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

For perhaps the first time since they had formally met in Tadasun’s encampment, Vega found herself wholly unable to decipher the uncertainty behind Haraldur’s words and demeanor. Something was on his mind; something that hadn’t been on his mind the night before, when they joked about visiting the hot springs, prior to fooling around in her large bath tub for the good part of an hour. Her first thought was that something must have transpired between himself and Caris, while they had casually trained that morning. Her brother might have finally begun to take a liking to the mercenary, but it did not mean that Caris was stable in his moods and opinions toward people. Nonetheless… tension between her lover and her brother had never seemed to affect the former on such a profound level.

“Oh, I know you didn’t mean anything by it.” She replied, with regard to his assurance that he had by no means intended to guilt her into coming good on the promise she had made to him back at Tadasun’s encampment. “But honestly, it is something we should have done sooner. I was serious when I made the offer; and I would like you to see more of what Eyraille has to offer. As it stands, you’ve only really become acquainted with the palace and its surrounding area--which I know is not the pinnacle of your comfort. Besides… it’s been a while since we’ve had the opportunity to be truly alone.

Encircling his warm hands with her chilly ones, she added, “I can speak with my brother. There isn’t much that Eyraille can do for Stella D’Mare at the moment, save for continue to plan our strategy against Mollengard. Missing a day will not be of any consequence. We can take the resonance stone with us, in case Chara sees fit to contact us for any reason.”

It was strange, how he seemed to deflect the decision entirely over to her. As if he was afraid of choosing for himself; afraid of disappointing her. Just seconds ago, he seemed insistent in rejecting her offer, like it no longer meant anything as a promise. Perhaps she did feel somewhat dejected; perhaps it showed on her face, when she had only sought to initiate something that would make him happy. And as soon as he voices his concerns, he promptly reconsidered. The Skyknight frowned ever so slightly; since when did he see fit to give her an option? He had always been more apt to call her out on reckless ideas or ones that he did not deem safe or wise, and he would stand by it.Yet, suddenly… he had no opinion.

The question was… what did she want to do? “I… want to make you comfortable here, Haraldur. That is what I want to do.” She told him in earnest. “I know how difficult it has been for you, here, at this palace. In this kingdom. My brother has not been easy on you; this culture hasn’t. I don’t want you to just… tolerate being here. I want it to be a home, for you; so I want to show you the places that you can consider home. So… I want to do this. Let me take you to the hot springs; let’s hunk an elk. Whatever we don’t eat, we can divvy up between the refugees. That is what I want.”

And that was all it took for him to agree. Though it weighed on her that it might not have been what he’d have decided, this thought had been lingering on her mind for some time, now. That the palace wasn’t, and perhaps never would be, a home for him; but that did not mean that other parts of Eyraille couldn’t be. “I think it will be good for both of us.” She added, with a reassuring smile. “Especially after that trip to Stella D’Mare… things are only going to become heavier and more daunting from here on out. Let’s take a moment to enjoy what is while we still can.”

If he wouldn't offer any further dissent, then her mind was made up. Vega smiled and released his hands. "I'll put together what we'll need for overnight. We'll need to pack warm, since the mountains will be colder than at lower elevations. Meet me back here, at the stables, in an hour."

Planting a kiss on his cheek, the Eyraillian princess left to do just as she said she would. Anything to try and feel like herself again; anything to deflect suspicion, since Haraldur had taken notice of her change in behaviour. Maybe if she acted the part--acted the way she had before Atli had struck her with such dire information--she would feel more like herself. For the only thing worse than the looming secret which was prepared to show itself before she was prepared to divulge, was the way it kept her heart and mind hostage, in a state where she felt she had to prepare for the worst, should (and when) Haraldur find out, let alone the rest of Eyraille...

As they mounted their steeds, Senyiah turned toward Alster, seemingly hesitant to answer his question. But when it appeared that Lilica had taken interest in the topic, as well, she decided it was best not to antagonize the new Tenebris savior, however much she questioned her judgment. "Our steeds and mares and are adept to cut through time, to an extent, when night falls. There is no limit to their range; as soon as the sun sets, and the moment before it rises, they can travel far and wide, without expending exorbitant energy. But, as it stands now..." Her mouth turned downward in a frown. "Like our population of people, it appears as though our animals and livestock have also dwindled. Only the strong and young were able to endure the longevity of Theomyr Tenebris's spell. I can look into the possibility of sparing horses for your cause, but I cannot guarantee that it will be many."

While later they went on to deliberate the possibility of Galeyn accepting evacuees, and the young man with the prosthetic arm pressed that the people of his city could offer valuable services to the Night Garden, however, that was where Senyiah stopped in her tracks. There was no trace of anger on her face, just exhaustion. It wasn't his fault; no one was at fault for lacking and understanding of the Night Garden and its surrounding area. There was much even Lilica had to learn. But there wasn't enough time in a day to inform them on everything that they would need to know. "While I appreciate the sentiment, you must understand that our Gardeners are not of he average variety. We do the usual regime of weeding and watering and fertilizing, but it is more than just that. We have a connection with the Garden; we are chosen by it, early on in our lives. We know what it needs, and when it needs it. It picks its keepers, and has done so for as long as anyone can remember. To be chosen as a Gardener is an honour."

"So it is no choice of your own, if you serve the Night Garden." Lilica observed, trying to piece together the intricacies of this alien place and its odd, magical vibrations. "And what if it chooses you, and you refuse?"

"That is seldom the case. Our Gardeners take pride in their work and are heavily respected and revered, and the Garden seems to have been careful not to choose unwilling souls. But despite what you all might be thinking, at this point in time, it is not a malicious thing." Treading the pristine halls of the palace, all which looked wholly untouched, as if it hadn't been dormant and hidden for over a century, they neared one of the entrances of a garden; ornate doors of pure glass, so clean and crystal clear that they almost appeared non-existent. "No one is forced into servitude toward the Garden. But you are correct; we reap what we sow. And the Garden is as it is now because of how Theomyr, the Gardeners, and all of our predecessors have chosen to respect and care for it. To nourish it with positive energy. Whether or not what our former king did to have it enact a curse on one particular being was a formidable decision stands to reason. But at the time, Galeyn was threatened by another force, one that we narrowly avoided. He set the trap in our best interests--and in the interest of the Garden. If you think that what he has done is terrible, then imagine the havoc that could be wreaked, should a powerful person with evil intentions have the opportunity to influence the Garden."

Senyiah looked as though she was about to leave them to explore the Garden of their own accord, until the questions kept coming. And one glance at her fellow Gardeners--on their knees in the dirt, weeding and tending and trimming, all the while wearing expressions of exhaustion and loss--made her realize that she was perhaps the best candidate to answer their queries, at this time. "All of Galeyn thrives at its best when night falls. The Garden is no exception." She explained, standing back as they marveled at the impossibly large and bright flora. "It has always been this way. Our Garden flourishes in the night; our steeds defy time and distance by night. As a rule, our magic is more potent and powerful by night. Legend has it that eons ago, the kingdom was established by a deity of the night, as a sort of shrine to best exhibit its power, and what it has to offer."

Lilica was suddenly struck by her words. Turning from the large tree, which still bore her bloody handprint like a signature, she met Senyiah's eyes. "And what of the magic of Galeyn? Aside from the night Garden... what is the nature of it? How have people managed to harness darkness that poisons them... and the people around them?"

The tall Gardener, for the first time that day, looked positively shocked and taken aback by Lilica's inquiry. She shook her head. "I'm afraid I don't know what you mean. Darkness and night are merely two sides to the same coin; but our people do not suffer from their magic. If this is something that you have experienced..." Her face twisted into a wary expression. "My guess would be something has gone awry with the magic. Without careful guidance and training, and power will inevitably take on a course of its own, whether or not it is the will of the bearer. It isn't something to be taken lightly, and perhaps it is a boon that you have come upon the Garden, now. It has been known to help redirect magical energies gone awry, in the past. But, for you..." She turned to Alster, her eyes falling upon his arm. "I know that in the past, the Garden has been witnessed to perform miracles. Sight to the unseeing, muscle mass in those too weak to stand on their legs. I cannot say for sure if it could go so far as to grow you another arm, if that is what you are asking... but I also would not believe it is beyond the realm of possibility."

Alster's final question caused Senyiah to wrinkle her nose, though it was one that she had heard before, from travelers in the past. "There is no 'bottling up' what our Garden can provide. It works where it is rooted. To my knowledge, it is the only santcum of its kind in existence, but that is purely speculation."

"Long ago, you gifted Braighdath with a seed from the Night Garden." Sigrid finally cut in, having fallen quiet during the majority of the back and forth conversation. "It has helped us, but over the years, has grown sickly since the disappearance of your kingdom. Is this not a viable way to share in the Garden's gifts?"

"Braighdath was fortunate in that the seed took to its soil. We have attempted this, before, many a time in the past, and all too often, flora from the Night Garden does not seem to thrive outside of Galeyn." The dark-haired Gardener ventured to explain. "It required a lot of effort on the part of our Gardeners, and in the end, luck just so happened to be on our side. Otherwise, you would see more sanctums of this kind throughout the continent."

Lilica, who had been looking off into the distance for some time, her eyes as faraway as her mind, at last rejoined the conversation. "Thank you for your time, Senyiah. I'm sorry if our questions have been burdensome; might we take some time to get acquainted with the Garden?"

The Gardener tried her best not to look relieved. "By all means. I will be nearby if you have further questions; as will the other Gardeners."

She stepped away, to allow the travelers time to themselves. "I still have mixed feelings about this place." The chthonic mage confided in Alster. "After seeing what it was capable of inflicting on Vitali. But... if it can find a means to heal your arm," she nodded at the metal prosthetic, "it might change my mind." She did not bother to let on that she thought what the woman had told her--about her own magic gone awry--did not resonate as a possibility. At some point, pathways were carved, and some habits were not redeemable, could not be changed. And after all she had done to work on her rapport with her own magic, and all of her failed attempts to tame it... even in the presence of the Night Garden, she had her doubts.

"I wouldn't worry, Vega." He closed the distance between them, after ensuring that no one was nearby. It didn't seem to matter at this rate; the palace was well aware of his and the Sorde princess's not-so-secret liaisons. "I've never had a home. Even the place where I grew up wasn't really a home. Taking on the burden of creating one for me, when I couldn't even tell you what it feels like to have one," he shook his head, "that's not your responsibility. You're doing all that you can for me, here, and it doesn't go unappreciated. I've felt more welcome here than I initially thought I would. I knew it wouldn't be easy to integrate, but I've made do under far more hostile conditions. You don't have to try so hard, on my account." He cupped the side of her face with his rough and callused hand. "Worry about yourself. Take care of yourself. That's what I want from you."

And, withdrawing from her receptive touch, he gave her an affirming nod. "We'll go," he conceded. "You're right; when will we have another opportunity?" On multiple accounts, that was true. Not only because of the pressing threat of Mollengard, but also because her increasingly growing stomach would confine her more to the palace. And when she gave birth...

If, he corrected himself. If she gives birth. And if she's even pregnant at all.

"I'll collect a few belongings, too," he said, before the awkward silence he left between them continued to widen. "I'll see you in an hour." He leaned forward, gave her a quick kiss on the lips, and took his leave through the courtyard doors.

Honoring their arrangement, he arrived at the roc stables an hour later, dressed in furs and leather. A scarf hung from around his neck, and he carried a helmet in his hands. Strapped to his back was an unstrung bow and accompanying quiver. A satchel hugged his waist, filled with miscellaneous hunting supplies, an extra set of clothes, and a few snacks: primarily dried fruit, jerky, and a small loaf of bread.

"I spoke to a few Skyknights along the way," he said, after greeting Vega. He aligned beside her, where she had saddled their roc for departure, along with her own bags of supplies. "They all had different opinions on where to find the best hunting grounds. And hot springs, too. But I told them I'd defer to you. And," he eased into a smile, "they promptly stopped talking."

After they guided the giant avian out of the stables and toward the launching pad, where awaited yet another cold, frost-tipped day, Haraldur slipped on his helmet and mounted in the saddle behind Vega. But as he was about to ring his arms around her waist, he hesitated. He usually gave it a firm hold, as he'd been instructed to do during their prior aerial rides. Instead, he positioned his arms a little higher, where they hung secure but more loosely around her ribcage.

"I'm ready when you are," he effused, hoping his loud enthusiasm would distract her from his awkward hand placement. Apparently, it had worked. With the flick of her reins, the roc spread its massive wings, and, running along the length of the launching pad, pushed from the ground, into the clear, azure day. Though he'd long-accustomed himself to air travel, he never tired of the views, and as the rock-artifice of the palace faded from behind him, he kept his eyes to the mountains ahead, and to the skeins of sun-bright rivers and streams in the valleys below.

Their destination became clear after a half hour of travel. They had ascended in elevation, up to a different mountain range from the one he'd traversed frequently, as a guide for the refugees. From what he could tell of direction, they were heading south and to the west, to a hotspot of geothermal activity--as he could tell, from the plumes of clouds blowing off the edge of a plateau, itself looking like a perching dragon ready to catch them in whirls of flame. When they landed, a short distance away from the billowing steam clouds, he removed his hands from her waist with more eagerness than he'd have liked, and vaulted off the side of the roc, feet meeting ground that lacked any substantial snow.

"Might have jumped off...a little too quick." He rested an arm against the feathery mass of the roc, for emphasis. "You'd think I'd learn." But he was feeling better an instant after the announcement. In truth, the quick maneuver didn't affect him much at all...and he was saying whatever he could to distract the Skyknight from his strange behavior, which even he noted was not so subtle.

"Well," he pulled one of the saddlebags from the roc and hefted it on his shoulder, "lead the way. I don't want to choose the wrong pool and end up boiling the both of us alive." The four of us alive. "I'll admit, I don't have many fond memories of hot springs. When they trained us in East Mollengard, the Crater was the caldera of an extinct volcano. On site was a hot spring. A tiny, muddy pool, but it was our only source of bathing water. Every day, we had to fight each other for the privilege of using it. Just as we had to fight each other to eat. And to sleep. And," he trailed off with a sigh, "well, this story got away from me. If I allow it...pretty much anything can remind me of my days as Forbanne. So little remains untainted. It took...years, to see the world as something beautiful again, instead of something to fend off and destroy. Those Forbanne in Stella D'Mare," he looked over the horizon, though it was partially obscured by the white smoke rolling off the spring, "maybe...they'll be able to find it, too. Beauty. A merciful world." He looked to Vega, and pressed a steady hand on her shoulder. "A home. A...family."

As Alster moved along the Garden, entranced by the proliferation of unique botany, he kept an attentive ear to Senyiah and her informative commentary. Knowing what he did now, he decided against connecting a curious hand to a three-pronged petal, or stroking along the swirling patterns of tree bark. He was all too conscious of this magical haven, and any reckless interaction with the flora could disturb the fragile ecosystem that the Gardeners were working so attentively to preserve. And as Senyiah had made quite clear, it was only the chosen who could harness its energies. He tried to hide his disappointment. Here, he had wanted to study the Night Garden's properties, and utilize its strong healing components in his spells. But only the chosen Gardeners were given that specialization, and heeding the call essentially bound them to the earth where the Garden lived, and thrived.

And yet...something did not add up.

"If the Night Garden remains fixed along this axis point, why are the intentions of one powerful sorceress, an outsider, no less, enough to endanger an entire kingdom, and beyond? Was she chosen by the Garden? How else would she have influence over it, so much so that Theomyr found it imperative to hide this kingdom away in stasis?" He stopped in his meanderings to look at the tree in the Garden's center, its high-reaching branches scraping the sky, as if intending to puncture a leak in it, and flood them all in gouts of rain. "Is this 'dark' side of the Garden, that Theomyr manipulated, an equal part of its creation? Could it be that this god of Night and Darkness had created it with that specific use in mind? Because if the darkness can spread...why can't any Gardener spread the Garden's beneficial qualities in equal measure? Going about and planting seeds when there's such a high chance of failure," he clicked his tongue against his teeth. "...There has to be an easier way."

At this point, he was speaking his musings aloud, not quite expecting anyone to answer him. But as he caught the Head Gardener's eye, he turned to her, and gave a sheepish smile in apology. "I'm too curious for my own good. I've run you ragged. Hear me out for a little longer, and then I'll leave you alone."

With care, he removed his prosthetic arm from its sling, and activated it with a surge of magic. It jerked to life, in a haphazardly controlled hover. The pain of its movements pinged and stung him with knots of tension that was becoming all too familiar. "So it's possible, then. But if we're being honest," he gave a hard smile, "not likely. But could it heal severe burn scars? My kin--you've seen her. Half her face was subjected to a terrible fire, magically-produced, so as to prevent conventional healing. She may not be able to regain her missing eye, but revitalizing ravaged skin seems like a far more feasible task than regrowing one's arm."

The steel of his prosthetic arm seemed to blaze in the sun, a reflecting beacon that was painful to look at for long. He lowered it back into its sling, obscuring it into shadow. "One more question, and I'll cease bothering you. After all, this is not my kingdom, and I'm threatening to disrupt the peace you fine people are so desperate to regain, after sleeping for so long. You don't owe me any explanations. But," he looked to the ground, not quite knowing how to phrase the question in any way but bluntly. "Theomyr's spell. The one that encased this kingdom and put you all to sleep. Do you know how he managed it? Was it through his own magical abilities? Or did he use the Night Garden?" He worried she'd interpret his question the wrong way. That in his asking, he was implying that he wanted to use the spell for his own ends. In part, that was true. But not on Galeyn. ...And only as a last resort.

"If Stella D'Mare could disappear for a little while," he began, timid and under his breath, "maybe that would be for the best. For everyone."

Shaking away his dark reverie, he presented Senyiah with another apologetic smile, and excused himself before she thought to throw him out of the Night Garden on the grounds of suspicion. He joined Lilica, who was burdened with her own slew of concerns.

"I agree," he said, watching as lily-pad blossoms opened and closed like butterfly wings. "If this is really a sanctum of the god of Night and Darkness, then this Garden has a sort of duality to it. As with any powerful magic, and I mean any powerful magic," he gave Lilica a pointed look, "it's capable of great harm, but also of great benefit. I'm of the belief that this Garden was never for a single-minded purpose. That what we saw attack Vitali is yet another one of its aspects, and not an aberration, or an abomination. But that's just my hypothesis. Nothing is so pure, as we've both discussed and agreed on. But in the same vein, nothing is so dark that it isn't redeemable. As we may come to learn from your brother. Or," he cocked his head to one side, recalling what she admitted to the Head Gardener moments ago, "your wayward magic. Which has saved lives, too, Lilica. And if you remember, I've seen the light that shines at its core. We discovered it, together." He stared at his hands, one which caught the shadows of the garden in soft shades, and one still emblazoned from the sun in sharp, contrasting points. "I'm living proof that light and dark can reside in one person." Though it is to darkness that I lean, and darkness that I have chosen...

“Contrary to your firmly held beliefs, Haraldur, I do take care of myself.” The Skynight teased him… and oh, if only he knew the half of it. The nightly baths to calm her nerves, and to maintain a warm body temperature, now that she knew that her body wasn’t functioning to merely sustain his own life. In fact, to her credit, Vega had been more careful, since learning of her improbable condition. Whether or not she wanted this child--or was it children?--they had not asked for life. And it had occurred to her that, if this was the only chance her compromised body might get to ever bear a family of her own… was it so wise to pass it up? I can’t do that to them; I can’t do that to Haraldur. “Let me keep my promise to you. I’ll see you here in an hour, soldier, and no later.”

To his credit, the mercenary did meet her at the stables in an hour, wrapped in leathers and furs. Everything necessary to guard himself against the nipping winds of the mountains, along with other provisions, she noted, including a hunting bow. Well, he was taking it seriously, at the very least; obliging her request. But she was determined to see him enjoy himself. Maybe a dip in the hot springs and some hunting (as he had been wont to do for some time, it seemed) would liven up his spirits, as well. “Well, I’m sure their input is valuable,” she commented, with regard to his conversation with the Skyknights. “But I’ve frequented the mountains enough in my lifetime that I think I know where you’ll have the best experience. Come on.” She urged him toward one of the rocs; a young male called Saben, who had taken to her mounting him without a fuss. Though it was obvious in more ways than one that she had not yet moved on from her attachment to Aeriel, the bond between a Skyknight and their roc was a sacred one, and since Saben was just being broken in as avian cavalry, he hadn’t yet found a permanent rider. So far, Vega had been the most frequent to ride him, though she had made no formal mention of adopting him as her own.

“You won’t break me, you know,” she told the mercenary, who climbed on behind her, and quickly adjusted his hold. “If you don’t hold tight, you’re going to fall. Don’t make me have to dive to rescue you.” Though she was only teasing, that was, in fact, something that Skyknights were trained to do. Flashing him a quick grin, she pulled her own helmet over her head, before coaxing Saben into the air.

They took to the clear skies of late morning, and the Eyraillian princess adjusted their route to one that Haraldur was not familiar with. During their last visit to the mountains, their destination had been the refugee village; this time, she took him opposite that direction, toward the hotter part of the mountains, which, in the past had seen the likes of an active volcano. Now, and for the past hundreds of years, it had lain dormant, but the heated platelets beneath the rock were enough to warm the springs where rain water tended to collect. They landed near one such spot where steam rose from a pool of water the size of a small lake. Haraldur dismounted the second the roc’s taloned feet hit the ground, and Vega couldn’t help but wince at the impact he must have felt on his knees. “Either you’re eager to get away from me, or too excited to climb into the springs.” She teased, though not without a hint of concern for his suddenly divergent behaviour. “Come on. This is my favorite spring. The only intruders we might find are wild rocks, but there’s enough privacy that we shouldn’t have to worry about nosy onlookers who happen to be taking to the skies. Eyraille is on the other side of this mountain.”

Nearing the edge of the water, the steam hit them almost immediately, causing perspiration to gather on their skin.

Haraldur’s account of his experience with hotsprings did almost instantly dampen the mood; in that if it was something she had known prior to this, she would never have suggested they come here. Her eyes were apologetic when they met his. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know,” she sighed. “We don’t have to stay. It was just a silly idea; we still have all of our supplies to go hunting, if you’d prefer to get an early start on that, instead.” But the mercenary reassured her that no harm was done--and that he had his mind set on changing the way he perceived the world. To no longer look at it through the jaded lens that Mollegard had forced on him. Offering a soft smile, she told him, “I won’t make you fight me to have access to this hot spring. But I do enjoy spending time in them; you might have to fight me to convince me to get out.”

Of course, it was a joke in every sense of the words and tone, but… Haraldur didn’t smile; didn’t seem to pick up on it. It struck her as odd, along with the rest of his uncharacteristic behaviour, which seemed to only have developed today. Last night, he had been his typical, playful, passionate self, and today he was… careful. Cautious, almost to the point where he seemed to be holding his breath…

Stripping off her leathers and furs, Vega did not hesitate to get out of her clothes and put them aside, eager to make that transition from cold to warm. The spring itself was a godsent; warm as a bath, bubbling in some areas, and deep enough to submerge up to the neck. On any other occasion, it would have been relaxing and luxurious; would have been enough to allay her concerns and make her feel like herself again. Except… that she couldn’t. Not when Haraldur was very clearly not himself. One by one, her mind began to piece it all together. His almost instant refusal to come into the mountains, concerned for her well-being. His comment about not having another opportunity, when at last he’d agreed. The awkward way in which his arms had encircled her ribcage, instead of her waist, during their flight; and the hasty way in which he’d released her when Saben had all but barely landed. And that look in his green eyes, when he’d put his hand on her shoulder, and the word ‘family’ passed his lips…

Tough up to her neck in warm, bubbling waters, Vega suddenly felt chilled. A long silence had lapsed between them before she ventured, unable to look him in the eye, “...you know.” Not a question; an affirmation. She didn’t have to look at him to know that she was right. “Who… told you? I don’t care; it doesn’t matter who. But I’d thought… this is not public knowledge.” Suddenly self-conscious, she wrapped her arms around her torso. “It wasn’t supposed to be…”

It went without saying that mention of the sorceress who was the reason that Galeyn had to sleep for over a century put the tall Gardener on edge, as well as any Gardeners who happened to be nearby, within earshot of the conversation. This time, Senyiah did not endeavor to hide her discontent. “We’d rather not speak so soon of the reason this kingdom had to endure its stasis,” she replied, albeit a little sharply. “I cannot tell you in detail about the person who endangered us. But our King, who was not one to make mountains out of molehills, saw her as a dire threat, and recognize that putting his kingdom to sleep was the only way to save us.”

“Please accept our apologies,” Sigrid besought, in an effort to spare Alster from stammering an apology, but also to placate the woman who so kindly answered all of their questions. “We are merely trying to understand. The nature of this kingdom, and this Garden, and all that it entails.”

Since Senyiah had appeared to take a liking to Sigrid (which was likely entirely due to the fact that not only was she a Dawn warrior, but one who bore the sword, Gaolithe), her shoulders relaxed and her mood returned to its placid evenness. Tucking her dark hair behind her ears, she sighed. “There is no darkness about this Garden.” She went on, moving to his next question, instead. “It is neither a pure, nor an evil thing. Simply neutral; a place of awesome capabilities and power, but also subject to the will of others. We know for a fact that spreading its seed to yield flora that heal is a difficult task. We have never, in our history, sought to spread its seed for evil purposes, so whether or not that is by any stretch an easier feat remains unknown to us. All we know is that Locque, in gaining our king’s trust, somehow managed to gain access to the Night Garden. And I am willing to be that she, herself, did not know with any certainty if her plans to turn the garden into something terrible would be sufficient enough to terrorize the rest of the world. But she was certainly willing to try.”

Oddly enough, as he asked after the possibility to heal the burnt skin of his wounded cousin, the topic appeared one far easier, and less uncomfortable for the Head Gardener to discuss. Senyiah nodded. “The girl who insisted on staying with the fallen man; the one whom the Garden attacked.” She confirmed. “I know to whom you are referring. “And yes, what you are asking is feasible of the Night Garden. I doubt that results would be instantaneous, but under the supervision of an experienced Gardener, over time, it could potentially heal her face. Replace scar tissue with skin; stimulate the growth of new hair. Her eye… that much, I cannot speak for. But her scarring is something that we can look into, once the Garden is at its prime, again. Should you--should she--desire it.”

Lilica couldn’t help but smile, and nudged Alster’s good arm. “If it can do that much,” she mentioned, “then already, I feel our travel has been justified.”

But that moment of happy reassurance passed, as soon as Alster posed his question. By the looks on Lilica and Sigrid’s faces alone, it was clear that they feared Senyiah would suspect the very same thing: that he intended to learn the spell as a means to an end that might not be worth it. Astonishingly enough, the Gardener, for all of his questions, did not seem fazed by this inquiry in particular. “The spell, to my understanding, was not a result of the Night Garden’s magic. It was entirely Theomyr’s doing; it was a curse, which he twisted and tweaked, in a desperate attempt to save us. To put us out of harm’s reach. I do not know the nature of your magic, from whence you hail, but…” She cast a sidelong glance at Lilica. “Perhaps, with your Tenebris companion’s help, it could be something to consider. Most definitely less of a risk, if you plan to evacuate the city, beforehand. But, that is of course, your business.”

With Senyiah gone, they were left to their own devices and explorations. Yet despite Alster’s need for clarification, so much about the Garden and this kingdom continued to remain a nebulous mystery to Lilica. And after Senyiah suggested that she help Alster find a way to put the city of Stella D’Mare to sleep… somehow, it made her feel violated. Just the thought of casting the very same curse that her father had, even to benefit a city that had been evacuated… She could not say for certain that she wanted to follow so closely in the former king’s footsteps. “I knew as soon as I saw Vitali bleeding on the ground that this place was no miracle.” She murmured, so torn between the vibrant beauty that surrounded her, and the equally dark secrets that stirred within the quiet flora. “I don’t know what it can do for my magic. For all of our efforts, I am still a chthonic mage, Alster. Your nature might have that inherent duality of sharing the opposite sides of the same coin, but there is no night in my abilities; only darkness, that has saved lives only through taking that of others. Only through destroying a threat...” For all she’d hated Adalfieri… the image of him shriveling before her, gasping for breath, would remain imprinted on her mind forever.

“But… we can focus on what is feasible. Like healing Tivia’s face. I don’t understand enough about this Garden, so we’ll have to defer to the Gardeners. And…” Her face darkened. “...I need to contact my father again. I did what he asked; this is his kingdom, and it has been revived. So if there is away for him to return to a corporeal form… then I need to convince him to do it. I hate to ask, and be a bother, but…” Lilica turned to Alster, apology written in her dark eyes. “Will you accompany me? I don’t like speaking with him alone. He’s manipulative… Vitali inherited that trait honestly.”

While it was true that the more he pushed himself past his torturous years as a Forbanne soldier by inputting better memories over the cruelty used to train him, the more he could bridge distance from the pain, Haraldur knew he would never forget, either. His mind was a montage of images, flicking by with the speed of a hummingbird's wingbeats. His stomach reacted to the thoughts, a tightening and a twisting that resulted in the stiffening of his entire body. He remembered those long days at the Crater. Remembered the slop they were forced to eat--when they were fed at all. He remembered scooping up dirt and stuffing greedy handfuls into his mouth. He remembered sticking his hands into a boiling lake, a test of his devotion and pain tolerance. They'd heal his cracked and bleeding fingertips, back when healing magic had worked on him, and command him to do it again. And again. And again.

Even now, his hands reacted with a shiver that circled all five digits inward, like shrinking flowers. Though he'd bathed in hot springs since then, and could disassociate himself from the memory, the thoughts still kept him company. The smells of his own skin, burning. The sinister delight in the eyes of his masters. The knowledge that he could never run, no matter what he did. The pain will stop if you submit, they'd said, with calm detachment. Surrender to it.

So he did.

Haraldur walked to the water's edge, and pulled off his many layers, as Vega did before him. Setting them in a pile next to her things, he strode along the lake's perimeter, bare feet interacting with the heated rocks, black, porous mounds that littered the entirety of the plateau. Finding a favorable entry point, he waded in, and the lapping of the rotten-smelling water eventually traveled up to his shoulders, where they stopped. He swam through the lake a few times, dunked his head underwater, and allowed the comforting sensations to knead through his sore and tender muscles.

When he completed a few turns around the spring, he joined with Vega, who was propped up against a shelf of black lava rocks, a promontory that jutted halfway into the water like a natural diving board, or walkway. He rested alongside her, his bare shoulders nestling up against the stones, themselves providing a welcoming massage for his joints.

He was content to sit there in silence, listening to the bubble of the spring, and feeling the refreshing breeze against his heated cheeks. He was about to close his eyes and relax, when two words sounded from Vega's lips. You know.

His eyes blinked open, and he sat upright from the massaging shelf of rocks. The sudden movement caused a small splash to shoot up between them. He was...right? All those signs were not due to his overblown imagination? His shoulders seemed to sag with the truth that peppered her lips. He nodded, bowing his head toward the water.

"No one told me. Not directly. I was pointed in that direction, and everything else I noticed was an echo of that initial suspicion. I saw you run out of Atli's tent. And took note of your change in attitude since then. Something was on your mind, something so secret that you couldn't share it with me. Nobody else knows," he said, betraying no hint of emotion throughout his dialogue. "Except maybe Grandmother Alta. She was the one to bring the matter to my attention."

A tense silence pervaded in the air between them, a difference from the comfortable silence from before. He looked off into the distance, as far as the steam-clouds would allow.

"I know that this wasn't planned, between us. That we don't even know how it happened. How it could possibly..." he paused, and couldn't finish the thought. "No one...no one is expecting you to carry to term." But his eyes told a different story. They drooped, and the color of its warmth filmed away into muted sadness. "Who knows what carrying them will do to your health? What it may already be doing to you?" That sadness gave way to worry. He turned to her, and took her in his arms with a suddenness that caused another splash between them.

"I can't force you to do anything you don't want to. While I can influence your actions, it's ultimately you who gets to decide. But just like my accompaniment with you to Stella D'Mare...I'll support you. I'll stay by your side through this." He picked her hands up from the water, and held them like precious artifacts that he'd excavated from the ground. "I love you, Vega. And we'll figure this out." He planted a kiss on her lips. "I won't let you deal with this alone."

What he didn't share aloud, however, was the very sentiment which had lodged itself in his eyes. A family. Something long-wished for, long-desired...and long-feared. Fatherhood...was a possibility. It had become real to him. Terrifyingly real. A child. Children. Their children. His own blood...A lightheadedness shot to his head, but he doubted it was from the effects of the hot springs. Yes, fatherhood was a possibility...as were all the complications. Too numerous to count.

And would he survive, if everything were to go wrong? If he lost it all...again?

Regardless of Sigrid's apology on his behalf, Alster also stepped forward to express his shortcomings to Senyiah, before he excused himself to stroll the Garden with Lilica.

"I know I'm being uncouth, Senyiah. That this is not polite conversation, and the subjects I'm exploring are too risque, especially so soon after your kingdom's awakening. And for that, you have my sincerest apologies. But I still need to ask these questions. To know the nature of the Night Garden, and its capabilities, should it fall into the wrong hands. Lilica here is tied closely to my home of Stella D'Mare, so what affects Galeyn may in turn affect us, though we're separated by a significant distance. It's in my ken to understand, and you can rest assured that I harbor no malicious intentions; otherwise, Theomyr would have seen to my disposal, as he did for Vitali. Though, it's still possible," he offered a dark laugh. "Thank you again for being so forthright. I'll leave you to your affairs." He joined with Lilica, then, and engaged in their own conversation, soft-spoken, so to prevent curious eavesdroppers. 

As they weaved through the foliage and observed the bizarre plant life of the slowly-awakening Garden, Alster continued to lend an ear to Lilica's apprehension in regard to her magic. "I disagree with your assessment--and you may disagree with my assessment, in turn, but I'll stand by it. Because I was there, in your mind. Because I've seen, and I've touched the face of its purity. Darkness is not evil. Not inherently. Yes, we may use the term to refer to evil acts. I do, myself. I've strayed into darkness, Lilica. I've become less pure, less of myself. But that kind of darkness is different from what I see in you."

He stopped before the tree, the massive centerpiece, its broad leaves and numerous limbs casting the Garden in a preternatural shade. But it did not perpetuate gloom; rather, it accentuated the Garden's beauty, which thrived in darkness and shadow. Before them, Lilica's bloody handprint, now rust-colored, stared at them from a knot in the bark, a reminder of the promise that she made, and kept, and signed, with an incarnadine signature.

"Adalfieri baited you, Lilica," he said, as if reading her mind. "He pressured you into using your power, by threatening your life and Lysander's. You were backed into a corner; it was self-defense. Your magic will naturally reroute itself to its last known method of use, as instinct dictates. But that was not the last time you used your magic. When you sealed the Serpent from its chthonic power--did that not save lives, without affecting the lives of others, save for your own?"

He watched a curious fungus that bobbed outwards from the base of the tree. It was all black, with a bell-like bulb at its tip. It bobbed in the breeze, as the veins of its underside flashed a subtle purple. "It's not darkness that holds you at bay. It's fear of the darkness. But," he puffed out a sigh, "there's little I can say to change your mind about your magic. But I will say that you harness a self-fulfilling prophecy. And that you're right. A garden of purported miracles can't mitigate decades of abuse, which now manifest in your inherent abilities. Healing is possible, yes, but it's not instantaneous. And since miracles, by their definition, are generally fast-acting, we can't rely on the Garden to cure...well...you. It can't cure me, either." He gave her a wan smile. "Only parts of me--if that."

When the dark mage requested that he accompany her to visit Theomyr once more, he pursed his lips, but answered with a dip of a nod. "I expect the encounter will be rife with tension, after what happened with Vitali. But yes, I'll accompany you. I would like to ask him about that spell. Not that it would do much good for Stella D'Mare; if it were to 'vanish' under Mollengard's feet, then it'd only bring more attention to the city. For a kingdom to fade without detection, when much of the world knows of its existence...is that even possible? Galeyn has the luxury of being virtually unknown and hidden, even before its disappearance. Stella D'Mare isn't so fortunate. I suppose," he lifted his good arm into a shrug, "karma caught up to the city of wealth and excess. But I digress. We'll talk to Theomyr. And if possible, I'll see if I can help coax him into a corporeal form." His eye caught the bloody handprint once again. "But, and I hate to say this...your blood awakened this kingdom. You willingly engaged in a primal ceremony. By awakening it," he hesitated, "I think you may have inherited it."

It was just as she’d suspected. He didn’t even have to ask what she meant at her comment; they were on precisely the same page, though how he’d gotten there still bewildered her. She hadn’t thought her behaviour had changed so drastically that it would be telling; she had no idea how Grandmother Alta could have known, given that the woman was not a healer. But all of that was a moot point, now, and the entire purpose of this trip--to liven up Haraldur’s mood, and to help her find a sense of self that she felt she’d lost in learning she was pregnant… it was all for naught. Her shoulders slouched, as she pulled her knees to her chest, unable to fully appreciate and enjoy the calming, soothing waters of the hot spring.

“You didn’t ask for this… I realize that. It’s just so… so damned ironic.” The Skyknight smiled, but there was no humor in it whatsoever. “We had been so careful, before. But after I was told… that my body cannot carry children, I became overconfident in that opinion. It shouldn’t have happened; even Atli said as much. It’s an impossibility that somehow became possible, and I am the one at fault for it. For telling you that you needn’t be so careful when we’re intimate, because nothing would come of it…”

It was true, that no one expected her to carry to term; no one else knew for that expectation to be possible. But within that suggestion that she somehow try to force an abortion, that it might still be early enough to not be immediately dangerous… She fixed her pale eyes on Haraldur, determination lining her otherwise worried face. “We didn’t ask for this--but neither did this unborn child. Or… children, as Atli seemed to think. My father was a twin…” Vega blew air from between her lips, trying to sink further into the calm waters. “And who knows if we will have another chance, Haraldur? I must already be over a month into this; it hasn’t hurt me yet. No more than feeling nauseated during the mornings, which is to be expected anyway. I…”

The princess paused, finding herself encased in Haraldur’s strong arms, and after a beat, she returned the embrace. “I remember the look in your eyes, when I told you I wasn’t capable of having children. How… hurt you were. Not that you would ever admit it to me, but I could tell… and I understand.” Pulling away just enough to meet his eyes, she reached up to cup his face. “Eyraille isn’t going to be happy about this. What little respect anyone has left for the deserter queen will surely go out the window, when they learn of an unplanned pregnancy. Caris may very well refuse to ever speak to me again. But… deep down, I’ve always wanted this with you. A family. And if it is our only chance… then I don’t want to give it up. It may not be what the kingdom wants, or what Caris wants, or what convention wants. But, finding myself in this situation, however terrifying it might be… this is what I want. And I want to pursue it, but only if it is what you want, as well.”

Smiling, the steam from the hot spring having loosened some copper strands from the weave pinned to the back of her neck, Vega reached up to cup Haraldur’s face. “I owe you an enormous apology, though. For not… telling you sooner, when it directly involves you.” The softness in her voice, and the guilt in her eyes, was more of an apology than words could properly articulate. “I was afraid… of what you might think. That you might run away if you found out, since we are so unprepared. And I didn’t want to lose you…” In hindsight, it was foolish to think that this could drive him away. But a part of her had somehow been convinced that he was not ready to make such a commitment to her. Before, had he walked away, it would have been possible to free himself of any ties to Eyraille. But now, with a legacy, with his own flesh and blood developing in her womb… it was not that easy, anymore. “My decision is this, Haraldur: if, and only if, you want to be a father… then I want to have these children.” Her mouth formed into a soft smile, meeting the warm green of his eyes. “Otherwise… I don’t know that I want to do this, alone. That’s why I need you to be careful. I need you to survive this, and I need you to return from Stella D’Mare… do you understand? I want this--I do. But I do not want to raise children without a father.”

But now, with all of their pretenses out of the way, and with no secrets between them, a disappointment developed in Vega’s gut that this casual, entertaining outing was all in vain, after they hour they’d taken to prepare to leave. “I realize you only agreed to come here, because I said that I wanted to.” She confided, dropping her hands from his face and looking sheepish. “I didn’t mean to bully you into it. I thought something else was amiss with you, so I wanted to see you have a good time. And… I wanted to try to feel more like myself. But I suppose that is a delusion that I would do well to do away with, a this point. What I mean to say is… we can return to Eyraille, if you so desire. If you have no real interest in hunting the mountain elk. Though I did mean what I said--about wanting to learn to enjoy meat, again.” The corner of her mouth curled upward in a grin, and she leaned back against the slope of the rock. “It would probably be beneficial for me, on many accounts, to have that proper nutrition. Especially if I am now eating for more than just myself…”

Perhaps it was her own stubbornness, her own ideation that the powers dwelling inside of her were inherently evil, that made it difficult for Lilica to see from Alster’s perspective. Yes, the Rigas caster had been in her mind; and there, he had helped her to repair some parts of her that had long since been broken. He’d helped her overcome the festering wounds of that injured child in her, the one who had been abandoned by the father she thought she’d known (and in reality, it had been two fathers who had left her to die…), and yet… there was been more. More than just that. Despite Alster’s dichotomous abilities, hinging on both light and dark simultaneously, Lilica’s powers were purely offensive. Purely to inflict, not to heal… she could never share in his endeavor to be a be a healer.

But even less than continuing to bear the burden of her destructive magic, did she want to be solely responsible for this kingdom--this fragile, recuperating kingdom, with its recuperating and raw people--while she couldn’t even trust herself to not inadvertently become a destructive force, or to unknowingly influence the healing properties of the Night Garden. “I thought what I was doing… to lure the Serpent to leech off of my power, was the right thing to do. In a sense, maybe it was.” She admitted, pressing her lips together thoughtfully. It unsettled her, how the flowers and the plants seem to stand tall and turn in her direction as she passed: as if they were taking in the presence of their new savior. Their new keeper… something that she did not want to be. “Except that it hurt Chara irreparably. I don’t know that she’ll ever look at me the same way, again, after what I did. I don’t know… what the future even holds for us, anymore. But I want the future to mean something. And for that… I need to return to her. I promised that I would follow her, until she tread where I could not. For that reason alone, I cannot…” She clenched her jaw, and her fists, simultaneously. “I will not take this place as my own. It is no more a home to me than Theomyr Tenebris is a father to me. In the interim, I will do what I can for these people, and I’d like to see you and Tivia benefit from what the Garden has to offer. But I will not be bonded to this place. My promise… my commitment is to Chara. Not to Galeyn.”

“And what of my burden? What of this, that has chosen me to wield it? That killed my brother just to find my hand?” Sigrid spoke up again, and her face was a stern study in frustration. She drew Gaolithe,and held it across her hand (nowhere near the bodies of her comrades) to emphasize her point. “The both of you stood before me and convinced me that this was my destiny, like it or not. That sometimes responsibility finds us, regardless of what we desire. I suppose, at the time,” she leveled Lilica with her fierce, blue eyes, “it was easy for you to say. Because you did not think that the same would happen to you.”

Sigrid Sorenson was by no means the type of person with whom Lilica cared to pick a fight, but her mood had soured since the moment they’d found Vitali, unconscious and bleeding, on the ground. As a result, she went on the defense. “Inheriting a sword, and inheriting a kingdom strike me as being two very different circumstances,” she commented in a flat tone. “I would gladly trade this place for the burden of your sword if I could.”

“Well, then. Let me know when and if you find out that is possible.” Sheathing her sword in a single, fluid motion--any by no means masking how unimpressed she was with this new Tenebris leader--the Dawn Warrior stalked off, before either or both of them could say something they regretted. It would have been a lie for Lilica to admit she did not feel a pang of guilt, knowing what Sigrid had suffered. And while Vitali had been brutally attacked the moment Galeyn came back into existence, nobody she cared for had died as a result of her awakening the kingdom.

Turning to Alster, she heaved an irate sigh. “Just… help me tonight. Long enough for me to confront him. We won’t ask about the spell if things go awry, but… that is something that I might be able to help you work, anyway.” For clarification, she added, “Think about it. The cursed sleep that I put myself under; the one that Vitali put you under, and the one that my father forced upon him. The nature of these spells seems to be a motif of those with Galeyn running through their blood. If you help me, and you confer with Chara on whether it is a wise idea… I’ll find a way to help you conceal Stella D’Mare. Even if Mollengard is already there, were it to disappear overnight, there would be nothing that they could do. Nothing for them to conquer. Think on it, anyway.”

They explored the Garden in silence for the remainder of the day, though as soon as the sun began to set, the chthonic caster immediately retired to her bedroom to try and sleep, with Alster loyally in tow. Her plan was to make contact with her father, and to awaken before the sun began to rise, so that the two of them could take one of Galeyn’s steeds to the outskirts of the kingdom to check on Vitali and regroup with Tivia. They hadn’t seen Sigrid since she’d stormed off in the Garden, and assumed that she had already began to make her trek back to oversee the situation before they returned. Astonishingly, it hadn’t taken much for her to fall asleep; she had been exhausted since Galeyn had awoken, and had slept so poorly the night before, that sleep found her without much difficulty at all. Finding her father, however, was another matter entirely.

Alster was there, in the darkness of her dreamscape, which, once again, embodied the nightmare that she relived over and over; watching Chara die and disintegrate before her very eyes. A sight that still shook her to her core, but at this point, she was so used to feeling stripped raw with anguish that at the very least, it didn’t paralyze her. But finding Theomyr Tenebris, in his dreamlike projection of the Night Garden, was more difficult that they had imagined--almost as if he did not want to be found. Each and every other time, he had come to her; pulled her out of this nightmare, into the sanctuary of that where he dwelt. This time, that was not the case, and it was only through intense, unyielding focus, and a strong desire to find the man to whom she was connected (for better or worse) that they were finally able to step out of the Nightmare. But what they found this time came as a shock. The Garden that surrounded him, once as brilliant as the Night Garden of Galeyn’s reality, had begun to wilt. The flora no longer stood tall and firm; flowers and plants wilted, the life slowly seeping out of them. Fireflies lay dying on among the grass, flickering the very last of their light. And even their father himself, whom they often found pacing the tranquil garden, had reclined on a wrought-iron bench.

When he took notice of the unexpected visitors, he did sit up and right his posture. “Lilica. And---Alster, am I right?” Theomyr rubbed the back of his neck. For the first time since she had laid eyes upon him, the former king of Galeyn looked tired. As weary as the once thriving Garden that surrounded them. “I did not expect to see you again.”

“What happened here?” The dark mage asked her father, concerned for the diminished health of the Garden, even if it was merely a projection of his memory. “It looks like it is dying…”

But Theomyr waved off her concern with a gesture of his hand. “None of this is real. It certainly does not reflect the health of the Garden in its physical form.” Tucking a stray tress of dark hair behind his ear, he folded his hands in his lap. “What can I do for you? If this is about your brother… I lifted the curse, as per your request. But neither I nor the Night Garden can play a part in his healing. That is entirely up to time and patience.”

“We aren’t here about Vitali. Actually, I… we were wondering about the spell you cast on Galeyn. To put it to sleep and conceal it from the world.” She glanced at Alster, then back again. “Stella D’Mare--where Alster is from… and where I found a home, is being threatened by the conquering nation of Mollengard. We are making plans to evacuate the city. But if it were possible to conceal it, make it impossible for anyone to reach for some amount of time… is that something that I am capable of? Is it merely a variant of the sleeping curse?”

The former king of Galeyn furrowed his eyebrows and looked pensive. He adjusted the round spectacles on his nose, though did not appear to be looking at anything in particular. “Well, first I would advise that you think well before implementing such a spell, and use it wisely. But… by evacuating your city, then that does mitigate the fact that there might be those who do not recover from it. Not to mention, if it has already been infiltrated, bear in mind that if you plan for it to encompass the city in its entirety, then those who have invaded will also go under with it. But if you are merely asking for logistics… then yes, you should be able to perform it. The spell itself is more like a curse; ritual based and with a very specific means of lifting. With the proper understanding, I could see you being successful.”

Lilica nodded, feeling a little bit more hopeful. She’d expected to find her father confrontational… instead, he seemed exceedingly neutral. Tired. “That isn’t the only reason we’re here.” The chthonic caster confided, after a moment. “Listen… I did what you want. Galeyn has awoken; the Night Garden is being restored by its Gardeners. It is safe. If you wanted a home to come back to, then you have it.”

Silence. Astonishingly, Theomyr didn’t react for a solid handful of seconds. At last, he shook his head. “Believe me, I would have no greater wish than to see my kingdom again,” he told her, “but… I don’t foresee that happening.”

“What do you mean?” Lilica felt heat creep into her cheeks, and she took a bold step forward. “You said you would return… before I ever set out to find this place.”

“I said that I would like nothing more than to return, if it were possible. Unfortunately… I paid a great price, hiding myself from Locque, while maintaining just enough of an existence to maintain a ghost of a connection to the Night Garden, and to eventually find you. As it stands…” He lifted his hands, indicating the wilting garden around him. “Even if I knew how to return to a corporeal form, I haven’t the energy or the power. I am less, now, than I was when I first entered this world of in-between.”

“So… what, then? You just expect me to stay in Galeyn? To take you place? I did not agree to this.” Clenching her hands in her fists, Lilica worked to fend off the tears threatening to fall. “I have another place I call home, and people who depend on me returning. I am not you--I cannot even trust my magic. You don’t know what I am done, what I am capable of... You… you cannot expect this of me!”

Theomyr’s smile was a sad one. Without standing, he took her hands in his own. “It is not of my own volition that I am trapped here, Lilica. If I could, I would relieve you of this burden in a heartbeat… were it up to me, I would return. I would get to know you and atone for those years that I have been gone. I would see that your magic never harmed you, or never made you question your integrity and virtue, ever again. I’d see to it that you’d have everything you wanted and needed to be happy. That you felt like you belonged, unconditionally. But there isn’t enough left of me to return… I’m sorry.”

The tears that finally trickled down Lilica’s face were not only tears of anger, but also, of sorrow. She did not want to inherit Galeyn; that much she had made evident. But what she had not been so forthcoming about was the fact that she wanted to forgive this man. She wanted to know him, to; to know the family that had she’d been denied of all her life. So that Galeyn could be a place to visit, a place to find beautiful sanctuary, but not a place to which she must be tied.

And this was precisely why she never dared to hope.

“Can’t you try?” Her plea was hardly more than a whisper. “We can help. We can get all of Galeyn to help--just tell us what we need to do. There are powerful mages at your disposal. If you are still alive, then there must be a way…”

“I may not be there in person. But I will always be there, Lilica. Somewhere between worlds, in some form. For as long as there is a memory of me, I will not fade entirely.” Raising her hands to his lips, he planted a soft kiss on them. “You may not realize it yet; you may not believe me. But you are what Galeyn needs, more than anything. My reign is over.”

Lilica opened her eyes to a dark room, with moonlight spilling through her window. It took a moment of adjustment to realize she’d woken up; that her conversation with Theomyr Tenebris was over. And that she had not been successful in convincing him to come back… because he couldn’t. She didn’t realize she was crying until she reached up and touched her wet face. “I wanted to belong… I wanted a place that could accept me.” She murmured, her hands shaking as she fought through anger and through sadness. “But I never wanted this… I never asked for this!”

Something broke--erupted--inside of her. Springing from her bed, the Tenebris daughter, her patience and hope exceeded and expired, picked up a vas, and in true Chara Rigas fashion, hurled it against the wall where it shattered. “I did not want this…!”

“You… you will make a good father, Haraldur. I know you think that there is a monster that still lurks somewhere, inside of you, but that is all in your mind.” Vega rested her hands over his, and met his eyes, through the steam rising from the hot spring. “And we will help each other. Help me be a good mother, and I’ll help you be a good father. This is why I need you, if these children are to be born… you help to bring out the best in me.”

Quietly, she prepared herself for disappointment, thinking that the mercenary would choose to return safely to Eyraille than to see out the rest of their short getaway, especially now that all was out in the open and she had confirmed his suspicions. But he must have seen something akin to solemn disappointment in her blue eyes, for just as she thought they were to pack and prepare to leave the mountains, he suggested hunting and cooking for her. There was no mistaking the unadulterated joy in the smile that tugged at her mouth. “I would love nothing more.” She said to him, and planted a kiss on his cheek. “I’ve yet to bear witness to your hunting and cooking skills. Care to give me a demonstration?”

Stepping out of the hot springs, where they dried and dressed, the couple mounted their rock once again and flew further into the mountains. Vega explained along the way that she could vaguely recall another of her late father’s hunting lodges in one of the more remote, forested areas, and to her credit, she found just that. It was older and in slightly less aesthetic condition, with cobwebs and dust gathered on shelves and corners; but the fireplace and chimney were still functional, and the necessary amenities for a night’s stay were all readily available.  Vega found bed linens and quilts, which she took outside and hung from a tree branch to beat until it was relatively free of dust, while Haraldur busied himself with stringing his bow. When she finished, returning from the outside, rosy-cheeked from the cool mountain air, he was nearly done. “I have hunted, before, you know,” she challenged, arching an eyebrow. “I might be pregnant, Haraldur, but I am not ill, and I’m not an invalid. But… I respect that you want this to be your contribution. So I’ll stay put and get a fire started.”

Bidding him good luck, the Eyraillian princess busied herself with tidying up the small cottage, lighting candles as the sun began to sink over the horizon, and stoking the roaring fire. In such an enclosed space, it did not take long for warmth to permeate the air. She set a table for the two of them, putting out the plates and utensils, and sweeping the remaining dust from the floorboards. By the time she had finished--not just warm, but almost overly warm from keeping active the entire time, Haraldur had returned, and by the blood in his hands and clothes, he looked to have been successful. “That was faster than I anticipated; I suppose you aren’t just all talk,” she teased, and poured him a steaming mug of herbal tea to warm himself before he left to clean up and cook their meal.

To say she was hungry would have been an understatement. Vega’s stomach had been growling for the past hour; and while she should have snacked on the nuts and dried fruit he had packed in the satchel, she wanted to be absolutely certain that she had an appetite to eat the result of all of Haraldur’s hard work. Deep down, she feared that the sight and smell of meat might nauseate her, and she’d feel terrible for all of that good food to go to waste; and nothing was a better deterrent for food aversion than gnawing hunger. When the mercenary returned for a second time, clean and with two heaping plates of food, she felt relieved that the smell of the cooked elk did not make her guts churn. “That is an appetite well deserved.” The princess commented, pulling a chair out for him to sit as he placed the plates on the table. She sat across from him, nervous at the amount of meat in front of her; it had been so long since she’d last eaten animal flesh, but she didn’t want to disappoint…

Ultimately, her worries are for naught, and it was easier than she’d ever have imagined. The tenderloins had been so perfectly smoked, and the ribs perfectly spiced, that after the first, tentative bite, she’d dug in with gusto. “How in the world did I ever have an aversion to this?” She mused aloud, hungrily cleaning the ribs right down to the bone. And, what was even more impressive, she finished everything on her plate--and in record time, before Haraldur, who was equally as ravenous, managed to finish. “Haraldur… I am not exaggerating when I say that has to be the most delicious elk I have ever had.” She sighed, sitting back in her chair, her shoulder slumped in the way shoulders did after partaking in such a satisfying meal. “You’ve convinced me; I think I can eat meat again. And if this isn’t an indication that I’m eating for two… or three…” She indicated her empty plate. “Then I don’t know what is.”

After tidying up the dining area, both exhausted and satisfied from a long day followed by an amazing meal, they retired early to the tiny bedroom, and watched the way the candlelight danced on the window panes. Though it wasn’t quite what she had intended, this short time away from Eyraille had, in fact, restored a sense of peace in the Skyknight’s heart and mind; though much of it had to do with that sweet release of the secret that had been threatening to suffocate her. “When… do you think we should tell Caris?” She asked Haraldur, after they’d lain in comfortable silence for some time. “He will not be happy, regardless, I fear… but I don’t know how to tell him. I don’t want to let him down, even if I already have, by mere virtue of being pregnant. I couldn’t care less for the rest of Eyraille; but I don’t want my own brother to hate me… you’ve been spending more time with him these days than I have in decades, Haraldur. You’re getting to know him better. Do you think… it would be wise to inform him, sooner than later?”

In her long venture through life, Lilica had only been treated in one of three ways by her unfortunate existence. Either it made her hyper-aware of everything that she was, and hated, or of everything that she wanted to be, but could never be, or--as the case seemed to be of late--everything that she could never have. And, still, she dared, so fiercely, to hope. Just to get to know the man her father was, even if she learned that she hated him, was more than she could hope for. To learn about Galeyn through him, to learn about how and why he had found her mother, yet had never stayed with her. To become familiar with her lineage, what it was capable of, and why her own magic was not so serene as that of the rest of Galeyn’s denizens. Lilica had wanted a connection; and just as soon as she had found it, it was severed.

Would she ever see that man, Theomyr Tenebris, again? Would he continue to exist in the realms of in-between, as a force of energy that she would be able to sense on the physical plain? Even if he was despicable, and a mere manipulator like Vitali, she had wanted the opportunity to learn that for herself. To know him…

But she was not awarded even that… and consequently, she’d have preferred to never have learned about her father’s existence. At least then, she wouldn’t have gotten her hopes up. She wouldn’t have realized what she was potentially missing…

The chthonic caster’s blood pounded in her ears, so overcome with raw sorrow and heated rage that she hardly took notice of Alster, who, while keeping a safe distance, obliged her destructive behaviour. But it wasn’t enough; that vase, or the one that Alster had shattered, it wasn’t enough for her to feel better. It was too contained--she was too contained. And she couldn’t handle it, anymore.

“I don’t have to accept this… I won’t accept this.” Lilica seethed, the entirety of her small, thin body shaking. “I won’t be toyed with by the circumstances of my own goddamn life anymore!”

And that was when, in the true fashion of her own Rigas lover, the fire inside Lilica found a way out, in the form of angry, purple and black flames. The curtains in her chambers caught, first, not shriveling, but melting grotesquely off of the curtain rod, dripping like hot putty as if the fire itself had changed the very materia from which it was constructed--and it didn’t stop there. From beneath Lilica’s very bare feet, as she shoved open her bedroom door and stormed out, those same, angry, all-consuming purple flames that even made the exquisite marble of the floor bubble, were left in the wake of her footsteps. “To hell with all of this.” She hissed, to no one in particular, completely forgetting that Alster was there at all. “I don’t want it… any of it! This damned kingdom can take itself back!”

Once, long ago, she had found a quaint sanctuary in the depths of her mind; a little village with a fountain at its heart. A place where she found solace and joy, to which she would retreat from harsh reality whenever it became too much. But she couldn’t remember it, anymore; not since she had asked Chara to burn that place to the ground, leaving an empty, ugly, scarred hole in the one part of her subconscious where she could find sanctuary.

But Galeyn was no sanctuary for her; not anymore, not under these circumstances. And it would either burn to the ground, or that tree in the Garden that bore her bloody handprint, signing her inheritance of his kingdom, would burn. Whichever came first.

Though the commotion had been relatively confined to her bedchambers, it did rouse a few people in the palace from their slumber--namely the young Gardener named Teren, who stepped out of his own, humble bedroom, dark circles beneath his eyes. It was the first sleep he had managed to find since awakening from the curse; and it had been cut mercilessly short. “What is… what’s happening?” His eyes widened at the sight of the dark fire left in Lilica’s wake, eating up the marble floor. Frantically, he turned to Alster. “Wh-what is she doing? I’ve never… seen this before.” He pointed at the bubbling flames, and, thinking fast, ran to retrieve the wash basin filled with water from his bedroom. Teren threw the water over a vast section of the fire… but nothing happened. It was as if the nature of the flames could not be extinguished by ordinary means…

Panicked, Teren followed after Alster, who tailed Lilica in pursuit. Whatever was amiss… it wasn’t good. “Where is she going? She’s not…” Terror struck him as he came to realize what Alster understood as soon as she had stormed out of her bedchambers. Lilica and her trail of lethal fire were headed straight for the Night Garden.

“We have to stop her!” He gasped, his hackles already raised. Already, from the vibrations in his chest and his inherent connection to the Garden as one of its Gardeners, he could tell she was nearing; and that the Garden knew she did not approach it out of peace. “Whatever she plans to do--we need to stop her! I-I don’t know what will happen to the Garden, or to her, if we don’t!”

Alster and Teren weren’t the only ones who began to gather in fear of what was about to come to pass. As Lilica passed through the ornate glass doors, and into the Night Garden, the Gardeners who had been tending it during the twilight hours all ceased in their activity the second her presence was known. They all knew, could all feel that something was amiss with their new Tenebris monarch… but were understandably too stunned, and too paralyzed with fear to near her, to take action. Lilica stalked through the garden, wearing her rage like an all-encompassing shawl, letting it consume her, like it had always wanted to. This was why her darkness would never equate to the serenity of night; because it was all too easy to succumb to it. To let it take over, instead of reeling it in and resisting it. It was satisfying; cathartic, to be angry, so angry that he didn’t care what her rage consumed. Even if it consumed her.

She didn’t know these people, this garden. Her father wasn’t there to stop her; he wasn’t anything, at all. She owed her allegiance to no one and nothing.

“What are you doing to do? Are you going to kill me? Curse me, just like you did my brother?” The dark caster snapped as she stepped up to the enormous tree at the center of Garden. Challenging it with the pool of fire which burned at her feet, but curiously, did not burn her. The grass, where she had stepped just moments before, nothing but charred, black mud. “I don’t want you. I don’t want to protect you, to worship you, to bend to your needs and whims. Just because I awakened you from a century-long curse, you think you have the right to own me? Look at me--look at what I can do. What I am already doing.” Heedless of the Gardeners’ cries for her to stop--with Teren and Alster’s voices among them--she broadened the radius of her all-consuming pool of fire. The smell of burning flora reached her nostrils. “I am not who you want. And I am taking back my liberty back.”

The way she spoke, it was almost as if she was daring the Garden to smite her, the same way it smote Vitali. But nothing happened; it remained still and serene, even as her fire ate away the grass at her feet. And yet, it only served to fuel Lilica’s fury. “How can you judge Vitali to be more of a danger than I am? When I am harming you? Useless! You’re nothing but a useless pawn in my father’s game!”

Her blood pounding in her ears, Lilica engulfed her right hand in the dark, inky flames, before pressing it directly against her bloody handprint in the tree. Nothing happened. The tree did not alight with her deadly flame, nor did her handprint of blood melt off of the bark. As if the damned thing were impervious--perhaps the only thing impervious, in the entire kingdom--to her wrath. “Why don’t you burn? Let me go! Let me be free of this!”

“Lilica, please, stop!” Teren begged, looking eager to run up to her, but Alster held him at bay. “The Garden isn’t your enemy… stop what you’re doing! Let us help you!”

But she wasn’t listening. Tears of fury streaked her cheeks, so hot that they themselves felt as though they burned her skin, more than the fire in her hand. Perspiration had gathered on her brown and trickled down her temple. “I don’t want this!” She shrieked, drawing back her flaming hand and curling it into a fist before connecting it with the solid trunk of the tree. “I could destroy you--let me go! You have your Gardeners… let them take up the mantle! I cannot stay here! I’ve made promises… I made a promise…” Chara… I don’t want to let you down.

Looking suddenly winded and entirely depleted, Lilica’s hand dropped to her side, and the fire extinguished itself--all of it.Throughout the Garden, in the palace, all of it went out in the blink of an eye. And Lilica collapsed in a fragile heap in the burnt radius of blackened soil, unconscious.

The first reaction of the Gardeners who had gathered, watching in dire fear, was a sigh of deep relief. The damage had been mitigated before a crisis could occur. But Lilica’s compromised state didn’t go unnoticed. Teren hurried over to the heap of a woman on the ground, followed shortly by Alster. There were no wounds to be seen on her body, not like the attack on Vitali, but a sheen of sweat glistened on her skin, which was worrying hot to the touch. Yet it wasn’t worry that mirrored in Teren’s dark eyes; instead, it was recognition, and understanding. “She’s sick… that’s it. That must be it.” He murmured aloud, as others began to gather. He met Alster’s gaze to explain. “Sometimes, the Night Garden is able to detect illness on its own without the person in question seeking its help through a Gardener. Lilica is directly connected to the Garden through her lineage. My guess is that it detected something, physical or otherwise, was not right within her yesterday when she set foot in this place, it not sooner. It induced a fever to burn the sickness out of her…”

Leaning back on his heels, his shoulders slumped as the adrenaline slowly left his system. “She should be all right with a few days’ rest… let’s get her inside. It’ll be fine; the Gardeners will understand.”

“Here is as good a place as any; let’s set up camp before the sun sets.” This was the third place that Daphni and Elias had deliberated stopping for the evening, due to incongruencies and disagreements in what the two believed to be ‘acceptable’ camping grounds. It had been this way for weeks, now, though; ever since Elias had emerged as cured, no longer plagued by his fatal disease, or resting on the crutch of the moondial that had been gifted to him by the Mollengardian healer, it was as if he’d remembered the luxury of what it felt like to exert his opinions. Though, in part, Daphni had a feeling that much of his contrary demeanor, of late, was directly related to his recovery; and what it had almost cost.

Sure enough, they had made it to the outskirts of Ilandria to meet with a former mentor of Daphni’s before it was too late. At the time, given the inclement weather, she’d feared that almost would not make it, given the amount of delays they’d had due to blizzards. And Ilandria, located not too far from the vast, roc-filled mountains of the kingdom of Eyraille, was certainly no balmy oasis. By the time they’d arrived, there had barely been enough time to consult with the old Sybaian healer, who herself had retired from her practice years ago and chose to live in seclusion, as a tribute to her own health and longevity. Hardly time to take the necessary precautions, or to think on the risk factors, which made an already tenuous procedure even more dangerous.

None of which she communicated to Elias, of course, for fear that he would outright refuse. And they had come too far, and endured too much, for her to turn back.

But essentially, the ritual was one that put not only the dying’s life at risk, but the healer, as well. Because it was in and of itself almost a matter of being reborn entirely. A ritual that hinged completely on trust, and the strength and desire of the Sybaian healer to risk themselves and their own life, entirely, in order to purify and prolong a life that was to end prematurely. Essentially, the both of them had been required to submerge, at the bottom of a frigid lake, with rocks in their pockets to keep them under. If all went as it should, the both of them, just as their screaming lungs were about to give out from lack of oxygen, would find the sudden surge of will ro resurface: both tiptoeing on the precipice of death, reemerging with the fabric of their life, their existence, fresh and renewed. And, if all went poorly… both would die.

For Daphni, it had been partially successful… in that Elias, sure enough, came to the surface of the freezing water with a gasp. But the Sybaian healer had remained under, and unresponsive… and had he not pulled her up, before her lungs relaxed and let water in, the results could have been far less favorable.

Truth be told, her mentor had never witnessed the ritual as being a success, though few had ever had the nerve to try it. She could not say what it meant for the longevity of Daphni’s life, that she almost had not resurfaced at all, and it had taken a handful of days of rest before she was on her feet again. From that point on, Elias had no more use of the moondial; and she hadn’t heard him fall victim to a coughing fit, even once. Though despite that she could detect no residual side-effects from the risky ritual that had almost claimed her own life, the Clematis healer was clearly upset with her. On one hand, the blatant lack of gratitude irked her; but, on the other, had the situation been flipped, she would have been equally as angry and resentful, had someone sought to risk their live to save hers.

As last, pulling their horse’s into a clearing, Elias wordlessly began to unpack their tent. Perhaps a normal individual, one who was not so painfully attuned to the emotions that vibrated in the auras of those that surrounded them, would have let this silent treatment play out until he had worked his resentment out of his system. But it had been a week, by now, since the day she’d saved his life. And the tension in the air had risen to a point where it was stifling.

“I wish you would just say to me what you’ve been yearning to divulge.” Daphni said at last, pressing a sigh from her lungs. “I understand your resentment, Elias. Don’t think I do not; and were our situations reversed, I am certain that I would feel the same way. But… can’t we just focus on the outcome? I’m fine; and so our you. Wasn’t that our goal all along?”

Lighting the horses’ load by removing provisions from their saddles, she eyed a spot to make a fire, and decided that it was probably best to leave the stubborn Clematis healer to his silence… and to vacate the premises until he chose to cool down. It was as good an excuse as any to go and gather firewood. “I’m going to find wood for a fire,” she informed him, as he pointedly ignored her while pitching the tent. “When I return… let’s try to keep our sights on the situation at hand. Eyraille will no doubt be interested to know how Ilandria directly opposes Mollengard, and will lend aid to the D’Marians should they desire it. And,” she arched an eyebrow. “I know you are intrigued as to how the Eyraillian princess is faring, since her resurrection. It is worth paying the kingdom a visit for that, alone.”

“In the time that I have been a Gardener.... I have only seen the Night Garden react in such a way to illness once before. Taking it upon itself to remedy it immediately, without the help of a Gardener, that is.” Teren stood back, allowing Alster room to look over Lilica; he did not expect the man to believe she was ‘fine’ when all he had to go by was the word of a young and inexperienced Gardener. “There are a number of reasons why it could have decided to act of its own accord. Perhaps it thought her illness was too pressing not to address--which, given her behaviour… I haven’t a difficult time believing.” He lifted his shoulders in a helpless shrug. “Or, it could have felt threatened, and taken action accordingly. Or maybe it was a mixture of both. Either way, it would never hurt her. I… I want to believe that she didn’t want to hurt it, either. We shouldn’t leave her here, though. Let’s take her inside.”

With the help of some of the stronger Gardeners, who looked just as bewildered as the rest, they moved Lilica back into the palace. Unfortunately, her chambers, at first glance, were in no state to lend rest to the ill. What was left of the curtains had become a pile of ashy muck on the ground, some of which, due to the open window, had blown across the room and over the bedsheets and mattress. It had a distinctly toxic smell, as did anywhere Lilica’s dark fire had touched, so they opted to bring her to a guest bedroom, instead. Though it was only a quarter of the size, it mattered not to an unconscious form. And at least she could breathe clean air, free of the toxins her fire had left behind.

“It isn’t the same as what happened to that… man.” Teren went on, after Lilica was safely situated on the bed, with a cool cloth on her burning forehead. “She isn’t under a spell or a curse. Just unconscious from the temperature of her fever. It may last a few days, but she shouldn’t be asleep for the entire time… although, it would be preferred that she keep off of her feet to expedite recovery.” Scratching the back of his neck, he nervously asked Alster, “Did...did you know that she was unwell, in a sense? I realize you wouldn’t have known about the habits and workings of the Night Garden… but had we known, we could have mitigated what… well, what led up to this.”

Sure enough, the Gardeners had informed Senyiah of the incident, and the Head Gardener was not long to respond. Once Lilica was settled, Teren and Alster detailed what had occurred, in the most delicate way possible. Although surprise registered on the tall woman’s face, she did not appear angry; merely, disappointed. “So this is what Theomyr has left us with, in his wake… One who wants nothing to do with us, nor the Garden.”

“But she is unwell; I have reason to believe she was not of the right mind to be herself.” Teren argued in the unconscious woman’s defense, despite that he, himself, wasn’t sure how to feel. “The Night Garden detected it. She is feverish; whatever is amiss, the Garden has commenced the motions of remedying it.”

Senyiah considered this, looking the unconscious woman over, feeling her temperature against the back of her hand. She frowned. “Her temperature is dangerously high. Keep the window open to allow for airflow; if need be, we will have to cool her with a bath. If she isn’t awake come morning, we will have to wake her to have her drink fluids.” Turning to one of the other Gardeners on standby, she requested, “Take a steed and inform the Dawn Warrior of the situation. Frankly, she seems to be one of the only people with a shred of logic. In addition to all of this… we need to see to repairing the damage our esteemed leader has caused to the palace, her own bedchamber included.”

After Senyiah took her leave, Teren took the liberty change the cloth on Lilica’s forehead, which had already grown hot with the temperature of her skin. Her breathing was labored, and her small body trembled ceaselessly beneath the thin blanket they had draped over her. “...why does she hate us?” He couldn’t help but ask, a look of melancholy befalling his youthful face. “She saved this kingdom… she saved us. She’s a direct descendant of Theomyr Tenebris. Why would she have done so if she didn’t care…?”

Not a half hour later, Sigrid found the two of them, sitting near the bedside of a feverish and unconscious Lilica. Immediately, her mind jumped to terrible conclusions. “What has happened?” She gasped, remembering how quickly (and violently) Vitali had succumbed to the wrath of the Night Garden. “The Gardeners said that she was… spreading fire. Did the Garden attack her in its own defense?” Her blue eyes filled with concern as she looked to Alster. “Must we try and awaken her the same way you attempted to awaken the necromancer…?”

But both the young Gardener and the Rigas caster were quick to explain what had actually occurred; that Lilica, despite her rage, had not been attacked by the Night Garden; in fact, despite how it looked, it was healing her. Raking a hand through her unruly blonde hair, the Dawn Warrior took a seat at the window and shook her head. “I shouldn’t have said to her what I did, earlier,” she mused her remorse, knowing that Alster would understand what she meant. “I was so enraged that she did not see this--this place, this opportunity--as golden and rare and perfect… but I can understand her hesitation. And her sorrow. None of this is what she knows; Galeyn and its people are foreign to her. I expected too much.” Turning her eyes on the young Gardener, she added, “This place might be expecting too much of her, too soon.”

“I suppose… we haven’t taken the time to consider her situation.” Teren admitted, biting his lower lip as he hung his head. “She hasn’t been open about her experiences prior to now… it may be helpful if you could enlighten us, if you happen to know anything about her. I fear that asking her directly may rouse sentiments that she would sooner forget.”

“I am sure that is something that we can arrange, if Alster sees fit to fill you in. He is more closely acquainted with Lilica than the rest of us.” Returning her attention to Alster, she stood from her seat on the window sill and stretched her legs. “You should stay here with her; so that she has a familiar face to see when she wakes up. In case she is disoriented. I will inform Tivia of what has occurred… she is determined not to leave Vitali’s side until he awakens.”

“How… is he faring?” Teren ventured, mostly of of curiosity, but also with some degree of concern.

The Dawn warrior folded her arms and let out a sigh. “Yout physicians managed to close his wounds with sutures and cauterization, so he is no longer losing blood. But he has not yet awakened. And I don’t imagine your Garden can be of any help, in that area. I will tell you more when I find out.”

Sending for a cot to be brought into the small bedchamber where Lilica lay, Teren and Alster agreed to take turns watching over Lilica in intervals of a couple of hours at a time. Where her fever was so high, her body convulsing with shivers and sweat making her tunic cling to her skin, they assessed that it was best to keep her monitored, and if by morning she did no awaken, then to endeavor to awaken her, as Senyiah had suggested. Throughout the night, they watched her breathing, changed the damp cloth on her forehead to cool it every quarter of an hour (as it grew warm on her skin so quickly), and ascertained she would be safe if she did awaken.

Early morning daylight had just begun to stream through the windows when at last the chthonic caster sat up with a gasp, her small frame still shuddering violently. Lilica’s dark eyes were still feverbright, and appeared startled, taking in the unfamiliar room. With a trembling hand, she threw the bedsheet off of her body, which was soaked through as her skin sought to sweat out the fever that had not yet broken. “Alster…” A shaky gush of air left her lungs, and she grabbed for the Rigas caster’s arm, fear and regret swimming in her gleaming eyes. “The Garden… I don’t know what I was thinking. I-I was so… angry. I didn’t want to destroy it. I just wanted… I wanted it to let me go. Is it…” She swallowed a lump in her throat. “Can it be… repaired? How much damage have I done…?”

Tears as warm as bath water trickled down her face. She dropped Alster’s arm. “What I could have done… what I did to these people, this place… I’m a monster, Alster. I’ll never be anything but… destructive.” Her shoulder shook with quiet sobs and she hung her head, too consumed with what she had done to notice just miserable the fever was making her feel. “If Chara found out… she would never deign to speak to me, again. She takes so much pride, so much love, in Stella D’Mare… but I? I sought to destroy the one thing I have always been looking for: a home… that accepted me, unconditionally.”

Though he wouldn’t talk about what was on his mind, Daphni suspected that a large part of it had to do with the fact that she had been successful in saving his life, despite that he might not admit it. She had noticed that in the last few days leading up to the ritual, he seemed to care less and less about the outcome, and in a sense, almost appeared to look forward to death. Perhaps he had made peace with death, thinking that she would be unsuccessful… but even if that was the case, it was silly of him to find fault in what they had set out to do all along. Which was why she figured it was an irrational phase that would pass.

Giving him the room that he needed, the Sybaian healer ventured into the woods to gather kindling for fire. The temperature at winter’s end was still chilly enough to warrant sitting close to open flame, but at least that point in the season which favored blizzards had passed, making it far easier to find wood. It meant that she didn’t have to venture far, which was preferable, to prevent unintentional separation through getting lost… or, was it so unintentional?

She couldn’t have been more than ten minutes gathering the first half of the kindling, having picked up most of what she needed only a few yards away into the forest. Certainly not long enough for Elias to suspect she might have gotten lost, and even so, it wouldn’t have warranted a desire to leave… and yet, he was gone. “Elias?” She called, dropping the kindling where she stood. The tents were deflated, nowhere near being set up. Like he had abandoned the project as soon as she was out of sight. Swearing under her breath, Daphni looked around frantically, wondering which direction he would have gone. Both of the horses remained tethered where they had left them… he couldn’t have gotten far. Though she might have rid him of his fatal disease, the Clematis healer still had a good deal of recovery to do, himself. To put weight back on his body and color into his skin. He wasn’t exactly in any condition to traipse around, alone, in the unknown outskirts of Elandria.

Thinking fast, the Sybaian healer mounted one of the horses, and set out in the direction that they were traveling. It was the only direction that made sense; otherwise, he would be headed back toward the heart of Ilandria, and their were bound for Eyraille. “Elias!” She called again, as the horse kicked into a trot. “I understand that you are angry; I don’t blame you for it. But what gives you the idea that splitting up will benefit either of us?”

Fortunately, she did not have to go far, before the murmur of voices could be heard in the distance. Sure enough, there he was; the Clematis healer, in his telltale robes, but he was among a group of others. Travelers, perhaps? Strangers, looking for directions? They did not give the impression that they were rogues or vagabonds, and she did not sense danger in their stance. Neither did Elias, evidently, who appeared curiously at ease, speaking with two men who, the closer she approached, appeared to be twins. At risk of intercepting the conversation, the Sybaian healer felt she had the right to at least know what was going on. So she called out to her comrade, who, now surrounded by a small party of others, could not well ignore her.

“Elias.” She called his name, slowing her horse to a gentle trot until it stopped all together. Dismounting, she tried to avoid the curious and confused gazes of the strangers, who were likely wondering who she was, and what business she had butting in. It was unlikely that Elias had deigned to mention her at all. “I was only ten minutes gathering wood… and then you were gone. With no indication as to where you went, and why.” Though it was not her intention to embarrass him, the silent treatment he had been giving her had officially reached its limits of being tolerable, the moment he’d decided to leave, unannounced.

Sparing a glance at the others, in particular the twins with whom Elias appeared to have been conversing (and with whom he seemed oddly familiar), she added, “Forgive my intrusion; my comrade and I were making camp for the evening, though it seems he decided otherwise, and that traveling by foot all the way to Eyraille is preferable.” Undoubtedly, she would receive flack later for pointing out what he had done, but she was through with entertaining this childish attitude. They were supposed to be working together; and if Elias had other ideas, then it was high time he filled her in.

Before, in her inconsolable state of hurt and rage, there would have been no hope for Alsters voice to reach the ears and heart of the devastated dark caster. She had seen nothing but heartbreak and the unfairness of the cards that had been drawn for her: dire responsibility for a kingdom she did not even know, when she had never formally agreed to accept these conditions. The worst part was, she couldn’t even blame her father for it… not in full. He had told her that he would have liked nothing more than to return to Galeyn and resume his rule among the people he so obviously cared for; but he had never told her that he could, and would. That was something she had naively assumed, for how could she have possibly imagine that she would be inheriting such a hefty role, and one that he had conveniently never mentioned?

But the shades of red that had once flooded her eyes were gone. Smothered in her high fever as she was, the world around her didn’t feel quite right, or quite real. Even Alster, whose arm she gripped with such intensity that he might as well have been the lifeboat keeping her afloat in her deluge of regret, felt like a faraway presence trying to offer consolation. Yet, even in her semi-delirious state, his words resonated, and she was able to take solace in his reassurances that no one--the Night Garden included--had been harmed during her blind tirade. A small comfort, but at least one that only left her with a state of remorse and embarrassment, and not some deep self-loathing that she would never be able to shed.

“I don’t know why I was so foolish… to believe that the end result to all of this would be something favorable.” She breathed, pulling her thin knees to her chest, her small form shaking as it was just as chilled as it was hot. “I wanted him to return. Not just to relieve me of this burden, but… I wanted him to be something real.” Of course, she was referring to her father, one whom she currently wished she hated more than she actually did. “I wanted to know him. Even if he was manipulative and even less redeemable that Vitali, I… wanted to discover that for myself. To dislike him honestly. Or… not to dislike him at all.”

Those rogue tears continued to fall, warm, ceaseless streams that would have soaked the neckline of her tunic, were it not already drenched from the violent sweats her fever had induced. Lilica hated feeling this raw, this vulnerable, even if part of it could be attributed to the fever itself. “I’ve never had the luxury of growing up in a family that cared for me. Maybe everything he had to say was just lip-service; maybe he was trying to manipulate me emotionally, because he knew what it was what I wanted to here. But I… something about it… I don’t think he was. I think that his words were genuine. And that is what hurts most of all; it would be so much easier to just continue to hate him…” She pressed her forehead to the top of her knees, jumping ever so slightly when Alster’s arm found its way around her thin shoulders. “I wish I didn’t know him--or know of him--at all. Because now all I can do is imagine what could or might have been, a reality that I will never experience. I wanted a home, and a connection to a family that I have never known… and I should have known better than to think I would ever have both. I’m such a fool, Alster.”

It came as no surprise that the Rigas caster lent a compassionate ear to her pitiful narrative, however much she didn’t deserve it. He didn’t judge her, though he probably should have; the entire kingdom had the right to do so, after the heinous act he had committed. Bringing destruction upon a place of healing, a place and a people that had never meant her any harm… and in that, she had become everything that she had feared, and everything that she hated. A self-fulfilling prophecy, Alster’s very words of warning just yesterday… why hadn’t she listened? “I don’t know how I will tell Chara.” She sighed, lifting her head from her knees, tear-filled and feverbright eyes turning to Alster for appraisal and advice. “You have no idea… no, you can imagine how difficult it was for me to convince her that this was no fool’s errand. That leaving Stella D’Mare on some phantom mission, with only the guidance of a dream entity that could have well been no more than a charlatan, was the right thing to do. To tell her that I found what I set out to find, only to come so close to destroying it--to having the intent to destroy it… I don’t know, Alster. I don’t know that she will ever trust me again; not after leaving her and committing this act. Even if no one was harmed, even if the Garden remains intact and relatively unaffected, I did this. Who is to say I won’t succumb to another moment of weakness and repeat it all over again? How can I come to trust myself?”

He suggested she rest, handing her the mercifully cool cloth to lower the temperature of her burning skin. And he was probably right; as it turned out, Alster Rigas was often right about a lot of things, more of a voice of reason than she could ever be. But how was she supposed to rest when the Gardeners and the palace staff were working on righting the damage that she had caused? Shaking her head, she threw her legs over the side of the bed, and stood. Her legs trembled, and she placed a hand on the wall for support, but it did not stop her from moving forward. “This is my mess. I should be the one to clean it up; not the innocent people who could have been affected.”

It was around then that all of the commotion finally roused Teren, who had hardly caught more than a half-hour worth of sleep on the cot beside Lilica’s bed. Sitting up, his eyes dark and bloodshot from exhaustion, it took no more than the sight of the new Tenebris monarch on her feet to bring him to his. “Lilica.” He gasped, reaching for her without actually touching her; as if a part of him was, in fact, afraid of what she might do. What she could do. “Please lie down; you’re not well. The Garden is set the motions in place to heal you, but… you must oblige that healing and find rest.”

Either she did not hear him, or she did not care (more likely the latter), but Lilica once again had her mind set on heading for the Garden, it seemed; but this time, with far less malicious intent. “I need to see for myself,” she told them, but accepted their arms to help steady herself as she walked barefoot out of the bedroom. “What I did… and that it really is okay, in spite of it.”

Though Teren cast Alster a worried glance (it was very possible that Lilica could well be the death of this young man, for the stress she put him through), but felt it was safer to at least accompany Lilica outside than to argue with her and have her attempt it on her own. Seeing the dark smudges on the marble floors where her feet had tread the night before, leaving inky cracks and crevices in their wake as her poisonous fire had eaten through the pale marble, made her blanch. I did this, she reminded herself, knowing full well that she hadn’t any right to feel so surprised. And this… this is only the least of it.

Of course, she set a course to step outside toward the Garden, fearing what she might see, but also knowing that she needed to see it. Needed to know what had occurred, what she had done, no matter how gruesome. Perhaps, in some way, it would prevent her from ever doing it again, branding yet another image in her mind of what her power could destroy.

But as they crossed the threshold and into the cool air if the morning, the Night Garden directly in their sight… it was not the unholy massacre that she had expected. Along the ground, leading up to the enormous tree at the Garden’s center, the grass was brittle and brown in small patches, but not without small sprigs of green beginning to poke through the deadened blades. And the large tree itself, in spite of the contrasting, brown grass surrounding it, looked entirely untouched. No sign of damage whatsoever. Were it not for the supportive arms of Alster and Teren, Lilica might have crumpled into an exhausted heap of relief, then and there. “I thought I’d done so much worse…”

“It look appear far more worrisome, just last night,” Teren confided, though not in a tone that suggested judgment. “But you didn’t harm the Garden, Lilica. It did not see you as an enemy… just as someone who is battling sickness, of some sort. It wanted to help you; it’s already begun to do it. But you must help yourself, as well.” He cast a worrying glance at her pale, thin form, at the way her sweat-soaked tunic clung to her skin, the fever still raging in her dark eyes… “Will you please come back inside? We’ll run you a cool bath, change the sheets on your bed, find you some new clothes…”

Lilica hesitated, like before, her dark eyes fixed on the large tree. One that had judged Vitali without hesitation; but that had not judged her, even for an open act of violence… “Does it… forgive?” She asked at last, turning to Teren for clarification, and maybe a little bit of hope.

The young Gardener scratched the back of its neck. “Forgive in the sense that people do? Probably not; as far as we know, the Garden is not a sentient thing. It is a cluster of energies that interact with other energies; it sensed your anger, but predominantly, it realized you were hurting. The way that wounded animals are prone to attack if they think their life depends on it. So if you ask me… then it probably feels as though there is really nothing to forgive.” Though he did wonder, noting the forlorn draw of the chthonic caster’s face, if it wasn’t the Night Garden from which she sought forgiveness. After she fell silent for a few moments more, he gently urged, “please, let us take you back inside.”

This time, she did not hesitate or resist when Teren and Alster urged her back toward the terrace of the palace. After all, she wouldn’t have been on her feet, were it not for their supportive arms keeping her upright. As her sweat-soaked bed sheets were replaced with dry, new ones, one of the palace attendants prepared a cool bath and clean clothes for her; the former which she resisted, at first, particularly with the shock of cold water against her heated skin. And, in truth, it wasn’t pleasant, but in the aftermath, once she was dry and had dawned clean clothes, the sharp edge of her fever had subsided for the time being. Though she said little, she appreciated Alster’s company and reassuring presence; without his familiar face, she wasn’t certain just how she would have fared, waking up with the realization of what I had done.

“What will Tivia and Sigrid think?” She asked later on, when they’d convinced her to eat a little and drink, and return to bed. “Or… do they already know? Sigrid offered to help because she believed in Galeyn… and she believed in me. But I’ve shown her nothing but the resentment that I feel for this place, since arriving.” Despite the cool bath, Lilica’s fever raged on, burning in her eyes and beginning to make her brand new clothes stick to her skin. She’d have thrown the blanket off of her legs, but something about feeling so drastically hot simultaneously elicited the sensation of feeling unyieldingly cold. “You were right, Alster. My magic is like some terrible, self-fulfilling prophecy that draws energy from the darkest parts of my soul, because I believe that it will. But… how can I ever believe otherwise, knowing what I have done? Do you think that the Night Garden truly has the power to change that?”

Daphni had not been wrong in her appraisal of the two men in Elias’s company; that they looked alike, and somehow, familiar to the Clematis healer… She accepted their cordial greetings with grace, nodding her own greeting, and it all clicked perfectly into place: They’re my brothers.

“Brothers.” She repeated, feeling the word on her tongue. Elias had never made significant mention of his family, not really. Only with regard to what had happened to him as a child; to the nurse who had cared for him, and whose misery he had ended with his own hands, something that still haunted him to this day. It hadn’t occurred to her that the remainder of his family (for she recalled he had mentioned in passing that it was rather large) was still alive and well--and looking for him. A damned good thing I did not let you die, then, she almost had the nerve to add--almost. But not here, not in front of his brothers. Maybe later.

“Blessed to meet you both.” She returned, nodding at Felix and Myron collectively. “I am Daphni Adela; a healer of the Sybaia clan. My path and Elias’s crossed some time ago. We were traveling on a mutual errand.” While there was no convincing a pair of joking young men that their relationship was platonic, professional, it was enough to save face for both herself and Elias. He had kissed her, once; in the safe haven of his mind, where his sickness could not reach him. She had felt something, in that moment, but she had never asked if he had, as well. They had not spoken of it, since; she wondered if he even remembered, at all.

It wasn’t her place to intercept a conversation that was not meant for her, but it did strike Daphni as strange when his brothers declared they had been ‘tasked’ to find him. That could have meant a lot of things… and not all of them inherently positive. They agreed to take this discussion on the road and all congregate at his brothers’ camp, but first was the matter of returning to their own would-be camp and gathering the tents, as well as Elias’s horse. The Clematis healer climbed on behind her, but she posed no intrusive questions on the way to retrieve what was theirs, before following his brothers to where they had set up camp--and to where Elias’s mother supposedly waited for him.

After they had packed up the not-yet-pitched tents, and secured their provisions to their two horses, Daphni waited until they were a safe distance behind Elias’s brothers before she saw fit to pose her questions. He might not have been open to sharing information (or any words at all, for that matter, judging by his behaviour of late), but she knew better than to go into a situation completely blind. “You’ve never said much about your family.” She began, without turning to look at him. She could practically feel the tension emanating from him as he trod beside her. “Only that they were relatively wealthy, and large in number. Is… there a reason that your mother would suddenly decide to look for you? Are the two of you on favorable terms?”

When at last she did look at him, she had the grace to offer a brief look of apology. “I never know what to make of family dynamics. They are never so black and white; but something in the color of your aura is telling me that you are confused and anxious over the nature of this… reunion.” Could it be that his brothers were leading him into something potentially dangerous? Elias, while stubborn to a fault, was not a stupid man, and seemed to be a fairly good judge of character. But he clearly hadn’t any idea what his brothers were getting him into… or what awaited him in terms of his mother’s expectations.

“I guess… it just seems all too good to be true.” Lilica confessed, as she lay back down upon her bed, hands trembling as she pulled he quilts up to her chest. “That the Garden can really untie a knot that has tied itself over and over an impossible weave, for so long. And if it really can… it does make me wonder how long I am going to feel like this.” She indicated her feverish form and shaking hands. Conscious, and not entirely delirious, at least, but nowhere near the ideal state to take up the reigns of a kingdom. Fortunately, Galeyn was still picking up the pieces of itself, and with the Gardeners restoring balance and order to the Night Garden, so there was not yet much for the new Tenebris monarch to address. But eventually, she would have to step into her father’s shoes, and resume where he had left off.

If only he were there, or more accessible, to help her understand exactly where his shoes tread... Curiously, she glanced at her forearm, where her father had once left a distinguishable rune-like brand, so as to find her again in her dreams. Her heart sank all the more when she realized that it was no longer there; not even a hint of it. Just smooth, unmarred skin… Wherever Theomyr Tenebris was now, whatever state he was in, she wondered if she would ever be able to reach out to him, again.

The chthonic mage did not object when Alster lay his hand upon, his fingers emanating soothing vibrations through the cool cloth, which was rapidly growing warm against her burning skin. It was almost instantaneous, the way her tremors lessened, and her body perspired just a little less. The Garden somehow decided that the fever was necessary; to burn out whatever was lurking inside of her that kept her ‘sick’. But it clearly had no regard for her comfort; and if she had to endure this for days, she wasn’t certain she would be in the mood to assimilate Theomyr’s title and presence in Galeyn by the time the fever broke. “If it can heal me,” she finished the Rigas caster’s thought, knowing exactly where he had been going with it, “then it can heal you. It could heal Tivia. I suppose it’ appropriate that I be the ‘test subject’ for this impossible place… but I am happy to let you know how it works, when it is done. If it will ever be done.” A small groan escaped her throat. “I don’t know how long I am expected to be bedridden and completely useless. The Garden is really going to test my patience, above all else…”

At some point, the subtle, healing energy from Alster’s hand diminished her discomfort just enough that Galeyn’s new reigning monarch drifted off into a blissful, dreamless sleep, her body no longer shaking violent, but reduced to a subtle shiver. Not long after, the head Gardener, Senyiah, stepped into the slumbering dark mage’s temporary bedchamber, surprised to find that Alster was still there. “You needn’t keep yourself awake day and night to watch over her, you know,” she informed him, but not with judgment; instead, her voice was lined with concern. “You will only end up making yourself ill, as well. And it is best that the Garden focuses its energy on one critically ill being at a time, at least since it has only recently come back into existence and isn’t yet functioning to its full capacity.”

The flat lines of her mouth and the determined set of her dark eyes appeared different, today. Not so exasperated and at a loss; instead, Senyiah looked as though she, herself, was feeling a sense of mild remorse She folded her hands in front of her. “Teren debriefed me on what you told him. About the origins of Theomyr’s daughter; where her journey has taken her, and all that led up to the events of last night. Try to understand that we, as a kingdom--a broken and diminished one, at that, saw her as perhaps more than she wants to be. She awakened this kingdom; we thought it was an act of purpose, and a responsibility that she genuinely wanted… but it is clear now that she isn’t what she expected. Nor are we what she expected, I believe.”

Dropping her hands to her side, the Head Gardener rolled her shoulders back. “Right now, everything is still in a state of disarray and confusion. We have no immediate need for the reign of a new leader; eventually, if only for the sake of morale, we will. We are faced with a lot of devastated families, and a drastically smaller population. Few over the age of 60 managed to awaken at all. But, when she awakens, you can assure Lilica that it is fine--and, frankly, preferred--that she take her time. The Gardeners are tending the Garden, and the rest of the kingdom is working itself out to the best of its ability, for now. Unless we are faced with some dire threat, we won’t crumble if she takes the time that she needs.”

With a solemn nod, she added, returning to her first point, “Do not think it your responsibility alone to watch over her. You are free to come and go as your please; rest assured that she will be sufficiently looked after. Your responsibility should be to your own health.”

She left him, then, with that thought, a whisper of hope in the heavy atmosphere, and the forethought of a long road of recovery ahead--not only for Lilica, but in many ways, for him, as well.

Sigrid’s recount of what had occurred with Lilica in the Night Garden was the only sound to kill the otherwise suffocating silence in the small cottage at the outskirts of Galeyn. Nothing had changed, in days; Vitali still slumbered, stable but nowhere near consciousness, and Tivia still refused to leave his side. The physicians who had treated the fallen necromancer had long since left, after successfully staunching any further bleeding with sutures, and cauterizing the wounds that could not be stitched. There was nothing else to be done for him… and frankly, the topic of the unknown with regard to whether he ever would wake up was so heavy, that debriefing Lilica’s tirade into the Garden felt light-hearted in comparison.

“Whatever happened, at least there seems to be no lasting damage,” she concluded, pacing before the fire roaring at the hearth. “I… didn’t know that the esteemed Tenebris daughter ever had a tendency towards dark magic of that sort. And to be honest, I am glad that I did not find out sooner, or else I certainly would have reconsidered my place in the venture, not to mention Braighdath would have reconsidered allowing this mission to take place, at all. But…” Reaching over her shoulder, she touched Gaolithe’s hilt, and pressed a sigh from her lungs. “We are all dangerous in our own capacities, I suppose. Lilica really isn’t so different from me; shouldering a heavy burden that warrants so much responsibility, it could drive you into a rage… I felt the same when I picked up Gaolithe. In many ways, I still resent it, but there is no use in dwelling on hindsight. At least it seems that she is receiving the help that she needs…”

A sudden gasp interrupted the Dawn Warrior’s train of thought. She immediately looked to Tivia, wondering what was amiss, only to come to realize that it had not come from her at all. Eyes wide, she turned to the necromancer on the bed, whose once still form stirred for the first time in days. Naturally, Tivia was at his side in seconds, practically shaking with relief at this positive turn of events. Vitali tossed and turned, until at last, he opened his eyes…

...and screamed, like he had been impaled, anew.

“What is it?” Sigrid demanded, rushing to the tortured man’s other side. “Are you still in pain?”

“The… light…” The necromancer hissed, pressing his bandaged palms hard into his eyes. “It’s too much… it hurts…”

Exchanging an equally concerned and confused glance with Tivia, the two women sprang toward the windows of cottage and drew the curtains. Of course, with daylight just beyond the threshold, the cabin was nowhere near dark, even when Sigrid extinguished the fire in the fireplace, but it should have been enough to remedy photosensitivity from someone who hadn’t opened their eyes in days. “It’s darker now,” she informed Vitali. “The curtains are drawn and the fire is out.”

The necromancer hesitated, but with her reassurances, gradually drew his palms away from his eyes… And hissed again, as soon as he opened his eyes on a crack. “It’s too much… the pain is too much.” He groaned, and hid his eyes in the crook of his arm. “Hand me… something. A cloth, a rag, anything…”

Tivia was on it before Sigrid could so much as look over her shoulder for the necromancer’s request. The Rigas caster handed him one of the clean rags reserved for bandages that they hadn’t had to use (part of a torn-up blanket; dark in color, so that it would block the light). Vitali did not hesitate to take the rag and tie it around his eyes in a tight blindfold. Only then did he feel safe to relax his arms in his lap, head tilted, looking utterly exhausted for someone who had just been asleep for a number of days on end.

Unsure of what to do, Sigrid rounded his bedside, and took a seat on the edge. “It… hurts, to open your eyes?” She asked for clarification. There had been no signs of injury near his eyes when they had brought him here; but the Dawn Warrior had not been part of the small party when they had delved deep into Vitalis’ tortured mind to find him. Had not witnessed the gorey scene where he was at the mercy of a vengeful shadow of the Night Garden, with thorns across his bleeding eyes…

“The light. It’s the light. Like… knives.” Vitali exhaled in a shudder, folding his arms across his bare chest. His fingers brushed against sutures and raised scarring from cauterization, and he winced. “What… happened to me? Where am I? I don’t remember anything… nothing beyond my sister believing she’d found the key to Galeyn…” Pausing, his own words set in and resonated. He looked left to right, and settled on the direction where he thought he’d heard Tivia’s voice. “Is that… where we are? Is Galeyn real? And what of my sister and your Rigas brethren? I assume they are not here, as I haven’t heard them…”

Throwing his legs over the edge of the bed, Vitali dared to stand, bracing a hand against the wall for fear his shaky legs wouldn’t support him. Never in his life could he recall ever feeling so weak, so vulnerable… he was determined not to let it best him. However difficult it might be. “I don’t suppose my original clothes are still in tact, are they? I’d rather not venture out into winter weather without a proper shirt.”

“Venture out?” Sigrid wrinkled her nose. “You aren’t serious, are you? You’ve been unconscious for days, you’ve lost blood, and haven’t eaten or drank anything in a worryingly long time. Just where do you think you’re going?”

“This is Galeyn, isn’t it? I’ll be damned if I don’t experience it one way or another. Even if I can’t see it.”

There was certainly a silver lining to this unprecedented turn of events. For the first time in over a week, Daphni was surprised to find Elias not only answering her questions, but delving into great detail… unloading, in a sense. It had never eluded her that the Clematis healer bore unspoken burdens, but since divulging what had happened to his governess, this was the most he had ever confided. She didn’t speak or pass any judgement as he explained his complex family situation. Four brothers, of a different mother, and only two remaining… Siblings were a part of life that the Sybaian healer could only imagine. For her, it had only ever been herself and her mother--and only for a short time, as the curse of their practice took her mother’s life when Daphni was only ten years old.

Needless to say, the notion and complexities of an immediate family intrigued her. But she knew well enough not to pry when it was clearly a particularly sensitive area. “So you haven’t seen your mother in years…” She reasoned with a nod. “That would certainly be enough to make anyone anxious. Especially if she is asking after you, and deliberately setting out to find you… I don’t imagine you have any idea what it is she might want?”

Of course he didn’t; otherwise, he wouldn’t have been in such a dire state of confusion and mild shock. “There is no point in going into this with any expectation, then,” she added, toward the end of his venting. “Whatever the case, we will find out soon. This turn of events could, in fact, be a positive one.”

Elias’s brothers were far more efficient than the two of them when it came to setting up camp. Tents were pitched and the fire started in record time, at least almost half the time it would have taken the Sybaian and the Clematis healer. Of course, the latter had yet to bounce back from being critically ill, and the former had carried a residual fatigue with her ever since performing the ritual to restore Elias’s life. She hadn’t made mention of it, and if Elias had noticed, her had not said anything. And that was just fine.

There was no sense in offering to lend a hand when the elder St. Rain brothers appeared to have everything in the encampment under control. While Myron dealt with provisions, Felix took a seat at the fire across from Daphni and Elias, and the Clematis healer did not waste any time cutting to the chase. Feeling safer to remain a fly on  the wall, Daphni let the brothers’ conversation unfold organically, though it did not get far before diverting to Elias’s illness… which, to her surprise, he willingly attributed the beginning of his recovery to her. Just hours ago, Elias’s revival had been a taboo topic that was better left alone, for the mood that it had created. But something had evidently changed in him, something that the encounter with his brothers incited. Perhaps a change in direction, which was just what he needed.

“I realize this may not be my place to ask,” she said, after Elias finished speaking, “but Elias has mentioned that your… his mother disappeared when he was young, and that he has not heard from her since. What spurred her re-emergence, exactly? And why has she set out to find him now, of all times?”

An injury… Whatever was amiss with Vitali’s eyes, whatever reason served to turn daylight into a weapon that assaulted him with intense pain, the necromancer, deep down, somehow felt with certainty that this condition was not temporary, as Tivia had suggested. And that unsettled him deeply--far more than he let on, with his passive dismissal of the problem. I can’t see. I can’t see what’s around me, where I am going… I may not see again.

The realization that he could be permanently cut off from visually perceiving and interacting with the world around him was, inherently, a terrifying notion. One that had his heart pounding, and drained the blood from his face. His hands shook, as a result, but he clenched them into fists to keep it from being too noticeable. No, fate might have dealt him a terrible hand, but that did not mean he had to show it to the world, anymore than it was already obvious; he would not, could not let on to the grave vulnerability that he now faced. In the wild, animals of prey, even when gravely injured, did not show signs of sickness or giving up until it was truly too late. To do so would alert predators to their compromised state, thus making them all the more appealing as a target that did not require any hard work to obtain. In many ways, Vitali--who had always known he was prey, of some sort, to those he had wronged--was no different.

And the most important fact remained that he was alive. Breathing, standing, speaking...alive. With an able body and a heartbeat, one could do anything… even in the absence of sight.

“An accident, you say.” He forced a chuckle that resonated no humor, try though he might. “I’d never heard tell of anyone succumbing to accidents in the Night Garden; not in such a protective and restorative place. But… what do I really know about the Night Garden? Anything is possible when a haven of such open power is suddenly restored, after being dormant for so long. Perhaps I should have been more careful.”

Unbeknownst to him, ‘careful’ had nothing to do with what had happened to him. He remembered Lilica, distinctly, placing her bloody against the bark of the enormous tree. Then, the scene had started to shift, and change, like winter was finally, instantly, giving way to the warm embrace of spring… and that was where it stopped. Where his memory ended… perhaps, mercifully. Every part of his body ached, and his fingertips concluded that he had suffered grievous wounds. Wounds that had been stitched shut or cauterized, judging by the texture in certain area. All of this struck him as highly strange; why would they have resorted to such limited and primitive methods to close open wounds, when they currently resided in a metropolis of powerful healing? Or when Alster had the ability to close injuries at the touch of a hand? Something wasn’t right… and he needed to find out what, and why, because he was not convinced that the two woman in his company would provide him with the extensive details he wanted.

So he stood to leave, and do just that, but Tivia stopped him with an arm looped around his below, pulling him back--at which point she also dropped any concern or delicacy involving his feelings, much to his relief… and horror.

The necromancer’s smug smile faded into a thin line, as he listened to what she had to say. That the Garden--no, that his own, blasted father was responsible for his condition. That Theomyr Tenebris had been so insistent that he never set foot in Galeyn, that he went as far as to set a trap, should he ever find a way to defy the former king’s wishes. But he wasn’t sure what shocked him more: that he had unwittingly fallen victim to a trap that he perhaps should have anticipated, or that Alster Rigas and his sister had both fought for his life. In a way, the latter seemed all the more incredible.

She’d warned me about this, a voice at the back of his mind reminded him. She’d told me that I was in danger. That it was something I could not avoid… and I didn’t listen. I am not indestructible.

“Is that so.” He managed to keep his tone lackadaisical, or disinterested, despite the heaviness that settled in the pit of his stomach. “How ironic, that a place so forgiving, so dedicate to healing, actually meant me harm. Well… I suppose I shouldn’t have put it past my father.” He lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “He seemed to be a determined man, I’ll give him that. I knew I must have gotten my cunning honestly.”

What was not apparent on his features was the sudden loss of hope that blanketed him like a shroud of cold. He shivered. For once--yes, once, his intentions had been pure. There had been no nefarious plots or schemes brewing in the necromancer’s mind when he had sought out Galeyn. Nothing beyond the aspiration of becoming part of a place that could perhaps heal him from the inside out. Rid him of his need to steal the life force of others to keep himself alive. He had no idea the person that he might become, when the necessity to disrupt the lives of others was no longer part of him… but, perhaps, that was not something that was meant to be healed. Not a sickness at all; just the state of his being, the very nature of his existence. An existence that neither the Night Garden not the phantom essence of his biological father preferred to tolerate.

Well, he thought, his shoulders and heart sinking, if this how it shall be… then who am I to argue fate?

“You said my sister is at the… palace?” He asked to clarify, turning toward Tivia. “Then I shall go see her. And Alster, for that matter. Wouldn’t they want to know that their efforts have not been in vain? After all, I may not be able to see, but I am still standing, still breathing. Besides…”

The corner of his mouth curled into a half smile, as he turned, and felt around the foot of the bed for any new clothing that might have been lain out for him when he awakened. Sadly, no such luck. “You say that we are in the outskirts of the kingdom, yes? Then Galeyn itself has not rejected me--just the Garden. Perhaps the palace, as well, depending on its proximity to that deceiving oasis of healing. Call it wishful thinking, if you want, but something tells me that I can still make this work. And I’d like to test the boundaries of whatever curse Theomyr Tenebris has placed upon me. After all--given what has already happened, it isn’t as though I have anything to lose.”

“Actually, you have your life to lose. And after everything we did to make sure it remained intact.” Sigrid argued, frowning her disapproval. “You’ve been awake five minutes after being unconscious for days, you aren’t fully clothed, and you can’t see. Just where do you think you are going to go, and how will you get there? You didn’t even have the luxury of witnessing where we took you because you were unconscious. What you are proposing is positively ludicrous.”

“Well, then it is a good thing your opinion doesn’t factor into what I do, now.” Gently tugging his arm from Tivia’s grip, the necromancer placed the flat of his palm along the wall as a guide, his injured arm still dangling at his side. Feeling around, his hand came into contact with a solid, wooden wardrobe, which he proceeded to open, and fumbled around for a shirt that might fit. “I’m relying on you both to ensure I am not donning womens’ garb; don’t make a blind man look a fool.”

But Sigrid wasn’t having any of it. Pursing her lips, she moved towards the door and pulled the lock into place, before reaching for Vitali and pulling him away from the dresser with a firm hand on his shoulder. “The woman behind us hasn’t left your side in days,” she hissed in his ear, low enough that only Vitali would hear. “She has worried over you and cared for you more than you likely deserve. You will not spit on her efforts by waltzing out of here like nothing is wrong. I know for a fact that you couldn’t take me on with eyesight; so I would advise that you not try it, without.”

The message (or, threat, as it were) was crystal clear: that leaving right now was not an option, no matter how bullheaded Vitali felt about his decision. Something about having other people save your life always seemed to carry with it a loss of the privilege to make these choices on your own, in the aftermath… yet another reason why he hated feeling indebted to others. It gave them the sense that they had the right to dictate what happened next… he resented it. Even when they were right.

His shoulders stiffening under Sigrid’s dominant hand, Vitali obliged and turned away from the wardrobe, and placed his good arm on his hip. “Well, I really must look awful if the both of you are insistent I don’t show my face outside.” He tried to joke, but inwardly, he almost felt glad that he couldn’t see the trauma his body had suffered. Every twist and turn and movement he made either pulled at stitches, or aggravated the taut, fresh scarring of cauterized flesh. It hurt more than he cared to admit, and he could only imagine that the gruesome sight of his bare torso was as frightening as it was painful.

“Fine. I’ll play by your rules.” He lifted his good hand in defeat. “But only on the condition that you see to it that Lilica and Alster come here. Especially Lilica… she would have the most insight into what happened, and why.” Gingerly running his fingers over some stitches that ran along his collarbone, he frowned, and turned his head in the direction where he expected Tivia might be. “Am I safe to assume that, given these stitches and burns, that Alster wasn’t able to heal me? I realize the possibility remains that he might not have wanted to try--call it a hunch, but I don’t think he really likes me--but I also know how much that man’s guilty conscience weighs on him. He would never turn away from someone in need. Not even someone as despicable as me. Am I right?”

He couldn’t see Tivia’s nod, but her silence following his question was all the confirmation that he needed. Placing his hand against the wall again, for guidance, he made his way back to the bed, and took a seat, although unhappily (and he made no means to hide it). “Bring me Alster and Lilica, if you will not let me go to them. Anyway, I am sure they would be curious to find out what has occurred.”

Sigrid nodded, only realizing after the fact that he couldn’t see, and quickly felt very foolish. “The horses here travel faster by night,” she informed him, moving toward the door. “It may be a while. But I will go inform Alster and Lilica of what has occurred, as per your request. If it means that you will agree to stay put.”

Sensing that Tivia would want to stay to keep him company, anyway (and to ascertain he didn’t leave), Sigrid didn’t think to invite her along before she set out to find Alster and Lilica. Since daylight had yet to give way to night, it was some long hours before she reached the palace, and evening had begun to set in; just in time for her to relay the news. At least, if they waited another hour or so, traveling to the outskirts would not be quite so daunting.

The Dawn Warrior found Alster and Lilica exactly where she had found them the night before. Lilica was still in bed, looking feverish and worse for the wear, but she was at least conscious and sipping on water to replenish the fluids leaving her body through perspiration. “Vitali is awake.” She did not bother to beat around the issue; anything could have developed in the time it had taken her to travel from the outskirts of Galeyn by daylight. The necromancer could have taken a turn for the worst, could have spontaneously regained his eyesight without light causing him agonizing pain… “He is well… mostly. Though there have been some… curious occurrences.”

Lilica almost dropped her glass of water. “He’s awake? And what of his injuries?”

“His injuries are healing. But he has lost his ability to see.... Or, rather, to tolerate light in order to see.”

Sigrid had hardly voiced her brief explanation before Lilica threw her legs over the side of the bed and stood. “Take me to see him.” She requested, though there was little room for argument in her voice. “And yes-- I will be going. This fever won’t break anytime soon, and I won’t be bedridden for issues like this.”

The Dawn warrior huffed a sigh and crossed her arms. “You and your brother certainly have obstinacy in common. And my initial response would be to decline; but, the only way we managed to convince Vitali to stay put is to agree that I bring both of you to see him. He has questions that I am sure neither myself or Tivia can answer.”

“Well, night should be falling soon.” The chthonic mage mentioned, and stood on her shaky legs. The world spun ever so slightly, and she sheepishly turned to Alster, with a warm palm on her even warmer forehead. “Are you able to take the edge off? Just for a while… I promise I’ll rest once we speak with Vitali.

It wasn’t so much that Daphni was reluctant to talk about the ritual that had led to saving Elias’s life; rather, it was that she found it curiously hard to explain to someone who may not understand the workings of the Sybaia. On a superficial level, it was simple: the two of them submerged themselves in water until the point of death, at which point either it would go well, and they would both survive, or fail, resulting in the death of one or both of them. But without a background in the how and why, it sounded like some ludicrous, unfounded leap of faith that held no bearing. Of course, in a minor way… it was. Even if it had worked (and only barely).

“Elias is right.” She added, noting Myron’s intent gaze on her, yearning for more information; for a hope that she feared she could not, in good faith, provide. “I’ll admit that it was a very risky procedure that put both of our lives on the line. But at the time, Elias was so close to death that we had nothing to lose… and we were both lucky, with regard to the results.” Forcing an apologetic smile, she added, “There are some things that even the Sybaia cannot overcome without a shadow of a doubt. I chalk much of this up to good fortune, more than my own expertise.”

The Sybaian healer fell into silence, then, as Elias’s other brother took a seat next to the fire, and the two went into a brief history of St. Thorne--their home. Admittedly, the Sybaia’s relationship with St. Thorne was very sparse and uncertain. Not many had ventured to the heavily fortressed island, not only because of its relative inaccessibility, but with the present of the Clematis healers and their own proficiency in healing, there hadn’t been much of a need for outside help. Though hearing now of the struggle that St. Thorne’s denizens faced… perhaps outside help would have been just what they’d needed.

It was only after a great deal of prior explanation that Myron and Felix finally returned to the topic of Elias’s mother; and it was too late before Daphni realized that what they had to say might not have been what he desired to hear. Earlier, when he’d explained his tenuous relationship with a mother who had not been around for the majority of his life, it was obvious that he was not well acquainted with her. What had not been evident was just how little he’d known of Imogen St. Rain. The Sybaian healer could only watch the shock and confusion swimming in his eyes, as the information unfolded before him like story that he did not care to know. It was too much, too fast, too soon… and Elias had had enough.

Before she could offer a word to soften the blow, the Clematis healer tore off his brooch and stormed into one of the tents. Daphni picked it up carefully, to salvage it from becoming muddied from the earth. Firelight flickered off of it like tiny stars. She could feel the plethora of emotions spilling off of Elias, even from where he now sulked in his tent; it was overwhelming. “I don’t suppose there was a gentler way to deliver that information,” she sighed, only slightly reassured by the subtle vibrations of guilt emanating from Myron and Felix. “I cannot speak to how much help either myself or Elias will be in this plight. Not only for his… reluctance, but because we were headed toward Eyraille with regard to another empire in need of saving. Stella D’Mare suffered severe trauma just a couple of months ago, when a beast lurking beneath the city arose and leveled nearly half of it. And now, it is being threatened by the presence of the conquering nation of Mollengard. We have confirmation that Ilandria would be willing to ally with Eyraille to take down Mollengard, as they’ve always held unfavorable feelings towards it, and we plan to deliver that information to the monarchy, itself. Elias and I have made acquaintance with Eyraille’s own princess, and commander of the Skyknights. It is a task to which we are dedicated, as we both fought for the city while it was secretly planning to turn on Andalari to take back its independence… at this point, we cannot stray from it entirely. But that does not mean that alliances cannot be worked out to benefit both St. Thorne and Stella D’Mare. If I can reason with Elias.” Glancing over her shoulder at Elias’s tent, she stood from her seat on the ground, the Clematis brooch still clutched in her hand.

“And, since there seems to be a need to clear the air: your brother and I are strictly colleagues. In fact, he has been very critical and harsh toward Sybaian practices, even in light of saving his life.” She furrowed her brow and squared her shoulders, almost daring the twins to make another inappropriate joke. “We are colleagues because we’ve discovered that our united approaches to healing have resulted in better prognoses for our patients’ health; mental, physical, and emotional. He saved my life, once; I only saw fit to return the favor.”

Leaving the brothers to think what they wanted (and jeer to their hearts’ content), Daphni pushed past the tent flaps where Elias had stormed off. She didn’t say anything for a moment, feeling the residual pain and anger of the conversation with his brothers still emanating from his aura. When at last she saw fit to speak, she kept her words free of judgement. “I won’t pretend to know what you’re feeling, personally,” she told him first. “My mother also left me, but in a different manner than yours. And her departure… was not intentional. But in some ways, death is easier to deal with than the unknown.”

Taking a seat, she crossed her legs in front of her, turning Elias’s brooch over in her hands. “Your mother--Imogen--might not be worthy of your help, at this point, for a number of reasons. That is up to you to decide. And whatever your decision, I will support it and follow suit; this is not my choice to make. But…” Looking up from the brooch, she placed it next to the Clematis healer. “We don’t know Imogen’s story, in full. And while your brothers do not seem inherently untrustworthy, their knowledge is also limited. The wisest approach may be to hear Imogen out; get a feel for what she has to say, or to her sentiments, and then make the decision whether or not you feel inclined to get involved. But, again,” tentatively, she rested her fingers in the crook of his elbow. “That is your decision to make.”

Vitali snorted at  the Rigas woman’s appraisal of his less than pleasing appearance, but he couldn’t blame her, and knew that she spoke the truth. Blindness may have been a blessing, for that reason alone. “Well,” he sighed, and shrugged his shoulders. “At least I can be assured that you’re being honest--not matter how brutal it may be.” When he felt her take his elbow again, he nodded. “If I’m to be stuck here waiting, then I suppose I might as well get acquainted with my surroundings. Lead the way, my dear.”

It was disorienting, at first, trying to find his way around a place which he hadn’t laid eyes on to begin with. He knew a wall when he felt one, could identify the brick and stone of the fireplace, but judging distance was another factor entirely. The wardrobe had seemed much further away when he’d ventured to find it on his own, but as Tivia guided him with more speed and certainty, he came to realize that it was closer than he’d imagined. As was the small bathing room, with a smooth, wooden tub, and a tiny kitchen. Wherever they had taken him, it wasn’t anywhere near some vast property--which was probably for the better. “Hn. Seems quaint,” he commented, after they returned from making their round of the cottage. “Should be easy enough for me to navigate, with a little practice. But since my clothing has been sacrificed to the fire…do you mind finding me something else in its place? Do not take advantage of my inability to see--because I will know if you decided to be foolish and have me don something crafted for a woman.”

Waiting patiently at the bedside, the necromancer waited for Tivia to find something suitable in the wardrobe from which Sigrid had so rudely dragged him away. When she returned and placed the garment in his hands, he meticulously felt around at the collar, the sleeves, the hem, and the front and back. “No ribbon or lace… I am trusting you, you know.” He nodded pointedly at her, before pulling the tunic over his head. The hem fell a few inches below his waist, and aside from being a bit on the baggy side, it appeared to be tailored to fit a man. “Not on backwards, is it?” He asked, and with Tivia’s assent that it wasn’t, he flashed a small smile. “I don’t suppose it is my usual aesthetic, is it? Although I’m not sure that that matters anymore.”

He spoke frankly, detached and without a sliver of emotion. Like it was little more than a passive annoyance that he’d been deprived of one of his most vital senses. It was better that way; deflect suspicion that there was a war raging inside of him. Fear, fighting against anger, which clashed with a pressing hopeless that made it hard to breathe. He had always found a way out, before. There had always been a loophole, or luck had oddly been on his side. But this time… this time…

Was there any amount of magic that could reverse this?

“I knew I’d be in good hands,” he smiled, brushing his hand against her fingers as they grazed the burn wound. “Thank you for looking out for me, in light of slightly less than capable healers. I have no doubt that the scars from your handiwork will be the most tolerable to behold.”

With little else to do or say, and no way to continue to make light of what awful (albeit, perhaps deserved) misfortune had fallen upon him, the two fell into silence, for a good portion of the day, awaiting Sigrid’s return with Lilica and Alster in tow. With Tivia loyally nearby, Vitali sat, wordlessly, until the sound of hoofbeats came to his attention. He was coming to realize very quickly that, with the absence of sight, the slightest change in environment--sound, temperature, smell--became all the more apparent. “Well.” He said, speaking up for the first time in hours. “It’s about time.”

Moments later, Sigrid and the sought after Rigas and Tenebris mages stepped inside. The utter darkness of the cabin did not strike the Dawn Warrior as surprising or odd, but Lilica and Alster hadn’t quite prepared for how serious the necromancer’s aversion to light was. Lilica hugged herself against the chill (the fire must have been out for hours, at that point), and found her brother as her eyes adjusted to darkness. “Vitali…”

“Ah. Alster and my dear sister. Just the people I hoped to see.” The necromancer smiled, without realizing they might not see it in the inky-dark cottage. “I see that Sigrid has informed you of my predicament.”

Lilica listened to Tivia’s explanation of what had happened, upon Vitali’s awakening. She recalled the terrible state the necromancer suffered as a result of that curse… of the merciless vines, peppered with thorns snaked across his eyes. She hadn’t anything of it, at the time, other than just another means of causing the necromancer unimaginable pain. That they could have been a sign of lasting damage… “We were in your mind, Vitali. It was necessary, in order to find you.” The chthonic mage explained, her voice quiet and even. “Do you remember?”

“No. Not a thing, I’m afraid. Nothing beyond the moment you put your hand to that tree.” Vitali shook his head. “Though, perhaps that is a mercy, considering none of you have deigned to offer me the details.”

“The Night Garden--some monstrous, twisted version of it--was killing you. Slowly and painfully.” Lilica’s reply was terse, albeit soft. “The wounds on your body are a result of being impaled, numerous times. There were vines, thorns across your eyes… we did not think at the time how any of it might result in a lasting condition. Our priority was to break the curse and save your life. At the very least, we succeeded in that. You are correct in your appraisal that not remembering what you suffer is a boon.”

The necromancer went silent for a moment, especially in light of Tivia’s prognosis. The moment she took her hand from his arm, he knew what she was about to say before she said it. No chance of it being temporary… “Given the excruciating pain of waking up to muted daylight, Alster,” he began, rolling his shoulders back, “I’ll kindly decline your offer to examine my eyes. If you can imagine the pain of knives being plunged into your eye sockets, I am sure you can understand my hesitation.”

“What if you were unconscious?” Sigrid suggested, standing in the corner with her arms folded, while Alster and Lilica made their assessments and explained to Vitali the details of what they’d witnessed in his mind. “You wouldn’t then feel any pain.”

But the necromancer wrinkled his nose and shook his head. “I think I have had enough of being purposely rendered unconscious. Besides, it is as Tivia says,” he shrugged his shoulders. “Not temporary. She predicted my downfall, but I didn’t listen to her. Rest assured, I won’t make that mistake again. As for the rest of me…” His mouth curled into that trademark, half-grin that deflected tension when faced with the severity of a situation. It was something of a defense mechanism. “It looks as though I’ll heal the old-fashioned way. But I’ll heal, and that is what matters. Thanks to Tivia for keeping those healers in line when they treated me.”

Folding her arms around herself to fend off the chill, Lilica frowned at Vitali’s lack of care for his condition. If he had been hoping for good news or a better prognosis than what he’d suspected… why ask them to come? “So you’re going to accept you fate as it stands, then? You think you can make it through life the same way you have for years, as a blind man? Furthermore… you cannot expect us to freeze in your presence, Vitali. Since you can’t see for yourself, Tivia is shivering in a blanket.”

“Well, that won’t do at all, then. Go and stoke the fire.” He offered, motioning toward where he thought the fireplace would be. “I think you’ll know if it causes me agonizing pain; I woke up to daylight, so we cannot be sure fire will incite that. Might as well find out.”

Lilica watched Tivia hesitate as she approached the heart, and sent ethereal flame into the partially-burnt logs. Watched as Vitali braced himself, holding his good arm at the ready to shield his eyes, if the light proved to be too much. In moments, a moderately-roaring fire filled the fireplace, lighting and warming the cottage. The necromancer didn’t flinch; he relaxed his shoulders.

“Well,” he blew air from between his lips. “It is safe to say that this blindfold is holding up. Daylight will be another venture, entirely, but don’t freeze for my sake. But now that we’ve established restoring my ability to tolerate light might be a hopeless cause.” He turned to face Lilica. “Galeyn. Tell me about it. What have I missed after the kingdom gave me such a warm welcome?”

The Tenebris caster pressed her lips together and hugged herself, still chilled from the fever that roared inside of her. She no longer knew if she was too hot or too cold. “Nothing but disorganization and chaos. Oh, and I tried to burn down the Night Garden, last night.” Her voice was an unironic monotone, in no mood to entertain Vitali’s curiosities, however much he might have deserved to know a thing or two about this kingdom that had smote him. “But I’ll regale you with that tale when I’m better able to do it. As it stands, I’m exhausted, and you’re weaker than you’re letting on. You haven’t had anything to eat or drink in days.”

Curiously, the necromancer stood from where he say upon the bed, and took a few steps forward, toward Lilica with his good arm outstretched. The chthonic mage’s immediate reaction was to recoil, of course, but she couldn’t think fast enough before her brother’s fingertips brushed against the flushed skin of her face. “You’re ill--hn. I thought you sounded off,” Vitali said, pulling away when he got the confirmation he sought. “Has the Night Garden smote you, too, then? For threatening it?”

“It certainly feels that way. But according to the Gardeners--the keepers of the Night Garden--it is supposedly healing me. From what, is anyone’s guess.”

“You have the information you sought.” Sigrid suddenly interrupted, as if attuned to the fact that Lilica was having difficulty staying on her feet. She placed a heavy hand on the chthonic caster’s shoulder and stared Vitali down. “I need to return them to the palace while it is still dark, and the steeds can travel quickly. I’ll bring you something to eat when I return; you’re no good to any of us if you’re worn out beyond comprehension for lack of nutrition.”

Vitali nodded without resistance or argument. “Fair enough. I’d request to accompany you to the palace, but--”

“It could kill you.” Lilica informed him, point blank. “It’s too close to the Night Garden. At least get your strength back before you decide to test the limits of how much of Galeyn you can wander without risking your life.”

Without any further delay, Sigrid left with the two casters she’d brought from the palace. The sound of hoofbeats disappearing into the night indicated their rapid departure. Vitali took a seat again on the bed, though did not seem any more reassured than he had before their arrival--and rightfully so. It was not as though he’d been expecting good news. On the contrary… he’d sought the confirmation that there was no good news. Now, he knew where not to waste his energies. “Tell me, Tivia,” he requested at last, absently rubbing life into the part of his injured arm that lacked feeling, “was it beautiful? What you saw of Galeyn. I can only imagine that it must be, but I am only going on my gut feeling, and what I’d hoped to find in it. Even if it has the capacity to harm the way it harmed me. Sometimes the most beautiful things in life can also be the most dangerous.”

Perhaps it was for her own ignorance that Daphni was not prepared for the barrage of emotions that Elias was about to unleash. This wasn’t an easy situation to digest; were she in his position, having news delivered such as what Felix and Myron had imparted would have been enough to shake her world. But Elias’s feelings transcended just that. Enough that they bruised his aura and overwhelmed him, as well as the atmosphere surrounded him, permeating every inch of space throughout the tent. Truthfully, it felt hard for her to breathe.

“She’s wronged you; in many ways. There is no other way to interpret that, based on your anecdotes, Elias.” The Sybaian healer assured him, in earnest. “I believe you. I believe everything that you are feeling right now is valid. But I also believe that she deserves to hear it; to hear from you, exactly what you have said to me. Hold her accountable for what she has done, what it meant to you, and if her story still does not resonate in light of everything you have learned, then turn your back on her. Make her invisible, just as she meade you. But… how will you ever know that it was the right decision to walk away, to not pursue, if you did not try? I am not asking you to consider forgiving her: far from it. Premature forgiveness does more harm to the soul than good. No,” her vibrant blue eyes met Elias’s, “I am asking you to consider confronting her. The worst that will come of it is closure; and the reassurance that you were right, all along.”

Except, his mother was not the only issue… not by a long shot. Daphni had been ignoring the elephant in the room, ever since they’d left the homestead of her mentor, on the opposite outskirts of Ilandria. Before she could think to react, the Clematis healer grabbed her wrist in such a firm grip that he no doubt could feel the sudden spike in her pulse, startled and out of fear. But… just as she suggested he confront his mother, he was just as much in the right to confront her--for what she had done. Evidently… against his wishes.

Perhaps it was time she own up to her own mistakes; even if she did not consider it a mistake.

Taking a slow breath in through her nose, she began. “There are numerous reasons why I saw fit to save your life, Elias. First and foremost is one to which you can relate: I am a healer. And I’ve sworn my life to healing, and to preventing the cease of life, immaturely. And I feel, that had our situations been reversed, you’d have held yourself to that very same standard. After all, you had, before. I owe my own life you, on more than one occasion. But… but that isn’t the only reason.”

Her heart still hammering in her chest, Daphni found herself taking another breath, feeling oddly unsteady. “I also feel, as a healer, that I am only of any use to the sick and suffering in this world if I am alive. That is the reason I decided not to end my life, even when I couldn’t stand the energies surrounding me. I know that aversion, Elias; we are surrounded by wretched people. Many of whom don’t deserve our help. And, yet… we help them anyway. Because that is who we are. But you are not among the wretched; your life was one worth saving. And I don’t think I’d have risked my own for anyone else. All the same… I need to be honest with myself. And with you.”

She couldn’t look at him. Her azure eyes averted to his fingers, still latched tightly around her wrist to the point where it almost ached. “I… have also been selfish. I am someone who grew up, traveling in a clan with like-minded people… to some extent, at least. But then, the majority of my clan was destroyed during the fire at Andalari’s encampment; and the rest of the Sybaia present during the war, spent themselves until there was nothing left, at Tadasun’s encampment. Taking care of you while you were ill, and finding a means to perhaps save your life… I suppose it gave me a sense of purpose. As did your company.” She shifted uncomfortably, even as he softened the grip on her wrist. “Truth be told, I just didn’t know what else to do. I thought you’d wanted reprieve from your aliment; until you were cured, I didn’t realize you’d aspired to die. But I… don’t think I’d have let you die, regardless. Because then that would mean that I’d failed; and I would face the future, alone, and as a failure.”

Daphni drew her wrist out of his grip, at last, and got to her knees. “I thought your anger was irrational…  but I should have known better. I did know better, but I just didn’t want to see it, or to admit to it. Here I was, calling us colleagues, when your brothers… they told me that you do not have colleagues. That you prefer to work alone. While I’ve been forcing my presence on you, like some stray cat, looking for some creature equally as miserable so as not to feel so alone. It was… wrong of me, Elias. And I am sorry for what I did. I never intended for it to affect you, in this way.”

Rising to her full height, she nodded her respect. “What you decide to do, from this point on, is your choice. I won’t hold influence over you, anymore. I will still travel to Eyraille, to impart Ilandria’s intentions and alliance… but I will not make my presence a part of your renewed life and existence. You say you should have died, that day; perhaps, so should have I. The waters certainly thought so. There is no one left of the clan I knew; I’m neither a leader nor a follower. Just another meaningless existence, among many.” Moving toward the tent flaps, she paused, her hand on the rough fabric. “Tomorrow, I’ll continue my venture towards Eyraille. Speak with your brothers, before you make a final decision, but… this is your family. And I am not sure I know enough about family to be of any use to you, from this point on.”

She left his tent, then, for the fourth, small structure that Felix had erected. And that night, with her own heart racing in her chest, she wondered how much longer it would be until her own life extinguished like a flame that burns too bright...

Alster’s parting comment led Vitali to wrinkle his nose in displeasure, but he heard the door close before he could get another word in, edgewise. Expelling a breath of air through his nose, he commented to Tivia, “Might you be a dear and see that our esteemed Serpent-whisperer does not toy with my vision--or lack thereof, as it stands--to satisfy his own curiosity? While I am grateful that he intruded in my mind to save my life, the gratitude and consent strictly ends there…”

He couldn’t help but chuckle at her comment that the Rigas caster was, in fact, going out of his way to dislike him, though the necromancer wasn’t entirely sure that was the case. Vitali shook his head. “I do recognize the man is helpless but to lend a hand to others in need, no matter how vile they might be, but I believe that his distaste for me is quite natural--and warranted. And he has never, himself, exacted vengeance for what I did. So,” he shrugged his shoulders. “My prediction is that he will ride the coattails of my misery and misfortune for quite some time. Until he sees fit that I have suffered enough, but knowing what I have done--not just to him, but to others, something tells me that I will sooner die than earn that man’s forgiveness. Which is precisely why I wish him to stay the hell away from my eyes.” That ever-present half-grin faded, only the tiniest amount. “Although, if he does want to make himself useful and finds it in him to pity me… perhaps you can help me convince him to see what he can do for my arm.” He indicated the injured, partially numb limb by lifting it laboriously from his side. “It wasn’t much of a bother before, but robbed of my ability to see, I can easily foresee the use of both of my arms and hands being necessary, in the immediate future.”

Truth be told, he wasn’t sure what he was he expected to hear, when he asked Tivia to regale him of the Night Garden; of what she had seen. Was it better to be told of a beauty that upon which he would never lay eyes, or have his high expectations of a place to which he’d looked forward to belonging me entirely dashed? But despite what he couldn’t see on Tivia’s face, he could hear it in her voice: the anger, the resentment that she held toward the Garden. And why wouldn’t she, when literally one of the first things she witnessed was the supposed place of healing striking down a fellow comrade? He would be angry, too. But as he stood… he couldn’t hold the Garden at fault. Not after learning what Lilica told him.

Vitali reached for Tivia’s shoulder with his good hand, and rested his fingers upon it. “You don’t have to protect my feelings.” He said to her, calm and nonchalant. “I have no doubt that you saw something terrible. But you know it wasn’t the Garden; it was my father. Even I had no idea that his aversion to me was so damned strong.” He chuckled a little, at his own misfortune. “I am certain that the Garden doesn’t smite everyone who dares to set foot in it. Regardless of what it has done to me, it can still benefit others… like you.”

He didn’t want to focus too intently on the topic of her Tivia’s face, because it was a sensitive one to discuss. One that bothered her to her very core. And because it continued to bother her… he wanted her to know that she had options which, should she so choose, she could pursue. “If you find you still struggle venturing into public without a mask, then you truly should consult the… Gardeners, were they? See how the Night Garden might heal you, if you feel you need to be healed at all. We cannot fault it for my father’s decision, after all…”

Despite the speed at which Galeyn’s steeds traveled by darkness, both Lilica and Alster looked positively worse for the wear when they reached the palace at the heart of the city, just moment’s later. Lilica, disoriented with her raging fever, could hardly stand on her own, so the Dawn warrior didn’t hesitate to carry her back to her chambers, followed by Alster, whose face was pale and drawn. “Have a seat,” she instructed the Rigas caster, after seeing that one of the Gardeners helped Lilica into bed. “I’ll see what I can do to take care of your pain.”

Though Sigrid had not claimed to be as adept in Braighdath’s choice method of pain relief, since traveling with Alster, who was frequently in need of treatment (up until recently, it had almost been a daily occurrence), she felt she was beginning to perfect the practice, at least for him, alone. Gone were the days of accidentally hitting a nerve in his arm, and she’d gotten so used to placing the tiny needles that it no longer required much time or attention. Fifteen minutes later, Alster was pain-free as he knocked once and enter Lilica’s bedchambers. Though reclining on her bed, and finding no relief from the cold-turned-warm cloth on her forehead, the chthonic mage was not yet asleep, but also not in a state that was quite awake to be fully lucid. Fortunately, she was used to hearing Alster’s voice, and as it was one that did not register as dangerous, it did not startle her. “My mind?” She echoed, her dark eyes only half-open. “I don’t know what you wish to find… even the nightmares aren’t there, anymore. Nothing is. Only darkness… it’s been peaceful.”

Nonetheless, she did not resist when he laid a hand upon her forehead, cooling her fever to a more tolerable degree that allowed her to fall asleep. Instead of blackness greeting her, this time, however, the dark mage found herself standing in a sparsely-furnished room; large and ornate in structure, similar to what she had witnessed in Stella D’Mare. And Alster was there, next to her. As soon as he explained what they were about to do, her heart simultaneously skipped a beat, and dropped further into her chest cavity. “Chara?” She barely managed to repeat, but before she knew it, the scene that unfolded before her was one she had seen many a time, before.

Unfortunately, that beautiful fountain amid the Rigas gardens was a bittersweet symbol, at this point. Nightmare after nightmare had twisted the peaceful scene into something violent and abhorrent; where she had watched Chara die at her hands time and again. There was never any change; so when her eyes fell upon that familiar tall blonde, her instinct was to recoil, to turn in the other direction and run, before she saw Chara perish again. “No--I know how this ends,” she tried to convince Alster, but on the contrary, he assured her that this was not a dream. This was real; as real as Chara could be, in her non-corporeal state. Yet, still, Lilica hesitated--only for a beat more, before she dared to take a step forward. “Chara…”

The blonde woman turned, her eyes first alight with surprise, but then… fear. Just as Lilica dared to step forward, arms outstretched to take Chara into them, as she had longed to since the day she left, the blonde Rigas caster bade her to stay away, accusing her of having ‘haunted’ her since the day that she left. And even as Alster, who stepped into view, reassured Chara that this was real, Lilica’s courage to embrace the woman she loved had already been doused. She kept her distance, hands folded in front of her, dark eyes longing, but too afraid to approach. “Do you also suffer nightmares, then?” She asked her, knowing well the feeling of being haunted by the very face of the one you loved. “As have I. It hasn’t stopped… until, just of late. I don’t dream, anymore. There’s only darkness.”

Swallowing her trepidation, the chthonic caster took a step forward. “We’ve found Galeyn, Chara. By no simple means, but… it’s real. The Night Garden is real.”

There was so much to tell her, so much information to impart, and yet the dark mage hardly knew where to begin. Perhaps, for now, it was best to stick to what was most pertinent; that being Stella D’Mare’s eventual evacuation, and what part Galeyn could play in all of that. “Alster informed me of what he learned from Elespeth. Of the current state of Stella D’Mare, and it’s… inevitable evacuation. I have already spoken with some of the forces that be of Galeyn, and there is more than ample room for evacuees, here. Since the spell on the kingdom lifted… a quarter to a third of its population did not withstand the spell through the ages. Room is ample.”

Of course, getting evacuees safely to a place that had taken them weeks to find (including the week they had spent in Braighdath, convincing the people there that they were not, in fact, dangerous… that was, perhaps, an issue that was more pressing than space. “Galeyn’s horses are able to defy time and distance by night. It is remarkable, the speed at which they can travel, under the cover of dark. Coupled with Alster contacting Vega--or, perhaps, you, if you now have direct lines of communication with Eyraille, to see if they can send their rocs for aid, this can account for transporting the majority of old and infirm… contingent on the execution of your plan to to briefly incapacitate Mollengard. But I don’t know the details of that, and neither does Alster.”

While she fully expected that Chara would impart all of what she knew, Lilica couldn’t repress the cloying question that urged its way to the front of her mind, and past her lips. She cared for Stella D’Mare; how could she not, when it was the heart and soul of Chara’s current investment? But more than the city itself, she wanted to know how the woman was faring. In light of being faced with Mollengard’s forces, and only Elespeth and another handful of people in on a foolhardy plan to distract the conquering nation long enough for the city to evacuate… Did the nightmares keep her from sleeping? Did she dread seeing the chthonic caster’s face, because of them?

Did… she even care for her to return, at this point?

“How are you faring, Chara?” The words were past her lips before she had the time or sense to reconsider them. She could feel her heart hammering in her chest, and her knees felt shaky, despite that there was no trace of her fever in this parallel realm of in-between. “All things considered… are you safe? Have you managed to keep the council, and Cyprian at bay…?”

But he knew the answer without Chara having to answer. Of course she was all right; Chara Rigas could hold her own, under any circumstances, alone or otherwise. And as reassuring as it was to hear that… it only made her realize how expendable she really was--and how little it mattered, that she may not be able to return to Chara as soon as she wished. Unlike Lilica, who wilted in the absence of those who brought out the best in her, Chara thrived on standing on her own two feet.