the flames that marred her face and almost claimed her life.” He failed to mention how Tivia had once pined for the former mercenary. Neither did he mention the brief tryst that indirectly resulted from Vitali’s debt-collecting interference, nor the gulf it placed between Vega and Haraldur’s relationship. “How long will it take you to craft the talisman? Once we receive news of Gaolithe’s status, and granted we gain Haraldur’s cooperation, we can go about preparing for the transference ritual immediately. The sooner we act, the sooner we can give Vitali the talisman and the sooner Tivia will return to the palace. Admittedly, it’s not safe for her here, either--it’s as Lilica says. But she’ll be among friends like you, Isidor--people who care, as opposed to Vitali’s situational, conditional version of ‘care.’” 

To prevent the ridges his fingers imprinted into the skin, Alster removed the prosthesis from his cheek and rested it on the table. “He saved her life in Stella D’Mare and in exchange, she saved him. In the aftermath, he remained a constant during a very tumultuous and vulnerable time in her life. He was present when she awakened as a star-seer, when the Serpent decimated our home, and when her parents rejected her. Since our arrival in Galeyn over a year ago, they’ve cohabitated in that farmhouse. I can’t recall a time prior to the fire when she seemed so content. She loves the farm and all its associated memories. For my aforementioned reasons, I don’t think she’s capable of forgetting the impact Vitali’s had, and--this is important, Isidor,” he held the alchemist’s attention with his eyes to confirm he understood, “she doesn’t know how to show her gratitude for people other than falling in love with them. This is especially true of Vitali.”

Before Alster could elaborate, the doors swung open, revealing a trio of grim expressions and the sputters of a truth most uninviting. Alster’s ears buzzed, flinching from the unsteady rattle emitting from Teselin’s throat. Gaolithe is gone. 

“The burial patch was as we’d left it. Undisturbed and untampered,” Haraldur reported. In contrast from earlier, he betrayed no emotion aside from a soldier’s response to matters of urgency. “We excavated and searched in vain, but uncovered nothing. The sword is gone. The chest containing the sword is gone. No trace, as though it was never there.” 

“Are you sure you dug from the correct spot?” Chara inquired. Doubtful, but they needed to eliminate the obvious questions. “You buried the sword in late summer. Your memory is bound to suffer some haziness.” 

“We did,” Haraldur answered with immediacy. “We wouldn’t forget its location. Of that, you have my word.” The soldier’s facade cracked, revealing his visible struggle to accept the inevitable truth. The prevalence of wrinkles across his forehead, beneath his eyes, and surrounding his mouth had aged him prematurely. “Gaolithe,” he hesitated, “Gaolithe is gone.”

“Then we proceed with the next step.” Sighing, Alster drew away from his chair and joined Lilica on the opposite side of the room. “We create Vitali’s talisman to safeguard him from the Night Garden’s curse. In doing so, we ascertain Tivia’s return, as well. We can’t allow danger to befall the envoy for the dead and the envoy for the stars. Do you agree,” he half-turned to the distraught Forbanne Commander, “Haraldur?” 

“...No.” A spark of defiance struck like flint-stones in his green eyes. “I don’t trust his motives. The entire nature behind his ‘wolf attack’ reeks suspicion.”

“So we keep him close and watch that he does not misstep,” Alster said. “We’ve done it before.”

After a few moments of silent deliberation, the Eyraillian Prince nodded, finally conceding. “I will agree to my contribution--on one condition. You will find it’s in the spirit of the Night Garden’s original wishes. If Vitali, by any circumstances, betrays us, the curse will reactivate. If he so badly wants to live in the palace, then we keep him on a leash.”

“Whoa, Papa Sorde, whoa. Phrasing. ‘Leash’--that word’s in bad form.” Hadwin, awakened by the juicy-sweet smells of delicious conversation, pocketed his coin and sidled close to the towering man. “What constitutes ‘betrayal’? It’s vague; leaves a lot to interpretation. Is a white lie a betrayal of trust? If so, were I in corpse-lover’s shoes, I’d be pockmarked to a pulp by now. You gotta set the parameters. Where’s the cut-off? Attempted murder? Unsanctioned resurrection? Flirtations with the enemy?”

Haraldur brushed aside the faoladh’s gray-area rhetoric. “We let the sentinel tree set the parameters. If he disturbs the harmony, he ought to be punished for it.” 

“Yeah, and he’ll be dead in a day; the Night Garden already wants to churn him into mulch.”

“Then he’s welcome to stay at the farmhouse! Far safer for the likes of him.” Haraldur rumbled, an uncompromising clap of thunder. “If he’s so intent on relocating, and he behaves, then he has nothing to worry about.”

“And what of Tivia?” Alster maintained his question at a hush, sensitive of riling the warrior anew.  “If Vitali doesn’t go to the palace, then neither will she.” 

“Then one of us will get her, whether she likes it or not,” Haraldur stated simply. “Our security has already been compromised; I’m not going to compromise it any further by allowing the necromancer free rein of the palace without a measure or two in place.”

“There’s a less extreme method, Haraldur.” Alster mimed cutting his hand open with a blade. “We make him take a blood oath.”

“Which would require Lilica to leave the palace and endanger her life. Not to mention, she’d leave the throne and the Night Garden open to attack. Locque would take advantage of a monarch’s absence.”

“No. Not Lilica; I agree with you. Isidor.” He gestured to his companion, “and me. We’ll return to the farmhouse and extract the oath from him before we proceed with arrangements. I’ll conduct the ceremony and bind him to the will of his brother and of the Rigas Blood Seal.”

Haraldur did not look convinced. “How is that any different from what I suggested?”

“For one, he won’t be at risk of getting impaled on vines if he errs. The Rigas Blood Seal merely serves to strengthen the oath. It’s a solemn one. It’s an oath that dedicates his service to the Rigases--Tivia included. If broken...well, he’ll wish he hadn’t.”

The Rigas Lord’s offhanded description of the Blood Seal oath piqued Haraldur’s interest. “Fine. Do it your way. I’ll open communication with the sentinel tree, but I can’t promise you anything more. In the end, it decides. Not me.” Exhausted of words, and likely fed-up by the opposing company, the Forbanne Commander, flanked by three personal guards, made his swift retreat. 

“Well, now he hates me,” Alster, relaxing the grip in his clenched hands, shakily released the breath he’d been holding. “Goodbye, guardianship.” 

“Speaking of people who hate me,” Hadwin weaved between Alster and Isidor, throwing his arms over their shoulders, “if you’re heading down there tonight, lemme join you for the ride. I’ll behave, I swear.” 

It took a bit of persuading, but Alster, secretly beholden to the faoladh’s bedroom assistance, reluctantly agreed to take him as a passenger, a decision that Isidor, judging by his side-eye, did not appreciate. To his credit (and only after he finished draping himself over the two like they were the best of friends), Hadwin broadened his distance and diligently walked behind them, cooperative in his relative silence. 

En route to the carriage that awaited them in the palace entryway, a Rigas envoy, stooped and out of breath, intercepted Alster in the hallway. “L-Lord Rigas,” he sputtered, “danger in the D’Marian village. You must come with me...immediately!” 

“What!?” He clamped both hands on the envoy’s shoulders, stabilizing the young, overwhelmed Rigas in case he keeled over from exhaustion. “What happened?”

“A...a family--murdered, in their homes. The village is in an uproar. They’re calling for you by name, Lord Rigas. They want you to answer for what’s happened. We’ve been expecting you for days. We need to go now!”

“I...I expect you have.” Stricken from the news, Alster faced Isidor and Hadwin, who watched curiously from behind. “You’ll have to go on without me. Here,” he passed the resonance stone to the Master Alchemist. “In case Tivia and Vitali call for help. Take Elespeth as your third passenger. She knows how to oversee a blood oath ceremony. If there’s danger, she can reach me. I’ll open a portal and be there immediately. Be careful at the farmhouse. Look out for traps--as will I.” 

Nodding his retreat, Alster whipped around and followed the Rigas envoy to mount the back of his night steed. Finding Elespeth in the vicinity, Isidor and Hadwin informed her of their husband’s request and recruited her for the carriage ride into the outskirts. Accompanied by two more Forbanne guards, the small space did not afford much in the way of room or comfort for the travelers--moreso when Elespeth and Isidor shared the seat with a certain faoladh who caused them discomfort for two completely different reasons. 

Owing to the cover of night, their journey was thankfully cut in half. The carriage did not even lurch to stop before the trio--led by Isidor--was clambering out of the stifling pocket on wheels. 

It was Tivia who answered the door, her eye wide in alarm. “Isidor. Elespeth. And--” the alarm waned a tad, “Hadwin. Why are you here!? You...you have to leave--right now! All of you!”

“Ah, wonderful reception, Tivia--but we’re already here,” Hadwin effused, ignoring her whispered growls of urgency. “If you’d kindly let us inside--much obliged!” 

Squirming behind Tivia, Hadwin entered the cottage and hailed Vitali, who, seated beside the fire, had replaced his soiled tunic with a nondescript extra that the previous owners left behind. “Heard one of my sisters scored you like a marking tree. Pretty impressive, if you ask me.” His luminous eyes creased knowingly, but he didn’t elaborate on whatever amused him so much. Tivia hemmed and hawed behind him, about ready to sear him--and anyone who came close--with flying disks.

“You can’t be here! It’s dangerous for you all!” 

“Care to inform us on why it’s so dangerous?” 

Tivia’s flaring intensity wavered. “I...trust me. Just…” her eye sought Isidor in particular, “trust me, okay!?”

“They’re coming--aren’t they? So if that’s the case,” Hadwin whipped out a dagger from his boot and handed it to the star-seer, hilt first, “let’s divine their whereabouts.”

Unable to deny his--frankly practical--request, she bobbed her head in hurried agreement and took his proffered blade. “Do you have something that belongs to either Bronwyn or Rowen?”

Rummaging through his pocket, he unfolded a scrap of cloth. “Tore it from one of the outfits Bron left behind. And that dagger you’re clutching--that’s the one Ro stabbed me with. She left it in Braighdath when I was cleanin’ up her messes. Kept it buried in the Night Garden--waiting for the perfect occasion to unearth it. Now seems apt. If they’re on the hunt, I’d say they’re easier to track.”

With the dagger, Tivia sliced the faoladh’s palm, bathed the steel in his blood, and wiped a smear on the swatch of fabric belonging to Bronwyn. Bundling all three ritual components in her hands, the star-seer closed her eyes and concentrated. Stillness gave way to trembling; trembling to shivers, and shivers to seizes of pain. In a strangled cry, Tivia tumbled to the floor, the dagger spilling out of her hands and wedging itself face down between the floorboards, the swatch of fabric at its center. Isidor was the first to help her to her feet. She accepted, gradually rising on still-trembling knees. Her ears gushed blood.

“S-something’s changed,” she muttered, swaying against the Master Alchemist for support. Vertigo kept her unsteady. “Intentions. The order of prioritization. Destiny’s shifted. They know you’re here, Hadwin--and they want you dead. They want you above all else.” 

“Exactly what I wanted to hear.” Hadwin kicked off his boots and jerkin. “When should we expecting them?” 

“In...in minutes.”

“Good; I’ll be able to smell where they’re at. I’ll lead some Forbanne on the chase; we’ll try and give Bron and Ro the runaround. Take ‘em on a detour away from the farm. They can’t beat me for endurance; that’s true enough.” He yanked his shirt over his head, throwing it in the discarded pile of clothes. Only his trousers remained. “Now, are you gonna share your star-seer foreknowledge with everyone here, or are you gonna continue to keep ‘em in the dark?”

Regaining her second wind, Tivia disengaged from Isidor to pull out a handkerchief and blot the blood from her ears. “I...I heard the stars...The wolves will return for Vitali. They will return, and return, and keep returning...until he’s dead. So you see? It’s important I stay.” She tucked her bloody handkerchief into the slits of her riding outfit. “Haraldur won’t send enough Forbanne. Alster’s too distracted by the D’Marian murders. Vitali won’t be safe unless we relocate him to the palace. But…” she pointed to the wedged dagger and the rust-stained cloth it pinned, “but now...their sights have changed. To you, Kavanagh.”

“Brilliant,” the faoladh rubbed his hands together in anticipation. “Been waiting for a good ol’ romp with the pack. I got this!” Before he sprang out the door, he halted midway and looked over his shoulder. “But you better be on your guard juuust in case. I ain’t indestructible...and Ro’s got tricks. Best call your beau if you can, El.” Without another word, he vaulted out the door and rattled it shut.

“I see absolutely no reason for you to accompany us,” Isidor protested following Haraldur’s departure from the councilroom, as Hadwin suggested he come along on this dire venture back to the farmhouse. “The wolves are out for your throat, too, aren’t they? You’ll only serve to endanger us--along with Tivia--even more if they smell your presence. Do you really think they will pass up the chance to eliminate two of their targets simultaneously? Stay here.” The Master Alchemist pressed his lips together. His hands fought the urge to clench into fists at his side. “Unless you can assist in enacting a blood oath, your presence really isn’t necessary.”

Isidor’s will to keep his distance from the faoladh lost any weight it potentially carried when an out of breath envoy from the Rigas village intercepted them, just as they were about to leave for the village. Whatever the news, everyone immediately recognized there was yet another crisis afoot, and when the envoy breathlessly explained that a family had been murdered… Alster’s attention was immediately required elsewhere. “Alster…” Isidor already knew what the Rigas Lord would say before he handed him the resonance stone. He nodded with a resigned, solemn sigh. “Of course. You must go and deal with that matter; we will make sure Tivia and the necromancer are safe.”

Elespeth wasn’t far behind, and having observed the alternate emergency from a distance, immediately deduced that her presence would be needed in Alster’s stead. Even with the Forbanne as accompaniment, there was no guarantee they would stand up to two wolves (and a sorceress, if Locque did in fact choose to show herself). She might not be as formidable a warrior as the Dawn Warrior or the Forbanne, and her magic, as of now, remained volatile and unpredictable. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t be of use if it came down to enemies and numbers. “Let’s hurry,” she advised the faoladh and the Master Alchemist, picking up her pace from a brisk stride to a jog. “If Locque had gleaned that we are now aware that Gaolithe is missing, she might set her sights on going straight for the person who warned us in the first place. I don’t trust Vitali any more than Haraldur…” She pressed her lips into a thin line. “But whether or not he has anything to do with the missing weapon… he was still right.”

The atmosphere in the carriage was too tense for even Hadwin to take a crack at any inappropriate jokes or comments, and although neither Elespeth nor Isidor could deny a modicum of discomfort in the faoladh’s presence, they had greater things to worry about. When they arrived, they needn’t so much as rap on the door of the quiet farm house before Tivia pushed it open and stormed out, her one eye wild with trepidation. “You knew we would come,” Elespeth surmised as they all piled inside, musing mostly to herself as Tivia launched into a dire warning. The Forbanne stood watch at the door, but whatever came next, the only option was to face it; there would be no running to safety.

Despite the star seer’s vague albeit urgent determination to get them all on their way again as fast as possible, none of the others required clairvoyance to know exactly what had her so frightened. There was only one reason she could be so intent on shooing them away. “I do trust you, Tivia,” Isidor said quietly, though found himself unable to meet her pleading gaze. “And that is precisely why I won’t leave; why none of us will. The necro… Vitali was right. Gaolithe is missing, and a murder has already been reported in the D’Marian village. Alster left to investigate;we are here because this place will be next.”

“We’re not leaving, Tivia. Help us pinpoint Rowen’s location,” Elespeth pleaded with equal urgency. “Your help and cooperation is paramount, right now.”

To her credit, Tivia did not argue, and immediately proceeded with the blood, the dagger and the rag to divine the location of the foe surely responsible for the recent murder, and the current threat. The task brought the star seer to her knees, which prompted Isidor to act immediately and arrive at her side. “Tivia…! Are you alright?” The Master Alchemist gasped, helping the seer to her feet and gladly allowed her to use him as an anchor until she regained her balance. And what she had to say came as no surprise. “I knew bringing you here would draw them out!” He hissed at the faoladh, his arms still firmly around Tivia’s shoulders as she continued to sway. “You’re drawing them straight to all of us!”

“Then it is a good thing we came prepared.” Elespeth said simply, and touched the hilt of her sword.

“It doesn’t matter that he’s here; it is exactly as Tivia says.” Vitali retreated from the warmth of the hearth, to join the others at the center of the cozy room. It suddenly felt all too warm, with hearts racing and skin sweating in trepidation of current events. “They’d come back for me, anyway. Last night, I… may have tried to draw them out, myself. Didn’t honestly think it would work so well.”

“What the fuck, Vitali?” Elespeth hissed, unsheathing her sword as she peered out the window, muscles tensed and body poised to jump at the first sign of the wolves. “I knew we had you to blame for expediting this danger!”

“Or you could say you have me to thank. I’ve finally drawn the wolfish cavalry out of hiding, haven’t I?” The necromancer folded his arms and leaned against the wall. “Which is more than I can say about you lot back at the palace, struggling with self-sacrifice, mixed emotions, and sexual exploits.” One could’ve heard a pin drop, the way everyone paused, tensed, and held their breath; Elespeth in particular, who shot a withering glare in the necromancer’s direction. “What? I hear things; I don’t need to be at the heart of this kingdom to know that you lot have been wasting your time. Perhaps by forcing Locque’s hand now, we are forcing her to act prematurely. It could be our only advantage.”

Seconds before Hadwin called himself into action and bolted out the door, the former Atvanian grabbed him by the shoulder and was hastily on his heels. “Alster can’t be in two places at once. And Teselin will never forgive me if I let you loose to die.” 

“Wait, Elespeth! If you insist on leaving, take this.” Isidor tossed the resonance stone to the former knight, who promptly tucked it under her armor. “We have the companion stone; if you  need reinforcements or help, do not hesitate to send for them. I’ll have the stone on me at all times.”

“Thank you, Isidor. Understood.” Hastily instructing the Forbanne to stand watch and be on their guard to protect those dwelling inside the farmhouse, Elespeth and Hadwin took off into the cold night.

The only thing that spared Tivia and Isidor from the awkwardness of one another’s company, in tandem with Vitali, was the dire urgency of the emergency at hand--and the task that both Haraldur and Queen Lilica demanded. “You’ll get your talisman, Vitali. Everyone… everyone who needed to be in agreement has come to that conclusion, however reluctantly.” The Master Alchemist explained, “But there is a condition. You must swear on a blood oath that you are, in fact, on our side… and that your intentions are pure. Any violation of that promise, and…”

“No need to explain, little brother. I have been there and done that already with my dear sister. Though the ramifications of the spell does wear off after some time, and it has been a year…” Vitali lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “If she wants to bleed me again, then get her down here. I am sure she understands why I cannot come to her.”

“Lilica cannot leave the palace at this time; nor can you enter the parameters of the Night Garden. The oath is not to her; it is to me. And to Tivia.” Isidor nodded to the knife in the star seer’s hand. “An oath on the Kristeva namesake, as well as the Rigas Seal. I am very well inclined to believe you would betray me in a heartbeat. But…” He glanced sidelong at the Rigas woman next to him, who discreetly dabbed blood from her ears. His heart sank a little more and he sighed quietly. “I am less inclined to believe you would betray her.”

“And it wouldn’t be the first time I was bound by blood to our dear star seer; second time is a charm, though, I’m sure. Tivia?” The necromancer flashed his ever easy smile and held out a hand to take the bloodied rag from her. “You are the only mage here. Since you’ve facilitated a blood oath before, I have the highest confidence that you can do it again. I am ready and willing.”

With Tivia’s agreement and cooperation, The Master Alchemist stood firm and took deep breaths through his nose as the star seer sliced a line down her own palm, and Vitali followed suit by opening a wound in both of his palms; one hand each for them to take. By the time the knife was offered to him, Isidor was pale. “Are you going to survive, dear Alchemist?” The necromancer taunted at his brother’s hesitation. “Or are we going to bleed out while you find the gall to make a tiny cut?”

With an infuriated huff, Isidor grabbed the proffered knife from Vitali’s fingers, took a deep breath, and severed the intricate pattern work of the runes on one of his palms. One glance at the open wound and he felt light-headed and nauseous, and swayed on his feet.

“Earth and stars, Isidor, no one said you needed to cut your hand off.” Vitali tsked, and grabbed the alchemist’s bleeding, throbbing hand with his own. “Let’s do this, then. You want assurance of my loyalty? Then here it is. Tivia Rigas and Isidor Kristeva,” he nodded to each respectively,  you have my oath that everything I do, all of my intentions from this point going forward, will always be in the best interests of you and yours.”

Perhaps it was Tivia’s magic, sealing the oath as a spell upon the necromancer, or perhaps it was his struggle not to faint, but Isidor thought he felt something electric travel up his arm from the point of contact with Vitali’s hand.

And then it was done, as quickly as it started. While Tivia bandaged her own hand and then both of Vitali’s, the Master Alchemist, trying not to sting from his brother’s the preferential treatment, found his way to a washbasin and pressed a damp cloth to his trembling hand. It didn’t matter how many times he worked with blood: it never got easier, especially not the sight and smell of his own blood. Vitali has been bound to Tivia before… no wonder she is so fond of him. Hunched over the water basic, he took deep breaths to clear the fog in his head. No wonder… I never stood a chance.

Sometime later--perhaps an hour or two, maybe more--the sound of horses and another carriage pulling up to the house disturbed the tentative peace of nightfall. Immediately, the three occupying the farmhouse were immediately on their guard, although of the three of them, only Tivia was really qualified to fight. Fortunately, no one came breaking down the door. Alster Rigas stepped cautiously inside after announcing his presence, and only when the door was firmly shut and locked behind him did he begin to explain his reasons for looking so pale.

And none of them, not even Tivia, was prepared for what he had to say.

“...is that so. So you think our grief-stricken Dawn Warrior is responsible for the murder in your D’Marian village?” Vitali broke the shocked silence. Of the four in the room, he appeared the least fazed, but that was not unlike the necromancer. It would take more than news of that caliber to ruffle his feathers. “Well, damn. I must have really pissed off our resident sorceress with my nosiness, if she’s sending wolves after me, and your very own companion to massacre your people.”

“I… I did not know your friend well, Alster.” Isidor offered softly, looking down at the rag clutched in his injured palm to absorb the blood. “But it sounds as though… this Locque. She is controlling her the same way she got a hold of your wife’s mind…”

On the topic of Elespeth, Alster was understandably concerned at the absence of his wife--especially when he learned she had followed Hadwin into the fray, ready to confront one, maybe two, wolves. “She has one of the resonance stones; I gave it to her in case she ran into trouble…” He meant to offer that tidbit as a means to reassure the Rigas lord, but it only occurred to Isidor then and there that not hearing from Elespeth in the time since she’d left might be worse than hearing from her at all.

Before anyone could let their fear carry too far, however, the front door swung open, and in stepped the very warrior in question. Alive and well, but… well, perhaps well was a stretch. Elespeth sported dents--no, tears in her steel armour, from which blood had seeped and ruined the clothes beneath them. Hadwin did not come in  behind her, and was nowhere to be found.

“W-what happened?!” Isidor gasped, forgetting about the injury to his own hand and dropping the rag. “That armor--it is solid steel, Elespeth. Did the wolves bite through steel?”

“No. Not steel… not wolves.” With Alster’s help, Elespeth, pale from losing blood in her trek back to the farmhouse, gingerly took a seat in one of the chairs. “It was… there was a woman. The wolf pursued Hadwin; he said he would lead the chase until his sister tired of the hunt. I don’t know where he is now, but… I am sure he is fine.” Which was more than she could say for herself. Both Alster and Tivia assisted in removing the ruined steel breastplate and the chainmaille that was supposed to have protected her arms and legs, along with the padded leather beneath. Ruined and eviscerated, all of it…

“You’re saying… someone else did this to you? Not a wolf? So… Locque?” Isidor furrowed his brows. “That seems rather reckless, for someone who has been hiding in the shadows all this time…”

Elespeth shook her head wearily. “Not Locque… I don’t think so. Not her style, from what little I can remember. Locque has a bigger picture in mind than fighting me. This woman’s blade cut through my steel as if it wasn’t there. I’ve never seen… felt anything like it. I managed to channel my magic through my sword…” She spared a quick smile for Alster. “Just as you suspected I could. Almost had her, but she was on her feet too quickly, and I was losing too much blood to pursue.”

“What you’re saying… it isn’t impossible. Blades that cut through steel like butter are often reinforced alchemically. It is one of the tasks I agreed to take on for Queen Lilica. Reinforcing the infantry’s blades and armor. But, truth be told, it doesn’t take the skills of a Master Alchemist to achieve that… any ordinary alchemist would be just as capable.”

The former knight’s brows knit together pensively. “...Galeyn has resident alchemists. Are you saying…”

“I am willing to lay coin upon the possibility that someone--other than the wolves--is helping Locque. And,” he exchanged a serious look with Alster, “I think we know precisely where to look. How quickly can we summon Galeyn’s alchemists for questioning?”

Hours had elapsed since Hadwin and Elespeth, along with several Forbanne, disappeared into the woods, and hours since Tivia conducted the three-way blood ritual between the two brothers. While she couldn’t help but quirk a smile at the fond memory Vitali had stirred, regarding their moment of palm-slicing deja vu, the feeling waned as she sensed discomfort in the man whose opposite hand she clasped. His queasiness for blood notwithstanding, the swiftness in which he separated from them seemed to denote a greater sorrow than nausea and lightheadedness. The blood bond invoked a tingle, a warmth, and though it reconstituted her connection to Vitali, it also forged another channel through which she and Isidor shared their lives. Before, flutters of infatuation weaved them together in the throes of carnal attraction. Now, a secondary force weaved together their blood in fulfillment of a pact. Although they operated peripherally from each other, as the purpose of the ritual was to bind Vitali to a promise, all subjects of an oath ceremony felt the thread of connectivity tug, and Tivia was no exception. The star of Isidor Kristeva never burned brighter as it did in the moments following the ceremony. Lily-white, it maintained a staid appearance in the sky, an immoveable pinprick of a dot. Nothing of note or notice. But when it unfurled its petals, each corner emblazoned like the spiral arms of a galaxy clutching clusters and clusters of stars to fold into a paper bouquet. 

It was beautiful. He was beautiful. And she...she didn’t want to ruin his beauty by contributing to his downfall. You don’t know how to love unless you’re giving yourself away needlessly. All the gifts that make your star such a treat to behold...I can’t be the reason you strip away your glory and fade into the night sky. You’re too fragile for me, and I can’t shatter you…

Luckily, she didn’t have to spend those tumultuous several hours nursing her complex feelings for Isidor, when far greater circumstances pushed the lingering after-effects of the oath ceremony aside and demanded her attention. As the encroaching dawn bleached the rich, Stygian colors from night, Tivia strived to eliminate the tensions that trembled throughout her entire core by aiming to be as productive as possible. She stood guard by the door, hands outstretched and in casting formation. The slightest crackle in the hearth, the barest chime of wind against the window-panes, sent her into overreactions so acute, she near sliced the door down in her eagerness to attack. But she knew their most pertinent enemies occupied territory elsewhere. Somehow, the drafted wolf was not just spewing self-important bravado into their faces. Judging by her access to a living star map seemingly stamped on the surface of her unseeing eye, his star had wrangled their stars like cattle, pushing the wolves far from the epicenter of the farmhouse. For now...they were safe. But Elespeth—she fared elsewhere, and her battle with an unseen element remained a mystery. 

An outside disturbance jolted her out of her star-globe fixations. Blinking out of her half trance, she reflexively activated a spear of yellow, pulsating light into her hands and pointed it at the door. On the other side, a light rapping, followed by the announcement of a name, eased Tivia’s guard. Dropping it (and dispelling the spear of light), she opened the door for Alster Rigas. The Rigas Head, as expected of the back-and-forth voyages and the taxing nature of each, looked harried in face and spirit. He stumbled inside the farmhouse and closed the door, too preoccupied with his news to properly take stock of who was inside. 

“The village is in an uproar. They’re rightly terrified out of their minds. Half want to relocate to the palace; the other half wish for me to lead them out of the kingdom.” Alster slumped against the wall. “Fault lies with me. Another rallying cry from the D’Marians...and I can’t blame them. A family has been murdered in their own homes. A husband, wife, two little ones…” trailing off, he shivered from an internal chill and shook his head. “A witness was able to profile the culprit and...the description...I fear it’s Sigrid.” 

Only then did the Rigas Lord raise his head and acknowledge the voices in the room. He first noticed Isidor, and though appreciative of his attempts to brighten—insofar as it could be brightened—an impossibly grim situation, his eyes stared unblinkingly, dejectedly, at the floor. “I’ve no doubt it’s Locque’s doing—and I daresay the hold she has on Sigrid is much worse than Elespeth. She’s making a perversion out of Sigrid’s honorable nature by forcing her to partake in unjustified, wanton murder. And in doing so, she’s demonstrating to us just how deeply she has Sigrid under control. That she would do something like this is damning enough. The evidence is clear. ...She’ll keep using her to make a statement, claiming her superiority. And worse yet...I fear she’s not done with the village. She wants us gone. Dead or gone...it doesn’t matter to her.” 

Speaking of ‘gone’... His eyes grew wide and his head swiveled to the door. “Where’s Elespeth? She’s injured. I sensed she was nearby but…”

Relief swept over him when she walked through the very door he fixated upon, as though his purposeful state summoned her from the jaws of certain death. She certainly appeared to have fought with jaws of a sort, by how she, and her armor, sported a distinctly chewed aesthetic. “Elespeth! He bounded to her side in two steps. “What happened?” Immediately, he and Tivia started shedding the tatters of her armor, taking utmost care to ensure pieces of the twisted metal did not turn inwards to pierce her skin. “Why didn’t you notify me? I said I could be here in seconds. I can use portals. This could have ended disastrously!”

“But it didn’t, Alster,” Tivia shushed the Rigas Lord before he devolved into panicked ranting. “She’s fine. Let her speak.” 

While not mollified, Alster rapidfire nodded himself into a facsimile of attentiveness and calm. “Right. I’m sorry.” He took in a much-needed breath. “This woman...it isn’t uncommon for some mages to enchant weapons to slice through steel, either. I’ve done such enchantments to your blade, El. Nonetheless, I’m pleased by the results of your channeling.” Pulling off the last set of armor—a pair of arm bracers—Alster directed Elespeth to sit on a chair and remove her clothes to expose the extent of her injuries. “Isidor,” he addressed the alchemist but did not turn to face him, busy with compiling the scraps of steel, “you’re convinced this was the work of an alchemist specifically? You may be right, after all. I don’t sense any magical residue emanating from the armor. Every caster leaves behind a signature, however dim.” He rested his prosthesis on Elespeth’s shoulder and lowered to one knee before her chair, scanning over her scratched-up and bloody torso for any offending metal shards lodged in the skin. Fortunately, it did not possess any projectile foreign materials. He nodded his relief. “We’ll round up each of Galeyn’s alchemists. D’Marian alchemists, as well. El,” his eyes resettled on her, “I’d ask you to stay here, in my stead, but only under the condition that you contact me when there is danger. We fight together—like old times. Before I leave, let me see your sword. Should you encounter that mystery alchemist and she reinforces her armor or skin through her craft, I’m able to negate those effects with some magical intervention. I will also improve your sword’s channeling potential, so your lightning will hit harder and with more accuracy. But first,” he angled his sunlit-glowing hand over a series of particularly jagged gashes, “let me do what I can for your wounds.” 

Several sweeps over her torso and arms eliminated the evidence left behind by the alchemist’s errant sword. As observed by Vitali, his perfectionistic healing methods had evolved to the point where the end result showed no evidence of scars. Some would consider his detailed work impressive, but he regarded it as inferior, a failed attempt at exceptionalism. Not good enough—but it would have to do. He would have to do. 

He pitied the D’Marians for inheriting a sham of a leader, who instead of leading, lamented over his uselessness. And now...a family was murdered, leaving him ultimately responsible. Were he not in absentia, would he have protected them? And, should he continue to shirk his responsibilities to his people, how many more D’Marians would die? 

After Elespeth “recovered” from her injuries, Alster flitted to her sword, making the appropriate enchantments at a diligent, steady pace, hyper-aware of time and how every precious minute spent idle was a minute wasted. In a minute, people could die. In a minute, half a civilization could crumble into the sea. 

Once completed, Alster sheathed Elespeth’s sword and handed it to her. “It should be more receptive to your channeling magic, now. Its edge is reinforced by my magic and will act as a compatible bolster to your magic. As long as you’re not fighting Forbanne or any other force of anti-magic, it will cut through most substances with ease—by your will and command. It’s a companion piece to my arm,” he presented his prosthesis as one would a sword in defensive position. “I’ve enchanted it to deflect the onslaught of most substances, projectile or otherwise. When cornered, it can bludgeon through armor—and win an arm-wrestling match or two,” he managed a playful wink. “But that’s why we need to fight. Together, we’re a unit. We’re a sword and shield. An overwrought comparison, but it’s true. In the event I can’t be at your side,” he eyed the pile of junk metal in the corner, “is it possible any of this can be salvaged, Isidor? And modified to your alchemical standards of defense?”

At Isidor’s speculative affirmative, Alster called a few Forbanne inside to load the loose parts inside the carriage’s storage compartment. “I take it that’s everything we can possibly do here,” the Rigas Lord hovered near the door, dressed in his winter things. “The D’Marians are adamant that I move to the village. They’re about ready to riot. But we must prioritize the talisman before the wolves regain their strength and try to attack. Or worse, Locque—or this mystery alchemist—appears.” Or Sigrid, he thought, but did not say aloud. The implications behind her assault were still too painful to bear. 

“If Hadwin ever returns,” he cocked his head to the pile by the door, “he’ll want his clothes. Are you sure he’s fine? Teselin will worry if he doesn’t return and—“

“—The mongrel can handle himself,” Tivia dismissed, crossing her arms. “When I traced the whereabouts of his sisters through his blood, I learned more about him than I ever cared to know.” She shuddered in remembrance. “Including his status. Trust me, he’s alive. But,” she grumbled, “if he keeps this up, it won’t be for long. He’s creating a diversion for us, but it requires him to be front and center. The longer we dally, the more injuries and casualties we’ll face—that much I can promise you. Isidor, Alster,” she made a shooing motion with her fingers, “return to the palace. Don’t come back unless you have the talisman. I conducted the blood oath ceremony. Vitali has pledged his loyalty to us. Now, it’s your turn. Elespeth and I will defend the farmhouse in the meantime. So go, and be quick about it.” She pressed her palms on the shoulders of the two men as she led them out the door. Her touch lingered on the alchemist. “And be careful,” she whispered, aiming her concern expressly for his ears alone. 

As per Tivia’s specific instructions, Alster and Isidor immediately set off to the palace by carriage. The trip would take them the better part of the morning now that the sun had risen and the effects of the night steed’s supernatural speed had lost their efficacy. In knee-rattling, impatient frustration, Alster spent the better part of the lengthy voyage drumming his fingers against the carriage’s wood finish and staring, foggy-eyed, at the window. When at last they reached the palace entryway, Alster, followed by Isidor, launched out of their tiny conveyance and joined the small congregation waiting by the front doors. Lilica, Chara, and Haraldur closed in on the duo, simultaneously eager for the latest update and dreading to confirm the worst of the rumors. 

“Tivia and Vitali are safe. He is under blood oath,” Alster began, opting for the good news first. “Elespeth is staying with them. Hadwin is missing; he engaged his sisters in the woods before they could reach Vitali and Tivia; we haven’t seen him since. Whilst aiding him last night, Elespeth encountered a woman who wielded a curious sword of alchemical tampering, able to slice through steel as if it were water. Though Elespeth escaped the assault with surface-level injuries and ruined armor, the woman’s identity remains a mystery. Far as we can determine, she’s in league with Locque—and either is employing the services of an alchemist or is one, herself. We ask to gather the alchemists of Galeyn and Stella D’Mare for a formal inquest. I understand a request of this magnitude will take a good bit of time, so in the meantime, we prepare for Vitali’s talisman ritual.” His eyes flicked to Haraldur, who, judging by his haggard appearance, did not sleep at all. No one did. “Have you opened communication with the sentinel tree?”

“Yes,” he absently rubbed his thumb and forefinger over his wedding band hanging from its chain, reticent to continue. “The Night Garden will permit you its energies to create the talisman. It took a fair bit of convincing...for both of us. You may begin the ritual at your leisure.” His fingers slipped, and the band thudded against his chest. Under the low-lit lanterns held by attendants, the embossed tree design seemed to crackle like flames, outstretched branches licked and devoured by inferno. The stark message assailed Alster in a mess of shivers. What he was to relay next would surely quake Haraldur’s family tree. 

“After the ritual, after the gathering of alchemists, I must return to the D’Marian village. As you may have heard, a family of four was murdered in their home. And we believe the culprit to be,” he swallowed a heavy lump in his throat, “Sigrid—under Locque’s possession.” 

“...Right.” He said plainly, not quite registering the news. Or maybe he did and accepted it all with dead, resigned clarity. “It’s our lot...to be controlled by another. To lose autonomy. To lose everything and then lose yourself. Why I thought any different, why I wished any different for her...in the end, it was all just an idiotic dream. Hiding Gaolithe, stupidly thinking I’ve made a difference and thwarted destiny...it’s all self-delusion. There’s nothing I can do. I’ve never reached her and I never will.” Before retreating to a direction opposite his family’s chambers, he added, as though finally realizing he was among company and not alone, “I’ll deploy Forbanne to your village--and speak to Roen about sending some of the Dawn Guard to intercept their sworn sister--or speak some sense into her. We won’t stop searching; won't stop trying to snap her free. If negotiations or capture fails...we'll at least ensure she doesn’t victimize any more innocents.” Excusing himself, he wandered off, trailed only by his personal guard and thus, prevented from completely falling apart.

It was immediately clear that as soon as Alster and Isidor returned that if anyone had slept at all, they had slept rather poorly, sporting wan visages and dark circles beneath their eyes. They couldn’t be blamed; the entire palace--nay, the entire kingdom was on high alert as of last night. Awaiting reports from what occurred at the farmhouse, as well as the situation that summoned Alster to the D’Marian village, everyone who had been present in the councilroom (save for Teselin) eagerly awaited the return of the Rigas Head and the Master Alchemist.  Lilica, in particular, looked as though she hadn’t so much as blinked, let alone shut her eyes to sleep. There was a mild tremble to her hands as she clasped them in front of herself, and met the exhausted caster and alchemist at the palace gate, alongside Haraldur and Chara.

“So the wolf is at large… that will not sit well with the summoner.” The Galeynian Queen shook her head slowly, but there was nothing to be done about it. Hadwin did as he pleased, seldom asking permission, and never asking forgiveness. “We will have to trust that he can outrun his sisters, then. But… this woman, the one who attacked Elespeth. Someone else, not to our knowing, is working alongside Locque? And you are sure this new adversary is or has enlisted the help of an alchemist, and not of a mage?”

Isidor nodded and adjusted his spectacles on his nose. “According to Alster, there was no magical signature lingering on Elespeth’s ruined armor. Tampering with the material of a weapon to make it capable of cutting straight through steel is a rather basic task that even an ordinary alchemist can do. Master Alchemists may be able to make the weapon more durable in the long run, but it isn’t an ability exclusive to that tier.”

“Then an alchemist from either Galeyn or the D’Marian settlement is responsible. And we have more to be concerned about than we originally thought.” The Galeynian queen pinched the bridge of her nose, willing away the headache that lingered behind her eyes. 

“It is possible this alchemist came from without, Your Ma… Lilica. After all, Sigrid evidently managed to re-enter the kingdom unbeknownst to any of the watch.” Isidor offered, though realized it provided little comfort in the context. “Nonetheless, I believe it is essential that we question any and all alchemists residing within the kingdom. Even if we find the guilty party, it would not strike me as odd to come to realize Locque threatened them into her service. But as Alster has suggested, it is imperative that we question them to get to the bottom of this. If someone with alchemical knowledge and prowess is aiding this sorceress in any way… then there is a whole other advantage that we did not realize Locque possessed.”

Lilica nodded in agreement. “Then I will send word via envoy right away. All residents of Galeyn, whether they be D’Marian or Galeynian, are to gather here no later than this very evening. In the interim--Alster, Isidor,” she addressed the two men, neither whom had slept a wink, and sported dark circles beneath their eyes as evidence of such. “Do what you can to get to work on that talisman. As much as I would rather not have him anywhere near this palace or the Night Garden, we have greater threats to take into consideration. And, Alster,” before the Rigas mage could take his leave, she caught his ear one last time. “When you return to the D’Marian village… I will accompany you. You are not to blame for what happened, and I want the D’Marians to be aware of that. Many of them still hold me in ill regard; if they need to be angry at someone…” She pressed her lips into a thin, firm line, “then we might as well feed the fires that already burn. You can placate them later; it won’t do them any good not to see you as the leader that you really are. Even if you do not hold yourself in such regard.”

Alster and Isidor followed suit shortly after Haraldur, leaving Chara and Lilica alone at the gates. The Galeynian Queen nurtured thoughtful silence for a moment after the discussion had ended, before finally giving voice to the dread growing in the pit of her stomach. “Rowen and Bronwyn Kavanagh, a mystery alchemist, and… Sigrid. No one has had it in them to discuss the worst case scenario, yet, but I am not sure how much longer we can avoid it.” Lilica sighed through her nose and clasped her hands tightly in front of her, looking about as overwhelmed as she felt. “As far as anyone knows, Locque released Elespeth from her grasp willingly; to send a message, to inspire discord and chaos in Braighdath. It is highly likely that if this is her strategy--turning our allies into blind killers until we concede defeat--that she will not relinquish her hold so easily, and force us to veer in either of two awful dire directions. “Either we—I—turn over this kingdom to the sorceress… or for the safety of the kingdom’s denizens, Galeynian, D’Marian, and otherwise, we must do what we can to eliminate any and all threats Locque sends our way. Which would mean…” She hesitated, and then lowered her voice, speaking barely in a tone above her breath.  “If Sigrid remains a threat… if it really is Sigrid who murdered that family in the D’Marian village, then I am neither sure that I nor the Dawn Guard can guarantee her safety if she cannot be apprehended. If there is a way to win this, then I am not sure where to find that solution. Bronwyn, Sigrid… she is using our friends and allies against us. And I am willing to be she knows exactly what she is doing.”

With the growing suspicion that it had been Sigrid Sorenson who had attacked the D’Marian village, and the rumour spreading like wildfire throughout the small kingdom, it took little time for Haraldur to have an audience with Roen of the Dawn Guard. The seasoned Dawn Warrior was indeed devastated by the news that a girl as close to him as his own daughter could have been responsible for such a monstrous act… but he did not appear surprised. Not when Locque’s name entered the discussion. This was certainly not the first time he had encountered a situation where someone had been used as a pawn entirely against their will to enact the will of a vengeful sorceress. Not a year ago, he had been vouching for the innocence of one Elespeth Tameris. But her vulnerability and victimization had been short-lived… If Locque had Sigrid’s mind, how long had this been the case? How long had Gaolithe’s master been walking strides and raising her sword arm not at all of her own volition…?

“I want to think it impossible… I want you--and whomever witnessed that act of savagery at the D’Marian village--to be wrong. No one has so much as spotted Sigrid since the day she left. And every corner of this kingdom’s borders are patrolled, if not by my own warriors, then by your soldiers or Queen Lilica’s guard.” Roen rubbed his sunbrowned forehead worryingly. “But… I am not so naive as to deny what is likely the truth. Especially knowing that Gaolithe is gone. I will not question what you did with that sword or why you sought to separate it from Sigrid, because that is far beside the point at this time. There is only one individual walking this plane of existence who is capable of touching Gaolithe without fear of death.”

Standing from his seat in the small palace study where they had agreed to meet (with an ally or minion of Locque’s currently at large, it was too dangerous to discuss anything out in the open), the Dawn Warrior pushed away from the table and folded his muscled arms across his chest. “I am glad it was you who came to me, Haraldur, and not someone else. Because I trust that you and I want the same thing: to keep Sigrid safe, above all else. If Queen Lilica trusts us to seize this problem ourselves, then let us plan to find a way to intercept and apprehend Sigrid, before she is forced to do anything else that would mortally wound her soul. I know her and her moral code far too well… and learning what she did to that family, if she ever regains her autonomy…” He exchanged a despondent glance with the Forbanne Commander. “It will kill her to find out. She has always been a protector; and Locque is making her a murderer. Promise me… that you and your Forbanne will do anything and everything you can to find and capture Sigrid. Myself and the Dawn Guard, we shall do the same.”

Meanwhile, back in the councilroom, Isidor had spent the better part of his day interviewing alchemists that had been gathered from all surrounding areas, Galeynian and D’Marian alike. Due to the vastly reduced population of the kingdom upon awakening from Theomyr’s spell, not many alchemist remained; only seven, in fact. There were far more among the D’Marians--twelve fully accomplished and eight apprentices--but it mattered not the delineage, either within the parameters of this case, or in the way any of them looked upon the Master Alchemist. They all hated him, the moment their eyes landed upon him as they entered the room. Some flat-out refused to speak to him at all, and instead answered to a far more direct Chara, who obviously had no problem taking on the role of severe inquisitor, while Isidor did his very best to be diplomatic, but could not quite achieve the finesse that seemed to come so naturally to Alster.

It didn’t seem to matter, and he wasn’t entirely convinced that this questioning was getting anywhere, when every alchemist who stepped through the door was already on high alert and on the defensive. After all, how dare someone like the likes of him accuse them of a crime that paled in comparison to those related to his very making? “Mister Caldrey, no one is suggesting you are guilty. I would simply like to better understand what area of alchemy you specialize in.” Isidor’s social tolerance had worn thin approximately twenty people ago. And when at last they were down to the last person in question, he was about ready to give up. “Do you work with organic matter? Stones, metals, other?”

“You don’t have to answer this scoundrel, father. If anyone is suspicious, here, it is him. Regardless of what he says, you know you are not the one in the wrong.” The elderly man’s daughter had insisted on accompanying her father and would’ve have it that he be questioned alone. As one of the only elders to survive their awakening a year before, no one was prepared to argue the woman’s overprotective nature of the old man. That he had agreed to questioning without retaliation was all they could ask for.

“With all due respect, Miss, how can I possibly suspect your father of anything if I know nothing about him?” Isidor sighed. “If you will not speak with me… would you at least answer Lady Chara?”

“It’s fine… it’s alright. At this point… with what is threatening my home, what I have to confess pales in comparison.” The old alchemist sighed and folded his hands in front of him atop the table, his spectacled gaze downcast. “I am not proud of it… and I promise you, it has been years since I’ve done this, but I… counterfeit currency used to be my work. Lead into gold--quite literally. Or, well, not so literally, since it never maintained its new form.” He flashed a guilty smile of missing teeth. “Good and bad folks alike running short on coin would pay me in goods and promises to make ends meet. I came through for them; did this for many years. But I daresay, I am probably the worst alchemist this kingdom has ever seen.” He couldn’t help but chuckle, despite that his daughter appeared to find this anything but funny. “Like I said--the new coin never kept its form. I suppose this is what you get for being self-taught, huh?”

“So… have you ever successfully performed transmutation with a bladed object?” Isidor inquired, though he already suspected the answer. “Such as a weapon? A sword, a knife?”

The old man shook his head. “Can’t say I have; never even tried, if I’m being honest. Like I said: Galeyn’s worst alchemist. Well, now that that is all out…” He sighed and spread his hands. “Not sure how this works with a new monarch, and all. His Majesty, King Theomyr, surely would have charged me a fine for my counterfeit currency, at the very least… Whatever Queen Lilica sees fit, I’m too old for pride. I’ll pay whatever price is required for my past wrong-doings.”

“Somehow… I doubt that Queen Lilica has greater troubles on her mind than past misgivings during a time when she wasn’t Galeyn’s reigning monarch..” Isidor shook his head and rubbed the back of his neck. This was the last of the alchemists… and he felt no closer to understanding whom, if any of them, had been assisting Locque. “Thank you for your time, Mister Caldrey.”

The old man rose from his seat with the help of his daughter, but the resentful woman was not about to leave the room without getting the last words in. “Thank you, Master Alchemist, for rousing unnecessary fear in my family and dragging us from the safety of our home. Regardless of my father’s past… I never thought someone of your sort would stoop to the point of raising yourself above those who are morally more responsible by their very existence. Father,” the irate woman took the elderly man by the arm, “this isn’t our problem. Let’s go home.”

“....for what it is worth, young man,” the old alchemist paused in the doorway, much to his daughter’s chagrin. His tired eyes were genuine behind the glare of his spectacles in the light of the wall sconces. “Whatever your reason for what you are… destiny takes us in strange directions. All you can do is trust you’re on the right path.”

Excellent. Several dozen alchemists cursed his name, and one was indifferent. That was about as good a reception as Isidor could reasonably expect, he supposed, and frankly, he was happy to have the room finally clear of people, save for Lady Chara.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t of more help,” he said to the Queen’s advisor; in his defense, he looked about as worn out as he felt. “Perhaps this would have gone more smoothly if you alone had done the interviews…”

Not moments after Caldrey and his daughter left, Alster joined them in the councilroom. By the flush on his cheeks, he appeared as though he had been running himself ragged all day without stopping for even a moment. “Alster…” Isidor greeted his friend with a look that betrayed bad news. “We questioned all of the self-proclaimed alchemists in Galeyn; D’Marians, too. I’m afraid we are no closer to having any answers than we were before… Unless someone failed to come forward and be questioned, I don’t believe the person who reinforced the blade that cut through Elespeth’s armour was in this room today.”

He spread his hands, palms up, to reinforce the idea of failure that he took far too easily to heart. “We can continue to investigate… but as I suggested earlier, it is possible that this alchemist never was or has been a resident of Galeyn. What about you, though? Did you manage to convene with Haraldur and harness protection from the sentinel tree?”

“With all due respect, Lilica,” Alster bowed his head, nonetheless thankful for the monarch’s suggested excursion to the D’Marian settlement, “traveling any distance from the heart of Galeyn is not worth the risk it poses for you. As you and Chara can both attest, I’m sure, leadership requires you to accept some degree of scapegoating from your citizens. They’ll cast blame on me no matter what I do. Fundamentally, I know this, but emotionally—it can be hard not to take their fear and anguish personally. I’ll handle affairs on my own. I trust they won’t call for my lynching just yet,” a dark smile shifted the shadows on his face, but did not disperse them. “They may not respect me, but they respect my power. I must be in tact if they plan to make use of it. Speaking of,” he planted his balanced foot in the direction of the Night Garden, “I should get started on harnessing the energies specific for fashioning the necromancer’s trinket. Whether or not he’s trustworthy, relocating him to the palace means we’ll have everyone back in one place. All the better for strategizing our next move—and defending against wolves. Lilica,” he laid a steel hand on her arm, “once you’re finished with your current errand, I’ll need you at the Garden to help me facilitate the energy transfer. I’ll act as the receptacle until which time I can expel the essence into Isidor’s talisman. But I will need you to direct the flow into me.” 

“Essentially, you will absorb and carry in your scrawny vessel incompatible Night Garden energy for an indeterminate amount of time.” Chara pursed her lips, concealing elements of guilt and concern. “Do proceed with care, Alster. The last time you invited the Night Garden to participate in your ritual, you had a bout of heart failure.” 

“The circumstances were different, then. My heart is healthy,” he hovered a free hand over his chest for emphasis. “I’m a transference point; temporarily hosting disparate energies will not tear me asunder. Alongside Lilica’s guidance, I won’t be compromised. It is not all incompatible, besides. The curse is chthonic in nature.” And it is not for you to take, Alster warned the ever-ravenous Serpent in Its ever-present, ever-coiling glory. “Anyway, I must prepare. Unrelatedly--if you should see Teselin, please be delicate in your handling of Hadwin’s status. The last thing we need is to cause her undue upset.”

Upon Alster’s departure, Chara roved her eyes towards Lilica. “Keep watch over him. Make sure he does nothing stupid. Whilst you aid in his little ceremony, I’ll interview the alchemists in your stead—granted they respond to our summons and assemble in a timely manner. Royal inquest or not, urgency or not, professionals of alchemical and magic-related disciplines are generally resistant to answering to one’s beck and call. It is simply beneath them. ...With D’Marians, anyway.” 

When Lilica set aside talk of surface-level, political drudgery and began to project a worst-case scenario based on their most immediate threat, Chara, never at a deficit of brutal honesty, contributed her opinion, and it reflected Lilica’s own views on the matter. “As former Rigas Head, I can attest to the importance of protecting your citizens from imminent danger. Your citizens. You are responsible for no one else. It is a lesson Alster struggles to learn; no doubt he is a champion of the people, but he lacks loyalty and focus to the people he’s sworn to lead because his determination to save everyone hinders his ability to save anyone. Rightly so, you, Lilica, cannot rule with an idealistic heart, for it is a betrayal to those who follow you. We’ve no more space for clemency. If there is a threat, and they raise a sword to strike us harm,” she slapped a fist inside her palm, “we strike in retaliation. We make no exceptions for Sigrid Sorenson or for Rowen and Bronwyn Kavanagh. Thankfully, the mongrel recognizes this, at last. No longer do we have the luxury to hesitate. If Sigrid can’t be contained...she dies. Negotiation is futile We keep compromising our defenses and Galeyn is lost...like,” her hands floated down her sides like dying petals, “Stella D’Mare.”

With a good chunk of the day done and over with, Chara, accompanied by Isidor, had little time to debrief from the spate of inquiries from entitled alchemists who not only considered themselves morally superior, but disciplinarily superior to magic and other related fields. Moments after the last, and decidedly more easy-going (and crooked) elder alchemist and his opinionated daughter--to whom Chara lobbed choice words in the guise of professionalism--departed from the small council chamber, Alster and Lilica slogged through the door. The day’s events hadn’t been kind to them, either, judging by their drawn faces and the pallor coating Alster’s cheeks.

“You’re dehydrated. Both of you. Sit,” she commanded the two, as if the interrogation remained ongoing and they were the two newest subjects to enter. As they sank into the two available chairs, Chara poured them water from the decanter and slid the cups across the table. They nodded gratefully and accepted the offering. “You heard the alchemist. They either played ignorant or launched into diatribes deriding Isidor over his practice. Oh, what a striking reminder of Stella D’Mare’s petty squabbles over which school of magic reigned as most powerful, pure, and sinless. A ludicrous display of egos, and a wasteful endeavor. Amusing...but tiresome and trite.” She thumbed over a worn corner of wood on the table’s surface. “If any of these alchemists are the culprit, they would not reveal their hand so easily. The results are inconclusive, and I hate to assume they are exonerated on the grounds of lack of evidence, but I must agree with the Master Alchemist, here. It is possible Elespeth’s mystery assailant has ties to neither Galyen nor Stella D’Mare. While we could proceed with a second round of questioning, I advise against it, as it is a drain on our resources. We are better off going after concrete threats. What of you?” She tilted her head at the two leaders. “I trust you had a more productive afternoon in the Night Garden?”

“We did. Well,” Alster backpedaled, “insofar as we accomplished what we set out to do. With the sentinel tree’s blessing and Lilica’s guidance, I’ve acquired a sampling of the two most prominent energies comprising the Night Garden--which I bear inside of me at this moment. In one hand,” he unfurled the palm of his prosthesis on the table, “quite literally in this hand, I’m holding a small dose of its healing essence. In my other hand,” he hesitated. Chara, sensing his hesitation, leaned out of her chair and appraised him carefully. He shrank under her scrutinizing gaze. His left side, buried under a cloak, had, she realized, remained hidden for the entirety of their conversation thus far. “Don’t...be alarmed.”

“Well, that gives me further cause for alarm!” Chara sprang from her chair, already incensed. “Show me your hand. What did you do?!”

“It’s temporary, but,” glancing uneasily at Lilica, he pulled back his cloak and gingerly set his left hand on the table. Mummified by bandages, the hand resembled a cast, a prosthetic in its own right, save for the splotches of blood quickly soaking up the white gauze. “What I carry is a small representation of the antithesis of the Night Garden’s healing essence. It is the curse--the unmaking. Decay. Contrary to what we see, death does occur in the Garden. It’s necessary to fertilize the plants and to bolster life. As a result...the Garden mistakenly sees my hand as fertilizer and...I’m experiencing the breakdown of organic matter and tissue. All my old wounds have opened up and refuse to heal, and yes, I’m losing a fair bit of blood, but,” he interjected over Chara’s vocal sputterings of rage, “it’s temporary, and the effects will be reversed the moment I expel the energies into Isidor’s talisman.”

“What did I say? I told you to watch him,” Chara sighed her unending frustrations at Lilica, but they were wholly without accusation. “Tell me, Alster, do you enjoy bleeding to death? Because that will happen if we do not act fast!”

“It’s a small trickle of blood, Chara!” Alster countered. “And...decay. The Night Garden’s healing essence offsets and delays the process. If I expel the curse energy, first, the Night Garden will undo the damage. Don’t cast blame on Lilica, either. We didn’t know what would happen. This hasn’t exactly been done, before.”

“No--I cast blame entirely on you, foolhardy git that you are. I expect Vitali to grant you one hell of a boon for your self-inflicted magical exploits--or so help me, I will throttle him, myself. Isidor,” she aimed the full brunt of her wrath on the socially-exhausted alchemist, “do not sit there gawking like a fish. Go forth and create this talisman at once! This should have been priority far superseding our convention of vitriolic, alchemical blowhards! Go, now. And take your like-minded friend with you!”

Not opposed to ushering out Isidor and Alster and slamming the door in their faces, sure enough, Chara ushered out the two hapless masters of their respective arts and slammed the door in their faces. Alster, cradling his left arm as he would his prosthesis prior to Isidor’s lightweight modification, he offered a small, contrite smile in apology. “Chara means well. She worries for me, but lacks the patience to forgive my ‘exploits,’ as she calls them. But I didn’t plan to eviscerate my hand, if that’s what you’re supposing.” In the hallway, they turned the corner en route to Isidor’s dungeon workshop. “While my hand is not in a dire state, it’s probably best that we flush the curse out of my system sooner rather than later.” 

After making the trek down the long spiral of stone steps to the dungeons, they arrived at the workshop. To brighten the dark, dank space, Alster shot streams of etherea from his fingertips to light the wall sconces, transforming the forbidding cell into an incrementally cheerier spot. Though he offered his assistance in other avenues and stages of the alchemist’s preparation, he ultimately ended up following his advice to sit and relax. Any unwarranted movement would agitate his free-flowing wounds--and the bandage was well on its way to flushing completely crimson. 

Through the combined use of metallic tinctures and alloys, incendiary powders, scrap metal, and the catalyzing agent of his rune-scarred hands, Isidor smithed a curious copper pendant, within which an artificial red crystal glimmered, a waiting and ready receptacle for the dual energies Alster wielded in his hands. At Isidor’s instruction, he placed his hands on either side of the pendant and released the decaying, unraveling chthonic ether that had largely comprised Vitali’s curse. Unburdened of its magically-efficient fertilizing agent, his body, equipped with the helpful remnants of the Night Garden’s superior function, began to repair the damage along the ruptures of his ragged, bleeding flesh. Only when the curse was fully ensconced and secure inside the crystal, Alster then released the Garden’s healing life energy, a protective coating that cocooned the decaying, miasmic matter and crystalized, creating a black starburst within the crystal proper. 

“How extraordinary,” Alster remarked on the unique pattern of the crystal-within-a-crystal, a physical marriage of alchemy and magic, immortalized in one object. “The fruits of our labors...and it’s going straight into Vitali’s keepsake.”

Unwinding the bandages around his hand, Alster was relieved to see the extent of his injuries in the process of stitching shut, independent of his magic for encouragement. “See? No cause for concern.” He twitched his fingers for good measure. “I didn’t lose the hand. Prosthesis averted. The blood loss was inevitable, but a mere price to pay. The Night Garden required an exchange. Chara derides me for sacrificing needlessly, but magic doesn’t exist in a void. You may believe so, but we don’t create something out of nothing. Magic always draws from somewhere—even if that somewhere draws and impacts an event clear across the universe. In this sense, alchemy and magic are alike—because we are both bound by energy and limitation. All resources are finite. But,” he gathered up his bloodied bandages and wearily stood from his chair, “that’s neither here nor there. Let’s hasten to the farmhouse.” Unsteady, he wobbled on his feet. “Not that I look forward to hand-delivering Vitali his personal palace invitation, but we can rest assured Tivia and Elespeth will return with us.”

After supper, Isidor and Alster set off by carriage for the third time in two days, at dutiful beck and call to the necromancer and his needs. To accommodate the number of passengers for their return trip, in addition to the small assemblage of Forbanne that gradually amassed over each visit, two carriages departed the palace grounds that evening. 

On arrival, Isidor and Alster, flanked by guards, knocked on the farmhouse door and announced their presence. Tivia opened the door, etherea spear perched menacingly in her hand. He gazed nervously at the weapon, unsure if she’d disperse it unless she received word of their promised item. “We have the talisman.” In a pop and sizzle of scorched air, the spear disseminated into smoke. She stood aside and allowed them entry. The Forbanne stood guard outside. 

“Have there been any other attacks? If so, you’re all thankfully unharmed,” he gazed in particular to Elespeth, who emerged from the back room, looking no worse than he left her the previous night. 

“No. Though we’ve heard plenty of howling and growling from a distance. Turns out the mongrel is good for something, after all. But he hasn’t returned.”

“Then we’ll just have to go on without him. Keep his clothes here--but take the dagger and the swatch of fabric. Having them in our possession ensures we’ll be able to track Bronwyn and Rowen’s flight patterns...should we reconvene with Hadwin in the future. But for now--Vitali,” he nodded to the sachel slung over Isidor’s shoulder and approached the necromancer, who lounged in his favored chair near the fire, perfectly unfazed (and perfectly infuriating in his calculated indifference). “We created what you asked for, but we can’t guarantee its efficacy. There’s only one way to test its protective qualities, and that is to carry it on your person while you ride with us to the palace. So, if you’re ready--we leave immediately. And don’t worry, we’ll ease you into the heart of Galeyn, nice and slow,” the dryness of his smile did not inspire much confidence. “We promise.”